"I know you're hiding in that wall", says eight year old Integra to her vampire servant. She sighs loudly, like she's trying to make a point. "You can come out now."
The little hairs in her neck stand up and she pulls her blankets all the way to her chin as he emerges from the wall in question, a mass of shadow and smoke and red velvet, but she still wears her 'I don't care, you're just a stupid old vampire and I'm not scared of you'-expression, accompanied by her best pout.
"You should be sleeping, little lady". Seeing the grin on his face would not have been necessary to hear it in his voice.
"And you should not be spying on me, servant!"
"Now, now. Just looking out for you".
As her anger dies out, she begins to realize that yes, I'm sleepy, and I don't much mind him watching over me as I fall asleep. Because Integra is eight years old, and because Integra is Integra, heir of the Hellsing dynasty, she knows all about werewolves and vampires and golems, and knowing that, the monster in the closet is probably real too. When you think like that, it might be nice to have a really bad monster on your side.
She's almost half asleep when she feels something kind of like how she'd imagine a wet seal's skin to feel brush her face, ever so lightly.
"Your hands are cold".
"Yeah, well, the dungeons get rather chilly this time of year."
"Don't be stupid. Your hands are cold because you're dead, and the blood you drink can only keep you warm for so long."
"You're a monster", she adds sleepily, for good measure.
"Fine, have it your way", he mutters.
***
"Your lips are cold", says 22 year old Integra Hellsing to her pet, as she wipes away a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth.
Alucard pulls back a little and stares at her lower lip, still entranced. His right hand is toying with the collar of her blouse, pulling at it a little, trying to expose more of her neck.
"Well… I'm dead. Could be why."
"Way to spoil the mood", mutters Integra, as she leans in to give him another taste. She has just barely enough time to wonder where her blouse went before he abruptly lifts her up and carries her off.
Authors notes: My first language is Swedish – English grammar eludes me. And while I do know the words, I'm not always sure they go together the way I write them. I've been told I have a very distinct writing style – I guess that's a good thing, but still, I find every bit of critique helpful, so don't hold back.