She was in his mind. He shrank away from her, this dark beauty who could not be human. He opened his mouth to plead with her, to beg her to let him go, but darkness enveloped him.
The hours and days began to intermingle, and he soon lost track of how long he lay there. At some point a man was in the bedchamber, standing over his bed, silently watching him. It was the man from the Langham. Like Ilona, his fine features were sharp and beautiful, but the black eyes were cold. He was asking him questions. Questions about London. When he did not answer, for he could not, his throat dry and his mind foggy, the man whirled towards Ilona, who hovered behind him.
“He needs to be lucid to help us,” he hissed. “I told you not to begin the transformation until he gives us the information we need!”
“There was no need to wait,” Ilona replied. “He has moments of lucidity. His strength will return to him once the transformation is complete.”
“That could take weeks . . . months!” the man roared, taking a threatening step towards Ilona, who did not flinch. “Get the information or I will force it from him.”
From somewhere beneath his numbness, panic flared from the place where he still existed. What information did they want from him? To what end?
The man left, and he was alone with Ilona once more. She asked him about London, and he willfully remained silent, grateful that he was temporarily lucid.
“You need to tell us some things about London, Jonathan, or Vlad will kill you. He has already killed the other men. There are many vacant lodging houses in and around London. You have handled them in the past. We need access to them. We need to know where they are. Do you remember?”
“Why?” he croaked. It hurt to speak, and he had to force the word past his lips.
What other men was she referring to? And then he thought dimly of the other two men in the carriage that had brought him here, and a flicker of panic went through him.
“London will be the place where our new world begins. But we need your help, lubirea mea,” Ilona said. The desperation was gone from her voice now, replaced by a seductive purr.
Jonathan was overcome by horror and revulsion. What was she referring to? What new world? He took in her unnaturally pale skin, the sharp teeth. Vampire, he thought again. Had he gone mad?
“Tell me, love,” Ilona whispered, her cold hand once again on his face, and he shivered with revulsion. “Then you can sleep. I know you are very tired. You need to rest to regain your strength.”
Jonathan looked away from her beautiful face. He may be fading, losing himself, or even going mad, but he would not help them. This new world was not something he would help bring about.
“Never,” he said, and though his voice was faint and weak, the word was firm.
A long silence fell, and Jonathan thought that she had left the room. But when he turned back to look at her, she had gotten to her feet and now stood over him. The look on her face scared him, because it was blank, though her eyes glittered with a quiet rage, and her blood red lips curled into a dangerous smile.
“Very well, my love,” she said, her voice lighter and more musical than usual, like a child taunting a butterfly. “Very well.”
That was when the pain began.
At first, the torment was relegated to his emotions. Ilona could somehow make him see things. He could see his beloved Mina, but she was with Van Helsing, their naked bodies entwined in heated passion. Hot jealousy seared the inside of his chest like acid, and he struggled to close his mind to the images, but they were all he could see. Ilona’s voice was also in his mind, her words a quiet taunt. Your betrothed has betrayed you. She is glad you are gone. She loves this Abraham Van Helsing. You see the truth of my words.
“No,” he croaked aloud, tears rising behind his closed eyelids. “No.”
“Yes,” Ilona whispered.
She was next to him now, curled into him like a lover as he drifted in and out of consciousness, stroking his face, the coldness of her hands now oddly soothing against his feverish skin. “She is with him even now. She is coming to kill you.”
Jonathan pleaded with her to stop, to release his mind, but the torment continued. All of his memories of Mina were tainted, and he could only see her with Van Helsing. They were at the ball at the Langham, kissing passionately, their eyes shining with love for each other. They were in the carriage riding down Piccadilly, pledging to wed. Again and again, they were naked in each other’s arms—loving, hot and rapturous. His Mina telling Van Helsing she was glad he was gone. Jonathan never knew me, not truly. I never loved Jonathan. Only you. How I’ve longed for you. And he was alone here, in this strange place, this fortress of blood and nightmares.
When the images finally stopped, the pain turned physical. He awoke in the grimy cell of a dungeon, his wrists chained to the stone wall behind him. Ilona and Vlad stood opposite him, and in a sudden flash, Vlad was on him, his cold hands on his throat, strangling him until he was certain death was upon him. Vlad released him, allowing him to take in some air before strangling him again, continuing the cycle until Jonathan gasped and pleaded for mercy. When Vlad finally left the dungeon, and he thought his torment was at an end, Ilona was on her knees before him, yanking his neck towards her. She drank from him, her jagged teeth painful against his skin, and he could feel his life drain from him, making him grow even weaker still. They would then leave him alone for hours—days?—and the chains around his wrists grew so tight that his skin began to chafe with blood.
The cycle continued like a macabre dance of death. Vlad strangling him, Ilona draining him, hours of isolation.
“Tell us what we want to know, lubirea mea.”
Ilona’s voice lulled him out of a black sleep. He weakly lifted his head, barely managing to meet her brilliant green eyes. He did not remember why they held him here or what he had done. He just wanted the agony to end.
“I will tell you whatever you want to know,” he whispered. “But please, no more . . .”
