Hello, dear readers! First of all, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who followed and favourited this story- It really means a lot to me. Also, I'd like to thank The Chaos Dragoness, The Eccentric DrVillain, and compa16 for the reviews; they really made my day :) Now then, on with the story!...

Dawn was approaching, and Alucard was beginning to get sleepy. He strode through the richly decorated halls of the Hellsing manor and made his way back down to his room in the lowest basement. As he descended the stairs, he reflected on the night's events.

For all of the violence that was happening in the countryside these days, this had been a relatively uneventful night. In fact, encountering the nervous little Italian girl was the most excitement he had had in forty-eight hours.

Alucard settled into his chair and glanced down at the end table to his right. A green wine bottle and a glass of dark red liquid sat waiting for him. He leaned back in his seat and took a sip, staring into expanse of the dark chamber. He pretended he could see the young lady he met tonight, walking off into the black abyss, her purse swinging from her shoulder, and her skirt billowing about her ankles.

She had certainly piqued his interest, in more ways than one. Not only was she a foreign, conservative-looking, and rather attractive girl, but she had mentioned that someone was following her. After leaving her house, Alucard had retraced his steps and wandered through the heavily forested bike path to see if he could find anyone- or anything- that was behind all the senseless butchery recently. He had managed to pick up a very faint, unfamiliar scent, but the lingering smell of the girl's blood almost overpowered it. The trail was running cold as quickly as the sun was rising, and he would be expected back at the manor soon.

Alucard set down his glass and leaned his head into his hand. He tried to commit the scent to memory, deciding he was going to try to find it again tomorrow night. If the being to which that smell belonged was responsible for the recent murders, that meant the small London suburb was right in his or her bloody trajectory. The Italian girl could be in grave danger... What was she called again...?

Maria, Alucard thought as his eyes began to close. Her name was Maria.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Meanwhile, the young woman who occupied Alucard's thoughts was sitting on a chair in her kitchen, peeling off her sock. Irene and Katie let out cries of disgust when they saw their flatmate's toe nail hanging off by the cuticle. Maria shivered and looked away from her foot, but a part of her was relieved that her toe was not broken.

Biting down on her lip, she made quick work of bandaging the unsightly extremity. A burning ache shot from the toe all the way into her foot, making her wince. She had always had a low pain tolerance.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong," Irene was saying, leaning on the counter next to the stove. "But you thought we had abandoned you at Saint Nicholas'?"

Maria hissed through her teeth as she tightened the bandage. A droplet of blood ran down the side of her toe. "Mister Blackwell told me you leave. What am I expected to think?"

"Why didn't you call us?" Katie demanded. She was sitting in the chair across from Maria, handing her Band-Aids, alcohol wipes, and gauze as she needed. "Clearly, this was all a misunderstanding. Maybe Mr. Blackwell was confused..."

The kettle began to whistle. Before the pitch could climb too high, Irene lifted the pot off the round and poured the boiling water into three waiting mugs. As she busied herself with the tea, Maria leaned back into her chair and sighed.

"It does not matter, comunque... I am here, and we are safe."

Irene scoffed as she set two mugs down for the girls at the table. "You barely made it back in one piece," she said. "Thank the Lord you did, but you're still bleeding all over the floor."

Maria shifted her weight and brought her leg up onto her opposite knee. Sure enough, she was starting to bleed through her saviour's red silk tie, staining the material with dark, ugly blotches. She set to work undoing the knots immediately.

"Where did that come from?" Katie asked, pointing.

"I told you," Maria said. "The man I met made a bandage for my leg."

"That's some bandage," Irene said, settling down with her mug in hand. "Who carries around ribbons with them?"

Maria shook her head and kept her eyes on her work. "He was wearing it around his neck. He took it off and tied it on me."

The girls were silent for a moment until Katie let out a nervous giggle. "What a gentleman."

Maria blushed and let out a small laugh. Irene, however, was not as willing to let that comment slide.

"It isn't funny," she snapped. "There are killers out there, and that bloke could have been one of them."

The stained cravat slid off of Maria's leg and dropped to the floor. The young woman reached down and scooped it up.

"I do not think he is the one doing the crimes," Maria mused. "He seemed too kind… He could have hurt me if he want, but he brought me back home instead."

"Then, let's just say you're lucky, and God was watching over you," Katie concluded. She crossed her legs on her chair and took a sip of her tea. "Did you catch his name, Maria?"

