Disclaimer: Well. I don't own Hellsing. I'd hoped we'd come to that conclusion months ago!
X.
What the hell was that thing?
Pip stared into the blackness. While the moon was full and bathed the path in silver light, it simultaneously bolstered the strength of the darkness and made it harder to see in to the copse of trees. Of course, it wasn't hard at all to pinpoint the ten searing, glowing crimson eyes glowering back at him.
The thing had an atrocious growl, like the warped howl of a lone wolf twisted with that of a hound. Pip sucked in a breath when he heard twigs and branches begin to crunch as the eyes slowly grew bigger and the beast drew near. Pip's eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched together so hard he knew he'd get a migraine from it later – if there was a later. He could only guess who had arranged this, and for what reason.
Well, Pip decided that he would have a say in his own fate. He wasn't about to let himself be killed so easy.
Though still in fetal position and clutching his leg to his chest, Pip grabbed for the revolver in the hidden pocket of his jacket. Thank God he had at the foresight to be armed at all times! For once, the paranoia that came with the underground life he lead with the Geese finally came in handy in the overworld. He forced the polished silver weapon out of his jacket in frenzied jerks, the blood loss beginning to make it harder and harder to focus. Pip took a deep breath, desperately trying to combat the nausea and light-headedness that were starting to take hold.
Oh, God!
Pip looked up, and just barely managed to hold down the scream in the back of his throat. His entire body stiffened, momentarily paralyzed by a fear he had never known before. For the first time in his life, regardless of the supernatural life-or-death situations he'd faced as leader of the Wild Geese, Pip felt true terror. It was all-consuming, all-powerful, and something that could never be accurately described except through experience. It ripped through his muscles and went straight to his heart.
Standing before him at the edge of the thistle was some sort of hideous, warped hellhound form of what remotely looked like the Count's dog, Baskerville. But this animal was no longer a dog. It was a monster, a monster that looked tall enough to reach Pip's shoulders had he been back on his feet. Its terrible jaws were drawn ludicrously far in a mock grin, revealing hideously large rows of long, deadly teeth. Saliva carelessly dripped from its lips, and Pip was certain he could guess what it had on its mind.
But as if that wasn't horrifying enough, the hound's fur seemed to attract, link, and control the very shadows themselves. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, it was like nothing he had ever imagined. They twisted out from the trees and flittered around the hellhound like thin little ribbons, twitching and moving as he did.
The two stared at each other for a long, silent moment. But then the safety on Pip's gun was released and several more eyes on different parts of the hound's body opened. Pip bit his tongue, mentally fighting to keep his dinner down. If he vomited now, the creature would have an opportunity to attack first, and Pip wouldn't be at full capacity to defend himself. Pip's eyes narrowed – he couldn't afford to look away for even a second.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when the sounds of cracks and pops filled the air, and he saw the shadows surrounding Baskerville flicker like flames as the beast took a single step forward. Pip scooted back, biting his tongue even harder, and took aim at one of the central eyes on the hellhound's face and fired.
Pip held his breath.
The hound didn't growl, but did take a step back – and that was all he needed. Pip took aim and shot again, and again, and again! He wasn't about to just lie down and die! If he had to die, he'd take this demon back to hell with him!
A thin fog of dirt from the path was kicked up from the blasts that filled the air and while in the back of his mind he knew it was a lost cause, Pip sucked in a deep breath and rolled to the other side of the road. Oh God, the pain. It felt like someone had set fire to his leg after they'd just finished rubbing salt in his wound. And how far had he even gotten? Eight feet? Nine? Ten at best? He wanted to scream, to cry! He couldn't get up and fight, or even run, in his condition!
The dust began to settle, revealing the behemoth form of the hellhound still standing, albeit with a few eyes closed. The creature was strangely composed and didn't make a sound though Pip could plainly see dark, almost purple blood running from most of its closed eyes. No, instead Baskerville calmly stared at Pip with his good eyes, as if merely taking a little time out to observe his prey.
