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extra-wolf · 6 months ago

Text

Excellent story! 🥰

Perfect mix of action and emotions!

Male Vampire/Female Reader

SFW

Wordcount: 3,665

Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

When your friend begs you to help her brother, you have no choice is to agree. But what is he?

When you ripped the front door open, the sight at your doorstep stopped you cold. There, bathed in the harsh glow of the porch light, was your best friend; but something was terribly wrong. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her face etched with a panic that sent a ripple of fear through you.

“We need to come inside.”

You stammered out, “of course, come in,” your mind reeling to keep up.

Before you could even form a question, she brushed past you, half-dragging, half-carrying an unconscious figure into your house.

“What the hell is going on?” you stammered, but Ir1ina pushed past you, stumbling inside without even acknowledging you’d spoken.

The living room turned into an emergency scene, as she laid the person down with more care than you expected from her frantic entrance. It took a moment for the reality to sink in. The person on your floor was Dumitru, Irina’s older brother; but he looked… wrong. Not least because of the blood now pooling on your hardwood floor.

"You need to get him to a hospital," you told Irina, eyes narrowed. The gash on his head looked deep, and his stillness was unnerving.

Irina shook her head vehemently. "You're a paramedic, can't you do something? Please," she begged, the plea in her eyes impossible to ignore.

Despite the doubts swirling in your mind, you couldn't turn away from the silent appeal in Irina's gaze. With a deep breath, you set to work, your training kicking in despite the circumstances. You cleaned the wound as best as you could, the blood washing away to reveal the extent of the damage. The gash was deep, and you knew it needed stitches.

You fetched your medical kit, your hands steady as you threaded the needle. The act of sewing the wound closed was familiar, a procedure you'd performed countless times, yet never in your own living room, and never on someone you knew.

With each stitch, you couldn't help but worry about the lack of response from him. Concussions were tricky, and without the proper equipment, there was only so much you could do.

You worked with care, trying to keep your stitches even, the thread pulling the edges of the wound together. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with the tension of the moment and the weight of your thoughts.

What if Dumitru needed more help than you could give?

After tending to the gash on Dumitru's head, you shifted your focus, carefully moving him to the sofa to conduct a more thorough examination. Your hands worked methodically, guided by your paramedic training, as you checked him for any other concealed injuries that might have gone unnoticed in the initial panic.

Gently, you palpated his abdomen and limbs, looking for signs of internal bleeding or fractures, your touch deliberate but gentle. You knew the importance of being thorough; hidden injuries could be just as dangerous, if not more so, than the visible ones.

Thankfully, aside from some bruising and minor lacerations, there didn't seem to be any other significant injuries.

Concussion was a concern, given the blow to his head. You couldn't perform a scan, but you did the next best thing, checking his pupils for signs of asymmetry or sluggish response. You kept the room dimly lit and ensured he was lying in a recovery position to maintain an open airway.

It wasn’t much, but it was as all you could do.

Once satisfied you'd done all you could with the resources at hand, you turned to Irina, the weight of responsibility heavy on your shoulders. "He needs to be seen in a hospital," you insisted, your voice firm despite the fatigue nibbling at the edges of your resolve. "I've done what I can, but he needs a full medical evaluation."

Irina's reluctance was palpable, her answers evasive. "We can't," she murmured, avoiding your gaze. "It's complicated."

The vague response did little to put you at ease. "Is there something you're not telling me?" you asked, the puzzle pieces not quite fitting together. "Why can't he go to a hospital?"

Before Irina could respond, a soft groan from the sofa cut through the tense atmosphere. Your attention snapped back to Dumitru, whose eyes were fluttering open, confusion and pain etched across his features as he tried to orient himself.

Dumitru's slow return to consciousness allowed you a closer inspection, you swallowed down your unease. His skin, though naturally tanned, carried an ashen pallor that seemed at odds with his otherwise robust appearance. His eyes, dark to the point of being almost black, looked different to normal. Despite the grime and blood that marred his features, there was an undeniable, almost ethereal handsomeness about him…

Yet, as he moved, something about him seemed fundamentally off. His teeth, when he cringed, were uniformly sharp, more reminiscent of a predator's than a human's. His posture, too, was peculiar, his back hunched in a way that suggested something wrong with his skeleton, and his limbs seemed to bend in ways that made you uneasy.

When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, tinged with confusion. "Where am I?" he murmured, his gaze flitting around the room, landing on his hand as it retreated from his wound. The sight of his own fingernails, tapered to points like claws, seemed to shock him as much as it did you.

Your instinctive step back was halted by Irina's steadying grip. Dumitru's eyes widened in realization, a dawning understanding that his appearance was the cause of your alarm. "I'm sorry," he began, his apology cut short by your demand for clarity.