The girl was silent for a moment, absentmindedly winding gauze around her leg. The image of the tall, dark prince flashed in her mind. She remembered how the breeze had combed through his long, black hair, and how gentle his otherwise fearsome eyes seemed when he looked down at her… For a moment, Maria considered telling her friends how he had carried her home, but decided against it. She wanted to keep that memory for herself.

"No," she answered Katie. "I do not know his name."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning, Maria discovered that she could walk without help, albeit with a limp. Her big toe still ached, and an angry purple bruise was starting to form under the gauze on her leg, but she was determined to go to work.

The commute to London went by faster than it usually did, and the three girls were discussing how to approach Mr. Blackwell. Although he may have made an honest mistake, they had endured no small amount of stress last night. Besides, they wanted to delegate the tasks with him to ensure that Maria would not have to spend too much time on her feet that day.

However, when Maria, Irene, and Katie arrived at Saint Nicholas' Institute, they were confused to discover that Blackwell was not there. Instead, one of the nuns from the neighboring Benedictine convent was in charge.

"Mr. Blackwell had to take a leave of absence," she explained to the girls when they walked into the foyer. "So, I'll be here all week. I'm Sister Margaret, by the way."

The three roommates explained what had happened last night to the black-clad nun, and Maria was assigned to filing paper work for the morning. Office work was the last thing she wanted to do, but she could not imagine running after children for hours on end with her injuries. Without further ado, Maria thanked Sister Margaret and limped off to the front office.

Placing different forms, memos, and letters into coloured-coded folders was more boring than Maria had imagined, and about two hours into her work, her mind began to wander. As she sat in the small, white-and-grey office, she wondered where Mr. Blackwell had gone. Saint Nicholas' was on the upswing, and it was strange that he was not around to supervise his volunteers.

Perhaps he had to confirm a deal with that strange Mr. Valentine, Maria thought. She shivered and put the thought immediately from her head. She did not want to think about the weirdness of last night. The men's financial deals were none of her business, anyway.

As she filed the papers, Maria was suddenly reminded that she was going to have to relate the happenings of last night to Father Anderson. She glanced down at her bandaged leg, hidden beneath her long skirt. He usually called every three days, which meant she had forty-eight hours left to consider how she was going to tell him she disobeyed his advice, hurt herself, and had to be carried home by a stranger.

Maria wanted desperately to leave that story out, but she had learned long ago that it was no use hiding her sins from either Anderson or God. As a child, she had been taught that good Catholics were honest about their actions, and when it was time for confession, it would not do to hold back. That ideology seemed easier to subscribe to when the worst of your sins was running around in a cape, pretending to be a creature of the night. Now, Maria felt like she had truly done something wrong. This was going to be a hard story to relate, but the good priest had taught her well, and she would confess.

Despite the drudging work in the office, the day passed quickly, and Sister Margaret released the volunteers at six o' clock- The first day they finished early since starting at Saint Nicholas'. They caught the next tube home, got to the bus on time (much to Maria's relief), and cooked a simple but delicious spaghetti dinner.

After dinner, the three flatmates sat on the stoop with cans of soda in hand. The evening was warm, the sun was a brilliant pink, and with her belly and heart full, Maria forgot her troubles. When she was sitting, her toe and leg did not hurt, and Katie's and Irene's good moods were infectious. She even forgot about her impending confession to Father Anderson.

"Ooh, look at that strange bird," Katie said suddenly, pointing to the sky.

"That's not a bird, silly," Irene laughed. "It's a bat."

Maria inclined her head and saw a small, black thing flit across the colorful sky. She watched it flap away as Katie exclaimed, "Ew! Don't let it near me."

"It's flying away, Katie. Don't be such a goose," Irene said.

"I don't care! I heard bats drink blood, and I don't want it near me!"

Her friend's words reminded Maria of that verse from Deuteronomy that Father Anderson once threw at her: "The blood is the life, and you must not eat the life…" There was no questioning her guardian's wisdom when it came to Scripture, but Maria could not help but to wonder why God created beings that fed on blood if it was such a sin.

"Do not worry," Maria muttered, watching the speck of black against the sunset. "Only vampire bats drinks blood."

"I saw that in a movie once," Irene put in, knocking back her soda. "Only it was a real vampire, and he changed his shape by night!"