And then the hound leaned back on his haunches, that malicious grin of pointy teeth returning tenfold. Pip held up his gun, ready to beat the beast back until he was too dead to fight anymore.
But suddenly, to Pip's relief and panic, there was the unexpected thunder of hooves coming up the path to the mansion. Good God, what next? Pip grit his teeth. The hellhound's lips drew back even farther – Pip hadn't realized that was possible – into a mocking snarl. His eyes narrowed in one enormous, simultaneous flicker that caught Pip's breath.
For the first time, Baskerville actually looked like it wanted to kill. Pip swore his heart stopped in that moment. His bullets had done nothing. He was going to die; but he didn't want to catch anyone else in this bloody mess.
"Stay back! There's monster here, beware!" Pip tried to yell over the horses, though judging from the fact that they hadn't turned back, they either hadn't heard Pip or had decided to go through the copse anyway.
"Leave, dammit! Leave now!" Pip tried to scream again, but his voice began to break and fail him. Goddammit!
The Hound seemed to smile cruelly, a dark promise laced in his teeth, and leaned back on his haunches like the privileged predator he was. Pip sucked in another breath, raising his gun and resolved to beat off the brute when it came for him, when –
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
The largest, most central eyes of Baskerville's upper body were shot with chilling accuracy, blood spurting in thick streams on to Pip. Pip stared at the beast in slight shock. That certainly hadn't happened when he'd shot the beast! He managed to skid a few feet back on his bottom, smearing blood along the dirt path as even more shots were fired.
Pip watched in gruesome fascination as each eye was targeted, shot, and ruptured under the force of the bullet. He found a sort of macabre admiration for the hellhound who, while his body was convulsing under the uninterrupted stream of bullets, did not falter or fall. He gulped, taking in the injury.
"Captain! Captain, are you well?"
"Captain?!"
"Mr. Bernadotte?!"
"Captain Bernadotte, this is a true surprise. I wasn't aware you enjoyed vacationing the moors."
In hindsight, it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise. Sir Hellsing had discovered the Victoria and Bernadotte families' relationship when she began researching Seras and Edith after Edith approached her oh so few months ago. The possibility of him accompanying Seras had crossed her mind when Pip suddenly asked for several extended personal holidays, but at the time she had had more pressing matters to attend to and promptly forgot about it.
If they made it out of this mess, Sir Hellsing swore never to underestimate or overlook anyone or anything ever again.
Pip was swiftly snapped out of his morbid thoughts at the sound of those voices. Could it be? Could it really be possible? Oh, God was good! He couldn't believe it! He managed to indignantly roll onto his other side, and looked up to meet the worried gazes of three of his Wild Geese, Walter C. Dornez, and the infamous Sir Hellsing herself! Oh, God was great!
Well, Sir Hellsing wasn't exactly looking at him – or looking worried, for that matter. She sat on her high horse, a sterling silver revolver in each hand, firing shot after perfect shot into the beast without so much as a second's slip in concentration. Pip stared up at her in a sort of drunk awe, a true god of death, a Valkyrie, in a dark navy pantsuit and matching greatcoat.
"Weapons ready!" Sir Hellsing commanded as she fired her last round, cursing under her breath. Walter quickly urged his horse forward as Sir Integra reloaded and the Geese grabbed for their weapons, moonlight flashing as razor wires flew through the air and the connected with the hellhound in a very painful way. But the beast still had yet to show any outward signs of pain.
One of the Geese leapt down from his horse as the others worked, quickly making his way to Pip.
"Captain, what the hell happened to you!?" He asked in a panic, rolling Pip onto his back and frowning when he saw his leader's leg. "Aw, shit. They used the same shit we have."
"Care to explain?" Pip grunted as the soldier quickly pulled out a pocket knife and pulled off his shirt, cutting up a makeshift bandage. The soldier wrapped it around his leg in shaky, a bit too uncertain pulls.
