A/N: Thank you to everyone that has been reading this story so far. I hope you like this next chapter, it's a bit longer than the first. Thank you for giving up some of your time to read my fanfiction; I truly couldn't be more grateful.
A few weeks later. . . .
I could feel the weight of his hard, cold body pressing against mine fervidly, causing me to squirm relentlessly beneath him. His hands skimmed along the length of my body, gentle and chilly. I heard myself trying to scream, but the sounds were muffled by his lips and laughter—and partially from the staggering heartbeat drumming in my ears.
He tried pushing his sickeningly gelid tongue into my mouth, but I bit it just as he passed my lips. That seemed to aggravate him, for he muttered a curse in French and then rammed me against the headboard. The scene began to blur as tears started to well in my eyes.
"Fine, you don't want me to play nice, girl, I won't," he sneered, exposing pearly white—fangs!
"Monsieur?" I asked hysterically. Was he. . . . no, could he be? I thought they were a myth.
I had once read Dracula by Bram Stoker, who based Dracula off of the historically nonfictional Vlad "Ţepeş", or "the Impaler" in Romanian. But as all information read, Stoker's Dracula is a fabricated embodiment of Vlad, so that meant the vampire and his race were fictional . . . right?
"You look shocked, girl," Monsieur Bossuet whispered with an irritating grin. "Are you really that surprised? By what other account did you think you woke up dizzy and pale?"
"You've been . . . feeding on me, Monsieur?" My voice quivered with the query, my young mind trying to accept such an outrageous claim.
He answered with a dark, guttural chuckle. "It truly should be a compliment, girl—your blood is the sweetest I've tasted in years . . . not that its virginal sugary flavor is still present."
"Get off of me!" I screeched, kicking and flailing my arms as viciously as I could manage with my lack of energy. Alas, he overpowered me with seemingly no effort, so I just continued to shriek loudly while tears streaked down my raw cheeks.
Suddenly, Monsieur Bossuet held me tightly with my head back, so my neck was stretched enough for his mouth to suck as much blood as he wanted. The whole time I felt my veins sting, subconsciously sensing the lifeblood being vacuumed out from within me. His cold, wet breath against my neck made me sick to my stomach, feeling utterly useless and unclean.
Then, I saw a black, jagged-edged demon at the edge of the room, hiding in the shadows. It was staring at me with all twelve of its red eyes, smiling a sinister, side-splitting smile. . . .
My eyes flittered open as I propelled myself up from the pillows and a screech of horror escaped my mouth. I clasped my hands to my lips and tried to calm myself, not wanting to dwell any longer on the memories.
I was slathered in sweat, but I was freezing as I curled up beneath the thick sheets of my bed. I glanced up at the clock above my armoire, and it said it was nearly two in the morning.
I had only been sleeping for about an hour, but it felt like ages.
The dream had been just as graphic as it had been when it happened, about nine years ago. I had only been a small girl then, just fourteen years of age and fresh out of the local orphanage near Monsieur Bossuet's mansion in Nice, France. I had been petite, but not especially slight—my arms were always tired from strenuous maids' work, and legs toned from outrunning the nuns at the orphanage.
Still, I was small and young—too small to deal with such evils with strength, and too young to have to learn of such monsters.
It was eerie how even in the dream, and even though it was long ago, I could feel Monsieur on me again and hear his voice crystal-clear. He was an attractive man, definitely, with black hair speckled with grey that left an added distinguished tone to his appearance. He was in his mid-forties and had a beautiful, seemingly ageless wife ("ageless" for now obvious reasons, of course).
He had been extraordinarily kind to me—in fact, he was the only person to come to the orphanage and want to employ me, adopting me as well. Not many people wanted teenagers, after all.
I shuddered at the thought. If I had perhaps stayed in that orphanage a day longer, or if Monsieur Bossuet had picked a different girl, I probably wouldn't have been sitting in that bed as Lieut. Lynette Aurelle. I would just be another face in the crowd, leading a normal, vampire-less life . . . and I probably would have gotten the chance to lose my chastity willingly.
