It was a peaceful night. The moon was out and glowing brightly, making the snow glimmer in a dream-like fashion. The wind howled as it brushed through the caverns, completing the haunted look to the large castle.
The estate itself was extremely large. There were over five floors of beauty. The castle retained the medieval look that it had contained since it was built; sitting rooms, parlors, dining halls. He had taken special care in maintaining his home. Although, he had to admit, that he liked being outside.
The beauty on the inside never changed. True, it never got ugly to the eyes, but refreshing scenes were relaxing. And that's what the outdoors did for him; offered a natural beauty that was never quite the same, however slight the change. But, unfortunately, he couldn't enjoy it at the moment. There was something wrong with the plans; he could feel it.
The plans were simple enough. To be honest, they were far easier than many other tasks he assigned. But, judging by the hurried steps coming up the stairs, it obviously proved too difficult for his…followers to handle.
He grimaced at the opening of his bedroom's door, obviously trying to be as silent as possible. He didn't understand why there were even attempting to go unnoticed; he had heard them before they even entered the large oak doors. He could smell the sweat running down his face – he now identified him as a man – and the shakiness as he withdrew each breath. He was afraid; there was obviously going to be disappointment and anger ahead.
When the man chosen to deliver the news hesitated behind him, he wasted no time. He wanted to know the details of the failure quickly, that way he could recover from last time. And, give the assignment to someone else, since it was apparent that the original team couldn't handle it.
"Marco," he said, turning around to face the young man, holding his hands up as if greeting an old friend. The smile, of course, was a façade to the anger that would soon be unleashed on the fellow. "Do you mind explaining to me what went wrong?"
The man looked utterly bewildered. He was new; he didn't know that the man he served knew everything. He knew failure, success, pain, brilliance, everything. Soon, he would realize that.
Marco shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to either side. He suspected he was looking for an escape route. He probably thought he was going to die. Again.
"Count," he said nervously, bowing his head in submission."We had the girl," he remarked, but trailed off.
He let out a sigh. Now he was becoming impatient. Hands clasped behind his back, he took long strides towards the man until he was right in front of him. He watched, with some satisfaction, Marco visibly shrink. At least the fool was smart enough to fear him. The arrogant idiots never lasted long.
"Marco," he said, looking downward for a moment, smiling. Marco seemed to relax at this gesture; he watched the servant's muscles loosen. That was the moment that his head snapped back up, his hand lurching forward to fasten around Marco's neck, who instinctively wrapped his hands around the other's wrist, but the grip didn't lessen.
"Let me tell you a little something about me, Marco," he said, his bottom lip curving into a frown. "I do not enjoy suspense," he said, then laughed coldly. "I do not enjoy anything," he mused, then tightened his grip on Marco's neck. "So, you're hesitation over the matter is wearing down on my patience," he said, diverting his gaze to look over Marco's shoulder as his door was opened again.
The woman closed the door silently, had he not been expecting her she would have been hard to detect, and walked calmly out to the balcony. She looked over one man, and then the other. She turned her piercing green eyes to rest on the one who was man-handling Marco.
"Dracula, m'dear," she said, laying her hands on his shoulder. "We met unexpected complications," she explained, glancing at Marco.
Looking at her a bit coldly, but with curiosity provoking him, he released Marco, who doubled over in a coughing fit. Dracula gave him an irritated glance, and then motioned for him to leave when he regained his breath. Once the door was shut, he turned his icy gaze to the woman.
"Verona," he said, giving her a small smile. He raised his hand, caressing her pale cheek with the back of it. "We have seen every possible complication," he reasoned, brushing a black strand of hair out of his face.
She looked at him seriously, the edges of her mouth twitching downward. "We've never had to deal with this, my darling," she said.
Verona was his favorite bride. Although he treated Marishka and Aleera well, Verona was the oldest of the three, and had the most experience. She also proved to be a mother figure to the other two brides, and he was thankful for that. Together, the four of them proved to be an excellent team. It was agreed that if it had not been for Van Helsing, his reign would have lasted much longer. So, the deal had been sealed again, including his brides.
"There werewolves that accompanied us on the mission," she said quickly, knowing her master's lack of patience, but keeping a calm, rationed tone, "they rebelled."
Dracula pondered over this. Werewolves had been under his control for centuries. But only for the last five years did he extend his control to where the number of werewolves at his feet seemed endless, as well as vampires. All of the vampires that they – he, Verona, Aleera, and Marishka – had turned now lived in the castle with him and his brides. But there was no questioning who lead them; those who were insuperior knew their place. There were no second chances; no reminders.
"How did this," he asked, looking at her calmly, "come about?"
Verona was much easier to extract information from than Marco; he was an idiot. She had more intelligence than to wither in his mere presence. On the contrary, she loved to drown in it.
"We were just outside the town, searching for the last one of the group," she said, her eyes searching the area around them. It was an act that had become instinct. "We were about to progress when one of the werewolves howled."