"Fire, now!" Sir Hellsing ordered, large blasts booming directly over their heads.
"Shit!" The soldier cursed, ducking down on the ground next to Pip as the other Geese emptied their shells of only-God-knew-what. Pip his lip, his eye starting to water and sting from the dust being kicked up by the blasts.
"Henderson! Help Captain Bernadotte up! Medical attention will have to occur later, and in a safer area." Sir Hellsing finally turned the brunt of her attention on them once the other Geese had finished firing and the dust finally began to clear. There was a tense, horribly still silence as everything settled.
The beast still stood, though whether that was by his own power or by Walter's wires was yet to be determined. Pip didn't think it mattered. He couldn't bear to look at it above its legs, because he knew what sickening sight of blasted flesh and blood and battered eyes awaited him. The Geese next to him mumbled something incoherent, and Pip felt his and another pair of arms lift him up onto a saddle before he finally gave way to unconsciousness.
Sir Hellsing watched silently as Henderson leapt up to sit behind the incapacitated Captain Bernadotte before turning her attention back to the matter at hand.
"Walter." She spoke, staring at the mutilated beast before them. She had seen her fair share of blood and horror, but this… this demon… Sir Integra finally allowed herself to look away.
"I believe it to be restrained, Sir." His voice was calm, but she could hear the stress hidden behind it. However, stress was not fear.
"Release it."
"Yes, Sir."
The wires drew back with a snap. The beast stood for a long moment, facing them, watching them with unseeing eyes. Or could he still see out of those? It wouldn't have surprised her if he could. He was a demon, after all.
But then, to her slight surprise, the beast fell forward flat on its stomach. Sir Integra looked to Walter and nodded. That was about as good a thing as they could've hoped for, and they could waste no more time. It was actually a miracle, really. They seemed to have breached the first line of the Count's defense without much incident, but there was no telling how they'd go over with the second tier. She glanced over to shoulder to see Pip's limp and bloodied form leaning against that of Henderson, and pushed down the emotions she felt. It wouldn't do any good for them if she lost her calm. They had a plan to keep.
"Forward!" Sir Integra commanded, grudgingly guiding her horse around to continue down the path and effectively turning her back on the battered hellhound. She and her men pressed on, now not solely for the sake of Seras Victoria.
"Sir!" Walter suddenly shouted from behind her, a worried edge to his usually composed tone. Sir Hellsing stopped and whipped her head around just in time to watch Baskerville wearily pull himself up to his paws, his eyes half-lidded but filled with the most malicious hate she had ever seen. Her body unconsciously shuddered under the sheer weight of the hound's rage-filled gaze… yet the monster did nothing.
The atmosphere changed of its own accord. Shadows suddenly grew longer, effectively blocking out the light of the moon above them and encasing them in the blackness that she'd so very wanted to avoid. Their four horses began to neigh and whine in alarm, and drew closer to each other and the center of the path as if afraid to even touch the encroaching shadows.
The beast did nothing but glower at them with unbridled hatred. It was only a matter of time before he decided to take his revenge.
"Make a change of course!" She decided on the spot. It wasn't safe in this wood any longer, even if it did give them a safer and faster route to the mansion. What good would they be to Seras - and now Captain Bernadotte - if they were killed by Baskerville before they even got to the Hall?
Sir Hellsing guided her horse to face the opposite direction and started off in the course they had come in, her horse charging into a break-neck speed almost as soon as she urged him forward. She cursed under her breath when she was practically thrown backward from the sudden force, but by the grace of God somehow managed to hold on.
The five members of their party miraculously made it back onto the main road and out of that haunted wood, a luxury Sir Hellsing hadn't quite expected to be given by Baskerville. She had been relatively certain the hound wanted to kill them then and there, and would make good on his claim if they wanted to go back that way. So then why hadn't he?
Of course.
