(A/N: A chapter? Awesome. Very sexual? Yes. Don't like it? Too bad. Enjoy.)

Chapter 9

When the Wolf Sings

I breathed in the chillest of night air. Arthur's voice twisted into my brain with a command that was at once unfamiliar and comforting at the same time. Find Pendragon. Eliminate the threat. Disarm the monster walking the country side and mass-murdering families.

Two families already had fallen prey. I personally had taken stock of each crime scene to make an account of what kind of fool, assessing the carnage, gauging his limits. Strange how much more I can learn about a man by his handiwork. I believed at that time that he was possibly even madder than I was.

It was before the mission; Pendragon had taken my power and brought me even deeper into despair. Abraham had carved out a nice bleeding hole in my soul, and Arthur was struggling to dam up the aftermath without much success. I ignored him and hated him, but it all felt like a hollow representation of life before Abraham had gone. He was my master. He probably would have been my lover, but when I thought of it, it made my hatred for Arthur grow even more. I tried to strive to get away from his thoughts. But it was hard. He was new at keeping his ideas to himself, and the skill was difficult to master.

His subconscious was a terribly creative place. It was just another torment to add on to my own growing pile of bones.

The wolves in the forest near the Hellsing property cried in the darkness as I waited. Pendragon was terrorizing innocent lives with my strength, and here I was, moping in the shadows like a cretin. I bared my fangs and jumped down and wandered through the garden until I reached the edge of the gate. I could still scale it with relative ease. When I did so, however, I felt a mental leash tugging on me.

Just going for a stroll, I thought to my master. Then I descended through a weedy path through the stygian-like forest, where the trees choked out the moonlight.

The wolves cries drew nearer. A scrawny deer wobbled through the trees close enough to touch; a moment later, a trio of wolves darted past after the harried animal. My heart pounded as I watched them circle around and nip and harass, an addictive wildness pulsing in their eyes. Such raw power ran through their scrawny little bodies... such untapped potential. A signal from the leader rippled through the small pack, and a moment later they dove for the throat. The wet coppery heat of blood hit the air like an atom bomb. My blood thirst stirred, though I preferred the complex flavor of human blood, until I crept on all fours toward the pack on their kill. They snarled and snapped and their backs ruffled, but there was harmony amidst all that rippling chaos.

I was close enough to reach out and comb my fingers through their fur, which seemed a motley of grays, browns, reds... Beautiful animals. The alpha turned his craven eyes on me, as if realizing that the unnatural aura was none other than myself. He bared his teeth with a roar that blew saliva, blood, flesh on me. I snarled back and jerked the kill toward me, burying my nose in the open bleeding wounds and drinking. It tasted smoky and dry, like some wild wine brewed in a witch's home. The wolves snapped and snarled; without thinking I lashed out, grabbing the littlest wolf and threw her against a tree with a declarative snap. She fell to the ground without a remark, and the other wolves cried out in mixed fear and territorial displays. I dove for the alpha next while the second wolf ran.

"Your power will be mine," I whispered, holding the jaws of the great wolf shut while I buried my fangs in its furry throat.

Pendragon was easily found. The power of a wild beast pounded in my veins; I wanted to taste more of it, but it was not possible just yet. Pendragon was about town, and I sniffed out his unbearable stench an hour before I actually saw him.

The night was only just begun for he and I. Arthur's voice thudded through me. Destroy Pendragon and reclaim my birthright. As I walked the street in a thick overcoat, the collars turned up against the chill, I remembered the feel of Arthur's hand against the back of my head. The warm touch of his fingertips against my scalp as he slowly neatened the sheafs of thick black messily arranged in the coffin. I wanted to please him, suddenly. But more than that, I wanted my power returned to me.

I felt hollow. It had more to do with Abraham's death... and I wanted to feel myself again. Coiled inside me, all the voices of all the people I've ever devoured began to find their own voice - and the screaming began, a horrible noise that filled my head. I barely heard what anyone told me. It began with the wolves in the forest, their howls eerily distorted, their power driving into my brain with the force of a detonation. The only thing that penetrated the din was a man whose name was only Master to me now.

With a purposeful gait, I strode into the quiet alleyways of London and brought my hands to my face to breathe warmth into them, like any mortal. The ruse was magically perfect.

The animal in me was stirring, spoiling for a hunt. It was hard to master the creature in my breast, aching to break free. Hard to think much of anything outside of the command burning in my skin, my ears, my veins. My hands burned, and the markings on my body all felt like they were on fire. It was a challenge to keep me from crying out.

Arthur, I thought. What is this power you've given to me?

Alucard, Arthur Van Hellsing whispered, his thought a caress, goading me into resuming my task. The din hushed as I bathed in his word. If not for his voice, I would have already forgotten who I was. It was so hard to control this.

Pendragon was at his next killing. This time, no innocent family ripped apart, their entrails decorating a parlor. It was a young woman, a pretty virgin girl-child with fair hair and fairer skin. Her frail legs were all akimbo as Pendragon bent over her, his lips at her throat, blood pooling beneath her petticoat and her doe eyes rolled back into her head while she blindly clung to his shoulders. I acted alarmed at first.

