Where shall I start? I mused. How can I tell him...

"Come on, Samara. This book made me rich and famous, what is it you don't like about it?" Stoker insisted, looking at me curiously while I hesitated.

"You made my husband look like a monster in the eyes of entire generations of the whole world." I started with the most obvious, and the most unfair fact, finally, observing his pale face. His skin seemed to glow in the moon-lit room.

"Is that it? Because I can tell you that he doesn't mind. I asked him, of course... And should you ever persuade him to move over here, I'm ready to share a part of what that story earned me with you two."

"That is not the point, I don't care about your money. Just... Forget about it." I sighed, annoyed by his lack of understanding. He will never see this from your point of view. My subconscious whispered.

"Fine, as you like. But this is not all, is it?" He asked when the silence of the night, only interrupted by the muffled, distant buzz of the fridge reaching us from the kitchen, stretched between us.

I shook my head no. Taking a deep breath I blurted out, before I could change my mind, "I didn't like the way you described Mina and Jonathan's relationship. She did everything for him, they were so devoted to each other but there was no passion between them. Also, you got them all mixed up. Your Count Dracula is more of a Greek god, than a vampire. Honestly, I have never met one of your kin who could change form to get to his women. Thank goodness you let your count shapeshift into a wolf, a bat and a fog, rather than a golden rain, an ant, or a swan... And you even killed Quincey Morris, he was the best!"

There. I said it all, as he wanted.

Stoker laughed, surprising me. I didn't know what reaction to expect from him but I did not think he would laugh.

"I agree with you!" He said, trying to compose himself. "Quincey was a good character, he had a lot of potential, what with his previous experience with vampires. But, for my readers more than a century ago, he was far too modern. See, one of the three of Lucy's suitors had to die, and my audience back then would never forgive me if I killed the good doctor, or the perfectly Victorian Arthur, lord Godalming."

I pulled my legs up, settling more comfortably on the sofa, and reached for the blanket that was folded behind his back. It was going to be a long and interesting conversation.

Stoker stood up and walked across the room, towards the glass door overlooking the sea. He watched the restless waters glittering in the moonlight for a few moments silently, then turned back to me, his face hidden in shadows now, perfectly invisible.

"My vampires were well researched, Samara. When I was a child, I was ill for years and spent a lot of time in bed. My father knew how much I loved reading about vampires-- I was fascinated by them. He humoured me, buying or borrowing all the books about the blood-sucking beasts he could find," he said.

I nodded, remembering that I had read about his strange childhood disease. According to numerous websites, no one ever found out what it had been, and he simply grew out of it.

"I even persuaded myself at some point that I had been bitten by a vampire and was changing..." Stoker laughed, then came to sit down next to me, his face coming back to light. "Anyway, once I met your vampires, I realised that they were anything but those creatures whom I had read about in my books. But, instead of trying to struggle against the popular beliefs, I simply went with them, when I decided to write Dracula. I wrote what people wanted to read. The folk tales and legends were, and still are, rooted so deeply in people's minds that no one would believe me, and read my book, if I tried to tell them the truth."

"And thus, your book joins the endless row of stories written by authors with a lot more imagination than knowledge... " I said, the words leaving my mouth before I could think about them.

I bit my lower lip, but it was too late, my unfiltered words were out and I could not take them back. Now you did it, my subconscious hissed promptly, he'll never talk to you again!

However, Stoker simply laughed again. "Maybe once this is over, you should write your own book, Samara."

I rolled my eyes at him, knowing he would see it even in the darkness enveloping us.

"And you didn't like Mina and Jonathan either." He continued after a while. "Well, in my times, that sort of relationship was quite normal. You know, me and my wife, we were so... distant that she had never noticed the change in me when I returned to her."

"You can't be serious..." I said, unbelieving. How could a wife not notice something like that...

"Well, there weren't as many vampire novels around then as there are now. When I got back, I was perfectly self-controlled, and I did not make a show of my vampirism. Also, we did not even share a bedroom, which was absolutely normal back then. Our relationship was similar to Mina and Jonathan's, but even less passionate. Let's say... more 'medieval'. Like yours and your husband's, I'd say."

