Real Life Princesses
Warning: This story is rated T. It contains language, violence and -gasp- occasional arm licking. Be warned and be good.
Disclaimer: Hellsing and its characters are the property of Kohta Hirano and his publishers; I have no stake in them.
This story is set in January 1947.
Chapter 9
The expedient way to handle the mess was to kill the three vampires Alucard had identified as quality un-dead, then move on and take out the five time wasters. They'd brought along four ghouls, probably just to push through human guards, but he wouldn't need to kill those at all if he first took out the controlling vampires. Of course, he grinned, he wasn't known for being expedient. The footfall of his boots was loud enough to draw interest from the limited intelligence of the ghouls and they slowly swung about to face him. Ghouls were detritus created by vampires from impure victims. The dead became meat puppets, clumsy and without motivation except to infect and kill others. Alucard hated them. He'd once seen making ghouls as a way of keeping mortals he liked with him in his un-life, but no matter what he did, they were such abominations that he had to kill them all over again. That had been centuries ago, yet each affront to nature reminded him of that disappointment. He ran as if fleeing them, his smile revealing the lie as he led them toward a small pasture. Finding the place he wanted to use as his killing field, he ground his heels, spinning in place.
With barely a thought, his machine gun rested in his hands. It was overkill for the situation, but it was his favorite gun... more power, faster delivery rate than a simple rifle. He could tear through any enemy he encountered without them, but guns amused him and there were none who dared argue the point. Arthur occasionally wished he would choose a gun that could be silenced, but where was the fun in that? The spread of blessed bullets looked random, but as the corpses returned to the earth, each carried two in the head and two more in the chest. No bullets wasted tonight. He smiled, nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled the gunpowder. It was shaping up to be a good night.
Princess Margaret wandered through the Lodge in a fog. The place she'd thought of as her main home was now something out of a fairy tale, Sleeping Beauty's castle. There weren't many house staff running about at night, but the silence in the manor tonight was eerie. She walked like a woman with a mission, as if she understood everything. Was this love? This walking on air feeling? She'd wanted the boy last night... no, that was still too painful to think about, the way he ran away from her... the way he called her ugly. Margaret shook her head. Stupid kid. She had a man now; well not really a man, but that made it all the better. He was a divine monster, her avenging angel! She smiled to herself, not looking where she was going until she heard voices.
"...talking about that bitch! Give me a hand here," a male voice.
"Jesus, Jamie, what's in th' bag?"
She could recognize Woodruff's accent anywhere. The princess wanted to stay concealed to avoid questions, but Alucard's insistent voice was telling her to move. By rounding the corner, she could see both men and they her. Jameson and the dog trainer were caught off guard, their hands together pulling a large duffel bag. Dumbfounded for a moment, they stared before shouting at her fleeing form. Her blue nightgown was her favorite, but as it clung to her pumping legs, she wished she'd chosen her pajamas, no matter how childish they looked. Margaret ran on, her body guiding her down a long staircase she didn't recognize. Since she and her sister had been caged up on the estate during the war, she thought they'd explored every possible section, even the areas off limits to little girls. Excitement surged as she imagined showing this stairway to Elizabeth. Poor Lilibet, she thought, never time to play anymore. This would get her though. She could never resist a good mystery! Margaret imagined telling her sister about this and about her new sweetheart. Would she understand their love? She slowed down to catch her breath and to savor her memory of his touch, his tongue, his... well everything. Was he thinking of her right now?
Blood. He loved the smell, the feel of it. It was his sole food, his sole sustenance; blood was what animated him, made him feel alive. Alucard was soaking in it. Having drained what he needed from the poor excuse of a vampire, he eviscerated and de-boned it, being careful to leave the heart, skull and spine intact. Then, like a wolf in deer scat, he rolled in the bloody carcass, enjoying the mute screaming of the still existing vampire. Aside from indulging sadistic needs, he would learn more about his opponent. If the excruciating death of her fledgling drew her out tonight he could kill her and complete his mission in one stroke. If she could stomach this death without coming... well that would give him a clearer picture of exactly who he was up against.
Alucard sat up as he felt the approach of a free vampire. This one would be a small challenge, but still just an appetizer. He allowed his form to remain bloody. Soaked in the scent of the weaker being he'd be slightly harder to find, though had he wanted to hide from her vampires, that would have been easy enough. They'd blundered in unaware of innumerable warning charms he'd placed. With barely a stress of his hand he crushed the skull of the suffering fledgling once he had another plaything in his sights, giving peace to the poor thing. He had plans in place to kill all of the un-dead, but he'd hold off until he sized up the vampire controlling these lessor ones.
In a stuffy room miles to the east, Islands poured another drink for his friend. Arthur thanked him as he sat on the edge of the plush couch, "It's just I don't like to be alone... you know how he is."
"No trouble at all," Islands poured another for himself. Well, why not?
"We're not far and it..." Hellsing sighed. "He can send along a simple report... but sometimes it's all in images," one hand waved at the imagined picture as Arthur's voice dropped. "I'd better stay up, but you can go to bed. I'd hate for you to trouble yourself."
"She's a jolly one, our princess," Islands changed the subject. "Did you see her? How she yawned without opening her mouth? Or the way she winked, saying that thing about being 'dead' on her feet as the guests went off to bed?"
"Including us," Arthur reminded a bit grumpier than he intended.
