Dinner was a sad and lonely affair for Erinna. She couldn’t even get the food past her constricted throat, not that she could chew it anyway. Her jaw was still on fire from the slap the Count had given her. She was surprised that he had not knocked off a tooth.
After nearly choking on a spoonful of her expertly made shrimp soup, she decided it was not worth it. She was still enraged at Dracula’s audacity, his mere colossal nerve to raise a hand to her. Her head was still ringing with the impact. He could not even pretend to be civilised with her for a few hours yet expected her to marry him for the rest of her life.
A sense of peace washed over Dracula as he arrived in the dungeons, a place he had spent a lot of time and energy designing to the last perfect detail. It was like a second home. The dungeons were built in a maze form that ensured no one who entered them could escape them. Not that they could, even if they did manage to find their way magically; the exits were bound by an ancient spell that one of Dracula’s sorcerers had unearthed.
As the Count and his right hand man dark cells with groans, moans and dying gasps emanating from within, Dracula’s blood raced with unhealthy excitement. Apart from his bride’s heaven-sent, magical voice; screams of pain and fear were his favourite type of music.
Bony, skeletal fingers held the sturdy iron bars of every cell with a death grip, begging for a quick death; something he was not generous with.Alexander led Dracula to the torturing chamber where man hung from the ceiling with his hands bound together above him; exposing him to any form of torture his captors might have in mind for him.
The Count smiled, a completely inappropriate and unexpected gesture given his surroundings. The man, a human was covered in blood, remnants of his sessions with the Count’s right had man.
“We found him snooping around in the bar, asking about the Countess,” Alexandra explained.
The news made Dracula extremely angry to the point where he was only seeing red and the urge to tear the man’s carotid became unbearable. It was only the promise of sweet long torture that stopped him from ripping the man’s heart out right then. He had to suffer for even thinking about his property; so Dracula reigned in his demons.
“Who are you?” Dracula asked, it was a stalling question as he tried to come up with the most agonising form of torture for the meddling fool before him.
“Go to hell,” the man spit out, a decision he clearly didn’t think through.Anger flared through Dracula at the blatant disrespect and in less than a millisecond he had fetched an iron pole which had been going through steady heating in the furnace.
“I don’t think we have been properly introduced; my name is Dracula, and you better start talking,” he said driving the heated iron into the man’s side and roasting his guts. His cries were loud, angry and annoying, tempting Dracula to just end his life there and then and do the whole world a favour.
“I know who you are you bastard, she is not your Countess!” The man spluttered after a semi recovery from his pain. The Count growled angrily and dangerously, not reacting well to the indirect challenge.
“If I were you I’d shut up; you do not want to mess with me right now.” The words were spoken calmly but the warning was loud and clear. For the man’s sake, Alexander hoped he heeded the warning. Only he knew that Dracula was at his most dangerous and a second from snapping your neck when he was this calm.