You have been given away to a man known throughout Eastern Europe as a brute, a killer, and a monster, and yet somehow, he does not act like any of those. You can't help the feelings that arise in your heart for him, and eventually, gentlemanly manners are thrown out the door when you give the signal.
Warning: arranged marriage, talk of vlad having killed people, sumt, oral (f receiving), p in v
A/N: Thank you to the Anon who requested this!! I would have posted it with the ask, but tumblr was being weird and not letting me. And a special thank you to @xxladymjxx @take-everything-you-can for reading and helping with ideas, @littlesubbyflower helping as well as making the wonderful header, and @hellfire--cult for helping me find a title!
You have always dreaded the day your father would sell you off to the highest bidder. Fought tooth and nail with him to reconsider, to allow you to marry for love rather than political alignment. It was a fate—you thought—worse than death, and yet he did not care. It wasn't long before your heart was given away for you, to the Prince and Voivode of Wallachia, a man whose name was steeped in blood. A man whom you were taught to fear lest he take you to the stake.
With shaking hands, you fixated on smoothing out the pleats in the skirt of your wedding gown. The dress was heavy and not because there were yards upon yards of fabric tailored to you or because of the silver embroidery and precious stones, but because of what this dress meant—the loss of your freedom.
"Stop fidgeting, girl. It is unbecoming." Your mother's shrill voice came through the fog, clouding your thoughts. "Now, stand up straight, it's time."
"Mother, please, I would rather be sent off to war than this. Anything but this." You held her hand like a vice, begging her for some way out.
She only shook her head and snatched her hand away. "I thought I taught you better than this. Do as your father says, and do not embarrass this family in front of the Prince." She pinched your cheeks to give them color before turning to leave. "The choir will begin in one minute, you will enter then."
It was no use calling after her, and it was no use trying to run away; there were guards at every entrance to the church, making it impossible, especially in this dress that needed at least two maids to help you remove. So, down the aisle to your doomed fate it was.
As the choir began, your heart leaped, beating faster than you ever thought it could. The giant oak doors opened, and every guest rose to their feet, all looking your way, all except your husband to be. He stood, back facing you, dressed in an armor chest plate and a white doublet and breeches with a sword attached to his left hip. The air that surrounded him felt thick as you approached, your dress restricting your movements. The Princeonly turned to you once you reached the stairs; he offered his hand to you, and you took it hesitantly, letting him guide you.
You took the few spare moments before the Priest began to examine the man you were to wed. His hair swept around his face, almost blocking him from your view, but as his head turned and you saw him fully, your breath caught in your throat. The stories told and the rumors whispered had led you to believe that this man was a monster, beastly and garish to look at, but the man before you was anything but. The candlelight made him look almost angelic with his sharp angles and full lips. His skin was white as milk and freckled. What demon would ever look so sweet? But that was exactly it, wasn't it? The devil will always come in a form you may trust.
The ceremony went by in a blur. You followed instructions and repeated words, but only because your body was guiding you; your mind floated miles above, enraptured with the man who was beside you.
It wasn't until you were being ushered into a carriage that you came back to your senses. As the door slammed, you realized it was just you and your newlywed husband. The silence was so thick, you could have cut into it. What were you to say? You didn't know the man, only what was said about him, and you doubted that it was an appropriate conversation to be held.
The ride was bumpy as the carriage took you farther away from the home you knew and towards an unfamiliar place. It had only been an hour, and still, neither of you had broken the silence. That is, until a quite harsh jerk had you toppling across the coach and into the Prince. He caught you in his strong hands and set you up right again.
"I am sorry," you apologize.
He waives his hand, dismissing you. "It is quite all right."
You couldn't help the blush that formed on your cheeks, his voice… this was the first time you were hearing it clearly, the thoughts in your head not distracting you from the low tenor that vibrated soul. You wanted to hear it again.
"Is your home far?"
He looked at you, eyes scanning, deducing why now you were asking him questions. "A three-day ride if the horses are fast."
"Oh, then we will be lodging somewhere for the night, I suppose?"
"We will make camp in a few hours. There are no lodgings on this road."
Your eyes widened. You were to spend your wedding night in a tent in the woods?
The carriage stopped just before dusk, and the men worked quickly to build tents, gather wood for a fire, and cook. It was dark when your husband helped you to your tent. He stayed for only a moment to tell you dinner would be ready soon before leaving quickly.
Sighing, you went around opening your trunks, trying to find something more comfortable to wear other than this outrageous wedding dress, although you didn't know how you were to extract yourself from the copious amounts of pleats and lace when your ladies' maids were nowhere to be found. You refused to go looking for them as you were tired from travel and wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
It took almost fifteen minutes for you to even begin to loosen the tight bodice, but it only did so much when you had been tacked in at certain spots. Your hands ceased their flailing when you heard footsteps and the curtain over the entrance of your tent flung open. You turned slowly, face heating as you realized someone was watching you trying and failing to undress.
"My Lord," you startle when you see the Voivodestanding there.
He narrows his eyes at the awkward angle your arms are bent, "What are you doing?"
"Undressing," a huff, "well, trying to at least." You answered.
Taking a step forward, he lets the curtain fall behind him. "Would you like some help?"
You eyed him wearily. From the stories you had been told, he was a brute of a man, taking anything he wanted without asking, and yet here he was asking if you would like his help.
Reluctantly, you accept.
He strides toward you slowly, as if you were a terrified fawn ready to bolt at any moment. "If you could turn around, please."
His hands never left your shoulders as you turned.
A shiver ran down your spine at the electric touch of his thick fingers as he gently caressed the skin of your neck he moving your hair out of the way. Gradually, the lacing of your dress fell away, the cut the strings tacking you in with his knife. The moment was intimate, and you could feel your heart racing. His fingers brushed against the thin fabric of your shift, goosebumps rising in their wake.
"I shall leave you, dinner will be by forthwith." He gave you no time to respond before he left you, with a heart full of confusion, and clinging to the bodice of your unfastened dress to your chest.
Quickly, you untied your skirts and folded them neatly into a trunk before dressing yourself in a less restrictive dressing gown, as you weren't leaving your tent for the rest of the night.
Food was brought to you on a pewter plate. Bread and some kind of meat, it didn't look too appetizing, but you were starving.
And then, you waited. And waited. And waited.
Yet, your husband never came. The candles began to die as you laied on the makeshift bed and the only thoughts in your head were, Where is he? Shouldn't he be here? Wasn't this supposed to be our wedding night? Does he not find me attractive? You couldn't understand why they were swarming in your mind. You shouldn't be concerned whether or not a man you were forcefully wed to liked you.
You awoke the next morning to the rustling and murmuring of the men around the camp. The smell of porridge cooking had your stomach growling.