He opened his mouth to speak, but Verona intervened. "It wasn't one of ours'."
Well at least there was that. His werewolves were taught better than to howl during any mission, even if it was to contact a fellow werewolf. Their howls are greatly known by the villagers, and he wouldn't doubt that they were all going to stay inside for the next few nights now, knowing that a werewolf had been nearby. But, the fact that it wasn't one of his own made him uneasy as well. There were no strays; every werewolf had a master, and Dracula himself was the only master for miles. There was no need for a werewolf of different loyalty to be so far away from home, and he'd of course bring up the matter the next time he met with Radolphus, Kade, and Gregory.
"We had to kill three, m'dear," Verona went on, looking up at him. "The other two ran off, Marishka is out looking for them," she said, then was silent for a moment. "She did very well," she acknowledged finally, "she killed two of the werewolves herself."
He smiled. Marishka may not be experienced, but there was no denying that she was deadly. Her cruel demeanor was what he liked about her; she'll be a most impressive bride in about another century or so, when she finally has age behind her to properly handle herself. Verona has done wonders for her; taking the young bride under her wing and teaching her, as she did with Aleera. She did this duty efficiently, so Dracula needn't bother with it.
"What about the werewolf who caused the disturbance?" he questioned, cupping her face in his palms, his thumbs stroking her jaw line affectionately.
"We never caught a glimpse of it," she said, bringing a hand of her own to cover his'. "It wasn't close enough for us to detect it."
By "us", he knew that she was referring to Aleera, Marishka, and herself. She held no regard for the others that had accompanied the three; his brides only felt loyalty to one, him. And he had no objections to it; the thought of their faith lying in anyone else was unnerving. Not to mention deadly for the one who claimed their affections. He did not put up with it, and hopefully would never have too.
Taking a step away from his bride, he walked back within the castle walls, Verona in toll. They walked in silence, Dracula making his way down two staircases before entering a large room that, for the moment, only contained a long table with chairs to accompany it. On certain nights, however, this was the room where entertainment of all sorts took place. It was the largest room in the whole castle, so it was obviously a perfect room to hold balls and other things of the sort. Although, it hadn't been put to its proper use as of late.
Walking into the middle of the room, he let his gaze sweep over his surroundings, hesitating on the group that he knew would be there. The small gathering consisted of mostly men, but a few women as well, who had scars adorning their faces and arms. It was a sight that always made him smirk; the brides never wasted any time letting the newest female members know who was in charge.
They shifted uneasily at his approaching. They were obviously expecting some sort of punishment for their failure. Normally, that would have been the case. But because of Verona's interference, their worthless skins were saved. If it had only been Marco that he needed to persuade to give him information, they all would have been dead. With the exception of his brides, of course.
"Aleera," he motioned to the young woman, feeling as though his brides were the only dependable ones in the room. He let her push her way out of the group before continuing, "have you come upon any more information about our rogue werewolf?"
A sly smile came across her face. They both knew that if she had known the whereabouts of the lone were-creature, she wouldn't be standing within the walls. She and the other two would have been out taking care of the problem. Like he, his women felt that their newer members of the family proved to be utterly useless in some situations.
"No, master," she said, glancing to her right. "but Marishka will be returning….now," she said, grinning.
Another door opened, and sure enough, the dirty-blonde bride entered. Although instead of sporting that mischievous grin that fit her so perfectly, her eyes were narrowed and everyone in the room felt the dangerous presence around her. With a quick look over her, Dracula discovered several rips in the yellow fabric that adorned her body, and sight of the claw-marks soon followed.
"Marishka, m'dear," he said, stepping forward and narrowing his eyes in concern. "What troubles you?"
She didn't speak until she stood in front of him. She then glanced furiously at the group of by-standers. They quickly scattered, leaving only Dracula, Aleera, Verona, and the youngest bride in the room.
"I killed the two werewolves," she said, although that obviously wasn't what was bothering her.
He hadn't doubted that Marishka would have found the beasts and disposed of them. Ever since their return, her skill had increased significantly, and she was well on her way to becoming the deadliest of the brides. Although each of them, of course, held a deadly risk.
"The other one came," she said, tossing a glance at Verona and Aleera, as if blaming them for not accompanying her on the task. "the one who caused them to rebel."
Dracula looked over her wounds again. He wondered who, if the werewolf was indeed claimed by someone, had trained the creature to cause such damage. Marishka still might be slightly naïve when it came to things, but she certainly wasn't an easy target. But, there were more scratches and gashes than he had thought; it was a wonder that she made it back alive.
Wrapping an arm around the battered bride, he turned to the older brides, smiling. "You three," he directed, referring to Marishka as well, "will set out on the town tonight. Marishka needs her strength to be returned, as well as both of yours," he said, watching his brides nod. "And then," he continued, breaking free from Marishka and taking a few steps forward, "you will track the werewolf, and kill it."
Marishka shifted her position so she was standing in front of him, resting a hand on his chest. "Not it, m'love," she said, looking up at him. "Her."