"You just can't be satisfied, can you?" Islands looked at his friend over his Scotch. Hellsing shifted, but didn't speak. "She never invites anyone to these family things, mate. But I've told you, you've no chance. That boyfriend, the cousin in the navy? She's been crazy over him for years! I think she was thirteen or fourteen; that just doesn't change overnight!" His hand gestures caused a slosh of alcohol, which brought a frown from Hellsing.
"Well it was a bit of a lark, really, thinking of it. But, I mean," he said leaning back now, "imagine the power... the Organization tied to the throne..." He closed his eyes and immediately regretted it. A battle raged with Alucard taunting, not even pulling out a gun, and there was a young vampire at his feet. It's face barely more than ground meat, the creature was begging to be killed. Alucard had released his shadows, they were even now enveloping the poor thing. Arthur cried out, feeling the double sensation of devouring and being devoured as Alucard absorbed the damned soul into himself. Hellsing retained enough sense to send a mental command for his servant to just finish it, to stop torturing his enemies. Islands shook Arthur's shoulders until his friend's eyes fluttered open. "Sorry," Arthur murmured, "more tired than I thought I was. Still, it'll be over soon I think." The men stared at one another for a few moments, Arthur smiling weakly as he slouched in his chair, Islands standing over him, drinks forgotten. The knight was once again struck by the odd combination of charm, strength and vulnerability that his friend radiated. To be the master of such a monster, yet to be so tortured by him... was this the way it had to be?
In a far stairwell normally hidden inside the Royal Lodge, Princess Margaret pulled on the handle of an old door, the rust in its rarely used hinges finally gave way to her desperation and it creaked open. The acoustics were such that she could hear the men searching for her ages before they hit the top of the stairways.
"Wha'did she see?" Woodruff's voice.
"Does it matter?" Jameson's.
"Whad in blazes is she do'in up at this hour?" his broad accent showed outrage that should have been her own. How dare they act like she was the one in the wrong!
"Jeezus! What does it matter, we have to find her!" Doors opened and closed along the corridor she'd come from as she pushed the resistant door closed, muffling any more noises from above.
The room was dark and her hand found no light switch as it slid along the stone wall. Her eyes adjusted enough to find a little lantern and some matches on a shelf. She shook as the first match failed, but the next try yielded light. It was a storage room, a few tapestries and a blanket were strewn carelessly about, but the only outstanding feature of the room was a large ornate box that sat in the middle. It was vaguely threatening to her, though she didn't know why. Slowly she approached it. A voice in her mind told her this was what she'd come for and she reached out to touch the tiny gold cup on the top. There were strange runes painted onto the wood in brownish paint. She saw a round brush and knife lying together on the other side of the chest as she looked around. Margaret shuddered as she lifted them. A touch confirmed her suspicions, not paint then. She looked at the box and knew what to do.
There was a loud cracking sound as the doorknobs gave way and cursing as the men on the other side fell over each other. "Can't you see anything?" That's Jameson, she thought as she brought the knife up to her wrist.
"Holy Christ!" Woodruff's voice, though she couldn't think why he sounded so upset. There was pounding on the door and both men screamed at her to open it. Margaret nodded to herself, of course; she'd been instructed to open her veins and that was exactly what she was going to do. Not much, she was cautioned, just a few drops into the tiny chalice. The pounding was louder, as if the men would break the door down. Her hand shook as she looked at the blade glinting in the lantern light. There was a line of dried blood along the edge. His blood. Somehow her mind knew that and it gave her strength. She could do this. She had to. As she brought the knife down, the door was knocked from its hinges. In the resulting confusion, she slashed. Red light flooded the room suddenly, radiating from the ornate box and scaring the men worse than the sight of the princess slumped over it, her life blood flowing freely to the ground. They looked at one another and ran, pushing each other in their haste to get away. A torrent of bats met them at the top of the stairs, causing new panic and they ran blindly away. The bats flew on with purpose, rushing to the room at the bottom before coalescing into a tall, pale man dressed in a parody of a Victorian era gentleman, hat and sunglasses hiding his eyes.
Alucard surveyed the scene, a smile threatening to tear his face apart. His form was unstable, the magic still trying to pull it apart as it had done to the threatening vampires. He raised his hands, but nothing happened. The princess's body blocked his will. "Oh, my pretty little princess," he chided gently as he petted her hair, "we only needed a touch, a small cut." He licked his fangs quickly. "Perhaps," his voice quavered with the combination of magic and anticipation, "perhaps you did this for me?" He stood, spreading his hands wide; his voice likewise embracing the whole room, "Is all this for me?" Alucard savored that thought for just a moment, then reached to cradle her, kneeling beside the box as he pulled her off of it. He stretched one fist out and the red symbols peeled themselves from the chest to settle on the back of his glove and were absorbed into the flashing sigil. A red glow remained in the room, reforming itself into the Hellsing symbol and surrounding Alucard as if to remind him of the order he'd accepted. "Of course," he whispered into her ear, "I will protect you, my princess." He picked up her arm, the blood still leaking from the long gash. Alucard examined the wound critically, knowing he should staunch it... third in line to the throne? Inbred so completely that no ruling family in Europe was not related to her? Oh yes, he thought as his eyes rolled back and closed in pleasure, he couldn't let this chance go to waste. Trembling with excitement, Alucard's tongue moved slowly toward the rich fluid.