Elina and Alba, your ladies maids, found their way into your tent with breakfast, apologizing for not attending to you the night before.
"We thought to leave you and your husband be," they said, cheeks tinged pink at the implication.
"Your efforts were in vain, ladies, for he left quite abruptly after unfastening me from my wedding gown." You replied between bites of your porridge.
"How peculiar," Alba hummed. "Usually, men can't wait to get to the marriage bed; they always want an heir sooner rather than later."
You gasp at her forwardness before laughing softly; you had never known her to speak so forwardly.
"I believe I overheard a few of the men whispering around the fire earlier that the Prince had forgone supper and was acting out of sorts after leaving your tent. Are you sure nothing happened?" Elina asked.
"Yes, I'm sure. All he did was help me undress, and then he left, before anything could have happened."
You didn't catch the look the two women gave each other before starting to gather your garments for the day.
After having dressed, your tent was taken down, and you were again ushered into the carriage, only this time, your husband did not accompany you. Instead, he sat stoically atop a striking dapple grey steed.
He was so alluring, you couldn't bear to take your eyes off him even as the long journey began. The way he moved in rhythm with his horse became your entertainment in the boredom of the carriage box. You admired his hair as the sun shone upon it, bringing out the gold and copper tones, and imagined your fingers running through the tresses.
The curve of his lower back and the broadness of his shoulders completely captivated your attention. Your mind wandered to places it shouldn't have, explicit thoughts, unbecoming thoughts.
"What are you doing?" You shake your head, clearing the visions. "This man has murdered people, and here you are gawking at him like a Christmas roast."
Later on, the night progressed much the same as the night before, only your ladies' maids helped you undress.
Around midday on the third day of travel, your new home came into view.
Large and imposing with its spires slicing into the clear sky, and yet it was beautiful, magnificent. It was larger than any estate you had ever laid eyes upon. The stone itself seems to have been carved in the foot of the mountain behind it, leaving the western side a sheer cliff to the lake below.
Once the carriage stopped, the Prince opened the door, offering you his hand as you stepped down.
"Thank you, my lord."
He nodded curtly before speaking. "I am sure you are tired; allow me to walk you to your rooms."
You couldn't help the small smile that bloomed on your lips. "Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you."
Again, as you followed behind him upstairs and through twisting corridors, you became distracted by his straight posture and poised shoulders—enough so that you almost collided with him as he came to a stop.
He opened a heavy, creaking door and motioned for you to enter before him. The room beyond was beautiful. Red velvet curtains hung at every window, matching the duvet, a lovely contrast to the dark wood furniture and light stone walls.
You turned to him, still standing in the threshold. "This is wonderful.
"I'm glad it is to your tastes." A small smile crossed his lips. "I'll leave you then, let you rest."
As he turned to go, you called out to him. You hadn't been able to push from your mind the fact that he hadn't once tried to consummate the marriage or what Elina had said the day prior.
"I- my lord, am I not desirable to you?" You were surprised at your emboldened words.
He turned, an eyebrow raised in question. "What do you mean?"
"We have been married for two full days, and you have not once…" You couldn't bring yourself to say it out loud.
"Ah. Yes." He took two long strides and was standing before you, his heat penetrating your skin. "Contrary to the beliefs of many, I am no brute. I will not touch you unless you ask it of me."
His words left you dumbfounded, and your preconceived notions of him started to crumble.
Several days later, you were taking a stroll through the gardens alone when you heard heavy footsteps on the ground.
"Hello," you smiled at him, and he gave you one back. You had learned rather quickly that he was a man of few words, but all that needed to be said shone through his eyes, like a fathomless ocean.
"Would you like to help me pick flowers? I'm making a crown." You held up your half-finished flower crown to him.
He reached out and touched one of the delicate petals. "I would love to."
You tasked him with holding your pickings until you had enough to finish the crown you were working on and to make another. He sat with you on the cool grass as you wove the stems together
"What is your favorite flower?" His voice softly broke the silence.
You thought for a moment before speaking. "I'm fond of Snowdrops. I haven't seen any in the garden, but there's still time for them to bloom."
The Prince only hummed in response.
"Do you have a favorite?"
"I haven't thought about it," he answered.
"Well," you look at the two finished flower crowns in your lap, "tell me when you have."
Standing to your feet, you placed a crown gently upon each of your heads before returning to the castle.
The next morning, you awoke to a vase filled with snowdrops greeting you on your nightstand.
You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment you began to fall for your husband, but as you sat across the informal dining table from him, you felt a warm tug in your heart. It had taken a while before your dinners were spent here rather than the extravagant dining room, where you both sat awkwardly at either end of the long table, taking sneaking glances at the other.
Now you were in a private parlor, seated only an arm's length away, enjoying food you could only describe as heavenly. Roasted chicken cooked to perfection with a variety of vegetables, breads, and fruits—but there was one thing you did not recognize. The dish was white; you could tell there were layers to it, but what you did not know, and pomegranate seeds were sprinkled atop.
The man in front of you, perceptive as ever, noticed your eyes examining the dessert. "Try some. It is good."
"I'm not sure I want to." You reply, unsure. "I haven't a clue what this is; we have nothing like it where I am from, my lord."
He rolls his eyes and scoots the dish toward you. "Eat it."
"I don't think so, no, thank you." You try to push it back to him.
"Then close your eyes."
"What?"
"I said close your eyes. Trust me."
Eyeing him wearily, you shut your eyes. You hear a stenciled scrape against a serving dish.
"Please, open your mouth."
Reluctantly, you did as told, and when you did, you were met with an interesting flavor. Sweet and milky with the slightest hint of rose, followed by the crunchy texture of slightly ground pistachios.
Opening your eyes, your husband is staring right at you, his eyebrows lifted, waiting for a response.
"That's actually really good," you express, and you reach for your own spoon to take another bite. "What is this called?"
"Güllaç. It comes from the Ottomans, and is one of the only fond memories that come from my time spent in the empire." His eyes darkened at the mention of the ever-looming Ottoman Empire.
You knew from stories what might have happened, what he could be thinking about. So you reached over and touched his hand, running your thumb over the back. "If it brings you pain to think of, please, don't relive it on my behalf, my lord."
"You are most kind… I believe I will retire. Good night." He kissed the back of your hand in goodbye as he stood abruptly and exited the room, leaving you with your hand tingling where his lips touched and wondering if he was alright.
Two nights after, you found your husband in the library, book in hand, lounging by the fire. He looked so peaceful as his eyes scanned the pages. You wondered what he was reading.
His eyes flickered to where you stood barely in the room and then back to the book. You took that as your cue to make your way to him, sitting in the chair next to his. The fire cracked, fending off the night chill.
You watched him for a good five minutes before he spoke. "You are staring."