She shook her head at her own stupidity. Baskerville was stalling them, and he had done a good job of it. He wasn't meant to kill them. It would take their group another good twenty to thirty minutes to skate around the mile-long patch of wood and trace a new way up the hill to Cramer Hall. She bit her tongue to prevent anymore vulgarities to slip from her lips. Goddamn that crafty, detail-oriented Count. She urged the group forward down the group, just on the edge of the copse, and after a good half hour they'd started to forge their own path just north of the trees. Finally they came upon the hill.
The mansion slowly appeared as they galloped further up the hill, finally breaking out of that accursed grove of trees and into open ground. At least here they'd be able to see what was coming at them, and wouldn't be surprised or ambushed.
She glanced at the battered body of her captain out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't the most level-headed man she'd ever met, but he also wasn't one to simply put himself in the dangerous position they'd found him in. Sir Hellsing shook her head and forced herself to return her focus forward. The Count had to be stopped once and for all. His reign of terror had to end.
There were lights on in the mansion, the first floor being almost entirely lit, the second floor sparingly so, and the third floor – though it offered the most windows –totally black. The building itself was unsurprisingly gothic and creepy and dark, a seemingly perfect personification of the Count's taste. It worried her that there was a lack of servant activity on the outside premises, regardless of the hour. Manors like these rarely truly slept, and to see anything different didn't serve as a good omen.
She sharply held out her hand at her side when she reached the beginning of the drive as a signal to stop, sucking in a breath when the front door opened and two figures emerged. She resisted the urge to chuckle, lest it disturb her companions. It seemed that they had been expected after all.
How ironically unsurprising.
"Simone, Henderson," Sir Hellsing hissed as she gave the signal, never once taking her icy blue eyes off the two newcomers. The Count was not one of them, but she'd done enough research to identify the taller of the two to be his suspiciously loyal butler, Renfield. Sir Hellsing couldn't identify the other man, but his scruffy appearance made his relationship with the Count and the situation hard to imagine.
The two soldiers she'd named quickly drew their horses on either side of her, Pip still sprawled precariously in front of Henderson. "This mansion has a stable complete with several carriages behind it, to the left of its back courtyard." She knew this for a fact. She practically had this house's geography committed to memory after she'd acquired its blueprints with a few carefully placed bribes.
Simone could see where this was going. "We shall not leave you, Sir." But his voice wavered.
Sir Hellsing could plainly see how torn he was by the situation. He couldn't just leave his commander there with only Walter – who, he grudgingly admitted, was pretty tough – and just one other Geese as back up in this den of wolves. While as a contract killer he owed her nothing more than a few vampires' heads on a platter, he couldn't help but like the woman. But on the other hand, he couldn't just allow his captain to go without medical attention.
Somehow the bastard who'd shot the Captain had gotten hold of the special blessed silver bullets Hellsing and the Vatican had recently begun to use in combat against vampires and their ghouls. The bullets were extremely effective in finishing off ghouls in record time and differed from previous prototypes because after making contact, the barrel twisted and ingrained seeds of blessed silver deeper into the flesh of the creature. Simone had never heard of its effects on humans, but now…
Well, now they knew that it certainly could pack a punch.
"I did not ask." Her facial expression was impassive, but her voice carried an authoritative tone. "I commanded it. You and Henderson shall go to the stables, assemble a carriage, and depart to take Captain Bernadotte to the physician in the nearest village. He will not survive otherwise." One look at Pip's ashen face upgraded her comment from "assumption" to "likely probability."
They'd just barely made it in time to save him from Baskerville, too. After mapping out the address she'd found written in a letter from the Count in Mr. Victoria's desk and hastily assembling her barrage of weapons, soldiers, and war plans, Sir Hellsing rushed her troops from London to West Country and barely making the journey in a little under four and a half hours herself.
