Substance in Shadow
by E. R. Fiennes
Someone was watching him. Alexander Lucard lay perfectly
still, pretending to be asleep, as he tried to decide who could
possibly have gained entrance to his rooms. At first, he had thought
that it might have been Klaus, stealing a few moments of rapt
adoration, but it was hardly possible that Klaus could have stood
there so quietly for so long. No, it was someone else paused in
lengthy contemplation of him where he lay as he'd cast himself on his
bed a few minutes earlier, arms behind his head, wrapped in crimson
silk pajamas and a half-belted black robe.
Lucard
had often paused so himself in the past, standing in the bedroom of
some lovely young creature, savoring the beauty before he took the
blood, but he was not accustomed to be on the receiving end of such
gazes. It was a curious sensation; he felt exposed, vulnerable. He
forced himself to remain relaxed, breathing shallowly. The intruder's
behavior puzzled him, though, and he was relieved when after another
five minutes he could hear the footsteps slowly draw nearer to his
bed. Closer, closer...
With a
snarl, he opened his eyes and sprang up, seizing the wrist of his
visitor and flinging him down onto the bed. The stranger did not
resist, but remained where he had fallen, looking up at him with an
appreciative smile. Lucard stared down, with the blurred sense that
he was seeing something impossible, though he did not know why. He
was looking at a slim, strikingly handsome man in well-made evening
clothes and a cape lined in red. The man's eyes were grey, his hair
gold, his features delicate. No, far more than just delicate;
hauntingly memorable and disturbingly familiar; they were features he
had seen in a hundred different approximations over the centuries,
each whirling through his mind in an instant until he realized...
"Yes,
Dracula," Alexander Lucard said, "it's me."
"How did
you get here?" Lucard demanded. The suspicions--it could be a
trick, it could be Nosferatu--had risen automatically, making his
tone harsh, his posture threatening as he bent over him, but they
were already fading away. He was not blind: it was himself
staring out of those eyes which met his with such amused familiarity
and utter assurance. The recognition between them was immediate,
penetrating, total. Suspicions? Absurd. They had already melted away,
forgotten in the overwhelming intimacy.
"Through
the void."
"Where
did you come from?"
"Ten
years in the future."
"Then
the void can be used for time travel."
"Yes."
The other Lucard frowned slightly. "Though I did not intend to do so.
Gustav Helsing was pursuing me, and the tiresome old fool knocked me
off-course."
"He's
still alive?"
"Nobody's perfect."
"Don't
bet on it," Lucard answered, and his double smiled at him
indulgently, bewitchingly. None of the pictures had done him justice;
even his own memory had played him false. It was with an effort that
he recalled his attention to the present. "Are you all right?"
"I could
hardly be better."
"The
same as always, then."
"Ah..."
The smile grew subtler. "I'm just as charming as I thought."
"Exactly
as much, in fact."
He
laughed. "Of course."
"Do you
need anything from me besides my undeniable charm?"
"For the
evening--only a place to stay."
"And for
tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow I must go into the void again."
"What a
pity," Lucard said, glad to be able to abandon the questions and give
himself up to gazing in fascination at himself. He had always
suspected that he looked particularly fine in modern clothes, but he
had never had any way of proving it to himself. Until now. It
certainly was proof, more than he could have asked for. The way that
slender form lounged indolently against the bed, strength subdued to
grace, perfectly shaped limbs arranged with careless charm, the
handsome face with its cool, challenging eyes that were meeting his
so knowingly now...It was no wonder no one could refuse him.
He could not resist. He did not want to. He reached to touch
the cheek, and even before he had begun to move the face had tilted
up to meet him in an inviting gesture that was dizzying to witness.
The skin was soft, and just the warmth of his own fingers: uncanny.
Right.
"Isn't
it?" the other murmured, his eyes half-closed. "You are
exquisite."
"That's
why you were watching me."
"Yes. I
knew you were awake, of course, but you looked so splendid lying
there I didn't want to spoil the show."
"Of
course. I recognize beauty wherever I find it."
"And
possess it." They drew together for a kiss in half-conscious,
wholly willing unison. His double's mouth was soft, supple,
impossibly responsive. Lucard ran his fingers down the throat,
stroking the sensitive skin there, and the other shuddered with
pleasure, just as he knew he would, just as he was shuddering
himself. His thumb sought unerringly for the pulse in the neck, and
he sighed with satisfaction as he found it. The heart beat exactly in
time with his. How he had tried to fashion other lovers in this
mold--tried and failed. But this was perfect. He was
perfect.
"Then I
can stay." It was not a question.
"Of
course." Lucard sank down at his side, pulling the other to him.
"After all, this is your bed."
Their
eyes went gold together.
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