Maria turned to her friends, her interest piqued. Father Anderson never let the orphans watch any horror movies, but she had heard of their existence. Even when she grew into adulthood, though, she had resisted the desire to watch one. She was frightened that if she did, she would like it, and that would be another thirty Hail Mary's.

But, this was where the conversation was going, and she could not be a spoil sport. "Tell me about it."

Irene laughed and set her empty can aside. "It was an awful movie, really, but it still scared me... I went to see it as a teenager with a group of friends."

"What happened in this film?" Maria pressed.

"Oh, I think it was just another adaptation of Dracula. Still, that bat scene stuck in my memory, because no one could fake a scream like I did!"

"You know, he was a real person," Katie put in. "Dracula, I mean."

"Did not Bram Stoker imagine him?" Maria asked.

Katie shook her head and sipped her drink. "No, he was real. He was a fifteenth century prince, living somewhere out in Eastern Europe… I can't remember exactly where, but trust me- I'm a history student."

"Was he a vampire?" Irene joked.

"He may well have been. I heard he was a very bad man."

"In what sense?"

"He stuck poles through people and left them up to die!"

Irene's smile disappeared, and her face blanched. "Oh… That's a terrible way to be killed."

"Much like our own Saviour died, don't you think?" Katie murmured, gazing off into the sunset.

While her friends began to discuss whether it was worse to be crucified or impaled, Maria remained silent. She had never read Stoker's novel, but she was equally repelled and intrigued by what Katie and Irene said. The greatest supernatural villain of all time was based on a real person? She never knew that. What sort of man could be so scary as to have influenced a classic piece of horror literature? For perhaps the hundredth time in her life, Maria was seized with a sick, burning sense of curiosity that she knew was not good for her.

"We should go inside," Irene said, interrupting Maria's thoughts. "It will be dark soon."

Sure enough, the sun was almost out of sight, and the first few stars of the evening were winking down at the girls from the darkening sky. Katie grasped Maria's hand and hauled her up, and the stinging pain was suddenly back in her toe. Carefully, Maria limped up the stairs and disappeared into the house with the other girls.

The fading daylight outside made the interior of the house look gloomy, and Maria felt her good mood ebb away. It was cooler inside, and the furniture looked like black, lifeless shapes. In an instant, she was seized by a powerful bout of homesickness as she recalled how warm and inviting the orphanage back in Rome was.

The lock clicked shut and the chain rattled as Katie slid it into place. Irene strode into the dark living room, covering a yawn.

"I don't know about you lot, but I'm going to bed," she announced.

"Me too," Katie said, which meant Maria had no choice but to retire as well.

The three girls bade goodnight to each other before turning in. Maria stepped into her room, the last one down the hall, and flicked on the light. A twin bed with a colorful quilt, a wooden bedside table, and a matching dresser was waiting for her. She tossed her clothes into the hamper at the foot of her bed and slipped into her favorite nightgown.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Maria returned to her small quarters and shut off the light before slipping into her bed. As she rolled over into her favorite sleeping position, she willed the negative mood that had taken a hold of her to go away. She did not know what was wrong with her, but the moment she stepped back into the house that evening, she could not shake the feeling of foreboding and homesickness that had seized her. She was supposed to be having fun in England, not worrying about things she could not even give a name to.

Eventually, Maria grew too tired to care and decided her bad mood was a result of her homesickness, the stress of the previous night, and her anxiety over having to relate it all to Father Anderson later. In an attempt to distract herself, she reached over to her bedside table, where her prince's cravat lay folded on the polished surface. Holding the silky ribbon in her hand, she snuggled down under her covers and let herself fall into the oblivion of sleep, wondering if she would ever see the handsome owner of the cravat ever again.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

A frantic pounding on the front door sounded late in the night. Maria was jolted out of a dreamless sleep by the noise, and she forgot where she was for a moment. As the banging continued, Maria grasped the headboard and hauled herself out of bed. Something constricted around her hand with the movement, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed she still had her prince's tie wrapped around her hand.

The incessant noise distracted her, though, and Maria hurried out of the room with the ribbon. In the hallway, she saw Irene and Katie emerging from their bedrooms, hair tousled and eyes bleary.

"What on earth is going on?" Katie murmured, rubbing her eyes. "Is that someone at the door?"

"I think yes," Maria answered.

"It's three in the bloody morning," Irene grumbled as she tied her housecoat closed. "I'm going to give them a piece of my mind."