She'd started with a much larger brigade of Geese, but had chosen to ride ahead with Walter and three of her best men to make better time. And thank God she had. Her thighs were chafed raw, her hamstrings were on fire, her eyes burned and sweat pooled at her lower back, but all that didn't matter. There were much greater, much worse things to worry about.
Against all logic, the two figures actually seemed to be waiting for them. They stopped at the edge of the (she hated to admit it) tasteful dark brick sidewalk, and Sir Hellsing could just make out Renfield to have his hands clasped behind his back like any respectable butler should. The other was slouched over, arms crossed, face no doubt drawn into a scowl. They were still too far away and the night too dark for her to see for certain.
But that didn't mean they'd be patient, and Sir Hellsing doubted they had any business with Captain Bernadotte. It was a gamble, but she believed they'd disregard Pip and his escorts as long as she wasn't with them.
"Go now." Sir Hellsing fixed them with a look. Henderson and Simone exchanged glances, but nodded nonetheless. They flicked their reigns and took off into a quick canter, and Integra only turned her attention back to the two men once she had watched her own disappear from view.
Renfield and his companion still had yet to move a muscle.
Despite a nagging feeling in the back of her mind and against her better judgment, Sir Hellsing gave the signal to move forward. They rode on the drive and took to the left side, the side farthest from the house and the walk. The three riders stopped several meters away from the two, right on the edge of Cramer Hall.
There was a complete silence, the kind of fleeting silence that one realizes cannot last long but refuses to break anyway. Renfield stepped off the walk and on to the drive, hands still elegantly clasped behind his back. Sir Integra pulled herself off her horse. Walter and the Geese, Timothy, followed her example.
Renfield cleared his throat. "Good evening, Sir Hellsing."
"Skip the pleasantries. Where is she, and where is your master?" Sir Hellsing asked calmly, resting her hand over the pocket she'd stuffed one of her guns in.
"I'm afraid I cannot be of great assistance in that endeavor, Sir Hellsing. Both my master and Miss Victoria are… indisposed at the moment, and as a good servant I will see to my master's wish that they not be disturbed." Renfield replied with equal composure, his neutral,empty mask never slipping for a moment.
His companion hadn't moved or bothered to say a word yet. His eyes were downcast, his peasant face bathed in shadow and hidden by a straw hat. Something silver glinted in his hand.
"You bastard." Sir Hellsing hissed as she whipped out one of her newly reloaded revolvers. It was just as she feared, and the nobleman could only pray that Seras hadn't yet been assaulted by the fiend.
Renfield only offered them a slight twinge of the lips.
Meanwhile
"This shall not take long, Lady Seras. Please return to your chambers to rest." Renfield addressed her before shuffling Pip and the unfortunate farm boy out the door, shutting it loudly behind them. Seras stared at the door for a moment, still trying to absorb just what had happened in the last few hundred seconds. Since when did Renfield do his own dirty work?
She shook her head and clutched her hand to her heart, hoping that Pip and Renfield would be able to save the poor boy's father. She felt his pain, his despair, Edith's beautiful face flashed before her eyes for a moment, prompting more tears. But then, right there in the grand entrance hall, Seras stopped herself.
No. She was stronger than that.
She lightly dabbed at her tears with the pads of her gloved fingertips. So the Count hadn't been true, the Count had only wanted to use her for unseemly activity?
Fine.
Yes, that was right, fine.
She'd finally decided that she wasn't going to define her life by who she married or who decided they loved her. She had something bigger, something better to attain. She had a purpose, and a vital role to play. She had to assist in finding and saving her sister, wherever that took her. If the Count didn't play a role in her life, so what? That's right! So what?
She was Seras Victoria, soon to be police woman! She had been allowing her emotions to control her all too often lately! It was time to step up and take control of her future and get what she truly wanted, needed!
Of course, the Count's betrayal struck a deep wound that wouldn't heal slowly or easily, for both her heart and trust had been betrayed. Just thinking about their courtship, what she'd thought he felt, and the realization of what he actually meant made her sick to her stomach and brought tears to her eyes, though those were easier to manage this time around.
