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Vampire bats squeaked past the carriage. They split from the black cloud of their formation, patrolling the extent of the property surrounding the two-story building, flying high and low, investigating the residents inside with care equal to the one they gave their analysis of the predators in the woods.
The driver leaped from his seat and glowered at the creatures in the sky, who had followed them since Budapest. Winged rats . He shook his head, dug his boot out of the mud, and spared the wheel a glance and a sigh. His shoulders sank and he took squelching steps towards the carriage door.
Inside, the creature lowered its gaze to the sleeping figure lying in his arms, nested against his chest, wrapped in blankets that concealed her identity and state from prying eyes. A vision of the Holy Mary in the flesh.
The door creaked open, the Count ignored the extended arms of the coachman and walked out of the vehicle. “Bring the luggage.” He stalked toward the inn in fine leather shoes, with the ease of one who carried their habitual weight alone and was in no rush to reach their destination.
Wind blew beneath the door as it swung, a breath of air flooded him with the scent of alcohol in the bloodstream and the faded smell of laudanum. Medical doctor or patient? He held tighter to the figure in his arms.
He stepped to the counter; the man behind it ogled him from head to toe, inspecting the sea of blankets to the best of his ability. “Good evening,” he said. “How can I assist the gentleman this fine evening?”
The beast produced a charming, toothy smile that made the big man shift on his feet. “Good evening, my good sir,” he said. “My driver informed me your tavern would make for the most adequate place for my wife and I to spend the night. I’m afraid we have quite a long voyage ahead of us.”
The owner lifted an eyebrow and glanced at the man by the door, who stood observing him, two suitcases at his feet. “We can only offer one room,” he said, tipping his head. “Is she contagious?”
“Absolutely not,” the vampire contorted his features, “I chose to bring her from home, the doctors claim foreign airs might heal her complexion,” he took a breath, “I had to make an attempt.”
The man watched him, blinking slowly. “New wife?”
The Count smiled. “Ah, is it that obvious?”
The owner shook his head, produced a key, and extended it to the beast. “First floor, number 13, the second door to your left. Your coachman can leave the luggage to my boy, he’ll take it to your room. I’ll ask him to find a second bed for you. Would you like to eat or drink?”
“You’re too kind,” he replied. “No, we’ll be alright for the night. We only need a bit of rest.” The sight of his teeth returned. “Second to the left you said?”
“Mr. Balaur,” he announced from the desk across the chamber, pen in the air as he examined the document, “has been quite prolific these days. Funding a doctor’s research, financing young gentlemen’s romantic pursuits, contacting duchesses,...” he signed the paper and stood. “Getting officially married,” he spun on his feet, facing the bed with a grin, watching her. “A man of great plans and ambitions.” He paced toward her, ears following her faint pulse. “It’ll be an interesting adventure,” he continued, “not the honeymoon I’d have preferred for us, but bringing soil from Holland only to have you die on me would be a waste of both our times.” He snickered. “Though, I would have loved to see your reaction. A shame we aren’t staying for longer, I could have it arranged.”
He sat at the edge of the bed, beside her. “I will keep you entertained, of course. Would a game of chess suffice? We’ve had a… tumultuous start, but I’m sure a compromise can be reached, wouldn’t you agree? Husband and wife should work towards a happy and fulfilling marriage, after all.” Dracula reached for her hair, drawing it back and revealing her neck, the scar he left, and the bloodstain on her dress. His sclera flooded crimson, his fangs enlarging. “An exquisite vintage should not be hastened.” He leaned in, tongue tracing the outline of her scar. He growled, sitting up. “We have time.”
He stood by the window, tipped his head when he spotted a boy guiding two horses to the stable.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Agatha,” he whispered. “I’m afraid late dinner is in order.”