The agitated young woman headed to the vestibule, but the news story from earlier that week flashed in Maria's mind. She bounded after her roommate and blocked her path.

"Aspetta, Irene," she blurted, "Father Anderson tells me to be careful with visitors in the night. I think we must not open the door to them."

Irene's face softened when she realized her flatmate was right. There were new reports of violence every day, and it would be unwise to fling the door open and confront whoever was on the other side without some caution.

"I will look through the peephole first," she promised. She stepped around Maria, and the latter followed her into the vestibule. Anticipation gnawed at her stomach, and she hid behind the wall separating the entrance from the living room. Maria watched intently around the corner as Irene leaned on the door and peered through the little glass orb. Her sudden gasp made Maria jump.

"It's Jane and Peter!" she exclaimed. "God have mercy, they're badly hurt!"

Maria gasped. Jane and Peter lived next door to the girls, and the couple had been nothing but kind to her since her arrival in England a month ago. She immediately felt guilty for advising Irene to ignore the knocking. What if the married couple narrowly escaped from the real killers?

Katie stood off to the side and watched Irene unlatch the chain. She then unlocked the door and pulled it open, the light of the full moon lighting up her face as it pooled into the room.

Suddenly, a voice that was decidedly neither Peter's nor Jane's cried out, "Surprise, bitch!" and the shots began.

Irene did not even have time to scream before a round of bullets was emptied into her. The sparks from a gun that Maria could not see lit up the gruesome spectacle. Irene was shot repeatedly, the merciless blows sending her back into vestibule. Blood burst from the girl's wounds, and she was down in an instant.

Katie shrieked and dove for her flatmate, but Maria could neither move nor make a sound. She watched in horror as the bloody, pale forms of Peter and Jane glided into the antechamber, heavy weaponry in hand.

Only, it was not Peter and Jane. Rather, it was the sallow, lifeless bodies of the married couple being carried and manipulated by two people. The young man, who had an arm around Peter's middle and carried a heavy firearm in his hand, was tall, fair, and sported a wool tuque. The person carrying Jane was a girl who looked close in age to her partner, and she too wore a hat, a bloodstained long-sleeve shirt, and a maniacal grin.

They stepped into the flat and threw Jane and Peter aside. The young man reloaded his gun and said, "Well, looks like we got ourselves a sorority here!"

From her place on the floor, Katie was desperately trying to staunch Irene's wounds. Her hysterical screaming drew the attention of the female attacker, and with a casualness that sickened Maria, she raised her gun and buried a bullet in the back of Katie's head.

"That shut her up good," the girl cackled.

The young man slammed the door shut and stepped into the house while the girl made her way over to Irene and Katie's prone figures. Maria was too scared to run away, but it seemed that the attackers did not know she was there. She was behind the wall, hidden in the shadows, and was stunned into silence. Her inactivity had saved her life.

"Oi, babe!" the girl shouted to her partner. "This one's still alive!"

She was bent over Irene, and sure enough, Maria could hear a faint gurgling coming from her friend. The hidden girl watched in disgust as the female assailant dipped her finger into one of Irene's wounds and lapped at the blood. Irene gave a pitiful moan.

"She tastes good too!" the gunwoman said. She looked over her shoulder and flashed the boy a wide smile, revealing two deathly sharp canines protruding from her upper lip. "You gotta try, babe!"

Maria's stomach churned dangerously, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from being sick. That movement was a mistake, though, because the young man suddenly turned his fiery red gaze in her direction.

"Hang on," he muttered. A menacing grin spread over his face. "I think we've got another one in here somewhere."

He knew she was there. Maria did not know how he knew, considering she was partially hidden, but he was going to walk into the living room, he was going to see her, and he was going to kill her. The front door was closed, and the girl was still bent over Irene and Katie's bodies. Maria was trapped.

Without a second thought, she lunged out from behind the wall and dashed for the kitchen. The boy cried out in surprise and fired at her. Maria threw herself down onto the floor and scrambled through the sitting room on her hands and knees. The bullets had stopped momentarily, though, and she heard the boy cry out, "Shit! Out already!"

She leapt up and threw herself against the kitchen door. Once inside, she groped through the darkness and found the phone. But, as soon as she picked it up, she was met with a horrible surprise: She heard nothing. Not even a dial tone. Panicked, she whipped her head around and noticed there was a thick, black wire hanging down to the ground outside the kitchen window. The telephone wire was down.