She hadn't realized how much she'd come to care for him until she discovered he cared very little for her. It was as if a huge part of her world had suddenly been ripped away, leaving her with broken chunks of glass and concrete that had once held them up.
But she couldn't give up. She'd lived without him before, and she'd live without him again. She was Seras Victoria, and she loved her sister and would do anything and everything in her power to find her. It was time to put this petty drama aside and focus on the more pressing, important issues. Seras was rested enough. They would leave tonight and reach London before daybreak, where Seras would begin her search anew.
Determination ignited anew, Seras turned on her heel and practically ran up one of the twin staircases in the entrance hall to the second floor, resolving to alert Nora of the change in plans once her bags were packed and failing to notice the lack of staff in the area. She wanted to delay waking up the ill servant from her much-needed rest for as long as possible. Seras headed straight for her room and shut the door behind her, locking it with her key with a satisfying click.
She had only just filled her first trunk half-way when there were three brisk, yet authoritative knocks on her door. Seras frowned, and wondered if that was Renfield come back to alert her that the rescue party had returned. She hoped that they'd been able to help that poor boy's father - she turned the key and then the knob - and she hoped that they hadn't run into any trouble with the wolf.
Seras pulled the door open only to reveal not Renfield, but his master.
She couldn't help but wince and took a step back in surprise, acutely feeling her humiliation rise once more. She bit her lip, and did her best to steel herself. Remember, Seras told herself, you are certainly better off without him. You deserve better. Do not show submission or cowardice to this man, for you certainly have neither trait to show.
So instead she calmly clasped her hands behind her back, straightened her posture, and met his hidden eyes with a cool, polite gaze. "How may I help you, My Lord?" She was still required to show the proper respect to her betters even in such an awkward situation, and Seras refused to lower her standards. She would not let him get to her.
The Count took a step into the doorway as if trying to make his way into the room, but Seras didn't budge from her place and kept him from going any further. But he was far enough in to see the open drawers and her chests.
"And what are you doing with that, Police Girl?" He asked mildly, and for a moment Seras entertained the thought that he actually sounded worried. But, if he actually cared about her as a person and was worried about her or her feelings, he would've already apologized.
"I intend to leave this night, Count Dracul." She consciously gave her voice a cool undertone. As hard as the new realizations were, Seras had to keep reminding herself that she meant nothing to him. All he wanted was her body. It was a hard pill to swallow, but a necessary one.
The Count frowned, but had the decency to look moderately upset by the news. "And why the hell are you doing that?" But vulgarity, it seemed, was still not beneath him.
A fresh flush of anger dusted her cheeks, and she took an intentionally loud stamp of a step toward him, getting much too close to be proper. "Why am I leaving? You dare ask me why I leave the man who lures a lady who loves him away from where she's needed, simply to take advantage of her?" She hissed, her voice growing in volume and strain as she progressed. His betrayal was still too new, too fresh for her.
"Furthermore, I-"
Seras stopped midsentence, realizing her Freudian slip with cold shock. Her mind went blank before resorting to a jumbled panic, and she looked to the Count for any sign of reaction. For once, he seemed to be caught off guard. His face held an almost stupefied expression that she would've thought hilarious in any other situation. Oh, God. And just when she'd thought this whole situation couldn't have gotten any worse!
Why did she have to confess her love for him now, of all times? Especially when she knew he didn't love her!
"I apologize for wasting your time, My Lord. I thank you greatly for your hospitality. My companions and I will soon cease to bother you." Seras sighed quietly, bitterly. She gently pushed the Count a few steps back and out of her doorway.
"I wish you a good night." She said with a small, sad smile and closed the door, locking it right behind her.