Heat crept up your neck as you blushed. "I'm sorry, my lord, I was just admiring."
Looking up at you, he snapped his book closed and placed it on the table between the two of you. "I do have a name, you know," he said seriously.
"Yes, I know that."
"Then, I would prefer if my wife used it from time to time."
You smirked at him. "Only if you do the same, Vlad."
And he did, he said your name. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach. How could your name, the one your mother shrieked when you were in trouble or your father said with greed as he signed your life away, make you react this way? The way it rolled off his tongue like a prayer had you swooning, thankful that you were seated and not standing on shaky knees.
When you went to sleep, you dreamt of all the other ways your name would sound coming off his lips.
The next morning, you woke early, the sun barely peaking into the valley. The quiet footsteps of the servants that sounded off the rock walls let you know that the castle was wide awake, preparing for the day.
Slowly, you clambered drowsily out of bed, shivering at the cool morning air. Faint glowing embers shone through the ash in the fireplace, the minuscule emittance of heat not enough to reach you from feet away.
With shaking hands, you grabbed your dressing down, wrapping it around you snuggly.
Your slippers made soft thwacks against the flagstones as you walked aimlessly through the castle, letting your heart guide you. Before you knew it, you were outside and were met with the sound of metal ringing. As you ventured closer to the source of the sound, you began to hear muffled grunts.
'What could be happening at this time of morning?' You thought.
Turning a corner, you were met with the source. Vlad stood before some contraption made of wood, his sword in hand, chest bare. Your eyes examined him, watched each precise movement he made. It was like watching a dancer perform, entrancing.
He wasn't big and corded with muscle, but you could tell he was strong with the way he held himself upright and the amount of power behind each slice and lunge.
You couldn't help the flutter in your stomach, and you couldn't stop it as it traveled further down.
The rising sun brought along better light to which you were able to see the sweat covering his pale and freckled skin.
Your heart began to beat faster, and your legs crossed. A frisson of excitement could be felt in the warming morning air.
Vlad continued his training, oblivious to your audience or how his ragged breaths made saliva pool in your mouth and sent a pang to your core.
You wanted to touch him, dig your nails into the soft skin of his back, and have him take you hard and animal-like. You had to have him now, and you would.
When he finally lets his sword rest, you stroll to him, swaying your hips just enough. When he spotted you, his eyes trailed your body in its state of undress, lingering on the swell of your hips in the fine fabric before locking on your own.
"Good morning," you spoke, voice soft.
"Good morning," he smiled back. "You're up early."
Wrapping your arms around yourself your you spoke, "I was cold."
"I can send for someone to relight your hearth."
Shaking your head, you placed a hand on his bicep. Your heart skipped a beat when it sent a tingle up your arm.
Looking at him through hooded eyes, you bit your lip anxiously, clearly nervous about what you were going to suggest. "There are other ways to warm up."
Vlad's grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles going white.
"Are you-"
"Yes." You were never more sure about anything in your life. You couldn't wait any longer.
Slowly, he stepped forward, and you took one back. He cocked an eyebrow at you, and you just grinned a wicked grin before turning on a dime and sprinting to the castle. "Catch me!" You called out, stooping briefly at the threshold to see if he was following. He was, and at top speed.
Screaming in excitement, you bolted down the hall, almost crashing into a group of servants as you rounded a corner. "Sorry!" you yelled after them, not stopping lest he apprehend you before reaching the bedroom.
While climbing the stairs two by two, you tripped over your nightgown, causing you to stumble slightly. You could hear Vlad bounding up behind you, gaining on you quickly. Swiftly, you regained your composure and raced for the door. You could just see him down the corridor, gaining on you.
You were almost to the door when he grabbed your wrist and pushed you against the wall. You shrieked in joy. His lips were parted, letting his heavy breaths escape, mingling with your own.
"Vlad…." Your chest heaved against his own.
His eyes were dark, void of that bright blue you were so used to seeing. They flickered from your gaze to your lips over and over, making you dizzy. Finally, before it was too much to take, he surged in and kissed you. His lips were warm and soft against your own. Hands roamed your body, scrunching in your night gown, groping for anything they could.
goosebumps appeared on your skin when his hand drifted up and lingered at your neck. You leaned into it, the feeling of him, wanting him, needing him to put pressure.
"My Prince-" a yelp severed your sentence. He was lifting you into your arms and carrying you through the door to your room, all without breaking the kiss.
You were only parted when your husband gently tossed you to the sheets. It was overwhelming, the lust you felt for him in this moment. It was almost paralyzing.
"I have waited for you to say those words to me for weeks. Have wanted you in silence; I could barely keep my hands to myself. You are a temptress, a succubus, and I will gladly fall to ruin for you."
He stepped into your open legs, pushing your dress up and over your head, tossing it to the side, exposing you.
You barely noticed your nakedness, all you knew was that you wanted him then and there, you disnt care how, as long as he touched you. "Please, please, I need to feel you." You pleaded, hips grinding into the air.
"Be patient, my Beloved, I will give you what you desire in time." He said as he fell to his knees, large hands caressing your skin, pulling you closer to him, and settling your legs over his shoulders. The air from his mouth cooled the wetness at your core.
Vlad let out an eager groan before licking his lips, like a lion about to devour its prey. In a single, fluid motion, he placed his mouth upon your center. The gasp that escaped you quickly turned into an uncontrollable moan when he began to softly suck. Your hands shot to his hair, gripping onto the strands for dear life. It had never felt like this, not when you had touched yourself.
His teeth nipped greedily at the sensitive nub until your hips bucked and strained against his hold. Your breath hitched and caught in your throat when a pang of arousal echoed through you.
Your legs snapped closed around his head, his low growl vibrating against you. His fingers gripped the tops of your thighs, but he did not loosen them; he only dove into you deeper, plunging his tongue into your opening.
"Oh- ahh." You threw your head back, closing your eyes tight. You could feel that spark, the growing electric feeling deep within your bones. He was bringing you to the very precipice of your being.
His tongue coaxed and teased until you finally gave way, body tensing in his grasp. Pulling your legs away from his head, he leaned up only slightly so that he could speak. "Look at me."
You shook your head in answer.
"Look at me. I want you to look at me." He punctuated his sentence with a sloppy kiss to the inside of your thigh.
Giving in, you propped yourself up, shakily, onto your elbows and gazed at him with lidded eyes.
Vlad kept contact with your stare as he sank back onto you like a man starved. The intensity of the moment, of being watched as you fell apart, had you coming undone in a matter of seconds.
He licked you through the shockwaves, pulling strained moans from your swollen lips.
Breathless, you stared at the canopy above your bed. "That was…" You didn't know where to start, how to describe what you had just been through.