"What's going on, Irina?" you pressed, your voice a mix of fear and the need for answers. "What is he?"

The silence stretched on, the tension in the room making your pulse thrum.

Irina, usually so open and forthright, remained tight-lipped, her gaze averted. Dumitru, for his part, seemed lost in thoughts of his own, his dark eyes clouded with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

Your instincts were at odds, the ingrained desire to help clashing with a creeping sense of fear that whispered caution. Dumitru kept his head low, but you could still see how wrong he looked. The more you stared, the more obvious it became; his once rich skin was now ashen grey, lips peeled back as if his teeth were too sharp for his mouth.

It was difficult to look at him, really, and you suppressed a shudder.

It was Dumitru who finally broke the silence, his voice so different from the gentle, lilting accent you remembered. Now, it was rough, almost guttural, carrying a depth that seemed to vibrate through the very air.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," he confessed, each word seeming to cost him. "I never wanted to involve you in this... in my world."

The raw honesty in his admission made your stomach turn. "What does that mean?" you demanded, your voice steadier than you felt. "What are you?"

It was Irina who answered, her voice barely above a whisper, "He's... it's complicated, but the closest thing we have to a comparison is a vampire. There are those who would see him dead."

The revelation was a jolt. Your legs crumpled beneath you, and Irina couldn’t dash forward in time to catch you as you collapsed on the cold floor.

A vampire, in your living room, bleeding and vulnerable. Not only that, but he was your friend.

The weight of the revelation pressed heavily upon you, each breath feeling thicker, harder to draw. You needed space, a moment to process the impossible reality that had just unfolded in the safety of your home.

"I need a moment," you managed to say, voice wobbling as you clambered to your feet.

Irina made a move to follow as you turned towards the door, her instinct to comfort and explain battling against your clear need for solitude. "Please, just give me some space," you said, a firmness in your tone that brooked no argument.

Behind you, Dumitru's voice reached out. "Please, I never meant for any of this. I don't want to hurt you.”

Whatever he was going to say next cut short as you slammed the front door shut.

Outside, the world lay bathed in the gentle glow of the moon. You took a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs, and rested your head on the porch railing.

You fought for composure, for the calm that seemed so elusive now. The cool night air worked its subtle magic, each deep breath grounding you, until you remembered how to breathe properly.

Your thoughts shattered when Dumitru's voice drifted through the closed window, his voice unsteady. "I've put her in danger," he muttered, the gravelly undertone of his voice more pronounced than before. "She must hate me now. I've ruined any chance of being close to her."

The confession halted your retreat, a jumble of emotions clouding your thoughts. Driven by curiosity, heart thudding, you approached the window.

Peering through the glass, the figure you saw made your stomach drop Whatever… glamour that had once cloaked his true form had fallen away, revealing his raw, unmasked essence. His skin was paler now, an ashen hue that seemed almost translucent under the dim light. The sharpness of his features was more pronounced, his cheekbones jutting, his jawline too sharp. Even his ears were elongated, tapering to points that seemed to twitch slightly, angled down in… embarrassment?

Yet, it was the vulnerability in his posture. It was the slumped and uneven shoulders and the haunted look in his eyes, that struck you the most.

The sight of him, so changed and yet so familiar, stirred a well of emotions within you—fear, yes, but also a deep-seated pull towards him.

With a resolve that surprised even yourself, you turned away from the window, the decision to face what lay inside solidifying with each step.

Maybe you didn’t understand what was going on, but he was still Dumitru.

As you re-entered the room, Dumitru's eyes lifted to meet yours, a glimmer of hope flickering there. The sight of him—hunched, nervous, unnatural—didn't repulse you as you might have expected. Instead, a wave of sympathy washed over you.

You approached and took a seat beside him, and it seemed to take both him and Irina by surprise. You leaned your head against his shoulder, taking comfort in the odd coolness of his skin.

"I'm sorry," you said softly. “For running away.”

Dumitru's response was a soft, pained noise, but he sank into your side anyway.

Irina watched, a silent observer, saying nothing.

"If people want you dead," you continued, your voice steady, "I'll protect you."

Dumitru smiled, showing razor-sharp teeth. “Thank you.”

***

Over the next few days, the tension began to dissipate, the immediate danger receding into the background as Dumitru's wounds healed. With each passing day, he regained more of his human appearance, until all that remained was a faint scab on his forehead and his unnaturally pointed teeth.

Now, the atmosphere in the kitchen was light, almost domestic, as you and Dumitru moved around each other with an easy familiarity. The sound of sizzling and the aroma of breakfast cooking filled the air, music playing faintly in the background.

"You know, you didn't have to do this," Dumitru said, nodding towards the stove where you were flipping pancakes. His voice was soft, inhuman edge almost gone.

You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. "I wanted to. Besides, cooking's more fun with company. Pass the sugar?"

