Hello lovely readers! This is part one of a two-shot with Dracula and an OC. Feedback is much welcome, just don't flame me.

Disclaimer; I don't own the movie or characters from Van Helsing. I do, however own this storyline and my OC Kasmira.

Dedication; To Valeska Vampire Queen for being so good as to edit this for me. If there are any blunders they were done at my own hand. Thanks for your help hun!xxx

Vices Of The Valerious

The clink of metal on the hard surface resounded so her husband glanced up from his dinner, slightly annoyed. Kasmira realised how nervous she truly was when her quivering hand dropped her knife to the floor. His expression changed from irritation to concern as he noticed her state of unease. She didn't wish to look upon his face so she reached for her knife so as to give herself an excuse to look away. His impatience she could handle, but sympathy or tenderness she felt she did not deserve.

She retrieved the knife all too soon and was forced to meet his gaze again.

"Kas, he will be fine. He is a young man now, he must change position from protected to protector."

Although his words were meant to be comforting they had the opposite affect on her. They confused her slightly until the realisation hit her- Velkan, of course! He was to go hunting today. After the werewolves and the brides. How could she have let such an important event slip her mind?

Because all you can think about is him, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. He had not visited for weeks, possibly months and this made her tense and fidgety. Her restlessness was caused by her longing for his touch, an addiction that she was experiencing withdrawals from. She would awaken in the middle of the night with her skin coated in her own sweat from the sweltering heat and yearn for the icy skin of her lover to ease her discomfort. He had not come and part of her feared that he had found another, someone younger perhaps.

Her weakness distracted her from everything else, made her appear dazed. Made her forget that her only son might not return home. Part of her hated her lover, but not as much as she had come to hate herself.

She glanced out of the nearby window where Anna was playfully throwing snowballs at Velkan. He was doing his best do ignore her, by hauling his bag full of weaponry onto his back. A look of steely determination adorned his face and Kasmira found herself longing for his boyish grin instead. He was almost a man now, yet all she wanted to do was cuddle him protectively against her bosom, like she had done when he was younger. She wished she had taken more notice during dinner. She could have read his face, his fears and attempted to soothe them. But she had been too consumed with thoughts of her paramour and that everything else became intangible when he entered her mind. The children had left the table early, leaving herself and Boris to pick half-heartedly at their food. She felt a slight prickle in her eyes as ashamed tears began to well. What if her selfish lusts had cost her a final meal with both of her children? What if all four of them never sat together at dinner again? She cursed herself for not savouring the experience. She cursed him for distracting her.

"I believe it best to send Anna to Karsden's while we are hunting."

There was no inquiry in her husbands voice, he was merely stating what he intended to do. It obviously didn't matter what she thought.

She continued to play with her food with her fork as she decided how best to respond.

"Why, is she not safe in my care?" she sounded petty even to her own ears. She heard Boris sigh inwardly. Still, she refused to meet his gaze.

"She enjoys young Varenka's company, it will distract her from her brother's absence. Also, there are plenty men to guard her over there."

"Am I not worthy of protection?"

"Just a moment ago you denied that such protection was necessary. Now you feel vulnerable alone?"

She only scowled at him, not bothering to defend herself.

He continued to explain. "I feel that it would be best if we were separated. Velkan and I will be hunting in separate groups so if one group is attacked, one of our survivals is guaranteed. I believe dividing yourself and Anna will benefit the cause in the same way. You will lock your bedroom door and windows and wait for our return. You have weapons, should there be an attack."

He sounded disbelieving that she should be the target of an attack. She didn't know whether to be offended or relieved. Did he believe that as an aging woman not a Valerious by birth, that she was not a worthy victim? Did he expect her to be grateful that she might live to see her children die? She was in hell and didn't know what to pray for without being plagued by guilt. Pray for her own survival and witness her family's deaths or pray for her own demise so that her family members could live to die another day? Or go against everything she had been taught on her arrival to Vaseria over fifteen years ago and pray for him to show himself to her again?

0000

After dragging herself up the staircase and bolting her door shut behind her, Kasmira sat in front of her mirror. She stared down into her lap for a full minute as she tried to regain her breath. Every movement she made these days seemed to remind her that she was no longer at her prime. No longer a blossoming rose, she was beginning to wither. Old age was beginning to show itself, like the creeping cracks that inched their way across unsuspecting ice. She did not wish to look at herself as she steadied her breathing as she didn't want to see a red faced, bloated old woman staring back at her.

She had been trim once, but after giving birth to two children she had failed to retain her former shape. She hadn't sprouted outwards in an obvious way, but had undeniably become softer…fuller. Now she was a hollow shell of her former beauty. An echo of a booming shout across a cliff top. Nothing more. Envy reared it's ugly head as an image of the eldest bride flashed across her mind.