His voice broke, and he was weeping. Her arms went around him, and he found himself leaning in to her. She turned his trembling face towards hers. She kissed him, and he numbly returned it, feeling a sudden and intense craving for her. He had been cold and lonely for so long.
He was seated in an enormous library, where maps of London, Europe, and other continents dotted the walls. Ilona was at his side, helping him sit upright. Vlad stood opposite them, watching as Ilona helped him remember, probing his mind. A long time ago, she told him, he used to be a solicitor in London. She slid a map in front of him, urging him to recall specific details. With her guidance, he was able to comb through his memory, pointing out vacant row houses, homes, and estates in and around the city. He signed documents they slid towards him. Some part of himself protested as he gave them the information, but he could not recall why.
Vlad’s cold expression had vanished, transforming to one of eagerness, and he looked to Jonathan like a starved and ravenous beast who had finally been given prey to feast upon.
“You did well,” Ilona said, once Vlad left the room, her beautiful face lit with a wide smile. “You can rest now.”
He was back in the bedchamber, drifting in and out of consciousness. He continued to crave Ilona’s presence, to want her near him. He no longer fought nor flinched when she drank from him, and he eagerly accepted her wrist when she pressed it to his mouth, whispering for him to drink.
In his more lucid moments, he realized with an odd detachment that something was happening to him. He was becoming . . . something. Something better, something greater. Something more. He could no longer recall his past; who he had been before. Occasionally, there were memories of a beautiful woman with golden eyes and black hair, but he did not know who she was, and soon the images of her faded completely from his mind.
And then he was in the great hall. That same vaguely familiar woman was on her knees in front of him. She was shouting at him, her desperation plain.
“It’s me, Mina.”
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br /> At her words, something stirred on the edges of his mind. A memory? Of what? But Vlad had his hands on the woman’s neck, squeezing, and some small part of himself protested at the sight. All at once, there were dozens of vampires in the great hall, fighting amongst themselves, and Ilona was dragging him away, and they were once again in the bedchamber where he had spent days and nights drifting in and out of consciousness.
The familiar woman was somehow in the bedchamber with them, pleading with him.
“Jonathan, it’s me! Mina! Your Mina!”
But he could not remember her. His mind was enveloped in a strange fog. Ilona commanded him to kill the woman, and he felt his feet moving forward, but the woman halted him with a memory.
The rainy carriage ride in Piccadilly. He blinked, and the memories which had always been there beneath the fog slowly resurfaced, flooding his mind in a deluge.
Mina. The woman was Mina. His hands were on her soft face as she raised tear filled golden eyes to his, smiling. His beloved Mina.
But Ilona was soon on Mina, on the verge of killing her. He threw Ilona away from her, astonished at his sudden strength.
When he ran with Mina out of the fortress of nightmares, he felt as if he had been torn asunder. There was the Jonathan Harker of London, son of William and Mary Harker, solicitor, fiancé of Mina Murray. And there was this Jonathan. The Jonathan who still craved Ilona’s presence, who possessed great strength and a strange and overwhelming thirst. He struggled to hold onto the former Jonathan, to the man he had been.
Yet as they escaped from that horrible place, everything seemed different. He could smell everything, from the salt tears of the human prisoners to the coppery smell of blood on their skin and clothes. He could hear the sound of a running creek that must have been kilometers away. He could even sense Van Helsing’s anxiety for Mina, along with his obvious love for her. And he could sense an amalgamation of emotions. Rage. Pain. Fear. Desperation. Desire. And the overwhelming scent of blood. A scent he recognized from Vlad and Ilona. Vampires.
They ran, and once they were in the safety of the fortified village, the overwhelming weakness he had been battling took over his body. He now knew that he had been transformed during his captivity. He was now vampire. A monster.
He sank to his knees and whispered his goodbye to Mina, his beloved, and as soon as the words slid past his lips . . . there was nothing.
9
The Ceremony
“His human body is dying.”
Gabriel’s words reverberated throughout the kitchen like a cannon shot. I closed my eyes, leaning back to support myself against the rickety table behind me, unable to stifle a strangled sob. Abe and Seward were silent, but I could sense their horror from their stricken expressions. I was too late, I thought hollowly. I failed.
After Jonathan collapsed, Abe and Seward carried him into the bedroom of a nearby empty cottage. There, he drifted in and out of consciousness while whispering about the terrifying details of his imprisonment—mental and physical torture in a dungeon, a beautiful woman draining him of his blood, her words enslaving his mind—and I had to urge him to be silent, to save his strength.
Gabriel entered moments later, and I hovered anxiously as Gabriel and Abe examined him, exchanging grave looks. Gabriel led me out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where he delivered his pronouncement.
Now, I remained stiff with shock as Gabriel continued. “He has lost a great deal of blood. He’s begun the transformation. His human body will soon die, and he will become vampire.”
“No,” I rasped, wildly shaking my head as I opened my eyes, now awash with tears. I had no doubt that Ilona had given Jonathan her blood. If the transformation was still affecting Jonathan, Ilona had survived her fall and was still alive. “We can still stop it. We must stop it. We . . . we can kill his maker,” I added, recalling Greta’s observations back in Amsterdam. “That could stop the transformation from taking hold.”
