I.
There was no formal proposal, no ring presented on bended knee, yet instead he had come to her on the battlefield, sword glinting at her hip, the head of a ghoul clenched in the other—their faces caked in dried blood that flaked off with every movement.
"Master," he whispered as he set his lips to her ear, an arm snaking around her waist to pull her tight against the line of his body, "marry me."
It was not a request, but a demand, hissed harshly upon her skin, and Alucard could feel the amused chuckle ripple through her. The results of her decapitation fell to his feet and she reached up, one hand smearing the fresh blood of her capture over his mouth, the visceral wetness glittering stark upon snow-white skin.
It smelled like rotting meat.
Crimson-tainted fingers twined into the raw silk of his hair, pulling his face down to meet her own, lips brushing against his, and the corners of her mouth quirked, turning upwards into a smug grin.
"Say it again, servant."
In that moment, had she asked for the world on fire, he would have lain it at her feet.
"Marry me, Master!"
His expression was wild when she laughed at him, pupils blown wide as his mouth closed over her own, and she kissed him with her eyes open.
He reveled in her audacity to do so.
His tongue was still in her mouth when she pulled away, and blunt teeth bit at him, punishing him for lingering there, even as he groaned at the action.
Her eyes were full of mocking when she finally answered, feeling the earth shatter around him at her reply.
"No."
II.
The snow blew against the window, beating a heavy rhythm as it slammed against the panes in strong, powdery waves.
The manor was chilled, old as it was, and two forms converged, nude in front of the crackling hearth, all long limbs and sweat-damp skin.
"Plutarch again, my Master?"
The woman leaned more firmly against him, turning a page in the well-worn anthology, fraying leather soft against her hands as her legs tangled further with his own underneath the thick coverlet they had pulled to the floor in their haste.
His hands were bandied about her waist to rest in her lap, gloved fingers tracing meaningless patterns on the skin of her stomach, the thick book resting on her bare breasts as golden firelight danced over dusky nipples.
"'De capienda ex inimicis' is always worth turning back to," she replied, one hand stroking up and down the top of his thigh, almost a soothing gesture—as if to reassure him that she was there."One learns a lot from his enemies."
The skin underneath her hand was smooth and unmarred—flawless.
The vampire laughed at her, a rumbling chuckle she could feel in her chest as he pressed his lips to her hair.
"And does she learn more by sleeping with them?"
She closed the book upon a sigh, glancing upwards at him as she set it to the side, now abandoned to her thoughts.
"You were never my enemy, Alucard."
"Really?" He turned her in his arms, tanned hands coming to rest atop his chest as she pushed him down, fully spread underneath her, completely bare to her gaze. "You were always mine."
Rough fabric reached up to cup her cheek, running through platinum strands, before pressing his forehead to hers.
He touched her as if she were spun from gold.
"And what will you do when your humble servant is the last one standing come the finish line?"
A square jaw tightened, and long fingers reached down to curl about his neck, blunt nails pressing into his windpipe.
Her eyes were hard.
"Then I will tear his throat out with my teeth should he not take my bullet."
His eyes were loving—tender—full of a strange sincerity as he propped himself up on an elbow, leaning forward to lave away the sweat pooling in the hollows of her collarbones with his tongue, nose brushing against her shoulder.
"Master," her murmured, closing his eyes as he buried his face into her skin, drinking her in, arms caging her to him, "mar—?"
A hand clamped over his mouth as she heard the rising inflection, knowing the question before he even asked it, a pale head bending down to press her lips to his stomach and further, silencing him with teeth and tongue until he groaned her name, the words upon his lips all but forgotten.
She didn't want to hear it.
III.
Everyone had said she looked beautiful in the pristine white dress.
Alucard thought it would look better spattered with red.
"Do you love him, Master?" he asked her as he twisted her hair into a tight chignon, pushing the last of the pins into place. Strands of loose silver still hung lightly by her cheekbones, and she casually tucked a piece behind her ear, though her eyes reflected in the mirror were hard as she replied.