Verona had appeared ancient to her on her arrival when she was nineteen. Now she looked about the same age. Or did the raven haired harpy look even younger? The thought sickened her.

What was she doing? She should be worrying about her husband, her children, not agonising over her lost youth. She should put her responsibilities as a mother first not last. She finally gathered the courage to look at her reflection. The sight wasn't as awful as she had anticipated. Her face was far narrower than the contorted image that she had summoned to her mind's eye. Her cheeks were not half as puffy or flushed. Although mildly satisfied that she had not grown into a podgy old woman yet, a part of her was deeply disturbed by the fact that a mother's love neglected to shine from her eyes. That's what her lover did to her-made her crazy with yearning and lust that was soon quenched with her own shame. As much as a part of her longed to be rid of him, she knew she would not survive if he were to perish. She was like a woman that had grown weary of life but could not help but breath in air all the same. He was a necessity. She needed him all the time, whether she wanted him or not.

Lost in thought, she failed to notice the other presence in the room until there was a barely perceivable creak in one of the floorboards. Before she could whirl around, a shroud of blackness engulfed her as a pair of skilled hands tied a now familiar blindfold across her line of vision.

Her mind longed to rebel against the man that she knew was behind her but her body was both traitorous and selfish and she was powerless to stop it from leaning back into his waiting arms.

At last! her skin seemed to sing as the rational part of her mind begged him to stop.

Then the cool, lifeless breath of Count Dracula tickled her right ear.

"Missed me, love?"

She tried to suppress a groan and was unsuccessful. His rich, mellifluous voice was as soothing as music. His tone made her grateful that she was sitting, her knees would have gave out beneath her otherwise. His husking whisper was an oxymoron, it was both a promise of great pleasure and a threat of punishment if she dared to disobey him. She pursed her lips in an attempt to stop herself from dishing out a retort. It would do her no good.

She felt his eyes on her face and heard the smirk in his voice as he goaded her, while releasing her hair from it's many pins. "Where's that brazen girl? The insolent brat from nigh twenty years ago? Has she locked herself away and sent you in her place? An unfeeling mask?"

She tried and failed to ignore his comment. "And you would know well about being an emotionless mask!"

Colour rushed to her cheeks as a result of her anger. She regretted it instantly as it just proved what a strong hold he had over her and her emotions. He jerked her head back by the hair and ran his nose over her neck in response. The tip of his nose was surprisingly pacifying as it traced a path on her scorching neck. It felt like a cool stream soothing burnt vegetation. It didn't matter what the weather was like, she was always burning without him. His frosty touch made her feel as if she were being submerged in ice. It was heaven. A reprieve from the sweltering claustrophobia of her life.

"There's still life in the old lady yet!" he chuckled and she felt his muscular chest vibrating against her back. "Don't become too defiant though…remember what happened last time, dearest?"

Indeed she did. About five years ago after one of their "dances", he had laughed at her desperation to see his eyes. She had pleaded with him for a glance, a peep into the windows of his damned soul, but he refused to give in to her.

"You don't want me to see them because you know I'll be disappointed. Boris has beautiful eyes, like chestnuts! I'll bet yours are a dreary, expressionless grey!"

The next day Boris arrived home with an eye missing and every time she looked at him she felt guilty. He believed Dracula had done it because he feared him but only she knew that he had done it to prove a point. Whenever she felt like snapping at her lover after that particular incident, she bit down on her tongue. Hard.

Her hair was now released from it's pins and tumbled down her back in waves of chocolate. As soon as her locks were freed she had felt him loosening the strings that bound her corset together. Simultaneously she found herself becoming less tense, the shedding of her clothes felt liberating, made her feel in control. Well…as in control as possible when one is being seduced by a centuries old vampire.

She wished more than anything that she could have a clear image of him in her mind. As her corset fell to the ground he lifted her skirts and rubbed his skilled fingers across her body's most sensitive spot. Her hitched breathing was his reward. Her head rolled back in exquisite agony as his fingers worked their fiendish magic on her lower body. He kissed a trail down her neck while his other hand played with her breasts. Oh, if only she knew what he looked like! The scene would be perfect.

She lifted her head. He noticed her distraction and ceased in his ministrations. Her body mourned the loss of his lips and hands.

"Please….describe yourself to me." Her voice sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.

He chuckled again to her chagrin. Could he never take her seriously?

"Oh dulceata, I could bear an uncanny resemblance to my servants the German trolls. I could be a monster. Doesn't my anonymity make this all the more exciting? The mysterious dream lover of which you know so very little…."