Taking his time, Vlad crept back up your body, his hands began to move, sliding across your curves, fingers tracing over the flare of your ribs as you took a deep breath in. The warmth of his pals as he cupped your breasts had you sighing. His thumbs passed over your sensitive peaks, causing them to pebble in his wake.
"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," he breathed, voice filled with reverence. Leaning down, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your breasts, tongue flicking over your hardened bud.
Pressing his body to yours, you could feel the evidence of his arousal straining against his trousers. Wanton need built up inside, emboldening you as your hand inched its way down to undo the ties of his pants. Before you could unlace them completely, Vlad stopped you.
"I told you, have patience. I don't want to hurt you." He muttered, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping at your pulse point.
"But I need you so much, so I feel like I might die," you bemoan dramatically.
He only chuckles, "You'll have me soon enough."
With a fervent motion of his hand, Vlad pushed the waist of his trousers down his hips, exposing himself. Your eyes widened at the sight, and your breathing became ragged as he slipped himself past your folds into your aching center.
The stretch wasn't painful, only slightly uncomfortable. As he sank into you deeper and deeper, the pressure built. Your legs wrapped around him, urging him further into you.
"Yes, my love, my prince, yes- ahh," you keened, shuddering as he bottomed out.
Vlad's right hand cupped your thigh while the left tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in to kiss him. "I want nothing more than to map your body in kisses, learn every secret, sensitive spot that brings a moan to your lips and causes your body to writhe."
His mouth barely left yours, locked together like you were his lifeline, tethering him to this plane of existence.
Your fingers clawed at the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving long, red marks as a testament to your ecstasy.
"Move," you whine, "I need you to move."
Vlad obliged, slowly beginning to rock his hips. Your own rolling to meet the shallow thrusts. Moans mingled in the air shared between you.
He sat up onto his knees and grabbed your waist. From this angle, the thrusts were more intense. You could feel him better this way, punching into you.
"Faster," you begged him, needing to find release from the throbbing ache building inside you.
"I don't want to hurt you." He rasped.
Shaking your head, you cry out, "You won't, my love, you won't hurt me."
He studied you for a moment before gripping your hips and pistoning in and out.
The room might have been cold when you awoke, but now it was stifling hot. Sweat was beading across both your foreheads and where skin touched skin.
A chorus of grunts, groans, and whimpers echoed through the room as he began to rut into you.
And then, it was like something snapped within you. Your cries became louder and your back arched off the bed. "I- I'm-" you stutter out, hand reaching for him.
He locks his finger's with your own. "I know." The rhythm of his thrusts begins to falter, "I am as well."
With one last drive, you came undone, body shuddering rapture. Vlad wasn't far behind, spilling himself into you.
Exhausted, you both lay there, catching your breath. As you came down from your high, the room began to feel cold once again. Vlad noticed you shivering and pulled you into him before covering you both with the duvet.
His fingers played with your hair, pulling you into a blissful sleep, but before falling into slumber, a voice kept you.
"You," Vlad says before kissing your lips.
"What?" You ask with confusion etched on your face.
"You," he says once more, his fingers caressing your face. "In the garden, you asked me what my favorite flower was… It's you."
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Summary: They thought killing Dracula’s wife would end the monster. Instead, they learned what love becomes when it is buried alive.
You wake to the sound of rain tapping softly against glass.
Vlad is already awake. He always is. You lie half curled against him, your cheek resting on his chest, his arm secure around your waist.
His other hand moves slowly through your hair, carefully massaging your scalp.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.
You hum in response, too warm, too safe to argue.
The room smells faintly of parchment and the flowers he placed on the table the night before.
He changes them daily, always before they wilt.
The mansion is quiet at this hour. It was designed that way. Wide halls that swallow sound. Thick doors that keep the world outside.
He built it for you.
Not as a fortress, but as a home.
You turn slightly, pressing your palm to his chest. There is no heartbeat underneath your hand, but there is warmth.
“I dreamt you were gone,” you whisper.
His hand stills.
“I am here,” he says immediately. “I will always be here.”
You believe him.
Days pass.
You spend mornings in the garden, hands dirtied by soil, coaxing life from the earth while Vlad watches from the terrace, pretending to read. When you look up, his gaze is always on you.
He never rushes you. Never pulls you into his eternal pace. When you tire, he brings you tea. When the sun grows harsh, he drapes a shawl around your shoulders.
At night, he reads to you until your eyelids droop.
You prefer history and poetry. He remembers every line.
When sleep refuses you, he gathers you close, your back to his chest, his breath cool against your neck.
“Tell me something,” you murmur one night.
“Anything.”
“Why did you keep me human?”
He is quiet for a long moment.
“Because loving you as you are is not a sacrifice. It is a privilege.”
You turn and kiss him.
Outside, far beyond the treeline, a bell tolls.
The village is small, but it watches.
You feel it when you ride past with Vlad, fingers laced together. The way conversations stop. The way eyes linger.
Children hide. Priests whisper.
One morning, you find a bundle of wilted garlic hanging from the garden gate.
You laugh it off, but Vlad removes it, his jaw tight.
“They are afraid,” you say gently.
“They should be,” he replies, then softens when you touch his hand. “But they will not harm you.”
You want to believe that.
That night, as he holds you while you drift into sleep, his grip tightens just slightly.
As if he senses something changing.
They take you when the light is disappearing.
The garden is quiet, the air thick with the scent of earth and crushed leaves. You are gathering herbs for the kitchen, humming softly, thinking of nothing more dangerous than whether the rosemary needs trimming.
Hands grab you from behind.
The world explodes into motion.
Rough cloth is forced over your mouth. Your basket falls, scattering greenery across the path. You kick, claw, scream his name into fabric that steals the sound.
Pain blooms sharply at your temple.
Then nothing.
You wake to cold stone and iron.
Your wrists burn first. Then your ankles. Chains bite into your skin, heavy and unforgiving. Your head throbs, vision swimming as torchlight flickers into focus.
There are voices nearby. Low. Excited. Afraid.
“She is awake.”
Someone laughs.
You pull against the chains until your shoulders scream. Panic claws up your throat.
“Please,” you say, voice cracking. “Please, you do not understand.”
A man steps into view. His face is pinched with fear and something uglier. Hatred sharpened by years of sermons and sleepless nights.
“You are his weakness. And that makes you ours.”
They leave you there.
Time stretches into something unbearable.
They bring water just often enough to keep you alive. They do not hit you, not often. That is not the plan.
They want you breathing.
They want him broken.
They show him a body dressed in your clothes.
Burned until nothing recognisable remains.
They place your ring in his palm, slick with someone else’s blood. When he comes looking for you, terrified.
Vlad does not speak.
He does not scream. He does not move.
He kneels slowly, as if the world has gained unbearable weight, and closes his fingers around the ring. His expression empties of everything except disbelief.