"No, never," her upper lip curled in disgust, "but he will give me children."
Alucard did not jolt at her words—did not argue—just merely ran a gloved hand over the side of her neck, feeling the warmth of the skin there and the blood rush through her arteries.
But she was no blushing bride. This was merely another battle for her to fight—to conquer. She did not lean into his touch.
"Are you jealous, Servant, that you would try so hard only to lose again in the end?"
He snarled harshly at her, fingers curling around her right shoulder to roughly turn her and pin her to the far wall.
"Jealousy doesn't even begin to describe my feelings, Integra," he growled, a vibrating shudder low in his throat, fangs bared. "You were supposed to be mine."
She laughed at him, long-fingered gloves reaching up to run over his cheek, coming to rest on his tense jawline before she cupped his chin in her palm.
"Does the knight ever marry the dragon? Fairy tales don't end that way."
He scoffed at her.
"They marry royalty. Do you truly still believe in such stories, Integra?"
"And do you still hold claim to that title, No Life King?" She was mocking him, placing emphasis on the last word, because what king could lay claim to his birthright after they had been domesticated—stripped from their power? "You wouldn't know—you've never loved."
His laugh was bitter in return.
"Yes, I, too, can love."
Just let me show you.
Sealed hands adorned with his servitude no matter what route she chose twisted into the hair at the nape of her neck, jerking her head back to expose her throat, and he leaned down to press pointed fangs into her flesh, the so-recently placed hairpins strategically holding strands in place scattering about their feet, blonde waves cascading about her shoulders once more.
How dare you do this to me, Master?
But he did not bite, did not even draw twin beads of blood, even as his hand convulsed in her hair. Instead, lips trailed over her jawline, only to place a featherlight kiss upon her lips before he drew away, his eyes searching hers—beseeching.
He gave her away to the groom with her hair in disarray and blood on his face .
Marry me, Master, he said to her one final time as the wedding vows echoed throughout the elaborate chapel. Please marry me.
Her "I do," held a different meaning as she looked at him, eyes sad.
It's too late now.
IV.
Her husband's severed head was held in her left hand, her sword in her right, and her dress was stained a brilliant crimson—Judith with the head of Holofernes.
"Did you know, Alucard?" she asked, tossing the head away from her and flicking the blood from her saber, sheathing it in one smooth stroke. She sounded worn—weary.
"I had suspected, Master."
Barely married for seven hours only to find out upon the marriage bed that her new husband was a newly-turned vampire. Integra always did have such awful luck.
"Are you pleased, then? Were you hoping it would turn out like this?"
He did not lie when he replied.
"Yes."
She laughed then, hysteria bubbling up into her throat, her mind cracking at the night's events and she pointed her scabbard at the headless body upon the bed, the pools of blood there staining the pristine sheets Walter had laid out to consummate their union.
"Then eat him, Alucard. Eat the Judas that lays before me so that he shall not know a true death.
And so he did, messy and vengeful as he fed, gorging upon the corpse's skin and muscle, taking him into his body in the most violent of ways because this man had taken away what he had deemed as his own so long ago.
She watched him eat, unflinching.
Her husband's undead heart was in his mouth when he felt fingers curl in his hair, pulling him away from his meal and he obediently dropped his prize to be slammed into the dresser, the edge of the wood digging into his lower back.
His expression was feral, eager, and her lips closed demandingly over his own.
The kiss was sloppy and passionate—full of teeth and tongues—and she had his wrists locked to his sides, forbidding his movement. And when she pulled away, she licked the blood from his fangs with a smile.
"Marry me, servant."
Not a statement, not a question—but a command—and the power lacing those three words made his body shudder.
And he laughed. Laughed at her, at himself, at the entire situation they now found themselves in before he answered, sharp teeth glinting in the lowlight.
"It shall be done, my Master."
Author's Note: For monochromana,whom has been so patiently waiting for her art while I have a horrible case of art block on that particular image. So I wrote something for her instead, because the girl is amazing and deserves it. :)