He Took Me in the Night

Chapter XII: Connected

“My Life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have not had much time for friendships… and I feel more than ever… the loneliness of my life. Believe, me, then, that I come here full of respect for you, and you have given me hope... that there are good women still left to make life happy."-Bram Stoker, Dracula

Chapter XII: Connected

“This was my mother Elizabeth Mary Collins,” Drake says, after he reaches into his tuxedo breast pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper. “I keep it close to my heart to remind me where I came from and who I am.”

I take the piece of paper from him and bring it closer to my face. The photo’s tattered, in black and white and the date’s faded, but the beauty of the young woman is as clear and astounding as the moon. She had blond curly hair, a heart shaped face, a freckled nose, high cheekbones and a smile that was incredibly joyful. I take a mouthful of potato salad and I have trouble swallowing it.

“I don’t look like her at all,” Drake says, smiling sadly at the photograph, the grey pools of his eyes scrutinizing his deceased mother’s face. “But my father told me that I have her eyes.”

I lean forward, entwine our fingers together and squeeze his hand reassuringly. Drake looks up from the photograph at me, his thick cute eyebrows almost touching each other in a somber line. He looks so sad. I offer him what I hope is an encouraging smile and he sighs. I put the plate of food and glass of wine to the side as I realise I’m not hungry anymore.

“My mother was sacrificed to the castle three nights prior to the anniversary of The Princess of Night’s slaying. She was deemed to be a slave for one of my father’s friends, Endymion, he was a kind vampire and didn’t want to abuse her, but she…” Drake trails off, almost choking on the words. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and he looks down to our interlaced fingers.  

I squeeze his hand again. “It’s okay. I’m here for you,” I tell him.

Drake tries to smile, but it looks more like a pained grimace. “-But she never had a chance. My father went crazy the night of the anniversary and searched for Nyx. My mother was unlucky. It could have been anyone, but she was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he says, shaking his head woefully.    

“What happened to her?” I ask, my voice small.

“My father found her walking in the gardens. The moonlight bathed her face in white rays and somehow he deluded himself into thinking she was his lost lover. My mother looked nothing like The Princess of Night and she tried to tell him her name was Elizabeth and that she was just a human girl, but my father wouldn’t listen…” he trails off again, looking out over the horizon as if he were speaking to himself.

I wait patiently for him to speak again, giving him time to let the devastation of his story rock through him, but then his face turns emotionless and his voice is cold when he speaks again. “Then he raped her. She fell pregnant and conceived a half human-half immortal son. Me.”

I take in a deep breath and let my lungs fill deep with the sweet, masculine scent that comes off his skin to calm me. I thought I had enough reasons to despise Lord Stoker; he stole my future, threatened my mother, had one of his men hurt my father, but now I’ve learnt of him tarnishing the innocence and happiness of a young woman who should have had a chance at life. But I think the saddest, most heartbreaking thing of all is what he has done to his son. 

“My father cast her aside when he was finished with her and locked her up in the dungeon. He ordered his men to give her food, but he forbid anyone from helping her with the birth. She haemorrhaged to death and I was found lying in her lifeblood,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now.