Disclaimer: Alucard, Integra and all other characters of Hellsing are the property of Kouta Hirano and the various agents responsible for the production of the manga and anime. I do not profit from this piece nor is any copyright infringement intended.
The Memory Remains
"Alucard, wai . . ."
The arguments of the slender blonde were silenced as a pair of cool lips again crashed against hers; his long tongue snaking into her mouth as he lowered them both to the bed. Integra wriggled beneath him, trying in vain to push him off her. He only laughed.
"Eager tonight, aren't we, Master? Then I shall not make you wait."
His mouth trailed a path down her neck, lightly nipping at its flesh. She felt hands all over her body-his arms holding her arms firmly above her head as he straddled her, while others formed of darkness wandered her body, burning her skin with every touch despite the sparse bits of fabric separating his skin from hers.
Integra gasped as . . . something . . . brushed back and forth over the delicate flesh between her thighs. Her breath grew ragged as the contact intensified from gentle strokes to firm, focused caresses. She grew more and more disoriented, finding it difficult to focus on anything beyond his ministrations. She knew they should stop. She knew that this was wrong, but damn it, it felt like nothing she had ever experienced before. She could not bring herself to end it—not yet. Alucard knew it, too; his every thought betrayed by those wild eyes and that damnable grin plastered across his face.
He released her arms, slipping his hands slowly across her chest and stomach, then to her thighs. He pushed the silky ivory chemise over her hips and hooked his fingers into the thin waistband of her panties. Gently, he began to slip them down.
She panicked, her hands shooting out to firmly grasp his, her nails digging deeply into his wrists. "Alucard, ENOUGH!"
Suddenly, she was back, in that wretched zeppelin, on that accursed night that the world as she knew it came to an end. Her city burned brightly around her, the streets littered with the bodies of the dead. And in the midst of it all, her ace, her servant—her slave—greedily absorbed the blood of the millions who had perished in the onslaught.
She watched as he realized his defeat, as his body disintegrated, a Diaspora of the souls he had claimed over many centuries. She shouted her orders intensely, passionately, until her throat was raw and burning. She had to do something—anything that would compel him to fight, anything that would drive him to overcome this, anything to pry him from the icy void of nothingness, anything to make him stay.
In the end, it did not matter.
"Farewell . . . Integra."
She screamed as the monitors exploded before her.
The young knight woke with a start.
A dream. Just a dream.
Sliding from her bed, she carefully made her way through the dark room to the doors leading to her balcony, shuddering at the chill of the hardwood floor against her bare feet, wishing she had not left her beloved cigars in her office downstairs, but presently lacking the inclination to retrieve them. It was funny—even after all these months, she still wondered why Walter had not brought them to her as he usually did.
Strange, the things you miss.
Integra stood in silence, watching the rain fall in sheets upon the dark countryside and angrily battering the fragile glass panes of the door. She had always blamed Alucard for the dreams, convinced that he was sneaking into the recesses of her mind, distorting her thoughts into prurient and perverse notions as she slept. He was the vile monster, after all.
She had no one left to blame. And the feelings that remained made her . . . uncomfortable.
He was not supposed to die.
She was not supposed to care if he did. He was one of them—a nosferatu—the very creatures her illustrious family had spent generations eliminating. She was supposed to hate him, but somehow she could not. She could dislike him quite intensely, but not hate; never hate. True, he was a monster, but more importantly, he was her loyal servant . . . her ace . . . her knight. Everything he did was at her command. Rivers of the blood of her enemies flowed down the streets of London, all because she had ordered it so. He would have given her the stars in the heavens had she but asked. She was his Countess. He would have given her anything.
He did give me everything.
In complete defiance of the weather, she stepped onto her balcony. Clenching her teeth, she blocked the rain's sting and frigid chill from her mind, her form stiffening as she firmly grasped the guardrail. She smirked as she thought of his reaction to her rather irrational act of standing in the rain in her present state of undress. He would make a smart remark about her looking like a drowned rat, all the while gawking at her lasciviously through those damned sunglasses of his, and then eventually convince her, in his not-so-subtle way, to come inside.
Alucard, why did you leave me?
Surrounded by the darkness, soaked to the bone by the freezing rain, a young woman, grown-up too soon, collapsed to her knees and finally mourned the loss.
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