“No,” he whispers.
They bury the body at the edge of the forest. A shallow grave. No prayers.
Vlad kneels there that night, rain soaking his hair, his coat, the earth beneath him. He presses his forehead to the ground as if he might hear you breathing under it.
“You are not here. You cannot be.”
The forest listens.
It offers no comfort.
The nights that follow are unbearable.
He brings flowers you loved. He arranges them carefully, hands trembling as petals fall apart under his touch.
On the second night, he remains until dawn, unmoving, rain pooling around his knees.
On the third night, something inside him fractures.
The scream that tears from his chest is inhuman. Ancient. It echoes through the trees, setting birds screaming into the dark.
Grief does not soften him.
It sharpens him.
You hear him in your dreams.
Sometimes you think it is your imagination. Sometimes you are certain it is real. You hear him cry.
You call his name until your throat hurts, until your voice becomes a rasping plea.
They mock you for it.
“He kneels at your grave,” one woman says one evening. “You should be grateful. Few women are mourned so well.”
You sob until your chest aches.
Chains do not let you curl into yourself. The wall is cold and damp. Smoke from nearby fires stings your eyes.
You begin to fear that you will die here.
That he will never know.
The night the air changes, you feel it before you hear it.
A vibration through the stone. A distant roar. Bells clanging in terror rather than warning.
Smoke seeps into the cellar.
Screams follow.
You cry out his name, hoarse and desperate, voice tearing free from your chest with everything you have left.
“Vlad. Please. Please.”
Firelight flickers wildly through the cracks in the walls.
And somewhere above you, something old answers.
The village burns like a confession finally spoken aloud.
Flames crawl up wooden beams and leap between rooftops, hungry and bright against the night sky. Bells ring until their ropes snap. Doors burst open as people run screaming into the streets, prayers breaking apart in their mouths when they realise there is nowhere left to flee.
Vlad moves through it all without haste.
He wants them to see him.
Fear is a language he speaks fluently, and tonight he does not soften it. Shadows bend toward him. Fire recoils from his path. Those who beg are unheard. Those who curse are silenced.
By the time the last screams fade, the village is nothing but ash and embers.
And then he hears it.
Your voice.
Thin. Fractured. Real.
“Vlad. Please. I cannot breathe. Please do not leave me here.”
The sound tears through him with such force that for a moment the world goes white.
He follows the voice without thought, tearing through the remains of a stone building at the edge of the square. The door splinters under his hand. Smoke pours out in choking waves.
Your voice comes again, desperate now.
“I am here. I am here. Please.”
He descends into the cellar and finds you chained to the wall.
For a heartbeat, he cannot move.
You are alive. Bruised. Shaking. Your hair is matted with soot and sweat. Your wrists are raw, skin torn where iron has bitten too deep. Tears streak your face as you look up at him, disbelief warring with hope.
“Vlad, I thought you would never come.”
The chains do not survive his hands.
He breaks them as if they are made of straw and gathers you into his arms, holding you so tightly that you can feel him shaking.
“I am here,” he says over and over, his voice breaking at last. “I have you. You are safe. You are safe.”
You cling to him, fingers fisting in his coat, pressing your face into his chest as the building groans and collapses behind you.
He shields you with his body, carrying you up and out into the open air as firelight dances around you both.
The village dies behind you.
He does not look back.
He carries you all the way home.
You drift in and out of awareness, held securely against him, his cloak wrapped around you, his hand steady at the back of your head.
When you shiver, he murmurs reassurances in a language older than grief. When you whimper in pain, his grip tightens, as if daring the world to try again.
The mansion is ablaze with candlelight when you arrive. Every room is warm. Every door is open.
He bathes you himself, kneeling beside the tub, washing soot and blood from your skin with reverent care. He apologises softly for things he could not have known, for pain he did not cause, for every moment you were alone.
When you are dressed in clean linen and settled into bed, he finally lies beside you, pulling you into his arms.
You do not let go.
“Stay with me,” you whisper, fear still coiled tight in your chest.
“I will never leave you again. Not in this life. Not in any other.”
He holds you through the night, unmoving, unblinking, until your breathing evens out and sleep finally claims you.
Rain begins to fall outside, gentle this time, washing ash from the stones.
By morning, the grave at the forest’s edge is empty.
He has already torn it open, hands shaking with rage and relief as he confirms what he should never have believed.
You stand beside him, wrapped in his coat, your hand tight in his.
My Damnation Wears a Crown (Count Dracula x Reader)
Summary: Confined to an asylum and declared mad for remembering a past life, you cling to the certainty that your immortal lover will find you again—even as doctors, priests, and the man meant to marry you work to erase the truth. When Vlad, the ancient prince you once loved and died for, finally comes to reclaim you, your reunion ignites a reckoning soaked in blood and devotion.
If your prince had truly waited 400 years to find you again, you had supposed you could wait a few days. But as the sunlight outside your cell came and went and came and went, it felt you might be waiting your own eternity for him to find you once more.
The days stretched endlessly. Screams echoed through the asylum. Giggles. Laughter. Even barking from the other patients confined alongside you. They never let you out of your cell. After losing your voice from screaming for hours those first few days, you decided silence was better. The walls were cold stone. The floor, damp and freezing. The bed had nothing but a threadbare blanket upon a mattress stuffed with the barest bit of cotton imaginable.
Johnathan Harker—the man to whom you were engaged—had confined you here. It had taken three men to hold you down and drag you from the home you were to share and instead to this cell.
Dementia paranoides, they called it. Hallucinations and delusions. Dr. Dumont explained this in a voice one would normally use with small children. You stared off into space while he spoke, more than likely only confirming what he believed to be taking over you.
Johnathan did not visit you. No one did.
Abraham Van Helsing came instead. The priest who had overseen Maria's confinement at this same institution. He examined your teeth, your neck. Asked if Vlad had harmed you in any way. You could only shake your head.
"He will come for me," you whispered, not meeting the Father's gaze as he sat on the edge of the bed in your cell.
Only days earlier you'd been introduced to Vlad, Prince of Wallachia, Count Dracula. Maria, your dear friend who had welcomed you with such open arms after your arrival in Paris, had said he was dying to meet you. You could not understand the need to become acquainted. But as the day went by, pieces fell into place. Memories flooded in.
Dancing in a warmly lit bed chamber. Laughter while bouncing on a red velvet draped bed. The smell of rose petals. A beautiful melody echoing from a music box and into the castle. The feeling of lips on yours. A man's face. His face. Your love, your life.
The moment it finally clicked, a wave of catastrophic emotion invaded you. Every feeling. Every memory. Your life, your marriage, your death.
Vlad had wanted to take you that night, but you had felt it was unsafe, unwise. The tears in his eyes had almost made you reconsider, but you finally convinced him. You wanted no harm to come to him, so you'd made a plan to leave Johnathan, to leave the life you were never meant to live.