Well, that had gone both better and worse then she'd expected. Seras tried not to groan in case the Count was still standing outside her door to hear it, and made her way back to the stack of dresses and underclothes that still needed folded and packed. It was a bit of a pain to do without Nora to help her, but Seras had never been one to be totally dependent on servants anyway. She was quite capable of folding her own clothes, thank you very much, and wouldn't be so cruel as to wake a sick little old lady to help with something so petty.
She had always been somewhat of an enigma when it came to servants. On one hand, they were essential to helping run the Victoria household, but for some reason Seras had never been totally comfortable with commanding people who were her social inferiors. Sure, she understood and accepted the fact that they were separated by class, but that didn't do anything to make it feel any more right to-
"Police Girl."
Seras yelped at the sudden voice, jumping around with a silk petticoat still in her hand. The Count stood before her, hands clasped in front of him, with a look of deadly seriousness on his face. What in the world? How had he gotten in here! And couldn't he take no for an answer?
And how had he gotten in to her bedroom? She was sure she'd locked the door! Maybe he had a master key or…? Well, there was no "or." He couldn't have gotten in otherwise, right?
Right?
She gulped, a creeping feeling crawling down her back, and wished that the bed was not behind her so she could take a step back. She looked over his shoulder to see her bedroom door still shut and the glint of a key still in the lock where she'd left it. How had he gotten in without her hearing him? The door even had squeaky hinges!
"H-how did you get in here?" And hadn't she locked the door! Yes, Seras thought with a shiver, she had!
"The door was locked! How did you enter?" She forced her voice to take on a more authoritative tone despite her unease. This was good practice for her – if she wanted to be a police woman, she'd have to grow a backbone to stand up to other scary people like the Count.
"You will not leave. I will not allow it." The Count continued on as if she'd never spoken, and drew toward her at a leisurely pace. His expression hadn't changed, and his lips were drawn in a hard line. Never had she felt so ill at ease in his presence, so unsafe.
"You have no say in the matter!" Seras threw her petticoat to the ground and slowly backtracked toward nightstand at side of her bed. She had laid a letter opener and an unopened telegram from Father Anderson there, and she was starting to get desperate for some sort of leverage in what had suddenly become a bad situation. Never had she felt so afraid of the Count, or so threatened by anyone for that matter. Her heart beat wildly, and her fight-or-flight instincts kicked in as she grabbed the letter opener and spun around with her arms raised in a defensive pose. How quickly the Count had gone from someone that held her to someone she felt the need to fight off.
She screamed in surprise when she saw that the Count suddenly stood barely a foot away from her and didn't hesitate in screaming bloody murder when grabbed her hands hard enough to bruise. He fished the letter opener from her fingers and threw it down on the soft carpet below. She screamed even louder when he pushed her on the bed and climbed on top of her, her hands still in an iron hold and pushed to her bosom.
"W-what is this? How dare you! Stop this right now!" Seras was screaming, her voice cracking under the strain. "Get off me, you fiend! This isn't proper! Get off me! I told you that I am no whore! Get off, get off, get off!" The Count was polite enough not to straddle her waist and instead placed most of his weight on her legs, which she desperately tried to use to kick him off.
But it was no use. He was stronger than he appeared, and even that was an understatement seeing that he had an intimidating physique to begin with. Seras struggled and screamed and cried and cursed him while trying to kick and punch, but couldn't get anything over a wiggle or tremor in his grip. It was enough to drive her mad!
"What drives you? Why me? Was this ploy not too elaborate for rape? Why not take a street woman instead, it'd be more less trouble!" She screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks and staining the silk bedspread below them. Oh God, he was going to take her innocence. Oh God, was there no way out of this? How foolish she was to have actually believed his feelings pure! She should have listened to Edith and Sir Integra!
The Count merely sneered, his expression one of undiluted anger – not directed at her, but at something in his thoughts. "I would never deign so low as to take an unwilling partner." His words held a sort of bitter hatred that managed to slightly pacify Seras. The look on his face… it made her believe him. She would not be hurt in that way by him. But, if he didn't want her for the unseemly reasons she had originally suspected…
The room was silent all for Seras' sniffles and muted cries of anger and frustration.