I decided not to think about that anymore and went into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower to calm my nerves before getting ready for the day.
It was difficult to perform casually that day, as it would be for many days to follow. I kept thinking back to the dream, especially when I heard the word "vampire" mentioned in a sentence, or when I passed small groups of soldiers discussing the strategies by which they nailed the latest girl—be it a whore or a one-night stand.
My head was pounding with a headache that didn't seem to want to leave, and wherever I turned I swore I saw Monsieur Bossuet's face again. It was especially difficult to talk to Capt. Bernadette—his voice and accent were uncomfortably similar to the master of my teenage years.
You're just being paranoid, Lieutenant—get a grip, I told myself repeatedly.
I was tempted on an extreme level to beg Capt. Bernadette for a cigarette, just to settle myself and stop thinking so irrationally. He was bound to have a few on hand—practically every time I saw him he had a smoke between his lips.
However, I was positive smoking wouldn't sit well with God, so I had to resist and simply resort to wringing my hands every now and then—which didn't work as well as a cigarette would, but I knew that wasn't an option.
"Cold, Lieutenant?" Capt. Bernadette had the audacity to ask with a self-satisfied smile, cigarette perched in his mouth.
"I'm just feeling a little uptight, Captain. Nothing serious." Goodness, how I felt like ripping out that smoke and inhaling its pleasantly noxious fumes myself.
Still, I contained myself and just went about my duties until it was time for me to retire at the end of the day.
My night was a little easier to handle. I was actually able to change into pajamas without an undead interruption. I hastily removed the smoke-smelling uniform and washed the scent from my body, which also helped me to relax a bit more. Then, I went back into my room wearing plain, turquoise-colored pajamas, my hair in a sloppy bun, and my glasses.
I didn't much like the way my glasses seemed to distort the size of my head, so I wore contacts during the day. However, I wasn't prescribed the type of contacts you can sleep in, so I donned the dreadful, medium-thickness-framed glasses at night.
I scanned over the small stack of books I had sitting in the bottom of my armoire, behind the wardrobe doors. I found Perfume by Patrick Süskind, which I had bought not a day ago and dubbed it seemingly intriguing. I picked up the book and curled up beneath my sheets, the small lamp on my night stand emitting its muted light.
I didn't even get past the second page before I heard a soft, virtually inaudible sifting sound. I glanced up from the book to stare at that repulsive vampire again, sitting at the edge of my bed.
"Interesting choice," he murmured, "though I wouldn't quite call it a classic."
I felt my skin beginning to recoil, but I bit my lip and tried to remain at ease. "Well, we are all entitled to our opinions, though we don't necessarily have to express them."
I suppose the vampire didn't sense my implication—that, or he just brushed it off—for he smiled slyly as he said, "I had no idea you wear glasses, Lieutenant."
"I wear contacts most of the time," I explained rather brusquely.
"Why on Earth would you want to do that, Lieutenant? Glasses add a refined touch to a person's appearance," his grin stretched, "and enhances a woman's desirability without a doubt."
"Then why don't you go admire your master, nosferatu? She looks far better in eyeglasses than I do."
"She instructed me specifically to leave her be for the remainder of the night. Her desk is cluttered with paperwork, denoting the long night ahead," he looked apologetic for a moment, as well as distantly consumed in his own thoughts.
"I'm sorry," I sincerely whispered. Then, I affixed, "You must have a lot of energy from sleeping the entire day, but as you may know, I'm quite tired and aren't really in the mood for company."
"I won't bother you long."
He seemed genuine enough, so I didn't persecute him as I did normally. Besides, even Jesus wasn't rude to Satan—a bit intolerant of he, naturally. He even raised his voice at Satan, but not once was he rude.
Now was as good a time as ever to be learning lessons from the Bible, judging by the fix I had gotten myself into.
