Fortress of Blood (Mina Murray Book 2)

by L. D. Goffigan

  “Mina,” he said mournfully, his voice strained and weak once more, his eyes filling with tears. “It is too late.”

  And with those words, he collapsed in my arms.

  8

  Jonathan

  Jonathan’s mind was a blank haze; it seemed as if someone had reached into his skull to retrieve all of his thoughts and recollections. Yet he could still feel memories tugging persistently at the edge of his mind, demanding his attention, until they finally began to unfurl like a spool of thread.

  He was a small boy, riding the Underground with his father for the first time, his small hand clasping his father’s larger one.

  He was a young man, seated next to his weeping mother at his father’s funeral.

  He was attending university, seated in the front row of his classroom, his mind buzzing with new ideas as his professor gave a lecture on ancient Greek law.

  He was at a society ball, staring at a beautiful young woman who hovered on the edge of the dance floor. He did not recognize her from the eligible women he had been introduced to during the Season, and he found himself unable to keep his eyes off of her. Though there was a sadness in the way she held herself—eyes downcast, shoulders slightly slumped—there was also a lightness that seemed to shine from within her, an incandescence that beckoned him to her side like a siren’s song.

  The woman was seated next to him in a carriage. They were riding down Piccadilly, and the rain outside poured down onto the streets with such force that some raindrops made their way into the carriage. Her golden brown eyes were shining with love as she pressed her lips to his. Yes, she was saying. Yes, Jonathan. I will marry you. Happiness like he had never known before exploded in his chest, and he enveloped her in his arms.

  He was in the ballroom at the Langham. The woman was in his arms as they danced the waltz. Mina. The woman was Mina. Her presence in his arms felt like home. But he felt a tension in her, a reticence that had grown increasingly familiar. She was hiding something from him, keeping a part of herself hidden when he wanted to know all of her.

  He was standing alone now, and Mina stood opposite a man on the outside balcony of the Langham. Van Helsing. She was looking at Van Helsing, pained, and the bond—the love—between them was palpable, even from where he stood. Jealous heat rose in the pit of his stomach at the sight of them.

  He was having a row with Mina, turning his back on her, his jealousy too great to heed the pain in her eyes, the shimmer of her tears. And then the ball room was pitch black. A tall man and woman with pale skin and oddly sharp teeth stood in front of him. He was unable to move. From somewhere far away, he heard Mina’s distant voice shouting his name.

  He was in a massive carriage, with elegant decorations and plush seating, like a carriage for the nobility of some faraway country on the continent. There were several other passengers seated in the carriage as well. Two men dressed for a ball, and a younger woman in a maid’s uniform, their faces pale and blank with terror. The carriage hurtled through an unfamiliar countryside, lush with forests. Wherever it was, it was not England. He wanted to speak, to cry out, but his lethargy was too great, and he succumbed once more to the dark.

  When he awoke, the carriage approached a looming medieval fortress that looked as if it had been carved from the very mountaintop it perched upon, like something out of a ghost story.

  He was in a large bedchamber that smelled of musk and age, lying in the center of a four poster bed, unsure of how he had gotten there. Struggling to fight off his fatigue, he tried to sit up, but a woman was suddenly at his side, gently pushing him back down.

  It was the tall woman from the Langham. Her eyes were a startling vivid green, her features so fine that they could have been cut from marble. Her hair was a mass of long golden waves, which fanned over him like a breeze as she leaned down close to him. Despite his disorientation, a primal desire stirred within him.

  “You smell like oak and honey,” she breathed, touching the side of his face, and he flinched. Her fingers were as cold as death. “You look just like the one I lost so very long ago. You will be mine in all things. My mate. Lubirea mea.”

  She smiled, and he jerked away from her, his heart thudding with dread. Her teeth were not human. They were long and sharp, like a wolf’s, and he forebodingly thought of the creatures of folklore . . . vampires.

  As soon as he had the thought, she lunged towards his throat in an impossibly fast move, piercing its delicate flesh with those unnatural teeth. He let out a cry of agony at the pain that shot through him from the bite, and a sudden presence invaded his mind. He heard her voice, though her lips were not moving. I am Ilona. There will soon be a new world. You will help us. You will join us.

  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 e
motions. 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.”

  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 l
ed 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.”