“It is possible to stop it,” Gabriel agreed, after a hesitant pause. “But we would have to find Ilona quickly and kill her. Otherwise, the transformation will be permanent.”
“Will giving him human blood stave off the transformation?” Abe asked. “I have the equipment to perform a transfusion.”
“Yes,” Gabriel replied. “But not indefinitely. The only way to stop it completely is to find Ilona and kill her.”
“I can give blood for the transfusion,” I said, determination rising beneath my despair. But I still felt a surge of frustration as I recalled how close I had been to killing Ilona. If only I had succeeded. . .
“Mina, it took some time for you to get to Vlad and Ilona,” Gabriel said delicately. “It could take us even more time to hunt them down again, now that they know we’re looking for them.”
“Then we must move quickly. Ilona supplied him with her blood,” I said, shuddering at the thought. “They must be linked, as Lucy was linked to the one who transformed her. We can track her through Jonathan.”
“If her brother survived the attack on the fortress, it’s likely she went to join him,” Seward said. “We won’t know if Vlad’s been killed until we meet Radu and the others in Debrecen. We need to consider where Vlad and Ilona would go.”
I realized with consternation that if they had both survived, they could be anywhere in Europe by now. Anywhere in the world. If Jonathan were unable to track her, we would lose them both.
“To . . . to London.”
The voice was raspy and weak, and it came from behind us. We all whirled in surprise.
Jonathan leaned heavily against the doorway of the bedroom, struggling to hold himself upright. Worried, I hurried towards him.
“You need to be lying down. You need rest,” I said gently, taking his arm and guiding him back into the bedroom. He reluctantly settled back down in the small bed, but intently held my eyes.
“Vlad and Ilona would go to London. They are going to London,” he repeated, as the others entered the bedroom. “My memory is shaky, but I do remember that they asked me a great deal about London. They made me point out vacant row houses and estates in and around the city,” he added, his voice dropping with shame.
The room fell silent at his words. Abe had correctly surmised that Vlad was planning to launch his attack from London. It was an ideal location, teeming with millions unaware of the coming danger. I set my rising panic aside, placing my hands on the sides of Jonathan’s feverish face.
“Let us concern ourselves with Vlad and Ilona. You’ve been through enough.”
Jonathan’s gaze strayed to the men, seeming to hold on Abe.
“Please leave us. I wish to talk to Mina alone.”
The men obliged, though I felt Abe’s lingering look as he turned to leave. Once we were alone, Jonathan reached up for my hands, linking his cold fingers with mine as he pressed his trembling lips to my knuckles in a kiss. I blinked back tears as I took in the pallor of his skin, the bruises on this throat. What torment had he undergone in that fortress? If only I had gotten to him sooner.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“You’re apologizing?” Jonathan breathed, his hazel eyes meeting mine in abject disbelief. “You owe me no such thing. You put yourself in great danger to rescue me. That woman—that creature—did something to my mind. My thoughts were not my own. Had I been kept there any longer, I would have been lost forever.”
He reached out to pull me into his arms, lovingly stroking my hair. We sat still in each other’s arms for a long moment; the only sound in the room my ragged breaths and his faint ones. He is here with me now, I assured myself. I had rescued him from those monsters, and I would stop the transformation from taking hold. I had to. I blinked back more tears, tightening my grip around him, as if to prevent him from being taken once again.
“I remember being at the Langham, and then in a carriage. We were traveling through the countryside, and then I was—” he haltingly began.
“Jonathan,
no. You have just been through a great ordeal. You do not have to tell me about it now,” I protested, recalling his delirious whispers about his imprisonment with a shudder.
“I–I want to. I fear it is the only way to purge the memories from my mind. And it could help you,” he replied.
I had to force myself to remain stoic as he told me what he recalled of his time with Vlad and Ilona. The other two male vampires who had come to the Langham with Vlad and Ilona were loyal followers of Vlad, but he never saw them while he was imprisoned in the fortress. He had lost track of the women who had also been abducted, nor did he have any contact with the other prisoners. He had been kept in a bedchamber away from anyone else. He did confirm that Vlad had killed the other two men kidnapped from the ball, and I surmised that the young maid had not survived as well—we hadn’t seen her amongst any of the prisoners.
I stifled my jealousy as he told me of Ilona’s attentions and her obvious desire for him. I realized that Jonathan had been abducted not only for his knowledge of vacant housing in London, but because of Ilona’s apparent obsession with him, and that was likely the reason Vlad had not killed him. She wanted him as her mate.
When he was finished, he looked thoroughly unsettled. I moved closer to him, wrapping my arms around him and holding him close.
“You are safe from her now,” I whispered. “I promise.”
“I know that this is not an illness,” he said, after a long stretch of silence. “What I saw in that fortress . . . I would not have believed if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes. I–I know what is happening to me. I–I am changing. Becoming like those monsters. Vampires,” he concluded with a whisper.
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