"But... " I started, then changed my mind at the last moment. Mine and Vlad's relationship was way different from what he was thinking, but it was not his concern. "We didn't have any problem with... displaying our mutual affection." I said simply, wanting to leave it at that. However, somehow, he gathered the rest of my thoughts sitting on the tip of my tongue himself.

"Oh, I see... You, now, with your millennial manners and behaviour must have been quite a surprise for him. I bet that he found you a very different woman from the one you used to be." He smiled, making me blush.

"He... did not complain." I said smugly in self-defence, making him chuckle.

"I bet he didn't, but what about your very proper nurse?"

"She... I'm tired, Abraham. Good night." I said, pushing the blanket away, ready to escape from him and this talk. Just how our conversation about his book turned into this?

He shook his head, lost in thoughts. "You know, Samara, when I see you so desperately in love with him after all this time, all these centuries, I can't stop thinking how extremely lucky you two were to have met."

When I just stared at him, nonplussed, he continued.

"When I re-read the old records again recently, I started to wonder what made your father entrust you, his only child, to Lord Vlad's father, rather than Petru Rareş' grandparents; your families were related, I'm certain. The friendship between the two men must have been great, for your father to ignore the family ties, even though they were only distant."

"But... I don't remember Rareş from my previous life." I said, stunned by his words.

"No, you can't. He was only born some twenty years after you died. But you might have met his parents, they might have been your age." He mused.

I shook my head to clear it. I did not remember my own parents, let alone Rareş'.

"Did you find out anything more about my mother?" I asked hopefully.

"As I've told you before, there's next to nothing about her. She came out of nowhere, and died in childbirth. Even her name is lost. I'm sure that only your nurse could tell you anything more about her."

"Good night, Abraham, and thank you." I said, finally standing up.

"Good night, Samara." He replied as he fished a lighter and a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

And Lia thinks he has stopped...

"I'm trying, all right? But it's not as easy as Lia thinks." He said, having divined my thoughts and looking so guilty that it made me laugh.

"I won't tell her, I promise," I said, walking out of the room.

When I reached the top of the staircase I heard the sliding doors open and close behind him, as he sneaked outside to smoke his cigarette secretly, like a teenager.

I got in the bed trying to rein in my rambling thoughts. You need to clear your mind and focus only on a couple of things at a time to make the most of your dreams, I reminded myself. But it wasn't so easy I realised, starting to drift off, my thoughts skipping from Stoker to Clara to Junior and back, then to Katerina, and my idea of taking Vlad out from that place. Would he ever get used to living in this world?

Suddenly I was laying on my bed in the castle, in my chamber bathed in soft firelight, next to Vlad. He wrapped his arms around me as soon as I opened my eyes and blurted out, "Clara! Did you find her?"

"Yes," he murmured into my hair, pulling me even closer, scattering the rest of my thoughts and questions immediately.

"Is she well?" I asked after we kissed, trying to keep my mind clear as I felt his hands travel over my body, followed by his lips.

"She is, now." He said softly, one of his hands resting over my belly, his lips curving into a content smile. "My son found her and he'll look after her. You mustn't worry."

I nodded, giving up. Clara and Junior were both well and safe, and that was as much as I would find out tonight, the rest would have to wait...

"I miss you so much," I whispered later, my head resting on his chest, as I listened to his heartbeat, knowing that as soon as I would wake up, I would be alone again. "Why did you make me leave? I could have waited for you here, in the castle..."

His hand caressing my hair stilled momentarily as he said, "I didn't want to send you away, Samara. If only there had been another way to keep you safe... but there had been none. Rareş turned the country upside down to find you, and nothing is over yet. There will be a trial, as soon as they persuade someone to serve as a witness against me. I'm sure they only let me free now, hoping I'll make you come back from wherever I've hidden you," he said, his words already reaching me from a distance, muted, warbled and distorted.

I sighed, knowing I'd wake up any minute. "I love you," I said, kissing him one last time before he dissolved into the darkness filling my room.