Pendragon heard my footstep. He turned slowly, his eyes aglow with crimson. His boot heel smeared blood into the cobblestone and each heartbeat the woman made was weaker than the last.

"I thought you had given up the chase," Pendragon whispered, wiping blood from his lips, drunk on the virgin life flowing through him. He was a glutton, a sick and disgusting insect growing fat on the lifeblood of man. He was perhaps clever when he had started. But the lust for blood is a fickle bitch, and it can turn a smart, tactful man into a ravening bastard.

I struck first, ignoring playful banter in favor of action. As I buried my fist into his throat, I intoned, "You are a monster deemed unsafe by the Hellsing Organisation." Unfamiliar phrases dripped from my tongue. "Releasing Art Restriction to Level 1..." Pendragon's eyes widened, and the Hellsing's blood tattoos erupted into vivid color. I crushed his larynx, and Pendragon couldn't speak. I threw him into the wall, cracking the stone, and flecks of it fell all around. The woman gasped weakly on the ground.

The thief straightened, his tie ruffled, and blood soaking into his lapel. His lips curved into a smile like the scythe moon above; his fangs dripped venomous hatred. "So you think your precious master's arts will save you? I know the true limits of your power! You can't defeat me. I've taken yours; what do you hope to accomplish?" He rushed headlong, took me by the chest, and buried my into the ground, his nails becoming talons as they ripped me open. My wounds healed as quickly, but it was agony.

If anything, the torture Arthur placed on me made me almost laugh at the superficial injuries of battle. I shrugged off the pain and arched my neck, fangs bared, and sank them into Pendragon's shoulder. His eyes widened with shock and pain. I bit down hard, and twisted my head away to pull his flesh wide open. Blood gouted like a fountain, and his howl of pain was like music to my ears.

Suddenly I felt a powerful ripping in my skin. The agony was not unlike the pain of the marks as they were burned into me. I gasped, and the wolf's blood, boiling under my skin, suddenly coagulated. The agony coalesced into a clear purpose: it was going to burst out of my flesh and form an enormous dog's face where my arm should have been. The slavening monster barked once, its eyes, three on each side, rolling back and then focusing on Pendragon.

"Filth," I hissed, and then Pendragon was swallowed by the dog's head. Teeth gnashed; blood dripped and gushed from its maw to pool at my feet. Power surged under me; the blood collected through my feet and rippled into my skin, and I swayed a bit, unexpectedly dizzy. Rejoined with my blood, I was overwhelmed with the sensation of being overwrought. Bloodlust churned in my breast, and the woman's scream was shrill and unpleasant. I collapsed on the ground, laughing hysterically, understanding blooming within me.

Of course. Of course. All the agony, all the suffering... none of it mattered. I was strong enough. I would serve, oh yes. It didn't matter any more. It was all that mattered to anyone, to anything, on the this spinning marble in space. Pure power roared in my veins. The wolf's energy, my own demons, howled in my ears. I laughed at the pure simplicity of it.

"Master," I said as my mind broke apart. Little pieces of me flickered and died. I scrabbled at the pieces, confusion and mindless starving glee assaulting me in waves.


"What's wrong?" a worried voice asked. I rolled over in my coffin, pressed my hands to my face, not sure whether it was my own anymore. Or someone else. Or Arthur's. He sat in his study - Abraham's - drinking his tea. He was an unlovely silhouette, his own hands so unlike my Abraham's. I saw him raise his drink to his lips, felt the hot flavorless tea slide down his throat.

(His breath tossed my hair, whispering as he caressed my bared skin, covered with his blood, smeared into obscurity. "You can hate me if you want to."

I tossed my head a bit, not even a pained breath. His touch riddled me with pleasure, and I was mindless with it. "What are you d-doing?"

"Do you want it to hurt?" Arthur stroked down my stomach. Pain twitched at my nerve-endings. "My father was not able to, but I can make it feel good for you." His lips came toward my ear, mint and tobacco, his tongue curving under my earlobe.)

"Beware where you tread," Arthur said politely, pulling the dream away. I panted against the coffin pillow. Desire for him burned, and it was not entirely against my will.

He drank his tea again without another word, leaving me to writhe unsatisfied in my own perpetual darkness.


In the end, I did as Arthur instructed flawlessly. I was his weapon and whether he pointed, that's where I directed my power. He left me little time to think by myself, which was a blessing. He didn't speak to me alone for a long time, and diving into his consciousness was dangerous ground to tread. Clearly, as he had come from another country in the middle east, he had learned techniques to guard himself against me. And the torment of his imagination was harsh and left me raw and spiteful, but having him shut me out was even more horrible.

I was alone.

Maybe he didn't know what to do with me.

Maybe he was scared of me.

Above all, I became annoyed. In my current state, it was a dangerous emotion to be.

I stormed above in the hallways, seeking him out. He was not very far. He was playing the violin in the parlor, his favorite room, filled with music and light. My presence darkened it at once.

"Master," I seethed.

"Arthur," he corrected, laying the bow and violin aside. "What's wrong?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" I hissed, circling around the room slowly. I looked wild, a long red coat hanging down to the floor.