As you reached for the syrup, Dumitru moved to grab the sugar. The brush of his arm against yours sent a jolt through you, and his quick, murmured sorry did little to calm the flutter in your chest.

The urge to turn and kiss him was almost overwhelming, so sudden that it left you breathless. Yet, you held back, acutely aware of Irina's presence just upstairs.

A knock at the door sliced through the comfortable hum of the morning, sending a ripple of tension through you.You weren't expecting anyone, and the timing felt too coincidental for comfort.

Your stomach churned. "I'll check it out. Stay here," you instructed Dumitru, a protective instinct flaring within you as you moved towards the door.

Irina, alerted by the knock, made her way downstairs, a question in her eyes that mirrored your own concern.

Your hand hesitated on the door handle, the quiet murmur of Dumitru's and Irina's movements behind you a small comfort. With a steadying breath, you opened the door, peering out to confront the source of the disturbance.

Two men stood on your doorstep, their presence immediately setting off alarm bells in your mind. One bore the unmistakable mark of a recent injury, a gash down his cheek in the process of healing.

The only warning you had was Irina’s sharp intake of breath. The men, having spotted Irina, shifted with a predatory quickness.

Before you could react, before you could slam the door or call out for Dumitru, the men darted for you. A forceful push sent you tumbling to the ground, the impact jarring as you hit the floor.

Pain lit up your side as you landed, vision swimming. Scrambling to regain your footing, your mind raced for solutions, for a way to protect yourself and your friends.

As one of the intruders lunged towards Irina, the other, knife in hand, loomed menacingly over you. The glint of the blade caught the morning light. Your heart pounded in your chest, pulse roaring in your ears.

Before he could do anything though, a guttural scream pierced the air.

Suddenly, Dumitru launched himself at the man standing over you with a ferocity that was staggering.

The room became a blur as Dumitru threw himself at the attacker. His movements were swift, driven by a desperation that made him seem larger, more imposing.

Dumitru and the man slammed into the opposite wall in a tangle of limbs. You caught a flash of sharp teeth and a gaunt, grey face as Dumitru turned to look at you, before rounding on your assailant again.

The other assailant, seeing his companion in distress, quickly joined the fray. Shoving Irina aside, he launched himself at Dumitru, blade catching the light.

Dumitru tried to dodge, but two against one quickly overwhelmed him. The knife glinted, and suddenly Dumitru was on the ground, writhing, as crimson blood dripped onto your floor.

Seeing Dumitru in trouble, your fear transformed into action. You pushed yourself off the ground, darting for Irinia before either of the men could turn on her.

With Irina safely behind you, you darted into the kitchen, your eyes scanning for anything that could serve as a weapon. The knives, frustratingly, were out of reach, but your gaze landed on a heavy pan resting on the stove. Without hesitation, you seized it, the weight of it oddly comforting in your hands.

As you re-entered the fray, the scene that greeted you was one of grim determination. Dumitru was on the ground, the two men towering over him, their intent clear in their raised weapons.

Your heart raced, fear and anger swirling within you as you took in the sight of Dumitru, fighting against the odds.

“Come and get me, assholes!”

The nearest one turned just in time to meet the pan as it swung through the air, connecting with a resounding thud. The impact sent him crumpling to the ground, unconscious.

You dropped to Dumitru’s side. “Are you all right?” you asked, taking his jaw in your palm. His old wound had reopened, and his dark eyes met yours.

Then, he surprised you. In one swift movement, he flipped you over, positioning his body as a shield between you and the remaining assailant. The world upended, and for a moment, all you could see was Dumitru's determined gaze.

As the remaining assailant lunged forward, weapon in hand, Dumitru didn't hesitate. Curved around you, a physical barrier against the threat. The blade found its mark, but not in you; Dumitru took the wound meant for you, a grimace of pain briefly contorting his features.

Yet even as he shuddered from the impact, Dumitru's resolve didn't waver. With a swift, almost graceful movement, he disarmed and incapacitated the assailant, knocking him to the ground and sending the knife clattering.

The last man fell, crumpling next to his unconscious companion, and the immediate threat evaporated.

You finally allowed yourself to breathe, the adrenaline that had sustained you through the confrontation slowly ebbing away.

Dumitru wobbled, his strength waning with the adrenaline's fade, and Irina was there to catch him.

Together, you helped lower him to the ground, your paramedic training springing to the forefront of your mind as you assessed his injuries. The puncture wounds were serious but, thankfully, avoided any vital areas—a small mercy.

"Is that all of them?" you asked, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. "Are more coming after you?"

Dumitru's eyes, clouded with pain, met yours as he shook his head. "That's all," he confirmed, his voice a whisper. "They wanted me dead because of what I am... because I was stupid enough to reveal my true . I thought they were friends.”