"Fine," I exhaled out of exhaustion. "Why is it you've come here, . . . .?"
"Alucard," he finished my sentence. "I apologize for not properly introducing myself earlier."
"I hold no contempt for that reason . . . Monsieur Alucard." On the basis of some other things, however. . . .
"As you are most likely aware, you are considered quite the enigma by everyone in this organization," he began. "That being said, I've been doing a bit of research on my own and would like to know . . . do you perhaps have any other special abilities, other than the capacity to see spirits, Lieut. Aurelle?"
I felt my jaw drop in the most unladylike manner. "How do you know I. . . .?"
He chortled faintly in a deep voice that I suppose might be attractive if the being it belonged to wasn't so repugnant. "I'm undead, Lieutenant . . . did you forget? The deceased can see other deceased, whether they be in spiritual or physical form."
I glanced over to Vanessa, who was quietly minding her own business for once at the corner of my room. She lounged in a suede armchair, flipping through a book titled Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake. She seemed to be in her own little world, oblivious to the conversation taking place on the opposite end of the room.
I threw my eyes back to Monsieur Alucard, while pointing at Vanessa incredulously, and whispered, "Are you saying you can . . . see her?"
He nodded, then cocked his head in the direction of Vanessa. "She seems to like playing dirty tricks on unsuspecting humans that aren't mediums or otherwise psychically endowed. And she also has far better taste in literature than you."
"Have you been spying on us, vampire?" This being did not deserve a name as far as I was concerned.
"No more than any other human, Lieutenant, so don't think you're something especially enthralling. One gets bored after a few centuries of coexisting with the living; sometimes, you'll do almost anything for a thrill," he sighed.
Then, he continued, "It's gotten rather peaceful around here at eventide, unfortunately. So, in an effort to cease from going completely mad, I've adopted the habit of monitoring the simple lives of humans. Your species' mannerisms are truly quite peculiar."
"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop playing fly on the wall when it concerns Vanessa and me," I said simply. "Eavesdropping is a sin, you know."
To that remark he guffawed. "You truly think I hold any regard to your Lord's set of rules? Heaven's gates won't open for me, dear, so I try not to remind myself of that as much as possible—which includes not considering what is dubbed religiously wrong."
"I do believe it's held on a moral standard as well."
"Morals are hardly ever the same for two people, Lieut. Aurelle. My morals, for instance, have nothing to do with religion."
Which reminds me that I'm not supposed to be talking to you, I reflected on my present situation silently within the confines of my mind.
Suddenly, Vanessa's head sprung up from its reading position. Her eyes, though transparent like the rest of her weightless body, were seemingly glossy with tears. "This book is so depressing! Why did you buy something so sad? I mean, the guy's library just got burnt down to the ground, and reading was his only outlet for his hell of a life. . . ." she sniffled.
Her eyes then caught on the vampire at the foot of my bed, so she looked to me with bemusement. "Hey, what's he doing in here?"
"I'm just asking your master a few questions, ghost girl," he turned to her and answered, stupefying Vanessa more than before.
In fact, she exclaimed quite loudly, "You can see me!"
I think if she were alive she would've had a heart attack.
She was struck momentarily speechless after that, so I decided to cover for her. "I'm not her master, vampire; she sort of just follows me around. Also, her name is Vanessa, not 'ghost girl.'"
"Well, if you can't call me by my name, why should I respect you or your friends?" he retorted, to which I sighed. I really wasn't in the mood for debating.
"Fine, Monsieur Alucard," I said rather scornfully. "Now can you please leave? I've grown extremely tired in the short time you've spent with me, with no offense to your captivation."
"I suppose all humans need their sleep," he mused, then lifted from the bed and turned on his heel. "Pleasant dreaming, Lieutenant—hopefully more enjoyable than as of late, do you not agree?"
That comment nettled me with interest immediately. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You need your rest, Lieutenant. Perhaps we may continue this conversation later," was all he said before vanishing from my room, leaving me more peeved than ever.
