Prologue

Vlad Dracula stood and looked over the battle field from one year ago. The year he fell to a traitor's sword. Rather, three traitors' swords. He stared across to the river, where it had happened, and remembered . . .

He struggled to stand, a wound to his leg slowing him. He examined it, fearful that he'd be crippled. A low curse ripped from his clenched teeth, the pain almost too unbearable. Hearing someone uncomfortably close to his hiding spot in the reeds by the river bed, he looked up. Relief flooded him. Three of his most loyal guard–his friends, were searching, lowly calling out his name. He'd be all right now. They'd see to that. He replied, his voice low and harsh. "Over here . . . "

Soon all three stood above him. He looked up, mildly annoyed, and still in a great deal of agony. "Well? Aren't you going to help your prince, your friend, up?" They gave no reply, only stared down at him. Vlad felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Something was not right. "Reigio? What is the meaning of this?" Receiving no answer, he turned to look at his other two friends. "Tel'ek, Ardon . . . what are you doing?" he finished in alarm as they pulled their swords. He scrambled backwards, but his leg hindered him, and he sprawled, landing hard on his stomach. A sharp pain caused him to spasm, a low cry escaping his lips. The traitor twisted the sword as he pulled it out, causing Vlad to go limp. He shuddered with agony as an armor-clad boot flipped him onto his back. He stared up balefully at them, the breath stolen from his lungs. He wanted to rail at them; wanted to cry to the heavens to take note of this grievous betrayal. Tel'ek stood above him, sword held straight down, aimed at his throat. He opened his mouth to try to reason, plead, anything to convince them to stop, but the sword sliced through his neck, tearing what little consciousness he had from him. His last thought was 'I refuse to die, to give in to the dark sleep, while my friends go unpunished. I WILL NOT DIE!"

He stirred an unknown amount of time later, and opened his eyes. Darkness was all around him, and he, in his panic tried to scramble to his feet. His forehead met with something hard: rock. 'What in the name of . . . ?' he thought, shaking his head to clear it. Exploring with his hands, as it was pitch black, he soon discerned that he was in a small stone chamber only just bigger than he. His eyes widened. A coffin! Panic tore at his mind, and the world seemed to twist. He blinked, and looked around, now sitting on the floor in the middle of his own burial chamber, located below his castle. Shuddering, he stood, and staggered out, confusion blurring his thoughts.

He wandered for months, three at least, shock stealing his intellect from him. Finally receiving answers from a lowly witch doctor in a small gypsy town, he knew what he was: the living dead, nosferatu . . . the vampire. Living in a superstitious time, he believed full well in such things, and believed himself damned for a time. Soon discovering that though crosses and holy water caused him some discomfort, but did not burn nor kill as legend told, he decided he was just less favored among God's people.

In his wanderings, he'd heard rumors of what had befallen him. Some said his friends had turned and murdered him, while others argued that he'd fallen in battle. His memory starting to return, he knew it was a mixture of the two. Injured in battle, cut down by his own friends.

He swore to hunt them down, avenge his death tenfold, and then end his own existence. It was lonely, being undead. He'd not found a single other person like him, and humans ran away, terrified. He couldn't even return to his wife, for she, having heard of his death, had killed herself in her unmeasurable grief.

Vlad shook himself, bringing his thoughts back to the present. It had taken him the entire year, but he'd finally hunt down all three traitors. The rumors around his fief, his castle, had been too great, and they'd been forced to flee. The wrath of the townspeople would have torn them limb from limb. He chuckled. Not unlike what he'd done to them, once he'd tired of toying with their minds.

He sighed, the loneliness once again threatening to overwhelm him. He so desperately wanted to be accepted, to have someone to share his life--however long it might be--with someone else. Chiding himself for his weakness, he turned from the scene, and stalked into the darkness, vowing to regain his lands and castle at all costs.

400 years later

Dracula surveyed the scene in front of him. He stood at the base of his castle, looking down on the long and twisted road below him. Far in the distance, he could see a wagon carrying his decoy . . . a coffin. The Szgany, the tribe of gypsies living on his land were guarding it closely, believing him to be inside. And farther back, just barely coming into even his sight, riders forcing their horses to almost suicidal paces.

He sneered. Bloody fools. He'd never be so stupid as to put himself in danger, as they seemed to think. And Mina . . . his darling Mina . . . she had helped him, helped his plan every step of the way. He suspected it was from two very different desires that she did so. Firstly, she wanted him to be safe–she did love him, after all. And secondly, she seemed to want to keep her husband out of harms way. Ah . . . my darling . . . You cannot have it both ways. One of us will come to harm this evening, one of us will die, or be left broken. Whom will you choose?

He shook his head, cursing the human weakness of hesitating, of not making a clear and final choice. Fear kept them from doing what they desired, or what was necessary. He nodded to himself. It was just about time . . . Shimmering, he took on the form of a wolf and quickly made his way down to the Szgany wagon. Reforming, he waited by the side of the road as they approached.

"Master . . . ?" asked the driver, as he pulled the wagon to a stop. "But . . . I thought . . ." He shot a look back at the coffin, puzzled.

