The throne room of Castle Dracula reeked of death.
Hundreds of bodies lay scattered across the ancient stone floor, drained husks that had once been women.
Their glassy eyes stared at nothing, frozen in final moments of terror. Blood pooled between the flagstones, forming patterns like a macabre mosaic.
In the center of this carnage knelt Stefan Salvatore, his mouth latched onto the throat of a young woman whose struggles had long since ceased.
His once-proud shoulders were hunched in submission, his body bearing scars that should have been impossible on a vampire of his age.
Four decades of captivity had broken something fundamental in him - the self-righteous Salvatore brother now little more than an animal performing for his master.
On the obsidian throne above this tableau sat Dracula himself. Though weakened, his presence dominated the chamber - a dark gravity that bent everything toward him.
His pale features retained their aristocratic beauty, but his eyes burned with hunger that centuries had not diminished.
"Enough," Dracula commanded, his voice soft yet filling the vast chamber.
Stefan immediately released the woman, who crumpled lifelessly to the floor. Blood stained his chin and shirt, his eyes wild with the Ripper's frenzy but tempered by fear of his master.
"Come," Dracula beckoned with a single finger gesture.
Stefan crawled forward on hands and knees, leaving bloody handprints on the stone floor. Once he reached the foot of the throne, he raised his wrist in offering, head bowed in submission.
Dracula took the offered limb with deceptive gentleness, examining the blue veins beneath pale skin.
"You have served me well today, Ripper," he murmured, before sinking elongated fangs into Stefan's flesh.
Stefan trembled but made no sound as Dracula fed, drawing blood that still carried echoes of the doppelgänger lineage.
The ancient vampire drank deeply, nearly to the point of desiccation, before releasing Stefan with casual disregard. The younger vampire collapsed to the floor, barely conscious.
"Remove him," Dracula ordered the shadowy spirits that haunted his castle's corners. "And bring more for when he wakes. The Ripper must feed to provide what I need."
As the spirits dragged Stefan's limp form away, Dracula wiped a single drop of blood from his lip, studying its color with dissatisfaction.
"Doppelgänger blood," he whispered to himself, rising from his throne to approach a window overlooking the Carpathian mountains. "Nature's echo of the Immortal Silas... once so potent, now merely sustaining."
For four decades, he had kept Stefan as his personal blood source, a living connection to the Salvatore doppelganger bloodline.
The doppelgänger blood had helped him recover from his battle with Klaus - what the Norse had called Fenrir, the wolf that devoured gods - but it was not enough to restore him fully.
A memory surfaced - Stefan's initial defiance when Dracula had first captured him in 1960. The younger vampire had spat in his face, declaring that his "brother Damon would come" or that "he will get out and rip him apart."
Dracula had simply smiled then, beginning the long process of breaking Stefan Salvatore.
Sometimes he would treat Stefan with fatherly affection, teaching him ancient knowledge, sharing stories of history Stefan had only read about.
He would heal Stefan's wounds with his own blood, speak to him with respect, treat him as a valued companion.
Then, without warning or pattern, he would shift to brutal torture - flaying Stefan's skin with silver, forcing him to watch as innocent humans were slaughtered, starving him for weeks before offering blood mixed with vervain.
There was never any rhyme or reason to when kindness would become cruelty. The same action might earn praise one day and punishment the next.
Sometimes the shifts would happen multiple times within hours; sometimes one approach would last for months before suddenly changing.
Stefan had tried to maintain his sense of self at first, clinging to memories of his brother, of his best friend Lexi, of his humanity.
But those anchors had gradually eroded under the cognitive dissonance of Dracula's treatment.
After a decade, Stefan's fight weakened. After two, he'd stopped mentioning Damon. After three, he'd begun crawling to Dracula's feet without being commanded.
Dracula's fist clenched, cracking the stone windowsill beneath his hand. "I need something more."
And he had found it. The boy in Mystic Falls - Lucien Winchester.
Dracula had worked with God's prophets before.
He had seen angels in their glory, had once even stood before the Archangel Michael himself.
But this child... when Dracula's knight had glimpsed him through their connection, the boy's essence had blazed brighter than any angel.
"The Vessel of God," Dracula murmured, the words half-reverent, half-hungry. "Not merely touched by divinity, but containing it. It's the only possible explanation. The Son, reborn."
The irony was not lost on him. Once God's champion, now he sought to drain the blood of God's vessel.
But such was the path of revenge - a road that had led him from Heaven's general to Hell's prince.
His contemplation was interrupted by a sudden drop in temperature.
