Page 10 of Dracula: Bound in Blood

Before Jonathan could ponder further, the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones caught his attention. A sleek, black carriage emerged from the gathering darkness, its polished surface gleaming like obsidian. Intricate carvings adorned its sides, depicting scenes of hunt and chase that seemed to move in the flickering lamplight. The windows were shrouded in heavy, dark curtains, offering no interior glimpse.

A figure, cloaked in shadow, descended from the driver’s seat. Without a word, it began loading Jonathan’s luggage onto the carriage.

“Are you from Count Dracula’s castle?” Jonathan inquired. The figure nodded silently, gesturing for Jonathan to enter the carriage.

As they set off the winding mountain path, Jonathan was mesmerized by the landscape unfolding before him. Jagged peaks rose against the night sky, their snow-capped summits gleaming silver in the moonlight. Ancient forests cloaked the lower slopes, their gnarled branches reaching out like grasping fingers.

The air grew colder and thinner as they climbed, carrying with it the scent of pine and something else - something wild and untamed. In the distance, wolves began to howl, their mournful cries echoing through the valleys.

Jonathan’s ears pricked at an odd sound - the pattern of feet keeping pace with the carriage, accompanied by low, guttural growls. He peered into the darkness but could see nothing beyond the pooling shadows. Whatever followed them seemed to match the carriage’s speed with unnatural ease.

As the last remnants of daylight faded from the sky, the carriage finally arrived at the imposing gates of Count Dracula’s estate. Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight before him.

The castle loomed against the night sky, a behemoth of dark stone and sharp angles. Towering spires reached heavenward, their peaks lost in the low-hanging clouds—gargoyles perched along the battlements, their twisted faces frozen in eternal snarls. The walls were thick and ancient, scarred by centuries of wind and weather yet still standing defiant against the passage of time.

A mighty iron gate barred the entrance, its bars twisting into intricate patterns that seemed to writhe and move in the moonlight. As the carriage approached, the gate swung open with a low, ominous creak that sent shivers down Jonathan’s spine.

The courtyard beyond was a study in neglect. Once-manicured gardens had run wild, thorny vines creeping up the castle wallslike grasping fingers. A dry fountain stood at the center, filled with dead leaves and the remnants of stagnant water.

As Jonathan hesitantly stepped out of the carriage, the sound of padding feet and low growls intensified. Whatever beast had followed them had made it through the gates yet remained frustratingly invisible. Jonathan’s eyes darted about, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature to gauge its threat.

The shadowy driver shooed Jonathan away from the carriage, gesturing insistently towards the castle’s massive front doors. A thick mist began to rise from the ground, curling around Jonathan’s ankles and casting eerie, shifting shadows across the ancient stonework.

With each step towards the looming archway, Jonathan’s apprehension grew. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional mournful howl of the unseen creature and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

As he reached the bottom of the stone steps leading to the entrance, Jonathan paused, looking back at the gate through which they had entered. It now stood firmly closed, cutting off the path back to the village.

Taking a deep breath, Jonathan turned back to face the castle. The massive oak doors stood before him, studded with iron and carved with scenes that Jonathan’s mind shied away from fully comprehending. As he raised his hand to knock, a gust of wind swept through the courtyard, carrying the scent of decay and something old, powerful, and hungry.

At that moment, Jonathan Harker felt isolated standing on the threshold of Count Dracula’s domain. He was a world away from the safety and familiarity of London. As his knuckles connected with the ancient wood, the sound echoing ominously in the stillness, Jonathan couldn’t shake the feeling that he was knocking on the gates of hell itself.

Chapter Seven

The heavy doors of Castle Dracula creaked open of their own accord, revealing a cavernous entryway that seemed to swallow all light. Jonathan Harker hesitated on the threshold, his heart pounding. Gathering his courage, he called out a greeting, but the oppressive gloom swallowed his voice.

Steeling himself, Jonathan stepped inside. The castle’s interior was where dread and neglect intertwined with a dark, gothic beauty. Massive stone arches soared overhead, their intricate carvings barely visible in the dim light. Tattered tapestries adorned the walls. Their once-vibrant colors faded to muted shades of blood and shadow. Ornate candelabras stood sentinel along the walls, their candles long since burned out, leaving only twisted wax sculptures in their wake.

The air was heavy with the scent of age - musty stone, decaying wood, and something metallic and vaguely unpleasant that Jonathan couldn’t quite place. Dust motes danced in the few shafts of moonlight that penetrated the gloom, giving the entire scene an ethereal, dreamlike quality. Was even this place a dream? Perhaps he would wake up in his bed back in London with Béla nestled by his side and taking up half the bed.

A silken voice resonated from the shadows, its timbre rich and alluring. “Welcome, Mr. Harker.” The words caressed Jonathan’s skin.

A figure emerged from the darkness, cutting an imposing silhouette against the faint light from the open doorway. As he stepped into a shaft of moonlight, Jonathan found himself face to face with Count Dracula.

The Count was tall, easily towering over Jonathan by several inches. His frame was lean yet powerful, draped in elegantly tailored clothing that spoke of wealth and refinement but was certainly outdated for these times. A high-collared cloak hung from his broad shoulders, its inky blackness absorbing the light around it.

But it was Dracula’s face that truly captured Jonathan’s attention. The Count possessed an unusual, ageless beauty that defied description. His features were sharply aristocratic - high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and an aquiline nose that spoke of noble lineage. His skin was pale, almost luminescent in the moonlight, unmarred by any sign of age or imperfection.

Dracula’s eyes, however, truly arrested Jonathan’s gaze. They were dark, unfathomably so, like wells of midnight that seemed to hold centuries of knowledge and secrets. There was an intensity to his stare that simultaneously unnerved and bewitched, as if the Count were attempting to unravel Jonathan’s essence with a single look.

He was like an unearthed archaeological wonder. Jonathan wanted to dress him in the styles of Victoria’s London and parade him through the streets for all to gaze at. Such a man as him shouldn’t be cooped up in this dusty, albeit beautiful home far from proper civilization.

As Jonathan stepped further into the light, he noticed a curious change in the Count’s expression. For a brief moment, Dracula’s carefully composed features faltered, his eyes widening in what could only be described as shock.

Unbeknownst to Jonathan, Dracula was experiencing a maelstrom of emotions. The Count’s breath caught in his throat as he beheld the young solicitor fully for the first time. Before him stood a vision from the past - a face he had thought lost to the annals of time.

Jonathan Harker was the very image of youth and vitality. His skin was fair, with a healthy flush that spoke of his recent journey. Dark hair, slightly tousled from travel, fell in soft waves around a face that the finest Renaissance artists could have sculpted. His eyes were a clear, piercing blue - the color of a summer sky, full of innocence and curiosity.

But it was more than just physical beauty that struck Dracula. There was something in the set of Jonathan’s jaw, the curve of his lips, the way he held himself - all of it achingly familiar.

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