Maria did not know who or what had damaged the wire so badly, but she did know now that she was left without many options. She could not call the police, she could not leave through the front door, and she could not even climb through the windows- Most were either single-paned or too small for her to crawl through.

Over the erratic beating of her heart, she could hear the attackers talking to each other in the living room. They were not coming for her just yet.

In a last bid to save her life, Maria ran on her tiptoes to her room. She burst in, shut the door behind her, and dove into the closet across from her bed. As she shut the door, a loud bang shook the house and pulled a startled shout from her throat. Tears began to materialize in her eyes, and she waited with baited breath for the attackers to start looking for her.

On the odd occasion where she wondered about death, Maria never envisioned herself dying like this. She always thought she would be an old woman, lying in a comfortable bed surrounded by her loved ones, with a priest reciting the last rites over her as she prepared to enter Heaven. Now, she was going to die a painful, bloody, premature death without a final confession or one last goodbye to Father Anderson. Despite her best efforts to stay quiet, the terrified girl began to sob.

Suddenly, the harsh, rhythmic clacking of bullets being fired rang through the house. Over the cacophony, Maria could hear the young man laughing hysterically. Against her will, her mind conjured up all sorts of horrible images of what they could have been doing to Katie and Irene. Screwing her eyes shut, Maria began to whisper the Apostle's Creed to herself. She was interrupted in the middle of her prayer, though, when she heard a voice that did not belong to either the attackers or her flatmates.

"You dare to call yourself Nosferatu? You disgust me!"

Maria fell silent. She knew that voice. In her paralyzing fear, she could not recall where, but she had heard it before.

She did not have long to contemplate before her bedroom door burst open. She watched through the slits in her closet's wooden panels as the young man dashed into her bedroom. Maria was intrigued to see a look of utter terror on his face before he turned and was shot in the shoulder.

Bullets flew into the young man relentlessly, pinning him to the wall. Maria could not see who was shooting the attacker until the second assailant stepped far enough into her room. Peering intently through the door, she watched as a tall, dark-haired man in a red coat and wide-brimmed hat shot at the boy with a heavy silver pistol. Maria's jaw dropped.

My prince?!

The charming man who had carried her home last night was barely recognizable anymore. Gone was his gentle smile, his delicate movements, and impeccable manners. Instead, the person Maria saw walk into her room was intent on doing harm. He walked up to the bleeding young man with a heavy step, a malicious smile, and air of twisted delight.

Maria watched the prince stow his gun away in the folds of his coat. He looked up at the bullet-riddled young man, raised his hand, and thrust his fingers through the attacker's chest. The boy screamed in pain, and Maria's saviour pulled his hand out in an upwards motion. Unbelievably, the attacker's body did not fall to the floor in a bloody mess, but dissolved into little particles of dust that seemed to glow with a pale blue aura in the moonlight. Once the young man's body was gone, the prince scoffed derisively and turned around, murmuring, "Your turn, police girl."

She did not know what that was supposed to mean, but she did not care at the moment. Maria stood rooted to the ground in her closet, trying to comprehend the devilry she had just witnessed. Somehow, she was still alive, but her flatmates and their murderers were dead. Somehow, the man she had been thinking about before bed was here, but he was not how she remembered him. And, was it he who had called the attackers "Nosferatu"? That was a word usually ascribed to vampires…

Her saviour was on his way out of her room when he stopped abruptly. Slowly, he turned towards the closet she was hiding in. Maria stared back at him, realizing that she was hyperventilating rather loudly.

She saw his expression soften as he stepped towards the closet and reached to grasp the handle. The door creaked open, and suddenly she was face to face with the man who had saved her life twice. She stared up into his eyes and saw her reflection in his glasses: A scared, pale young woman with tousled brown hair, tear-filled green eyes, and a scarlet ribbon still wrapped tightly around her left hand.

"Dio, abbi pieta…"

That was the last thing she remembered saying before her vision tunnelled, and she fell into oblivion, away from the death and away from the horror that had suddenly come upon her life.

And that's a wrap (for now)! By the way, for those of you who were wondering, the translations for Maria's Italian is as follows...

- "comunque" = anyway

- "aspetta" = wait

- "Dio, abbi pieta" = God, have mercy

I'm not a native Italian speaker, so I had to rely on online dictionaries and search engines for these words. If any of you are fluent in the language and see that I've made a mistake, please tell me, and I'll correct it ASAP. Thanks for reading! :)