Frost formed on the windows, spreading in delicate patterns across the glass. The blood on the floor began to freeze, cracking like thin ice.
Dracula turned, power gathering around him despite his weakened state. Few beings could enter his domain uninvited, and fewer still would dare.
The air in the center of the throne room shimmered, reality folding in on itself. A tall female figure stepped through the distortion, one half of her beautiful beyond measure, the other half a decaying corpse.
Her mismatched eyes - one vibrant green, one milky white - fixed on him.
"Hela," Dracula acknowledged, inclining his head slightly - a courtesy, not submission. "Daughter of Loki. What brings the goddess of Niflheim to my humble abode?"
"Humble?" Hela's questioned, her tone near monotone, but unable to hide the hint of bewildered amusement within. She gestured at the carnage surrounding them. "Your reputation for understatement remains intact, Dragon."
She moved forward, her living half smiling while her dead half remained frozen in eternal rictus. "I've come with a proposition that might interest you, concerning a certain boy in Mystic Falls."
Dracula's eyes narrowed. "How do you know of that?"
"The death of Thor has created... ripples through the divine realms," Hela explained, examining the bodies around her with interest. "When a god dies, especially one as powerful as the Thunderer, secrets become exposed. Barriers thin."
She turned her full attention to Dracula. "I know you seek the Winchester boy. I know you cannot reach him because Klaus's essence permeates all of Virginia. And I know you grow weaker despite your..." she glanced at Stefan's blood on the floor, "...livestock."
"Choose your next words carefully," Dracula warned, darkness gathering around him like a cloak. "Even weakened, I remain beyond your power."
Hela laughed, the sound like ice breaking. "Perhaps. But I'm not here to fight you, Dragon. I'm here to help you."
"And why would the daughter of Loki offer help to me?"
"Because Asgard falters," she replied, her living eye flashing with ambition. "Odin sleeps, Thor is dead for now, and my father is... occupied with other matters. The Norse realms stand vulnerable."
She moved closer, frost spreading wherever her corpse foot touched. "I need worshippers. Power. The old ways are fading, and with them, gods like me."
"And how does this concern me?" Dracula asked, though he had already begun to see her design.
"I can reach Mystic Falls," Hela stated simply. "Klaus's power - or Fenris's, as we once know him - doesn't affect me as much as it does you. Death goes where it wishes."
"Fenris," Dracula repeated, the ancient name bitter on his tongue. "The wolf that devoured gods."
"Yes," Hela confirmed, her gaze raising a bit, becoming distant, looking back. "I suppose that name does open old wounds. You were there weren't you? You witnessed it as well. How Klaus fought the original Fenris centuries ago - a battle that split the earth and shook the stars above...
He devoured my kinsman's flesh and essence, absorbing his power, trying to use it as an alternative to break his curse, and free his own wolf side- failing in the end still. They were compatible, you see - both apex predators, both associated with terror and destruction, both betrayed by family."
She traced a pattern in the frozen blood with her living hand. "Now, Klaus carries Fenris's essence, has become Fenris in this age. That is why his energy affects you so severely. Your wounds from your battle with him will never fully heal while you remain... undernourished."
Dracula's crushed the stone windswell he held. "Spare me. I'm no ignorant child. I need no explanation. I know my predicament quite well."
After a moment of silence, both gazing at one another, Dracula broke it.
"You offer to retrieve the boy for me." More statement rather than question.
"Yes."
"In exchange for?"
"A portion of your subjects' worship," Hela replied. "You have followers across continents - humans who whisper your name in fear, vampires who revere you as progenitor. I want a tithe of their devotion."
'Does she know the boy's true nature?' Dracula questioned himself.
He looked considering. "And how do I know you won't simply take the boy for yourself?"
"Because I cannot use him as you can," Hela admitted. "He is... Life." The last word came out like a sigh. "I deal in death. It is your kind that devours life, not mine. All I take is death."
She approached the throne, standing before him. "Do we have an agreement, Dragon?"
Dracula studied her, weighing options in a mind that had calculated for millennia. Finally, he nodded once.
"Bring me Lucien Winchester," he commanded, "and one-tenth of my followers shall know your name."
Hela's living half smiled. "Prepare your chamber of restoration, Dragon. Soon you shall have what you seek in your grasp."
As she turned to leave, Dracula called after her: "Daughter of Loki, remember this - betray me, and not even Niflheim will hide you from my wrath."
"I would expect nothing less," Hela replied, stepping back through the shimmer in reality. As the distortion closed behind her, her voice echoed in the chamber: "The boy will be yours before the full moon is gone again."