Arthur tensed as I drew near, but he looked at me calmly, speaking rationally, "I don't know what's going on in your mind right now, Alucard, but I assure you I have done nothing to you intentionally." He frowned. "What's wrong?"

I stood there shivering, undecided as to why I really had pursued him. All I could understand was that I was tired of staying in my basement. I moved closer, watching his dark eyes watch me. I couldn't resolve why I needed to feel him touch me, to know he was real and not a phantom fo a man who had deigned to actually love me. (Can't you know my desire? Can't you understand my pain?)

Arthur's frown deepened. Then he seemed to relax, lifting only the bow of the violin. I watched him raptly, awaiting an answer, but when he didn't answer and only lifted the sharp bow to his wrist, I nearly broke a table to get nearer to him.

"Don't!" I grabbed him by the wrist, holding the violin bow away from his skin. His supple limbs felt sturdy, not frail, under my grip. I could break him, I realized. But he would not die. He relaxed, and I let him put it down again. Then his hands moved toward my face, warm touch, softest of fingertips. The beast, momentarily soothed, swooned against his touch. Was that how I looked to him?

He was standing, and even then I was much taller, he did not appear afraid. I stooped closer to him. He pulled my face close to his, a soft amiable smile on his lips. This youthful genius, a master of alchemy in his own right, ran his fingers through my hair once again. "Oh Alucard." His lips moved against my cheek, planting a soft kiss there. "I didn't mean to harm you. You're strong yet, and I..." He shuddered, feeling my breath quicken against his hair. I moved my hands hesitantly to his sides. "When Father gave you to me," he began again. "He gave me this responsibility for which I always felt I was ill-equipped. I've only recently kept you at a distance because... he told me your powers would mature in unexpected ways."

"Do I then frighten you in truth?"

His arms tightened. "Well, yes, but I..."

"Do you love me?" The challenge was issued in a bullying tone, dragging his uncomfortable thoughts into the light of day, pardon the phrase. He didn't answer, merely buried himself in my chest, his whole body warm and inviting. "Or am I your tool? Your sword, your weapon..." I stroked the back of his head. "Your plaything."

"I have the power to do anything I please with you, and yet I am human enough to avoid such temptation." Arthur grimaced, clenching his fists in my coat.

"And what exactly is 'human enough' to still justify torturing me? By default, you are stripped of your humanity as well." I pinned him with a look, and his face burned with shame. He backed up against the bookshelf. "For all your gifts learned in the Orient, you can't keep that from me."

Athur shivered and glared at me through his dark hair, youthful emotions dancing behind his eyes. Then he lifted his arm slowly and bared his arm to me. "Take it. I know it's what you want." He raised a letter opener to his wrist, pierced his skin just below the cuff of his sleeve. The scent assaulted me and the room shrank and his voice rose in a startled cry I leapt on him. But I did not attack the wound like an animal. There was nothing of Abraham's sweet musk in his veins. It was new and magnificent, adventurous blood, of the spice of the Middle East and the perfume of all his adventures poured over my tongue and the sides of it. I fell to my knees and drank, licking and licking until he combed his other hand through my hair, a faint taint of crimson on his face, pleading for me to stop. It was a deeper oath than I had ever made with anyone. I wanted him to myself and couldn't bring myself to hate him anymore, even though I knew I would never really love him.

Hours later, he sat beside me in my chamber, my head on his lap, my eyes gazing at oil lamp's flame as it burned away. His wrist was bandaged snugly. The servants had gone home and his fingers twined in my hair. He was fully dressed and I hadn't spoken a word. Finally I looked at him, taking advantage of the first quiet I had felt in years. "Command me, Master."

"There's a war," he whispered. "Whispers of dissent in Germany. Her Majesty calls for us to fight. Will you meet with her?"

I agreed without argument. His tongue directed my every movement. Weaponized madness. I couldn't resist.

With the Queen, I was polite. I stood in Her Court without a whit of disrespect. She was beautiful and strong, qualities I admired. When she advised us to war, I had no idea what to truly expect of her. She was grim with the knowledge of facing battle, but her resolve outmatched her desire to avoid conflict. My presence swelled in the Court, and my long shadow stretched all the way to the very edge of her throne.

"Will you serve?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

I joined Arthur and the new boy he had taken on. My consort and the Angel of Death. Walter Dornez, a foul-mouthed child with a penchant for destruction.


Arthur brushed his lips over mine in the dark, bloodied kiss, a silent whisper left unspoken and communicated only in blood. Before shipping me out to the front, he took me aside and into his bedchambers. Rope lay twined on the bed.

"Take that form again," he whispered as he bound me. He was a secretive polite man, but in his bedchambers, he expressed a certain taste in women that was beneath society's standards of appropriate. He wouldn't touch me until I did. I selected a pleasing form for him, and his eyes wandered my body hungrily even as I could feel him burn with shame. He pushed me into the bedsheets and ravished the body I gave to him. Out of obligation? Out of servitude? Or because I desired it?

At his word, I served. He commanded and I obeyed. He bent me; I broke.

All for Master.