"It was a necessary deception, for which I do apologize." He nodded his head at the other, then turned to the box in the rear of the wagon. "Now then . . . It would not do to disappoint our pursuers . . . Nail me inside, quickly." He pried the top off the box, slipped inside, and pulled the lid back on. He heard rapid movement outside as they rushed to do as he ordered. Speaking telepathically to the leader, he ordered. "Whatever you do, make sure you do not let them near me until the sun sets. It is needed for the misleading of the foreigners. Resist only enough to be convincing. I want no loss of any life if possible." He fell silent, waiting for Harker and the others to overtake his loyal servants.

Chuckling to himself, he reformed inside his castle. The deception was complete. His pursuers would think him dead, and leave, satisfied that they had saved their 'Madame Mina'. He sauntered rather slowly back to his library, knowing that he'd not be able to go reassure Mina of his continued well being for some time yet. He was just about to settle into his favorite chair when he heard a noise further into the library. He started, and whirled, snarling. "You'd better show yourself, or you're going to get a nasty surprise."

"Indeed, no, Count. It is you who will receive the surprise!"

Vlad jerked back in pain as a wooden bolt struck him in the chest. Hissing, he staggered backwards. "Van Hellsing!" A second and third bolt followed the first, and toppled the surprised and angry vampire onto his back. Before he could right himself, he found his way blocked by the other. The three bolts had only hit minor areas, his shoulders and side, but he still found himself weakening.

Hellsing pinned him to the ground, then raised a wooden stake, with a blessed silver tip, over his heart. Vlad's eyes widened further, and he started to thrash. Even he could be hurt by that. Before he had the chance to dislodge van Hellsing, the stake was driven home, catching him right in the heart. He howled, bucking wildly as he tried to pull it out. Hellsing drove it in further, causing Vlad to thrash uncontrollably. His eyes dimmed, and the horrible noises and thrashing subsided, his head lolling to the side. The last thing his failing vision saw was a leering grin on van Hellsing's face.

Chapter 1

Alucard shot up, smashing his head into the coffin lid. "Ow, God damn it!" he roared. Throwing the lid off angrily, he jumped up and out, racing from the room, as if to escape the memories. He bowled Seras over in his haste to get upstairs.

"Master!"

He barely spared her a backward glance, taking the stairs two at a time. He knew the reason for his dreams, and he wasn't going to tolerate it. He slammed his master's door open, not bothering to knock. "Integra . . . ?" he growled. "I know you're in here, and I know you've been trying to access my memories again . . . " Getting no reply he sank into a chair by her desk. "Damn it, woman. You know what that does to me . . ."

He waited in vain for her to answer. After an hour he stood, and started to pace, then stalked angrily to the light switch, and flicked it on. He surveyed the room, knowing it would look no different and just as empty in the light. Growling to himself, he flicked it again, sending the room back into darkness. He took long purposeful strides to the next room–her room. She had to be in there. He knew full well he wasn't allowed inside without an invitation, but just at that moment he didn't care. He slammed the door open and stepped inside.

Integra froze, staring across the room at him from her bed, where she'd been reclining. Sitting up, and placing the days reports to the side, she glowered at him. "Alucard . . . what in the name of hell do you think you're doing!" she yelled, throwing the nearest object–a hardback book–at him. He ducked and stepped closer.

"I want to know why you insist on trying to pry into my mind . . . forcing me to relive those moments!" he growled, left eye twitching.

She regarded him, noting the twitch. Smirking lightly, she shifted. "Well, I've told you before. I will know everything about my servant that I can, so he will not have any secrets from me." Integra eyed him, a slight amount of concern in her eyes. "However . . . I have not tried in the past month, as you well know." She picked up a cigar, and lit it, then turned back to him. "Why did you ask anyhow? Had another dream?" Though her voice was light, she was nervous, for when Alucard dreamed bad things always happened.

He smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know." He was annoyed with both himself and her. He knew she'd been prying again, and just wouldn't admit to it. And he'd backed down, conceded another battle to her. Backing into the shadows and becoming lost in them, he disappeared, heading for his rooms.

Alucard paced angrily. It had been four days since he'd last dreamed, and still she refused to admit to prying. He growled. He hated being reminded of his first defeat. His first humiliation. If it hadn't been for Kael . . . He rubbed his forehead. Don't start thinking about him as well. He's gone. Dead, most likely. You've not sensed him for years . . . not since before the second world war when you were . . . caught. He swallowed hard. Yet another bad memory. It seemed that he had more of those than happy ones.

Of course, that was bound to occur when you were a vampire more than five hundred years old, who had just about everyone gunning for him. The Vatican, other vampires, the freaks, various humans . . . even his own master . . . he suspected that if she thought she could get along without him that she'd have found a way to off him long ago. The only thing that held her back was the fact that without him, the Hellsing Organization would have gone under years before. He sighed, and quietly slid back into his coffin. It was night, but he'd been up for the past three days, too keyed up to rest. He'd been too worried about having his mind invaded again, and refused to let his guard down. Now, however, he was just too exhausted to care. If he dreamt, so be it. With similar thoughts drifting through his mind, he slipped off to sleep.

