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When his eyes opened, all he saw was darkness. Had he opened his eyes at all? Was he in his bed?
No, that couldn’t be the case. His room was never this dark, even with the candles out and the curtains drawn. That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that his legs were not - could not be- stretched out. His neck was sore from being bent at an odd angle and there were no pillows, no blankets, and no silken duvet to cushion the hard edges of this tiny room.
Was it a room, though? Or was it a tomb?
Lestat felt around himself and estimated that this room - nay this box - was only about a meter and a half either way. His hands felt further, around the walls and above his head. Finally, his fingertips brushed along the edge of what felt like an opening and he pushed at it. The door above him moved only a few centimeters. It was just enough room to peer out of.
Lestat’s gray eyes adjusted to the moonlight outside his box, illuminating the room with an ethereal glow. He saw two other boxes, identical to his own. He wondered, briefly, if he was not the only one being kept in this room. In a box. What cruelty would possess someone to do this to another human being?
Moving his head slightly, Lestat pressed his lips to the tiny crack. “Hello?” He called. “Hello, is anyone there?” He then took to peering out of the crack again, searching for any sign of movement or life. When none could be seen, he pounded at the lid with his fist and called again. “Hello?!”
Just then, a shadow covered his line of sight and there was the distinct sound of latches being slid open. The lid opened and Lestat pressed himself into one tiny corner, as far away from the man as he could get. “Hello.”
He recognized that voice. That charming smile and those dark, gleeful eyes.
“You called for me,” The man pouted with a slight tilt of the head. “And so here I am. Now you don’t wish to see me? A man’s manners are a mirror in which he shows his portrait, my dear.”
Lestat found himself uncurling, bringing a hand up to his throat. He could feel the raised scar there. It was tender and yet painless at the same time. Part of him did not wish to upset the Count above him; whether that desire came from a place of self-preservation or a willingness to please, he wasn’t sure yet.
“Where am I?” Lestat asked, daring to take to his knees and look around. “How did I get here?”
Dracula simply made his way over to another box and leaned against it, tangling his own fingers before him in a relaxed sort of way; though, Lestat had no doubt he could reach him in less than a moment if he wished to. “You are in Castle Dracula in Transylvania. You arrived here by ship, and then by carriage; all journeys free of charge, of course.” Dracula’s smile grew, revealing those dangerous teeth. “And quite the journey it was, too. I cannot say I’d want to take another one like it for quite some time. The seas were rough and the company was…flavorless.”
Lestat gripped the edge of the box and attempted to stand, though he couldn’t seem to get his legs beneath himself. He mostly leaned against the edge and peered up at Dracula from his lashes. “I feel like I have been asleep for a hundred years.”
“And so you may have.” At Lestat’s wide-eyed, terrified glance, Dracula chuckled. “Do not worry. It has only been five weeks.”
Still, Lestat’s heart sunk. Five weeks?
“Nicolas..” He mourned. How worried his dear friend must be! Lestat never left him for longer than a few days without writing or saying goodbye.
“Is still in Paris. All of your friends understood what I am to you. It took some amount of persuasion and I suspect that they may have had their fill of me by the end of it.” There was that smirk again. “I certainly had my fill of them.”
Lestat looked over at him, brows furrowed in the middle. “What are you?”
“Oh, lovely lovely boy.” Dracula cooed and stood from the box, making his way back over and gently holding the younger man’s chin in one large hand. “I’m your master.”
Lestat wanted to rip his face from the Count’s hand and rage. He wanted to bash him in the face, cut his throat, and escape. But he did none of those things. He simply stared into those too-dark eyes. “What more than that?”
Dracula’s full lips spread about his teeth as he grinned, so close that Lestat would have been able to feel his hot breath had he air in his lungs. “My sweet, golden gentleman. You know exactly what I am.”
“You would have me say what I believe and then laugh at me.” Lestat countered. “I know what you are but I know that it cannot be.”
“Can’t it?” Dracula all but purred.
“I know that you are dangerous-”
“Would you like me to show you?” Dracula interrupted.
“-and I know that you are a thief in the night. You put me under your spell and you-”
“Well I’m not a witch.” Dracula chuckled. “The only spell you were under was your own desire for me.”
“Do not.” Lestat warned, eyes wild in a way that delighted the Count. “Do not do that.”
“Do what?” Dracula’s head tilted and his brows furrowed in what could be perceived as sympathy. What a poor creature Lestat must be, to earn such a look.
“Do not have me believe that this was my fault! That I fell into your charms like some naive colleen! You bit me and you made me sleep for five weeks so you could bring me…here!”
“Well-” Dracula drawled and leaned out of his space. “When you put it that way.”
Lestat felt like sputtering. What other way was there to put it?
“You would have never agreed to come with me on your own.” Dracula reasoned. “And I told you, I get lonely. I was down a bride and you caught my eye.”
“So you take me?” Lestat asked, suddenly feeling ever the prince he used to be. “You take me without my consent?”
“Oh no, you agreed to come visit me. You seemed rather excited about it, if I recall. About me.”
“Of course! I thought that you might take me to bed; not steal me away!” Lestat argued, and then suddenly exhausted, sunk against the box.
“You really should be thanking me.” The Count sighed and tugged gently at the hem of his own sleeve, pulling it further over his hand.
“Thanking you?” Lestat asked.
“Yes. You should be grateful. I was going to drain you in that alley and leave you there.” The vampire shrugged, ignoring Lestat’s wide-eyed look of fear and regret. “Instead, I’ve given you a castle and eternal life. A place, at my side, forever.”
Lestat stood on shaking legs. “I am leaving.” He pulled himself out of the box and promptly fell onto the stone floor below, giving Dracula a fair bit of amusement. The vampire simply watched, arms crossed as he stepped out of his way.
“Please. You have baby legs and the sun is coming up in an hour. You won’t make it to Bistritz.” Dracula teased and then knelt before him. “Stay, for just a week. If, by the end of the week, you still wish to leave Castle Dracula, you have my word; I will send for my calèche and have you on the first ship out of Varna.”
Lestat knew that what he was saying was the truth. His legs were electric with feeling returning to them. He would have to rest until they were strong again. Even then, he was not familiar with the Carpathian mountains and he did not know how he might even make it out. He had no choice.
Sitting up against the box, Lestat nodded in resolution. “A week.”
Dracula’s grin grew impossibly wide, teeth bared in his excitement. “Lovely. Now, let’s get you something to eat. You’ll need the energy.” Dracula’s arm slid around Lestat and pulled him up, helping him out of the room and then locking the door behind him.