Chapter Text
Jonathan and Mina laid in each other's arms in the narrow berth as the train rumbled through the night. Mina felt his lithe arms wrapped around her back as usual, and she had pressed her face into Jonathan's shoulder, both for the reassuring feeling of pressure and because she had noticed that her eyesight at night had become uncannily good— yet another reminder of what she was becoming. (Had anyone else noticed that her canine teeth looked more like fangs? Surely they did. They just were hoping not to upset her.) Jonathan was already asleep, weary with the tension they all felt.
The chug-a-chug-a-chug-a of the train felt comforting after too many nights lying in the dead-silent asylum, the sounds only broken by an occasional patient wailing or screaming. The white noise of the train blotted out a whole plane of anxious feelings that she didn't even know she had been feeling. Even with the noise, she could hear every little sound Jonathan made— the steady in-out of his breath, the slight twitches of his hands, and the beating of his heart and even the blood pumping through his veins…
She cut the thought off before it could fully formulate, her breath sharpening. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe more slowly.
At least she knew that the others were closer at hand than ever— the Professor and Dr. Seward were sharing the berth directly beneath them, and Quincey and Arthur were sleeping in the berth next to those two. (Though she intellectually knew that bullets were useless against such foes as they faced, it was still comforting to know that the handsome Texan slept with a loaded gun under his pillow.)
The sun had just set, and as usual, Mina felt more awake than she had all day. Increasingly she felt that a great darkness was covering her mind, especially during the day— her head was full of thoughts, but she didn't know which were hers and which were not. To lose this sense of self was worse than anything she could've imagined happening. But she must be strong. She must be very strong.
Trying to distract herself, she moved her face away from Jonathan's shoulder to look at him. Despite the darkness of the train, her eyes could see every line of his poor weary face. His white hair shone silver in the dark, falling in delicate strands over his thick eyebrows. She'd always loved those eyebrows, those earnest eyes with long lashes, that long hooked nose and those tender, sweet lips. His cheek was covered in stubble, and instinctively she reached up to run her fingers along his scratchy face.
With a soft "mm," he stirred and turned his face to kiss the palm of her hand. The kiss sent tingles through her arm, and she felt a warmth stirring in her that she hadn't felt since before their time at the asylum— oh dear heavens, that seemed like years ago, though it had been but days!
For a moment she gave into the feeling of warmth, letting it blossom in her bosom and spread to her body as she leaned into Jonathan's face and pressed her lips against his. He murmured again and she felt him coming awake as he reached up his hand and wove his fingers into her hair, kissing her deeper. She pressed her body closer to his and felt the delicious sensation of his legs entwining in hers through the rumpled blankets.
They had kissed often the past few days, and slept entangled in each other's arms all night, but the touch had been chaste and comforting, and they had not had relations since days before that dreadful night that still loomed in her mind as a wound she thought would never heal. The mark on her forehead had begun to tingle ever so slightly at all times, not enough to hurt but enough to constantly remind her that it was there. That she was unclean. That she was damned unless the monster be slain…
Or unless she became a monstrous creature like the Count, and Jonathan must kill her.
Oh, that he would have the courage to do so!
These thoughts raced by in an instant, and she realized that she had instinctively put a hand to Jonathan's chest, pushing him slightly away. He released her lips in an instant, and took her hand and kissed it chastely. "I'm sorry, my darling," he whispered.
Mina felt a wave of helpless anger, but she dared not show Jonathan. Instead she whispered back, a bit stiffly, "Why do you apologize?"
"For my unwelcome attentions." He untangled his fingers from her hair and stroked her face, gently. "Please, go back to sleep. All will be well."
Unwelcome? I'm the one who kissed you! But Jonathan didn't know that— after all, in the halcyon days of their early marriage (merciful heavens, mere weeks ago), Jonathan would often wake her up in the middle of the night, half-asleep and pressing his lips to any part of her within reach. These midnight interruptions had sparked many a pleasant consummation, and just thinking about these encounters now made Mina's body flush with desire.
Why was he pushing her away now?
She had tried so hard not to worry Jonathan. She had tried so hard to keep her thoughts to herself, to keep these desires under control. She was a Christian woman— or she wished to be, despite the mark of Cain on her forehead. She wished to please her husband, but also… but she wanted…
Her whisper was so quiet that even she could barely hear it. "Do you not want me because I have been debased?"
Jonathan shot up in bed, narrowly missing hitting his head on the low berth. "Darling, no!" he cried, so loud that Mina hushed him. "No," he repeated in a whisper, squeezing her hand as if she would be dragged away from him. "No, oh darling, oh Mina, wife above all wives, darling, never think such a thing!" He kissed her hand over and over, and she saw tears brimming from his eyes.
A well of emotion she had kept locked inside began to overflow, choking her. "Then why? Why have you not approached me for your marital rights for days upon days?"