Alone once more, Dracula leaned back on his throne, contemplating the future. Soon, the blood of God's vessel would flow through his veins. Soon, he would be restored to his full power- no go even beyond it.
And then, perhaps, he would finally be strong enough to breach Heaven itself and reclaim what had been taken from him so long ago.
"Marie," he whispered to the empty room, the name like a prayer on the lips of the damned. "Wait for me, beloved. Just a little longer."
------------------------
Trevor Belmont leaned against the doorframe of Lucien's bedroom at the Salvatore Boarding House, arms crossed as he observed the scene before him.
Katherine Pierce lay on the bed beside the sleeping Lucien, one arm wrapped possessively around the boy.
Her fingers stroked through his hair with gentleness, occasionally pausing to press a kiss to his temple or inhale his scent with closed eyes. Her expression was one of pure reverence, completely absorbed in her worship.
She didn't acknowledge Trevor's presence, didn't even glance his way, her focus entirely on Lucien's sleeping form.
Trevor cleared his throat pointedly.
Katherine continued as if she hadn't heard, pressing another kiss to Lucien's forehead, whispering something inaudible against his skin.
"Interesting bedtime routine," Trevor finally said, his voice low enough not to disturb the sleeping boy.
Katherine didn't look up, her fingers still moving through Lucien's hair. "Did you need something?" she asked lazily, her attention never wavering from her task.
Trevor studied her, noting how her body curved protectively around Lucien, how her eyes never left his face even when speaking to someone else.
He'd seen that look before - in the eyes of pilgrims at holy sites, in zealots before their sacrifices, in the devoted as they whispered prayers.
It was the look of absolute worship, and it made his skin crawl to see it on a vampire's face.
"I'm curious," Trevor said, pushing off from the doorframe and stepping into the room. "How do you endure it?"
"Endure what?" Katherine asked, still not looking at him as she pressed another kiss to Lucien's hair.
Trevor moved to the edge of the bed, placing his palm on the mattress near Lucien's head. He leaned forward until his face was level with Katherine's, hovering above her where she lay.
"Being so close to him," Trevor clarified, his eyes missing nothing. "I can see how much you love him. And when a vampire loves, it's in their nature to want to drink their blood and feed them their own. Yet here you are, so close, but unable to do either because of the contract."
His head tilted slightly. "It must be... torture. Yet you seem completely unaffected."
Katherine finally glanced at him, her expression bored despite their proximity. "Perhaps I simply have excellent self-control."
Trevor chuckled, leaning even closer. "No, I don't buy that. This isn't something control can help against. Just like your kind of vampires can't truly become immune to vervain, you can't go against that instinct. It's in your nature."
"What exactly are you trying to get at?" Katherine asked, her fingers never pausing in their gentle stroking of Lucien's hair.
Trevor was silent for a long moment, then straightened, taking a step back from the bed. "I have a theory, actually," he said, gesturing as if giving a presentation. "A theory that fills in this blank."
Katherine's expression shifted to one of mild amusement and curiosity. "And what would that be?"
"To offset this... hunger," Trevor began, his hands moving to emphasize his points, "you've somehow found a way to direct it to something else that gives equal amounts of pleasure. I have no idea how you managed it, but it would explain why you're so touchy."
He paced a few steps, warming to his subject. "Vampires are beings of extremely heightened emotion. When they fear, they experience absolute terror. When they love..." he paused, looking directly at Katherine, "they truly love, deeply. And you're an extreme of your own with your worship of the boy."
Trevor's voice took on a clinical tone. "You have to touch him, hug him, kiss him. If you don't, you might claw your own eyes out, tear your own flesh apart to feel anything besides that... need."
His expression hardened. "Believe me, I've seen it. I've caused quite a few vampires to go mad myself. Captured them, kept them chained and hungry, while keeping the image of their desire in front of them. It's quite an effective torture method." He finished with a smirk.
Katherine looked bored. "Is that supposed to scare me? What's the point you're trying to get at?"
"I'm getting to that," Trevor assured her. "See, that pleasure that vampires get is..." he paused meaningfully, "orgasmic. Meaning, it could be interpreted as sexual."
The moment the word "sexual" left his lips, Katherine's eyes widened and her body instantly contorted in agony.
"Eaaahh!" She screamed, thrashing on the bed, her face transforming as veins darkened beneath her eyes and fangs extended in pain.
Trevor moved fast, scooping Lucien away from the thrashing vampire. The boy had woken instantly from Katherine's scream, eyes wide and alert despite being pulled from sleep.
"What's happening?" Lucien demanded, looking between Trevor and the writhing Katherine.