The revelation burned like acid.

Sighing, Irina brushed dark hair from her face. “I’ll get your first aid kit,” she murmured, “it sure has been getting a lot of use lately.”

Irina's quick departure left the hallway feeling suddenly quiet, the aftermath of the chaos settling like dust around you. Your breath came in heavy, uneven pulls, the adrenaline that had spiked through your veins now giving way to relief.

You glanced towards the unconscious men, considering the practicality of securing them to prevent any further threat. "We should probably tie them up, just in case they wake up," you murmured, more to yourself than to Dumitru.

Before you could move to act on your thought, Dumitru's arm encircled your middle, drawing you close with an unexpected gentleness that contrasted sharply with the violence you'd just witnessed. The proximity was startling, his presence a solid reassurance that grounded you amidst the aftermath.

He drew you in, the stark sharpness of his teeth, the undeniable otherness of his face that had once seemed so jarring. Yet now, in the quiet, those inhuman features seemed less like markers of a monster and more like… just like him.

Warmth washed over you, melting away the last dregs of fear. The space between you felt charged with a new understanding.

Without a word, you leaned in and kissed him. His response was immediate, a mingling of relief and something akin to wonder, as if he too had been waiting for this.

Dumitru's lips were cool against yours. There was an underlying taste of copper, a reminder of his injuries, but it did nothing to deter you from pressing yourself closer. If anything, it grounded the kiss in the reality of what you'd both endured, what you'd survived together.

As you pulled away, Dumitru whispered, “thank you.”

Laughter bubbled to the surface. “I didn’t do much, though the pan came in handy.”

"It's not just for the fighting," he clarified, his voice rough. "Thank you for accepting me... for not being afraid of what I am."

His hands, gentle despite their strength, cradled your face, sharp nails skimming across your skin.

In response, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, right above the cut, a silent reassurance. "It's all right now," you murmured.

The bubble burst with Irina's return. She stood at the doorway, a first aid kit in hand and a knowing smile playing on her lips. The amusement in her eyes was clear as she took in the scene before her, her brother and you, together.

"Am I interrupting something?" she teased, the warmth in her voice taking any sting out of the words. "Should I come back later?"

Dumitru's laughter, despite the circumstances, was beautiful. He beckoned Irina closer, and she all but collapsed at his side.

As he attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, a wince of pain flickered across his features. Quick to reassure, he managed a strained smile. "I'm fine," he insisted, though the evidence was to the contrary.

Together, you and Irina set about the task of tending to his wounds, the first aid kit's contents spread out before you. The work was methodical, each bandage and antiseptic application a step towards healing, towards normalcy.

It was inevitable that your thoughts turned to the unconscious men still lying in your home. "What about them?" you asked, your gaze flicking towards the room where they lay. "What do we do with them?"

Dumitru's response was immediate, a shadow of his earlier humor returning. "I'll take care of them," he said, a statement that sent a jolt of alarm through you.

“Wait, hold on—”

"No, no," he assured, shaking his head as much as his injuries would allow. "I'm not going to kill them. I can... make them forget about me."

The concept, so outlandish yet spoken with such certainty, left you reeling. Then again, everything else was so crazy, why not?

With Dumitru's wounds carefully tended to, the atmosphere in the room shifted, the tension easing. You leaned in, and with a gentle sureness, you kissed him. His lips were cold against yours, and his teeth grazed your lip with an edge of sharpness.

“I don’t know how the hell we managed that,” you murmured, “but the three of us made a pretty good team.”

"We did," Dumitru agreed.

Then, heedless of Irina’s laugh, you dove in for another kiss.

#fic rec #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #monster romance #vampire #m!vampire x f!reader #vampire x human #monster x human #dumitru #mxnsterbabe #wolf reads

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coffeewithcutcaffeine · 9 months ago

Text

— in which Vlad Dracula is graced with the most delightful news.

word count: 3,372 words

warnings: implied/referenced miscarriage; pregnancy; pregnancy sickness; extra dosis of love and tenderness

a/n: Here, beloveds, have a sweet (and absolutely not self-indulgent, nooooo never) moment of pure bliss and happiness before I throw that man into more pain and misery and blood and— Also, expect a man madly in love — it is Cătălina’s world, and Vlad is just blessed to be living in it.

➨ also available on AO3

September 1459, Curtea Noua, București, Wallachia

The hall overflows with the warm glow of candlelight and lively music, mingling with the enticing aroma of roasted meat and the echoes of sincere and profound laughter. Among the voivode’s dear and cherished guests indulging in the joyous celebration of the construction of the New Voivodal Court in București, her laughter stands out the most, pure and unrestrained, like a celestial bell tolling in the very heart of the hall. Tonight, she will not be confined to the shadows. Cătălina has yet to reach the age of twenty-eight, and her spirit still brims with life like a flower in full bloom. In the ambience of the youthful night, the meticulously crafted façade upon her countenance slips away amidst the merriment, momentarily unveiling the face of a carefree nymph whom she has long come to deem a distant memory.