Even in the darkness, she could see how pale he was. "My darling, I would never think to presume such a thing when I perceive how you react to my touch."
"What do you mean?"
Jonathan seemed at a loss. "How am I to interpret it when my amorous touch makes your face grow hard, and your body rigid, and your hands push me away?"
Mina had not even noticed how tense she was, but now that she thought about it, it was clear— every muscle in her body was flexed as if to spring, and her hand was gripping his tightly. It didn't matter what flood of desire she felt— she realized that her body was ready to fight or flee.
Her mind scavenged for reasons to override this. "You… you still have your rights, regardless of my state," she managed, but Jonathan reacted almost as strongly as he had before, bolting up to lean over her, and clasping her head to his chest.
"Never," he whispered, but she heard the emotion rumbling in his chest. "Darling, I will never, never, never coerce you into anything. God forgive me for ever implying otherwise."
Mina realized she was crying— a gentle, cleansing sort of crying, as if a long-held anxiety was draining from her body. "You never have, my dearest Jonathan. You never have."
He kissed her head, still clasping her hand, and she leaned into his chest, feeling the lean curves of his body through his thin cotton nightshirt. She hadn't seen him undressed in days, and she felt an intense hunger for the sight of his bare chest. But her body was still tense, and Jonathan was being so sweet and chaste and kindly. She fought to keep her desires at bay. Surely this was not the time.
Jonathan leaned down his head to hers and whispered in her ear, "What do you wish?"
"Only for us both to sleep well and be kept in God's safety for another night."
Jonathan pulled away slightly and touched her chin, tilting her face toward his as gently as was possible. She looked full in his beautiful face— for once she was happy that she could see clearly in the dark, to drink it in— and found herself trembling in anticipation.
"Please, dearest," he said. His voice was steady, even, but she saw how dilated his pupils were, and heard his heartbeat racing. "Tell me what you want."
The thought of what she wanted came into her head, fully-formed, but she flinched away from it in disgust and fear. She couldn't look him in the face, and jerked her head free to press her face against his collarbone again.
"I can't tell you," she whispered.
He stroked her hair. His heart was still racing. "Please, darling, trust me."
"It's too dreadful."
Still the even, comforting stroking. "That is impossible."
"I want…" Again, the thought, the thought she was desperately fighting to keep at bay. "I want your blood."
Jonathan's body stiffened, and his heart beat louder and faster than ever. Mina held her breath, waiting… for what?
Now that she had spoken the words aloud, did she really think that Jonathan, her Jonathan, who had clasped her to his breast without so much as flinching right after she had been violated, would be anything but kind to her after that? Did she really trust him so little?
…Why was he unbuttoning his shirt?
With one hand he gently stroked her hair, and with the other she felt him undoing the top button of his nightshirt. He gently parted the folds, and as she lifted her head from his chest, she saw that he had loosened the collar so that his white neck and throat were fully exposed.
Again, she could barely even speak the words in the tiniest whisper. "What are you doing?"
He stroked her face, looking at her with a radiant warmth. "My darling, if you desire my blood, you may have every last drop."
She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him he was out of his mind, to say that he was under some fearful vampiric spell, but he shook his head slightly, and that stopped her short.
"Mina," he said softly, "don't you understand by now? Anything you ask of me, I will give you. Anything." He moved her hand to his neck, and she felt the throb of his pulse in the vein. "Anything."
She sat rigid, feeling the blood moving through his warm body.
"So I ask you again. What do you want?"
The black cloud that hovered over her felt thicker than ever.
"I'm frightened," she whispered.
"I'm not."
Jonathan's unshakable calm in that moment gave her a moment to breathe. If what she feared most was something he did not, then…
For the first time, she didn't try to stop herself from imagining the sensation of biting down on his throat. Feeling her teeth break the skin, feeling his body convulse with pain— and perhaps pleasure— drinking in the sweet dark blood she was craving.
But was that really what she wanted?
Or had that thought come from elsewhere?
As she turned toward the thought— not running from it, not fearing it, but actually considering it for the first time since it had occurred to her— it seemed to shrink. What power it had held over her these past few days, and how hard she had tried to ignore it! But now she saw it for what it was: small, meddling, pathetic.
It was a desire she felt, but it was not her desire.
And if it wasn't, what was?
Jonathan was motionless but relaxed, holding her loosely, letting his pulse race against her sensitive fingers. He never stopped looking at her, an unflappable calmness emanating from him.
She looked up and blushed a little. "Have you noticed that I have fangs now?"
"Yes, darling, and they are beautiful."
She let out a tiny giggle, and felt the tension melting away, but instead of the giddy weakness of relief, she felt a power welling up in her, a power that she could feel and name as her own.
"I know what I want."
Jonathan kept his gaze steady on her, his pulse pounding beneath her fingers.
"And it's not your blood."