Hello everyone! I've been away for a while, haven't I? I decided to publish one of the stories that I only just recently started (yesterday) in-between finishing other things that I should probably get to. I think the inspiration for this story came a long time ago from Jubalii, who wrote the story "A-Amnesia!" I believe sometime in January. I had put it in the back of my mind for a while, and the idea randomly came to me again last night and I got bit by the writing bug. This is a tad different, in the pairing and general storyline. Still though, I don't want to look like a thieving twat, so I thought I would give credit where credit is due. Her fic is amazing, by the way, so I would recommend checking it out.

I: He's a Monster

Everything felt so surreal when the nameless man awoke with a hole slowly sealing in his head. It didn't hurt, though he understood that he had somehow been shot directly between his eyes. And did not die.

The next thing he noticed was the bright orange light flickering just beyond his eyelids and the smell of smoke. So there was a fire. When had it started? Where was he? Opening his eyes and blinking once, his world slowly but surely came into focus. Ah, so it was in a bank. But why was a bank on fire? Had there been a robbery?

Who was he, again?

He knew that he was lying flat on his back on the floor of a bank, and that he was the only one in there who was still alive. He also knew that he somehow had been shot in the forehead, that a bullet had drilled a hole the size of a pea into his forehead, and a hole the size of a softball in the back of his head.

There was an invisible force tugging on his consciousness. It seemed to want him to get up and get out of the building, whatever it was. He could feel its concern for him, but also a great deal of fear. What was it afraid of? Everything in the building was dead, except for him. The nameless, likely nonexistent thing felt more concern for his wellbeing than even he did, he decided. It was afraid for him. But it did seem to have a good idea, whatever it was. He slowly rose up from his back and his eyes widened in shock.

A woman was still burning in the fire. She was undoubtedly dead, of course, but her eyes were still wide open, even as her skin became crispy and blackened by the raging inferno of the bank. They had a strange, frightening coloration to them; such a vacant, eerie gray they were.

The most disturbing part of it all was that he was not at all disturbed. The smell of her burning… invigorated him.

What was he, again?

0o0

Integra felt it the moment that the bond was severed. She was sitting outside in her Cadillac, calmly smoking a fine cigar, when pain sprouted from her brain and throughout all her limbs. She was unaware of her own screams as she felt him being torn from her. Not completely, no: there was still an iota of the bond between master and monster, enough for her to feel his pain.

When it ended and Integra's head cleared, for the first time in a decade a shiver of true, genuine fear ran down her spine. She could feel the vampire fall into unconsciousness, and just a moment before was able to process how much pain his body had been in (it seemed that in the final moments of the seals breaking, their connection had been unfortunately amplified). But his thoughts… were gone. She would have no way of knowing his intentions. She knew he was unconscious, but how long would he stay that way? There was no way of entering the building: not when it was not only on fire, but likely still beholden to the female vampire he was sent to hunt.

Seconds later, she felt him awaken. He seemed unconcerned, though there was a tinge of confusion. Oh, how desperately she wanted to know just what he was thinking. He was a powerful, unpredictable vampire, susceptible to bouts of whimsy. What would he decide to do with this newfound freedom? What would happen to the world, if such a dangerous creature were to be set loose?

"Stand back!" she screamed at her officers, who had set up a police barricade. The men were confused, and in the bustle of the moment, they did not seem to process that she had given them an order until she forced her way through the blockade. Many tried to question her, as they were her officers and had never seen this behavior from her before. But when they saw the frantic look in her eyes as she ordered them again, they were quick to obey.

And then the towering form her former servant stepped through the front door.

0o0

That feeling of dissociated fear amplified as soon as he left the building. Ah, so it was not afraid for him. That thing in his head was afraid of him, now. But why? He knew he healed much too quickly from the bullet to be human. And he knew that the fact the smell of the woman burning in the fire should not have made him so fascinated. But he did not feel particularly evil. He was simply confused. Confused, and vaguely pleased. It almost felt as if something that pressed on his shoulders before had lifted, and he felt free. Of what, he once again had no clue. Just something very important.

The first person he saw that was alive was another, much prettier woman. She was looking right at him, too. He could see a lot of her from where he stood, though he was far away. Her tan skin and bright blue eyes stood out in great contrast to the way her blonde hair danced in the moonlight. He instinctually felt the urge to know her better. Who are you, he wanted to ask, and where did such a goddess as yourself come from?

As he stepped forward, he saw her advance towards him at the same, cautiously slow pace. The concern in his mind had taken a backseat, and now a stronger wave of fear overtook his senses. Was this woman the one he seemed connected to, the one who had wished his wellbeing in the bank as it burned? He took much quicker steps closer to her, boots thudding and scraping against the asphalt. The fear took a sudden leap, but the woman's expression did not change. Such a commanding mien, this one had. Why, he felt oddly compelled to bow at her feet, the way her eyes danced in the fire and moonlight. Even without knowing who she was, he thought her a fierce and beautiful sight. Blonde hair whipped in the dark breeze, reminiscent of the sun in all its vibrant coloration and wicked passion. Skin the color of raw sienna. She contrasted him in the way that the moon contrasted the sun. The moon was but a meager reflection of the star, just as he felt a pale reflection in comparison to her vivacity.

He took a breath through his mouth to speak to her when they were just a few feet away, and froze. And so the woman mirrored his movements. Her hand crept slowly to her hip, he noticed, most likely where she kept her gun. But once again, a strange knowledge within him told him that the gun she had would not stop him. She would not be able to stop him. And that was good, because as soon as he caught a whiff of her scent- namely, her blood- he did not want to be stopped.

0o0

Integra felt compelled to say something. To ask him what had happened in there. To ask why the seals broke. To command him, even without the ability to bend his will, to genuflect and tell her that his body, mind, and soul, was hers. But she said nothing. She was incapable of speech, gazing into his strange and foreign eyes. Ever since his awakening, she was able to understand why he made his expressions. She could read him like a book, could tell when he was sad or angry or amused. Every expression had a thought attached. Now, there were no palpable thoughts circulating his mind that she could read. Now… the way he looked at her, it was an expression she had never seen. It was as if they were strangers.

An emotion she recognized instantly began to build up. It was one she was quite familiar with, every time he went out on a mission. It was associated with his glee of killing for her, beneath her command. Every time she ordered him out, it was there.

The woman felt like cursing.

Instead, she could only watch in horror as the monster- no longer her monster- smelled her blood. Both froze. "Alucard…" she whispered, but he was too far gone to hear her desperate plea.

It all happened so fast that she was not able to draw her gun out on time. Her body was slammed onto the hard floor of that bank parking lot, hard enough for her glasses to shatter on the pavement. Blonde hair was splayed out in every direction, acting as a carpet that would soon mop up all the blood that would drip from her neck. He had a thing for necks. Her throat would be torn out first, and he would drain every single drop of blood from her body. He would then consume her utterly, and the last pureed bits of her body would be drawn right into his boots. All while her officers watched in stunned silence, unable to do a single thing to defend her against him, because Lord knew there wasn't a single bullet in their guns that could keep him down.

It was a very, very painful way to die. And she knew, she knew, that there was no way out of it.