But only hours later you were dragged kicking and screaming, confined to a cell, and now diagnosed with the only thing Dr. Dumont could think to use to keep you there.
He tried to tell you these memories of your past life were only delusions, only fantasies created to cope with what Vlad must have done to harm you.
Van Helsing knew otherwise.
“He is a monster, a creature without life, without a soul, without God,” he told you. “My child, it has been nearly two weeks and he has not come for you, do you still truly believe he will? You are just another victim to him, another woman under his spell.”
You’d screamed then. A guttural, animalistic scream. You lunged, clawing at the Father's face. Your nails raked across his right cheek, and you grinned at the sight. Two wards burst in. They pulled you off Van Helsing and injected you with a sedative.
Now, the cold of night crept in while you lay on the floor of your cell. You hummed softly. Your nails ran over the stones, some of the priest's blood still dried beneath them. You felt like you were floating. Whatever they had given you had been strong, and your fighting had ceased, for the day at least.
You could feel your mind slipping. Had you really invented this? This past life? Had a man you barely knew bewitched you? Drugged you? Convinced you that you were a long dead princess, his princess? Was he even real?
You squeezed your eyes shut. Pushed these thoughts away. Vlad was real. Vlad was yours, and he would come for you. A single tear slipped down your cheek, dripping off the end of your nose. You were hungry, thirsty, and so incredibly tired. Sleep hardly came though, and when food or water did it was spoiled and dirty.
Your eyes had finally slipped shut just as the very air in the institution changed. Grew heavy. A scent wafted in—a perfume. Patients grew silent, some cowering, some whimpering softly, a change from their usual hooting.
A shadow made its way through the halls. Quietly. Gliding past cells. Doors opened without a touch of his hand.
He could hear you. Your breathing. Your heartbeat. But it sounded wrong—too soft, too slow.
A final door opened and Vlad stepped in. The patients in the hallway bowed in a way, and he let his fingertips brush theirs as he walked. The only sound was the echo of his polished shoes against stone.
The count stopped at the last cell door. It groaned open for him. The figure inside shifted slightly in their place on the floor.
Vlad's eyes filled with tears. A fire of pure anger blazed deep inside him at just the sight of you. His beloved. His princess. He had waited too many days to come for you.
You were dirty. Clearly famished. Blood stained some of your fingers. You were shivering.
Vlad wasted no time. He fell to his knees and gathered you into his arms. Your head lolled against his shoulder. He feared the worst.
"Please my love, open your eyes, I am here," Vlad insisted softly. His fingers brushed your cheek, moving matted hair from your face. "I'm so sorry, so sorry."
He pulled you even closer to his chest. His unbeating heart broke as he buried his face in your hair. Would you wake? Was he too late?
At risk of losing both his life and you, had he waited too long to bring you home? He'd wanted the Father and Dr. Dumont to let their guard down. They had. But in that period of waiting, Vlad felt he'd caused the loss of you all over again. Every day he left you in this place felt like the day he'd first lost you. You were suffering. He could not help you.
Warmth. The feeling was unfamiliar now, but it caused you to stir. Your eyes opened just slightly. A smell you could recognize a thousand years from now invaded you, taking away the stink and piss you had become accustomed to. Your hand moved. Gripped soft, clean fabric.
Vlad felt as though his dead heart beat again. He pulled his face from your hair to find you looking at him. Eyes drooped. Lips cracked. Face ashen.
When you said his name it was barely a whisper, your dry mouth not allowing you to raise your voice any higher.
To Vlad it was a song unlike any other.
He stood, carefully readjusting his grip on you. "I am so sorry my beloved, I will never leave you again, not a moment, not ever," he spoke softly. His low voice nearly made you cry. You thought you would never hear it again.
You could only nod against his chest. Too tired to speak any more.
Vlad carried you through the halls, careful to avoid any on duty wards. He finally carried you out back and into an almost empty alleyway. The horses and carriage waited for you both.
Vlad climbed into the back. He laid you in an ornate, dark wooded coffin you had yet to see. A portrait of you both adorned the top—a detail you would come to adore later. The inside was lined with plush velvet and silks. You felt as though you could sink into them.
After giving the driver the signal to leave quickly, Vlad climbed in after you. The lid closed of its own accord.
It was so incredibly dark. You barely noticed, only focusing on the feeling of Vlad's arms around you. The feeling of his chest pressed against you. His soft breathing. One of his hands found purchase in your hair, gently brushing through knots. His other hand held firm against your back, keeping you as close as possible.
Your lips parted. Your tongue managed to wet them so you could say softly, "I knew you would find me again."
Vlad kissed your forehead, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. "I will find you in every lifetime again and again if I must."
You shook your head just slightly. "You will not lose me again my prince."
A few tears dripped down the vampire's face as he gripped you even tighter. "This is my fault, I waited too long, I left you to suffer."
Hand moving to cup Vlad's face, your own tears spilled over. "This is not your fault, this is mans. Those men fear you and the things they cannot understand. A life beyond God's design." You paused, catching your breath. "This is what was meant for us. If this is what we had to endure to be with each other again, then I would suffer like this a lifetime to be with you my love. I was told you are my damnation, but you are my reason for being, my love, my life, my king."
Your last few words echoed the last thing you had said to Vlad in your previous life together. He could only smile fondly, looking down at you again.
"And you are my salvation. I will fight for you always, you are all I need, my light in the centuries of darkness." He kissed you softly. The feeling nearly took your breath away. He was and has always been intoxicating.
When Vlad pulled away you were breathless. He kissed your cheeks, your forehead, your nose before telling you to sleep. It was easy to listen to such a command. Your body quickly gave in to exhaustion, combined with the gentle rocking of the carriage.
The lid of the coffin opening woke you this time. Soft candlelight illuminated Vlad's face—he was the first thing you saw. Shadows danced across his harsh features. You reached up, tracing the lines of his face. Your fingertip ran over his cheeks, his eyelids, his lips. He teasingly took your fingertip between his teeth, his fangs glinting in the light.
A giggle escaped your lips before your expression suddenly darkened slightly, more serious. "Change me," you begged softly. "I want to be like you, your flesh, your blood. Then you will not lose me, you will never lose me again."
Vlad winced just slightly. He wanted you. He wanted you by his side, forever. But was forever worth your soul? He was damned to live for eternity—this was his punishment. Would it be punishment for you as well?
"I will never tire of being beside you my love, an eternity with you is worth more than any other life I could live. I promise you my darling, this is what I want." You pressed closer, fingers gripping his shirt again.
You were begging. The thought of being away from him again made you sick, and you couldn't bare the thought of him living without you again in such sorrow. "I cannot imagine any life being better, let people question us, let people be afraid, if anyone dares keep us apart they can go to hell."