"You are a monster."

"On the inside yes, but I have never hidden that from you. I could be hideous dulceata and you remain completely ignorant. My eyes could be bloodshot, my skin sagging and withered, my teeth yellow and rotting-" the last part uttered, he bit lightly into her neck, earning him a soft groan of approval. "…and yet you arch against me more desperate for release than a bitch in heat. So you see dearest, an appealing body is only a catalyst in love making. It is not essential."

"You are not hideous."

"Oh?" Her certainty seemed to surprise him.

"You would not be named "The Master of Seduction" if you were ugly. I don't believe that women would throw themselves at you if you if you were unsightly," She didn't mention that after all these years, she knew his body better than she knew her own. She had felt some scars scattered here and there, souvenirs from his years spent in battle. Some women would frown upon them and view them as blemishes, but not her. She was certain that behind every scar was a story, making his marked body a map of his life. Besides these, he was well muscled and his shaft was very well endowed, so much so that when he had entered her the first time it had hurt her. Since then she had gotten used to his size and the pain had quickly turned to pleasure.

"Clever girl, and how do you know that I don't blindfold them all?" he snorted.

"Because I have traced your face many times and it is clear. I have felt your teeth buried in my flesh and know that you are lacking none. I have ran my fingers through your hair and found it to be silky smooth….your eyes are the only mystery to me and they alone cannot make you ugly. You only blindfold me because it gives you control. There is no need for you to hide away from anyone else. You enjoy my ignorance because it makes me miserable." Her voice had grown soft, wistful.

He offered no confirmation of her suspicions, but did not deny them either. The moments that followed crept by so slowly that Kasmira wondered if time had stopped completely. When she thought she could bear it no longer she heard a growl of passion in her ear and before she could form a thought, she felt the soft touch of her mattress beneath her. He had moved her so quickly that she felt like she had been transported. She heard him undressing then, the opening of buttons and the unmistakeable clunk of a belt hitting the floor along with his trousers. Lastly, she heard him kick off his shoes and then he was on her.

He kissed her with more passion than she thought was possible for a man to possess. His deft tongue invaded her mouth, ran along every tooth and invited her tongue to dance with it. He was so persistent that she was sure that he had forgotten her need to breathe. Just when this thought began to worry her he broke away. She cringed inwardly as he began to reacquaint himself with the rest of her body. She was suddenly overcome with embarrassment at her deteriorated form. She instinctively shied away and as if he had read her mind he attempted to reassure her.

"Dulceata, you are like good wine-your appeal only increases with age. You are soft, voluptuous, full. You entice me effortlessly with your curves."

"What of the younger girls in the village?" she choked out.

"I have no use for them now. Perhaps long ago when I could have availed of their sharp bones to impale my enemies on but not in this day and age."

Why did he have to do that? Make her glow with pride and then spoil it by making such barbaric comments? Her anger soon melted into a pool of desire as he tore what remained of her skirt into shreds and began peppering wet kisses on her stomach.

"What were you saying about me being power hungry, love?" he husked as he swirled his tongue around the inside of her navel.

She moaned, unable to focus on his question. She was intoxicated, almost on the brink and she hadn't even been fully consumed yet.

"Perhaps this is a conversation best saved for another time."

Before she could nod in agreement he clasped her buttocks and lifted her upwards. She gasped as his tongue reached it's goal. He explored the shape of her centre, memorizing her taste before plunging his tongue deep inside of her. She bit down on her bottom lip to suppress a scream. Something huge was building inside of her. Something that begged for release. Her body arched against him, helpless to do anything else as he made love to her with his tongue. Her climax did not take long and then she melted like sweetness, like honey on his tongue.

When he resurfaced, her face was plastered with her own hair, the result of thrashing back and forth. He swept her long curls aside and then did something completely unexpected-he untied the blindfold.

She noticed the difference immediately, her forehead and eyelids felt cooler. It was a refreshing sensation. It did not last long as before she could open her eyes he clasped one hand over her line of vision. She yelped in frustration and tried desperately to pry his hand away but to no avail. He was resolute.

"Now, before I do anything rash dulceata-why do you want to look me in the eyes? Persuade me to allow you this pleasure."

A million answers sat on the tip of her tongue. Her dream was so close yet so far away. Of course he was in complete control, he enjoyed watching her squirm, struggle to find the right words.

How to explain? Should she say something brave like- I want to face evil in the eye and stare him down or I want to see if Boris lost his eye for a reason?

Hundreds of statements like these crowded her mind. Instead of choosing a practical one, a brave one, she chose the one that would state the truth.

"I want to see if you love me."

Please review! Thanks for reading.=)