Page 42 of Dracula: Bound in Blood

“Why did he lock you all in here?” Jonathan asked, trying his best to swat the pawing hands away. “Does he...?”

One laughed. “Does he still fuck us?”

“Aw, poor lil Johnny boy. Doesn’t want to share the master with his brothers?”

“Does he believe himself to be Béla? We all tried to be, and look where it got us.”

“No! I know I’m not Béla and don’t want to be!” Jonathan hollered. “If he falls in love with me, then it will be me he falls for and not some poor imitation of his lover.”

The chorus of voices laughed and mocked him.

“Is that what happened to all of you? Did you try to become Béla?” Jonathan tried to get more out of them, but they only laughed at his desperation.

“It’s the only way.”

The chorus of voices began to chant

It is the only way

Jonathan’s survival instincts kicked in. He ducked under a grasping arm, wincing as claws scraped against his back. He ran, not caring which direction, just needing to put distance between himself and these pitiful, terrifying beings.

The East Wing became a nightmarish labyrinth. Corridors stretched and twisted, doors appeared and disappeared. All the while, the creatures pursued him, their howls echoing off the walls. Jonathan’s lungs burned, and his legs ached, but terror kept him moving.

He burst through a door and found himself in what appeared to be a sitting room. Plush, cobweb-infested armchairs and ornate sofas were arranged around a large, unused fireplace, with dusty antique side tables holding delicate lamps and curious ornaments. But he had no time to investigate. The sounds of his pursuers grew closer.

Jonathan’s eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route. There—a window! He rushed towards it, praying it wasn’t locked. A cold hand clamped onto his ankle as his fingers closed around the latch.

He looked down to see one of the creatures, its face contorted in a rictus of glee. “Join us,” it rasped. “Be one with us forever.”

With a cry of desperation, Jonathan kicked out, his foot connecting with the creature’s face. It released him with a shriekof pain and anger. Not wasting a moment, Jonathan wrenched the window open and climbed out onto a narrow ledge.

The cool early morning air hit him like a slap, clearing some of the panic from his mind. He was several stories up, the ground a dizzying distance below. But the creatures were still coming, their twisted forms now framed in the window he’d just escaped through.

Jonathan inched along the ledge, his back pressed against the rough stone of the castle wall. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to escape. His fingers found purchase in the cracks between stones, and his feet somehow found solid footing despite his terror.

After what felt like an eternity, he spotted another window. This one was slightly ajar, warm light spilling out into the dark fall morning. With a silent prayer, Jonathan made for it.

He had just swung himself through the window when a hand grabbed his shirt. Jonathan looked back to see one of the creatures, its face a mask of fury and desperation. “Don’t leave us,” it pleaded, its voice a mixture of threat and anguish.

With a final burst of strength, Jonathan tore himself free, tumbling into the room beyond. He scrambled to his feet and ran from the room, slamming the door shut.

Jonathan backed away, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He was safe, for now, but the horrors he’d witnessed in the East Wing would be forever seared into his memory.

He sprinted down the winding, dimly lit corridors of the ancient castle. His ragged breaths echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the sinister laughter and taunts of his pursuers. They emerged from shadowy doorways and hidden alcoves – pale, gaunt figures with eyes gleaming with malice and mouths twisted into cruel smiles that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

The vampyres’ mockery cut through the air, their voices dripping with sadistic pleasure as they savored Jonathan’s terror. He could feel their hunger, their desire to tear into his flesh and drain him dry. Every instinct screamed at him to look back, to gauge how close they were, but he knew that even a moment’s hesitation could mean his doom.

With single-minded desperation, Jonathan focused on his goal: the main castle entrance just ahead. His legs burned with exertion as he pushed himself to his absolute limit, lungs heaving as he gasped for air. In a final, frantic burst of speed, he hurled himself across and shut the doors.

He stepped away as if they could open the door at any moment, but for some reason, they didn’t. Perhaps it was some sort of unholy magic keeping them confined to the eastern wing?

Jonathan took a deep breath. His legs were wobbly as he tried to regain his composure. As the adrenaline began to fade, anger took its place. Anger at Dracula for keeping such secrets, for the suffering he’d inflicted on those poor souls. Anger at himself for being so blind and willing to overlook the darkness that lurked beneath their passion.

Jonathan strode down the familiar corridors of the main castle. He would confront Dracula, demand answers, and—

“Going somewhere, little human?”

The voice, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade, stopped Jonathan in his tracks. He turned to see Andor lounging against a wall, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

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