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Steel, slicing through thin metal, leather, cloth, muscle. Driving up into flesh beneath the ribs. Piercing deep.
For a long heartbeat, he keeps him there, his wavy hair falling out of his face. A prince, an angel with a spear in his hands instead of a lute. Letting the last man in uniform tremble before him on his tiptoes, skewered as he is, mouth working breathlessly as it fills with spit and blood.
Then Vlad pulls his slick sword back, and the body collapses in a heap on the ground. At last, the dust slowly settles inside the crypt. Body parts, red, painting the stone.
Jonathan’s breath is baited, cowering behind a pillar, his heart beating in his chest. He’s the only thing left alive here.
The vampire doesn’t even lift his eyes, the blade hanging heavy by his side, the youthful face flushed. „Leave.“ A breathy, hot voice, a faint accent, quiet acknowledgement of Jonathan's presence, nothing more. It's the fist thing he has said to him, since he's made his escape.
„But -“
„You mean nothing to me now,“ Vlad exhales, raising his pale eyes. „I only care for her.“
Mina.
Jonathan straightens up, protesting. „She isn‘t yours. That… that thing you made her, those memories you planted in her mind, its not her! You are just fooling yourself, feeding your own delusion!“
„I have crossed lifetimes to find her. Four hundred years I have tried to get her back. I'm not stopping now.“
„But we‘re engaged!“ Jonathan exclaims. How does he not understand -?
“Perhaps.“ Vlad answers simply. There is no cruelty in his voice, just quiet calm and exhaustion. „But it doesn‘t mean anything. Not really. Your… entanglement, compared to the vast ocean of eternal death, is nothing. You, Mr. Harker, are just a single night’s fleeting dream. Gone with the dawn.“
Jonathan wants to say something else, to disagree, but Vlad has already dismissed him. The sword drags against the sandy stone to his feet, scraping lightly along it as he turns away. There are still faint battle sounds to be heard in the distance, the castle still under attack.
Vlad’s voice is soft as he turns his head to the side, speaking over his shoulder: „For what it is worth, I am sorry. I admire any man who lives for love. But the truth still remains: she was mine long before you were even born, child.”