She has deliberately chosen to avoid the ever-present curious eyes at the court, recognising its virtue for both her and Vlad’s sake. The seclusion of her home where she often remains allows her to weave at least some poor semblance of a veil of privacy to shield both herself and their son. It is for the best, she always reasons with herself. Her presence provokes many and she has never been one to silence her voice. But within the chambers of her home, she sometimes feels as though she has become a rare jewel locked within the confines of the treasury — precious enough to return to look at but safely hidden from the insatiable hunger of prying eyes, always patiently awaiting someone to brush off the dust from her.

She is well aware that ingratitude should not consume her as a torrent of stern admonitions floods her mind whenever her thoughts stray into this despised realm of sentiments. This is the path she has consciously and willingly chosen for herself. This is the life of a royal mistress, laden with sacrifices she has long anticipated would be demanded of her. It bestows upon her liberty and power that only a few chosen women in existence will ever graze their fingertips upon. It eases her existence, as well as his. It makes their son’s life tranquil. Safer. More secure.

Nonetheless, in these scarce but all the more cherished moments, she revels in the company of those dear to her, once again becoming a woman of flesh and bones who savours the sweet taste of freedom that holds such profound importance in her heart. Tonight, she is engulfed in a place of boundless liberation where obligations and duties fade into oblivion. The tumultuous world outside becomes a distant murmur, drowned by the enchanting melody of kindred spirits. Embraced by the glow of innumerable flickering candles, she glides across the floor in perfect synchrony with the tunes that permeate the space all around her.

When she pauses and brings the cup of red wine to her lips, different sounds begin piercing through the air — the resonant and deep voices of the men standing by her side as they engage in conversation. The spell that held her captive is broken; the enchantment of the moment dissipates like a golden mist fading before her eyes. The matter-of-fact nature of their words shatters the carefree atmosphere. Her brother’s voice gains clarity, his words gradually becoming more distinct with each passing second.

“—although we ought to reconsider the decisions regarding the archers you have recently recruited.”

Amidst the whimsical musings and daydreams that capture the minds of others, her elder sibling has always stood rooted to the earth. There is no room for idle fantasies, for thoughts of what could possibly take place under different circumstances. Dumitru values the realm of reality and practicality above all else, and few matters possess the power to divert his focus from the tasks at hand. His sister might have initially helped secure his position, but Dumitru has become indispensable among the dregătorii, revered for qualities unique to no one but him.

“What is the issue with them? They are competent soldiers,” Neagoe’s dark eyebrows rise in incredulity, and a hint of agitation infuses his voice with a sharpness that slices through the air like a blade.

Dracea roughly hits the dark-haired spătar on the shoulder. “A blind man would shoot better than them.”

“No!” Cătălina cries out and places a hand over her heart in feigned distress, halting their conversation in an instant. “I do not wish to hear a thing about state affairs this evening. This is meant to be a night of enjoyment! Anything else can wait until tomorrow.”

Cătălina’s gaze momentarily strays away from the festivities and the smiling faces of the three men in front of her, settling upon Vlad across the room. Her eyes trace the contours of his muscular back accentuated by the richness of his green attire, long black curls cascading down between his broad shoulders. Engrossed in conversation with some of his dregătorii, he leans forward, intent on catching every uttered word amidst the noise of merriment enveloping them. In that fleeting instant, it appears as though he remains oblivious to the world unfolding around him. With his back turned to all others, she does not doubt that the subtle delights of the evening indeed elude him.

“Or has he truly infected all of you with his inclination to work even in his sleep?” Her words carry a subtle touch of melancholy, intertwining with the flimsy threads of sadness woven into the slope of her brows.

And Dracea — for his heart shatters whenever he notices even a mere hint of sorrow on that angelic face of dreams — enfolds her in his embrace and whirls her with a speed that mirrors the cadence of the music. Her laughter, before so joyous and bright, now rings hollow as she clutches the cup in her fingers, afraid to spill the crimson liquid.

“What is that frown, my lady? Do we bore you with our discussions?” he asks.

“Impossible. There is never a dull moment with you, Dracea.”

“There is something heavy on your mind. I can tell,” he inquires as the amusement in his voice turns to gentle concern, the embrace of his tall figure shielding her from the eyes around and offering her a brief shelter for composure. Sweet Dracea, always being the selfless and devoted protector.