The man beside you felt his heart swell just as it had when he'd seen you for the first time again, your photo gracing the inside of Harker's locket.
He moved so that his lips hovered over yours. "I will change you," he said finally, making you grin. "But first, you deserve to come into this life without a trace of what the fear of others has done to you."
In an instant you were out of the coffin. Vlad was carrying you upstairs to your bed chambers. It smelled the same—roses and beeswax and smoke. A fire roared in the fireplace. The velvet sheets you loved so still adorned the bed. You could see your dresses hanging in the closet, your perfumes aligned on your vanity, and your jewelry resting exactly where you had left it.
Vlad carried you into the bathroom. A warm bath was already drawn, filled with bubbles. Vlad carefully set you on your feet. His hands came up, fingers untying the front of the nightgown you'd been put in at the asylum. The thin fabric fell to the floor, exposing you to him. His eyes drank in the sight of you. He kept himself from falling to his knees to worship you properly.
Instead, Vlad helped you into the bath. He made sure you were comfortable before undressing himself, carelessly tossing fabric to the side until he could climb in behind you. He pulled you back against his chest. Your head fell back onto his shoulder and you let out a contented sigh. His lips trailed along your cheek and temple, down your neck along your shoulder. You could get lost in the feeling.
Vlad began pressing kisses to your exposed skin in between helping you clean up. He washed your hair with rose scented soap. Gently scrubbed away any dirt or blood marring your body. Even brushed through your hair, removing any remaining tangles, mats, or knots.
Once you were thoroughly washed and relaxed, he helped you out. Wrapped you in a robe. Sat you on the edge of the bath. He left briefly, kissing your face gently a few times, whispering he would be back quickly when you'd whined in protest of him leaving.
Vlad came back in linen undergarments, a similar nightgown for you over his arm. You removed your robe as he helped you into the soft fabric. When you were dressed your arms wrapped around his waist and you pressed yourself against him, burying your face in his shirt.
Vlad chuckled. His arms wrapped around you and lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as you squealed happily. He carried you from bathroom to the bed, gently lying you down on your back and climbing on top of you. Your fingers tangled in his damp black hair and you brought him down for a kiss. He was never one to deny his princess her needs. He welcomed your grip on him, let you nip at his bottom lip, your tongue exploring his mouth. He moaned when your legs wrapped around him again, a whimper escaping you.
He managed to pull away then. Watched as your chest heaved, your eyes glazed over with need. He smiled, kissing you quickly again before pulling away just as fast.
"You want to be like me, no?" he questioned, eyes scanning your face.
You nodded almost wildly. He couldn't help but laugh, making your lips form a pout, which he carefully kissed away.
"Use your words, I need to hear it." Vlad's voice was soft and low. His lips moved to trail along your neck until they rested against your pulse.
"I want to be like you my love, I want to be eternally yours, body and soul." You were breathless now.
Before you could say anything else, fangs pierced your flesh. You gasped. The pain flooded your body—a stinging sensation, almost burning. But quickly it morphed into nothing but a warm pleasurable sensation. You could feel your blood flowing into Vlad's mouth as he sucked and licked at your neck. You practically whined, gripping the back of his shirt tightly. Slowly you could feel yourself fade, but not in a way you dreaded. In a way that made you feel more alive if that was possible.
Vlad stopped only when you went limp. He held you close, moving to lay back against the pillows, you on top of him, your head on his chest. He could hear your heartbeat slowing. Feel your breathing become shallow. But it did not scare him. This time, your death would mean new life.
Finally, both your heart and breathing stopped. Vlad froze, gripping you tightly. He kept his breathing even, telling himself this time you would wake. This time you would not leave. Your eyes would not dim. Your laughter would not cease. Your body would not rot.
After what felt like hours for Vlad you finally moved. First, you took in a breath. Then your fingers twitched, curling into the fabric of Vlad's shirt. Your eyes snapped open and you lifted your head. Your eyes were wide as you took in the surroundings that were the same but so completely different. Your vision sharper—you could see dust particles floating through the air. Your hearing was elevated. You could hear as the logs in the fire creaked as they burned. The smells of the room overwhelmed you. Finally, your eyes came to land on Vlad.
A smile broke across your face then, fangs on full display for your maker, your love. Vlad fell in love all over again. You were truly the most captivating immortal. Vlad had no time to speak before your lips attached to his again, and with your newfound strength you had him under you then. He laughed, the sound full of pure joy. This made you pull away, grinning wider.
"Forever," you told him, giddier than a child receiving a new toy.
Vlad nodded, reaching up to brush stray hair behind your ear. "Forever," he agreed.
When you leaned down to kiss him again, Vlad gently stopped you. He leaned up, his lips beside your ear, "I have a gift for you."
"What could be better than this gift you have already given me?" you asked him.
"Oh my love, you will want this gift," Vlad reassured.
He guided you from the bed chambers to the crypt where the coffin you would share lay. You could hear the sound of chains. Groaning. Desperate pleas. Rounding a corner you came face to face with a sight that almost made you laugh.
Hanging upside down by chains was Dr. Dumont, Johnathan, and Father Van Helsing. The stone gargoyles who kept watch for Vlad in and out of the castle did a small "ta-da" motion for you, making you clap.
All three men seemed speechless at your presence. All three reeked of fear though, and it smelled…amazing. You could hear their blood pumping, smell it, feel it. You motioned for one gargoyle to lower the Father just a bit so you would be face to face. The man looked desperate. He looked sad. He looked afraid.
"You were wrong Father," you began, trailing a finger along one of the scratches you'd made on his face. "He is not my damnation, but I am surely yours."
With that, you tore into the man's neck. The sweet blood filled your mouth. It was better than any wine or cake you had ever tasted. Better than your first taste of hot chocolate. You moaned.
The two other men were screaming, begging to be let go. Their fear only surged you on. You drank until the blood in the priest ran dry and only then did you detach your lips, your fangs coming away from the flesh with a wet pop.
Blood dripped from your mouth down your chin and neck, staining the nightgown you wore. When you turned towards Vlad he was leaning against the wall, a look of fondness gracing his features. You grabbed his hand. "Drink with me," you told him, laughing from the euphoria coursing through you.
Vlad could not resist such a request, and you both attached yourselves to the doctor next. He screamed and sobbed until he couldn't. You and Vlad released him simultaneously. You grabbed Vlad's face, kissing him deeply. He returned the kiss and you only broke away when you heard a quiet sob, reminding you of the final soul in the room.
Johnathan.
Your former fiancé dangled. Struggled. Sobbed as you came closer, grinning. "Please, please Mina, please this is not you. You are not a monster."