"What do you want with me?" She finally managed to ask, stiffening when the Count bent to bring their bodies to what seemed like mere centimeters apart. Seras found it hard to breathe, her eyes wide and absolutely terrified. How could she have been so stupid, so naïve?
"I will not lose you. I refuse to lose you. You will be mine, you are mine, forever." He hissed into the shell of her ear, his warm breathe sending shivers down her spine.
She shook her head, using her head to bat him away at least a few inches. Oh, God, this man was insane. How had she ever strayed from thinking that? At their first meeting she had noticed there was something wrong with him. Why hadn't she listened to her instincts then?
Her mind cleared at the thought, garnering a sudden insight. Yes, her instincts…
She'd had enough of the self-blame. Yes, she had been stupid and naïve and should've heeded the warnings and the signs, but she was not to be held accountable for the Count's actions. He was the monster, the one who had set her up, he was the villain. Seras had been tricked, and she hadn't asked for this. She was the victim, and in no way could she be blamed for the Count's evil intents and actions. But even so, she still had to find a way out of the trap he had ensnared her in.
"Why me? What makes me so special? I am nothing, I barely even have a tolerable pedigree! I have no fortune, no dowry, no name to tempt you! I approach the status of an eccentric old maid, and am barely considered one of the gentry if even! Once my looks fade, I will be nothing worth pursuing! I am no prize! You'd be much better off without me!" She was trying to dissuade him now, trying to show him just how big of a mistake he was making.
Seras wasn't going to lie; his last comment had absolutely freaked her out. Forever was a long, long time. But the Count only shook his head, laughing dryly.
"Police Girl, even now you never cease to amuse me." He lifted his face to hang directly over hers, his long black hair tickling her cheeks. "You know not the rarity of such an occasion, the rarity of a trustworthy being. An unconditionally loving, unyieldingly loyal and good being. Such a person has been all too sparse all my years – I refuse to let such a find go." He was being absolutely serious. Oh God. He meant every word he said. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. "Never again will I be alone."
"What are you?" Seras whispered wearily after a long, tense moment, biting back more tears of exhaustion, anger, and terror. She was so, so tired of crying.
And then, an absolutely amazing thing happened. In one swift movement the Count lifted his free hand and took his eyeglasses off for the first time in her presence. Seras' gaze followed the eyeglasses first, watching them be thrown haphazardly on to the other side of the bed, before gathering the nerve to look him dead in the eye. What she saw took her breath away.
Red.
His irises were a pure, painstakingly blood red that she had previously thought physically impossible. They reminded her of…
"The dream," She whispered, her own eyes wide, all thought processes stumped. Just like the dream!
The Count pulled back slightly, his lips drawn in a feral grin. Bright, gleaming white fangs stole the show and gleamed in the light. Seras gasped, at a total loss for words. When she'd asked what he "was," she hadn't meant for it to be taken as anything other than an insult! She hadn't actually expected him to be something!
Sir Hellsing's omens and warnings rang clear in her mind. "You're… you are…" Seras stuttered. She didn't want to say it out loud, to make it real.
"I am what you shall become."
She made the mistake not to avoid his gaze, but to meet it full on. She finally was able to see him in all his beautiful glory without his eyeglasses. Truly he was a fallen angel, with his darker than black hair framing his perfectly sculpted features, his flawless magnolia skin managing to help find the beauty in his insidious eyes. Her voice caught in her throat, her mind blank and stupefied.
The Count was a vampire.
And then without out warning, she fell into slumber.
{A/N:}
Thank you all so much for your continued support! I truly appreciate it! If you happen to have the time, don't be afraid to leave me a review! I absolutely love to hear what you all have to say!
We're very close to new material, finally!
Until next time,
Della