A heaviness indeed burdens her mind, causing her stomach to twist and churn with silent anguish. Cătălina is a woman who has been tested by a fair share of life’s trials, yet now feels weakened by dread. No longer free to live and breathe for herself, she must decide for two, making her the most vulnerable of all — a mother bound by a love forever intertwined with her own existence. For weeks, she has been awakening with worries, praying fervently for smooth, uncomplicated days ahead. She frets over the uncertainty of the future, but above all, she fears that the delights and expectations of life may slip away from him unnoticed. The more he thrives as a ruler, the more he suffers as a man, the words hover on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows them like bitter liquid, denying them their flight into the world.

Instead, she presents her companion with a fragile smile. “All is well.”

“You are aware that he cannot take his eyes off you, are you not? He keeps stealing glances any chance he gets.”

“That is the least of my worries—”

Before she has a chance to finish her sentence, he spins her once more, spins her with a force that sweeps away her worries and stirs up laughter flowing from her lips. But in moments of joyful recklessness, when fits of laughter make her chest constrict and ache, and her cheeks turn red with exertion, the new reality suddenly whispers its presence and brings her to a halt. An unexpected unease unfurls within her and disrupts the fragile serenity inside.

A weak tremor courses through her, a response to the unwelcome feeling clawing at her guts from within. Her stomach churns and twists into hardness that lodges deep inside her as though she carries a weighty stone at its core. Cold sweat coats her body, drenching her skin like an icy deluge poured upon her, and droplets trickle down the curve of her spine. Her hands, clammy and slick, tremble with the fear that the cup may slip from her grasp and clatter upon the stone beneath her feet. With every passing second, her grip on the small piece of metal tightens, becoming unyielding, her sole anchor amidst a world that spins and slowly dissolves into darkness.

The customary warmth of her complexion wanes, surrendering to waves of nausea in a sickly shade of green as she clings to Dracea’s sleeve, yearning to break free from his embrace. Her gaze frantically searches for solace in the weighty doors that lead outside. Her breath falters, grappling against the tide, while her rapid heartbeat echoes the rising panic filling her veins. The anticipation of fresh air consumes her thoughts as she pushes the tall nobleman aside and thrusts the wine cup into his hand.

“Are you feeling well?” his voice is laden with worry.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she barely manages to squeeze out as she hastens her steps towards the doors, the sickness weighing down her feet like lead.

As she stumbles out of the hall, her brother calls after her. “Cătălina—”

The growing distance between them drowns out his voice. She swiftly turns to the right and runs outside beneath the shadow of the stone arc, escaping the fiery inferno that the hall has become. She barely holds herself together as she descends the broad steps leading from the residence before her sight blurries and her knees give way, almost bringing her crashing to the ground. She fears her stomach turning upside down in a wave of sickness may unleash the torrent and make her vomit. The world around her sways as she succumbs to the pull of weariness, her body seeking respite from the overwhelming storm within.

Sit. Sit. Sit.

Finally, Cătălina sinks to the cold ground, pressing her back against the stone wall to steady her weakened body. She draws her knees to the chest and hugs her bent legs, damp and trembling fingers clinging to the richly embroidered skirt of her dress. She leans back the crown of her head and rests against the sturdiness of the wall behind her. That seems to bring some relief — her vision begins to clear, her guts no longer feel like being swayed back and forth. The frantic pounding in her ribcage subsides.

The freshness of the late September breeze soothes her senses and offers respite from the sickness raging inside her. With each inhalation, she gulps on the air as if it were her first breath in this world, savouring the way it seems to cool her from within. The drumming in her ears gives way to the muffled sounds of revelries emanating from inside the hall, the laughter of dozens of guests mingling with the ceaseless melodies of music. Life carries on without her, and she is grateful for it. She longs to be separated from it, if only for a brief moment, to exist in solitude, undisturbed, with only the starry skies above and the fresh air caressing her damp skin as her sole companions.

The moment of solitude is shattered like glass as the thunderous rhythm of boots reverberates on the stone steps. From the corner of her eye, Cătălina catches a glimpse of a green giubea glimmering in the soft glow of the torches. She remains hidden in the shadows, silently observing his frantic quest to find her. He searches in every direction, his gaze sweeping across the surroundings with the meticulous precision of a soldier scanning the fields of battle. When he calls her name, and she discerns the tinge of growing alarm lacing his voice, she leans forward instinctively and extends her arm towards him.

“I am here,” she says, astonishing herself with the fragility and weariness in her voice.

Vlad rushes towards her without a moment’s hesitation, dropping to his knees by her side. With urgency, he clasps her open palm in his, his other hand gently caressing the side of her face. Calloused fingers trace a path over her cheek, all while his emerald orbs explore her figure with deep concern, searching for any signs of harm or wounds.

“What is the matter, my love?”

“It seems that our new acquaintance shares your liking for making a grand appearance.”

“What acquaintance?” he asks, confused eyes searching hers for the hidden meaning behind her words.