Trevor ignored him momentarily, watching as Katherine's pain began to subside. Her vampire features remained visible as she growled at him from the bed, fury replacing pain in her eyes.
"I'm quite surprised your pain stopped so quickly," Trevor remarked. "But it seems I was right."
"What is going on?" Lucien repeated more forcefully, twisting in Trevor's grip to face him.
Before Trevor could answer, John, Dean, and Sam burst into the room, weapons drawn, responding to Katherine's scream.
"What happened?" John demanded, eyes scanning for threats.
Trevor set Lucien down carefully. "I've made an interesting discovery about our contract with Ms. Pierce," he explained to the room at large.
"The clause preventing sexual contact with Lucien depends on what both parties interpret as sexual. Since I'm part of the contract, when both Katherine and I interpreted the pleasure she gains from physical contact with Lucien as part of the word, sexual, the contract activated."
He looked genuinely intrigued. "Something new - I hadn't known this was possible, but I thought it worth a try."
------------------
Twenty minutes later, they had all relocated to the kitchen table downstairs. Katherine sat as far from Trevor as possible, her posture rigid with anger.
John checked his watch repeatedly, aware that he and Lucien needed to leave for Elena's house within the hour.
"So let me get this straight," Dean said, unable to keep both the smugness and disgust from his voice. "You get some kind of... orgasmic pleasure from touching my little brother?"
"Dean," Sam warned, glancing at Lucien, who sat stiffly, but still sleepy in his chair, expression closed.
Katherine's jaw tightened. "Yes," she admitted reluctantly. "I experience pleasure when in contact with Lucien."
"And how exactly does that work?" John asked, his voice cold.
"That's not something I'm obligated to explain," Katherine replied. "It's an ability I've developed, a contingency for situations like this. That's all you need to know."
Dean's grin widened. "Well, looks like your creepy touching days are over. Contract says no sexual contact, and now we all know what you're getting out of it."
Katherine's frustration was evident, but after a moment, her expression shifted to a forced smirk. "If you think you've won, you're dead wrong."
Before anyone could react, she moved with vampire speed, plucking Lucien from his chair and settling him on her lap. Her arms wrapped around him as she pressed a kiss to the top of his head - all without showing any sign of pain.
"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed, half-rising from his seat.
Katherine's smirk widened at their shocked expressions. "It all depends on interpretation of the english words definition of "sexual contact", remember? In that moment, Trevor Belmont convinced me of his interpretation being part of the definition of the word, but it isn't, therefore this form of contact isn't sexual."
Her fingers stroked Lucien's arm possessively. "The feeling may be sexual in level of pleasure, but it isn't a sexual feeling itself. Pleasure is pleasure; sexual pleasure is pleasure from a sexual act. This act is not sexual."
"That's bullshit semantics," Dean snapped.
"No," Trevor interjected, looking annoyed but impressed. "It's truth. It's how magical contracts work. Words linguistic definitions, Interpretation and intent matter. She's found the loophole within the loophole."
John's expression darkened. "This discussion is over. Katherine, put my son down. Now."
"Or what?" Katherine challenged, tightening her hold on Lucien. "The contract-"
She never finished her sentence. With a frustrated growl, Lucien extended his hand, sending a Force push that separated him from Katherine's grasp.
The vampire was thrown back several feet, her chair toppling as she caught herself.
"Enough!" Lucien shouted, standing in the center of the kitchen. "I've had it with all of you!"
The room fell silent, everyone staring at him in surprise.
Lucien's face was flushed with anger as he stalked to the cupboard, yanked it open, and grabbed a bag of chips.
"Can't even sleep peacefully around here. Shocking me awake. Thought there was a fucking attack." He muttered under his breath angry.
He turned back to the assembled adults, his expression a mixture of frustration and bone-deep exhaustion.
"None of you bother me until it's time to leave," he said flatly. "Except Dad, when it's time to go to Elena's."
Without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The slam of his bedroom door echoed through the house, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.
Dean was the first to break it. "Way to go, Katherine," he muttered. "You've really outdone yourself this time."
Katherine didn't respond, her eyes fixed on the doorway where Lucien had disappeared, an unreadable expression on her face.
John stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "I need to get ready," he said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "We leave in forty-five minutes."
-----------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter.
Do tell me how you found it.
I thought it time for Dracula to be present directly for the first time in this fic, do tell me what you think of him having enslaved Stefan.
Also, yeah, Trevor hasn't just been twiddeling his thumbs. He has been working, trying to help and all that, but Katherine is a 5 centuries year old vampire, so she won't be caught easily.
Well, anyways, hope to see you all later,
Bye!)