"I am not Mina, and the only monster here is you." You poked the man's chest, making him sway a bit. "You left the woman you claimed to love locked away for weeks without a single visit, and you expect me to grace you with any kindness?"
Johnathan sobbed again, only making you laugh.
"Do not worry, this is a better death than you deserve." You gently brushed the back of your hand against Johnathan's cheek.
Tears ran down the man's face as he continued to beg even when you leaned down, breathing him in. It was truly intoxicating. Your mouth latched to his neck, fangs roughly piercing flesh. Johnathan screamed.
Screams turned into cries. Cries turned into whimpers until they finally faded. Only the sick sound of gurgling remained as you drank from Johnathan's flesh. You released him when you started sucking out only a few drops. Blood ran down your chin steadily now, dripping down your hands and to your arms.
You lifted your right hand to your mouth. Licked your fingers like a child licking away melted ice cream. Vlad watched almost reverently. You were a consecrated being in his eyes, holy in a way that Heaven would never allow. You noticed him watching. A smile spread on your lips. "My favorite gift I have ever received from you my love."
Vlad smirked, moving towards you. Taking you in his arms again. He would never let you go if you'd allow it. "A gift only you could deserve," Vlad hummed, a thumb brushing over your lips, gathering some of the blood of your former lover.
You opened your mouth as if waiting for the Eucharist. Vlad's mouth fell open slightly of its own accord as you took his thumb in your mouth, sucking off the still warm ichor.
Your mouth released his thumb and he grabbed your face in both hands, lips attaching to yours. He pushed you back until you bumped against one of the stone pillars. Jumping, Vlad caught you, your legs on either side of his waist, arms around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair. Pulling away from Vlad, your chest heaving, you smiled. "I can think of another gift you could give to me."
Vlad all but growled at the suggestion when your head moved down so you could place open mouthed kisses to his pale neck, “You are still the one craving I could sustain myself on for centuries."
He turned, once again carrying you from the crypt and to your warm and inviting bed chambers.
Giggling as your back hit the plush bedding you reached for Vlad, bringing him to you again. The count could feel the centuries of loneliness and cold being left behind with each kiss of your lips. You two had eternity together, and for the first time in centuries, eternity felt hallowed.
A/N: Well I loved Dracula: A Love Tale so much that it made me want to write again so that’s saying something honestly. I also know we were all devastated at that ending so here is a little fix it! I hope those fellow Dracula lovers enjoyed this and if you did, please feel free to send in a request! Comments always appreciated. Once again, thank you for reading! 🖤
After the mysterious death of your husband, you meet the man he had been working for at the funeral, and it turns out to be none other than Count Dracula.
He offered you refuge at his castle, claiming your husband was a dear friend. He insisted he could not possibly allow his friend's widowed, pregnant wife to live in a financial crisis.
At first, you reject the idea, claiming it is improper. But after much pressuring, you accept his offer, feeling ashamed of yourself.
You only want your baby to avoid suffering from poverty.
Things seemed like a dream at first.
Dracula's servants treated you like a countess rather than a guest; anything you needed was granted to you on a plate of gold.
However, things take a sinister turn when Dracula begins to assert a possessive claim over your unborn child, referring to it as his own.
This unsettling behavior escalates as he prepares for the baby's arrival, going so far as to construct a nursery within his castle.
Disturbingly, he has even chosen both a male and a female name for the child, further solidifying his intention to claim it as his own.
You understood why the count had been acting so strangely when you walked in on him one day, catching him in the act of drinking the blood of one of the servants.
He hadn't noticed you as he drank, a look of predatory satisfaction on his face.
The servant didn't even have the energy to scream, their skin drained of color.
At that moment, the horrifying reality crashed down on you. All the strange deaths happening in town, the whispers of a bloodthirsty creature lurking in the shadows, it was him all along.
And the two puncture marks on your husband's neck, the ones you had attributed to an accident, were from his own sharp, elongated canine teeth.
"You are the devil," you hiss, the words escaping your lips like a venomous breath.
Moments before, you had fled the noise and chaos of his study room, seeking solace in the quiet of your chambers.
He had followed, his presence as unwelcome as ever.
"Devil? No, my dear," Dracula chuckled, his voice calm.
"I am merely a provider, ensuring the continuation of my lineage."
His words sent a shiver down your spine.
Lineage. Your child.
This wasn't about friendship or kindness; it was about possession.
He saw your unborn child as his heir, a thought that made you feel physically ill.
"You won't have my child," you spat, clutching your swollen belly protectively.
Dracula's eyes, usually filled with a charming warmth, turned cold.
"You have little choice in the matter," he stated calmly, taking a step closer.
"You are under my roof, under my protection. This child," he paused, his gaze piercing through you,
"Will be raised as mine, and you will become my wife."
Panic welled up inside you, choking you with its icy grip, as he reached for your face. His long, cold fingers with perfect, long nails traced your skin.
"I don't want to stay here any longer. I will leave, and you won't hear about me anymore," you declare, your voice trembling with determination you hope your body will soon follow.
"You are not going anywhere," he scoffs, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Because you have nowhere to go, have you forgotten how people view widows? Especially pregnant ones who refuse to remarry? You will be shunned, left to fend for yourself and our child. This is your new and better reality, and you will learn to accept it."
A sharp pain forms in your abdomen, causing you to quickly place your hand on it.
Feeling witness, you look down only to acknowledge that your water has broken.
The vampire count also takes notice, a cruel smile spreading across his face.
"It seems our child has decided to grace us with their presence a little earlier than expected," he purrs, his voice laced with an eerie excitement.
He claps his hands together once, and two servants immediately appear at the doorway.
He commanded in a sharply authoritative tone.
"Prepare for Lady (Y/n)'s delivery. And ensure that everything is perfect in the nursery for our child."
You try to protest, to fight against the iron grip that seems to have closed around your arm, but your words are lost in a wave of pain as another contraction rips through you.
⋆☽◯☾⋆
The piercing cries of a newborn echoed through the stone halls of the castle.
The sound should have brought you relief, but instead, dread coiled tightly around your heart.
Sweat clung to your skin as you lay exhausted in the grand bed of the lavishly prepared covers.
Yet, as you gazed at the tiny, delicate features, the baby now is calm against your chest.
While Dracula stood at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes drinking in the sight before.
He has a family now, a wife and a son.
Walking to your side, he slowly leans down, placing a gentle hand on the baby's head, his touch lingering for a moment as he admires the sleeping child.
Not having the strength to fight him after a long labor, you allow him to have his way this time.
Dracula's smile grows wide as the child opens his eyes, finally deciding on what to name the baby.
Why is there NO fanfics for “Dracula: A Love Tale”. It’s is so wrong to want imagine myself with a vampire lover that will love for the rest of his immortality and will search for me through the centuries????