Consumed by fear, his usually razor-sharp mind becomes muddled by the myriad of scattered thoughts and is unable to comprehend the hints that surround him. He remains unaware of the subtle movement of her palm that she lays over her stomach, a gesture filled with an unwavering sense of protection and love. Only in the gentle caress of her hand over his chin does he find his way back to Cătălina’s presence, captivated by the endearing curve of her lips. Memories flood his mind, for he well remembers that smile — he is reminiscent of the time she first revealed to him she was expecting their son, her smile radiating with a brilliance that defied any attempts at concealment. Her face is just as resplendent now, unadulterated joy dancing upon her lips.

“Vlad,” soft laughter escapes her lips, and her words confirm all of his assumptions with resolute finality. “I am with child.”

In a sudden whirlwind of motion, she loses track of how he pulls them both to their feet as seconds flash by in a blur of light. She only comes back to her senses when she finds herself suspended in the sky, with a canopy of stars above her head. Vlad’s strong arms hold her above the ground by her waist, and a yelp of surprise fills the air. Her fingertips sink into his shoulders, anchoring her in the heights and preventing them from toppling into the earth below.

“Is that true? Is that true?” he cries out with unbridled excitement, and her gaze drifts towards the doors, anticipating the intensity of his voice to awaken the curiosity of every soul within the court.

“Would I ever lie about such things?”

He playfully shakes her as a cascade of laughter spills from his lips, clasping her tightly in his arms.

“Put me down! I will be sick again,” she lets out a squeal, her feet instinctively kicking in the air.

Vlad, a man of impulsive nature yet never careless, would never dare inflict harm upon her. He carefully lowers her body to the ground, ensuring that every ounce of her is cradled securely in his arms. With utmost tenderness, he cups Cătălina’s beautiful face in his hands — he cannot tear his gaze away from the graceful arch of her brows, the delicate sprinkle of freckles adorning the bridge of her nose like the shimmering constellations painting the night sky above them. The subtle curve of her cupid’s bow guides him unerringly to a pathway to a world of infinite pleasure. Their lips meet in a slow kiss, and she can taste the red wine lingering on his tongue. In that moment, she wonders if this is what home can also taste like, a fusion of warmth and familiarity that caresses her senses and leaves her longing for more.

It is she who withdraws first, her hands resting upon his broad chest. A tangled web of thoughts and emotions engulfs her mind, making it difficult to unravel the words, arrange them in a coherent meaning. She wants to try, must find a way. In this sacred space they share, where masks are cast aside from their faces, they have promised honesty to one another — life is already full in deceit enough as it is. No need to weigh these treasured and scarce moments of privacy with lies. And so she labours, shaping the unspoken truths that dwell within her soul.

Cătălina seeks solace in the steady rise and fall of his chest, her gaze drifting beyond his shoulder and into the abyss of darkness to avoid looking into his eyes. “I have been meaning to wait a little longer before telling you.”

“Why?” he asks with sincerity in his voice, and she feels the bitter taste of bile rise in her throat like a venomous serpent slithering upward.

“What if it ends in disaster? Again?”

She senses the fleeting shadow that crosses Vlad’s face, a reflection of the memories from two years ago that have haunted her since discovering her pregnancy. A ghost from the past whispers in his thoughts, intertwining with her own — he remembers, too, remembers the crimson pools of blood staining the linen bedsheets, the chilling embrace of Death inching closer, its skeletal fingers poised to encircle her throat. Her face, pale as a spectral apparition; legs curled up to her chest in anguish when she sought solace in the tear-soaked pillows.

But those were also days of great turmoil and pressure, and despite reasoning with himself that a stillbirth was often an inexplicable occurrence of nature, he could not shake off the weight of his own culpability. He recalls being pulled in countless directions those days, needing to be present in a thousand places all at once — at court, in council, on the battlefield — not finding himself nearly enough on the threshold of her house, a place he swiftly grew to call home. Days would pass before he held her in his arms again, their son nestled between them like a tender bud.

He entangled her in the ceaseless stress with him, hoping she would bear its weight upon her shoulders alone. He will not let that happen again.

“It will not,” Vlad utters with unwavering conviction, his voice a gentle caress as he places a kiss upon her forehead.

“You cannot know that.”

“But we have more experience now than we did back then. Even more than we did four years ago.”

He catches the flicker of hesitation in her brown eyes and offers another reassurance. “I will keep your condition a secret until you feel prepared and at ease. No one is required to know.”

That seems to help, for Cătălina’s anxious frown is replaced by a feeble smile. She nods swiftly while his hands envelop hers, remaining unmoving on his chest, their fingers intertwining like vines.

She tilts her head towards the heavy doors and the bustle of the evening behind them. “You should return. Your guests are waiting for you.”

“They would not notice my absence. Half of them are already drunk.”