"Master . . . "

A voice called to him through the darkness. A familiar voice.

"Master, wake up. . . . I can't feed you properly if you don't . . . "

The voice sounded annoyed now, almost exasperated, and he felt something shove him. A flicker of annoyance made him stir slightly, and he growled, lashing out at the assailant. A chuckle met his ears.

"Hitting me won't change that fact, nor will growling at me."

Kael. It was Kael trying to wake him, not a human, not Van Hellsing. He slip his eyes open, peering up into the darkness. A blurry form hovered above him, and he blinked at it, trying to clear his vision. Nothing. Everything was still blurry. "Wha . . . ? Why aren't my eyes working?"

Kael sounded amused. "They are working. You looked straight at me."

"I know that, you bloody idiot. But they won't focus . . . " He growled at the other, irritation evident in his voice. He struggled to sit up, and found himself being supported and pulled back to a wall. "I can stand up on my own, Kael . . . "

There was a pause, and then a very soft answer. "I...don't think that you could master." Kael shifted uncomfortably, then turned his back, setting about lighting candles.

"What . . . do you mean?" he struggled to right himself, as he'd been sliding sideways along the wall. "I'm perfectly able to . . . " He trailed off, events of that fateful night rushing into his brain. He shuddered, suddenly realizing just why he felt so bad. He'd only vaguely remembered something to do with Hellsing, but it all became clear to him. He'd been captured–and staked. And Mina . . . his dearest beloved . . . she'd believe him lost to her now, and would have left him behind. He swallowed hard. "Mina . . . what happened after Van Hellsing attacked me?"

A look of surprise and horror crossed Kael's face. "Master . . . Vlad–don't you remember? She . . . she was the one who led Van Hellsing to you!"

Vlad stared at him, fury written across his face. "DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT!" he roared, trembling with indignation. There was absolutely no way she had . . . the thought trailed off as he watched his servant. Kael had flinched at his tone of voice, but hadn't backed down, instead, he was favoring Vlad with a look full of . . . pity. Vlad felt a terrible emptiness tear open within him, and threaten to consume him. A wail was building in his throat, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to contain it. It ripped free from his lips as he surged to his feet. Staggering forward, he rushed into the hall, looking around wildly. He had to get away. And as he had indeed managed to get to his feet, he saw no reason to stay.

He lurched down the hall, and wavered at the stairs, staring at the ruins of his castle in horror. "No . . . " He crumpled to his knees, gaping at the scene before him. Everything that could burn had been torched, ruined. He looked back down the hall to the room he'd raced from, his eyes meeting Kael's.

"This one hall is the only one that survived the fire, master . . . " Kael murmured, eyes averted. "By the time I'd managed to get inside, half of it had already gone up in smoke. They left you down in the center hall, spread eagle on the floor. You . . . the stake was pinning you to the ground, and I thought you were dead . . . until you moaned." He shifted. "The fire had almost reached you, and it took all my strength to get you up here, and keep the fire at bay. I'm sorry." His servant looked up at Vlad, his own eyes blazing with fury. "They were all gone before I could even think of going after them." His gaze was piercing, fiery, just as the Count's usually was.

Vlad nodded. "I...suspected as much. Thank you, Kael, for . . . everything." He turned back to the wreckage, and forced himself to give it a good look; a final look. Then he stood, shakily, and made himself walk slowly back to where Kael was waiting.

Alucard shot straight up, glad he'd left the lid off the coffin this time. He had had just about enough of the dreams. They were getting increasingly painful. This last one had torn open old wounds he thought healed. He stomped over to a chair, and threw himself into it, intent on brooding for the rest of the . . . day? He closed his eyes, extending his senses to find out. It was early evening, he realized with a start. He'd slept the rest of the night, and all day. Grumbling under his breath, he reached out a hand and called a tray full of blood packets to him. Walter had obviously been by earlier. He'd just started into them when there was a knock at the door. He sighed. "Yes, what is it?"

Integra opened the door, and considered Alucard's form. "You've been dreaming again." She said it as a statement, not a question.

Alucard growled at her. "And if I had . . . , would it make any difference to you?" he asked snidely, intent on making her just as ornery as he felt.

She refused to take the bait, and answered him calmly. "It would. I cannot have both of my vampires weak and unable to do their duties." She studied him silently for a long moment, until he shifted uncomfortably and set his meal aside.

"Must you stare at me like that?" he rumbled at her, annoyed. "It makes feeding one's self very difficult."

"Oh?" she asked casually. "Why is that?"

He looked up at her in irritation. "Would you like it if I watched you so intently while you ate?" his eyes had narrowed, and darkened slightly, his temper to the boiling point. The dream had unnerved him, and he didn't want her to see. Her staring at him, watching him feed was causing him to be jumpy, worried that he'd say or do something to reveal his troubles. Shifting again, he realized they were at a stalemate. She would not back down. He was the servant. But he would not give in. He was nosferatu, and proud. He would not be the one to give in...