But his protests are in vain as she turns him around, her hand pressing into the small of his back. “It is your night, my love. Enjoy it.”

“And you?”

“I am going to lie down.”

“Then I shall see you later,” Vlad murmurs against her cheek, his lips grazing her skin in a tender kiss before reluctantly pulling away. But he lingers, his footsteps dragging as if he is tethered to her by an invisible thread.

She urges him to depart with a gentle, yet insistent push, a soundless command dancing upon the curve of her lips. Only then does he finally yield, hesitantly walking away. He finally runs up the steps with a spring in his step, bursting into the illuminated space. His arms outstretch in a gesture of apology as he is engulfed by the figures of guests encircling him, concealing him from her sight.

Cătălina watches him disappear from her spot in the darkness of the night, and an odd sense of serenity envelops her, like a tide that cleanses her soul of the fears and worries that besieged her mind mere moments ago. The joys of life would never elude him, not if he could help it. The weight of the land could crumble upon his weary back and crush him, yet he would persistently claw his way back to their embrace.

In the depths of her heart, that devotion is all the assurance she needs.

This piece is a genuine labour of love, and it was exciting to portray Vlad not only as the legendary warrior and ruler but place him into a tender moment of sheer humanity, showing him in the role of a lover and father. There is also something very endearing in taking the focus away from what other people mean in his life and instead putting it on how others perceive him in theirs. This is also my very first time introducing four very crucial characters in Vlad’s story, but especially Cătălina, Vlad’s mistress and the mother of his children — I hope you will love her as much as I (and Vlad!) do.

Of course, explanations and references are below:

The newly constructed royal residence mentioned in this piece is now known as Curtea Veche (the Old Court) in the heart of Bucharest, but because it is mentioned as just finished palace, I have decided to call it Curtea Noua (the New Court) instead. The official residence of the voivode remained at the capital, Târgoviște, at that time, so this just serves to differentiate between the two palaces. Vlad ordered its construction at the beginning of his second reign, and it was finished in 1459. On September 20, 1459, he issued a document in Slavonic, specifically referring to the “fortress” in Bucharest as his “princely residence”. Other documents were issued here in 1460 and 1461. It was quite a modern building in the Renaissance style — I recommend looking at the digital reconstruction pictures online.

Cătălina is based on a real-life person, though I have taken the opportunity of using artistic liberty to truly craft her character from scratch and flesh her out to be as multi-dimensional and complex as Vlad is (and trust me, she is quite a character) — this is because we know virtually nothing about her. What we know about the real-life mistress is that she was from a Wallachian noble family and is the only mistress we know of (which means Vlad was either a very faithful lover or very protective of his privacy). She was also a mother of Vlad’s son Mihnea and later married quite an influential man when Vlad was taken prisoner. (For those who do not know, I am not mentioning the man’s name as I do not want to drop the big spoilers! 🤫)

Yes, a pregnant woman is drinking wine in this piece. In moderation, she only takes a sip! People living in the 15th century were not aware of the damaging effects of consuming alcohol during pregnancy (but the baby will turn out healthy and strong, don’t worry). This is one of the things that seems incomprehensible to us today but was considered normal back in history.

As for the little Dracs with Miss Cătălina, you have noticed several mentions of a mysterious, already living son throughout the work. I am taking a bit more liberties with Vlad’s children, mostly because I was desperate to see him dipping his toes into the role of a parent a bit sooner than he (probably) did in real life — I hope I will be forgiven there! But fear not because yours truly is certainly not forgetting to mention the most famous of Dracula’s sons, the future Voivode Mihnea, who is the source of the happy news in this piece. Historical sources mention his year of birth to be somewhere between 1460-1462, with the majority leaning towards the latter year. I have chosen the year 1460 in my works simply to allow my fictionalised version of Vlad to enjoy some time with Mihnea before he is snatched away from his family for thirteen years. As for the mysterious elder son whom I have decided to name Mircea, he is mostly a fictional character (Mihnea was officially the eldest in real life), though I am using some bits from the little information and speculation we have about other sons. More about him soon!

Dregătorii were the boyars forming the voivode’s council. It was the group of most powerful men in the country, right after the ruler, and each held an important office at the court. You can see three dregătorii mentioned by name in this piece, two of whom really existed (Neagoe Craiovescu and Dracea de Măneşti) and one of whom is fictional (Dumitru Costescu, Cătălina’s elder brother). Neagoe is also mentioned in the story by the office title of spătar, the commander second in rank in the army after the voivode.

Giubea was a long and wide coat, often lined with fur, worn in the past by nobility.

#vlad dracula #vlad drăculea #vlad tepes #vlad ţepeş #vlad the impaler #cătălina costescu #neagoe craiovescu #dracea de măneşti #dumitru costescu #mihnea the evil #mihnea cel rău #historical fiction

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