Chapter Ten: Drunken Arguments and Basement Happenings
Teeth raked gently yet fiercely down the exposed flesh of her curving spine. His hands made a repeating voyage down the slip of her ribs, the dip of her waist, and the swell of her hip until the ends of his vigilant fingers swept down over the bend of the thigh. An amount of pressure was given on the upward gesture and brought the one receiving the menstruations to allow the muscles in her neck to fail and let her head fall backwards…
A violin played…
Hair the shade of pitch formed a thick curtain around her face, blocking out any unwanted images. Her hands slid up the length of his torso before grasping and tearing away the offending shirts which blocked entrance to the cool skin that lay beneath. She felt the weight of his larger body force down on her own, but she paid no mind. Agile lips played over the angle of her chin and nipped up at her slack mouth…
A violin played…
The bow of her strained back served as a pasture for his roaming hands. Words passed his lips but they were fatally diffused as his mouth had buried itself within the flex of her neck. Her nails stabbed at his back with every moment and her mouth opened and closed periodically as if she was biting at the sky…
A violin played…
Again he spoke, but she could not make out the sound. Only the vibrations rumbling from his chest reached her attention as her fingertips traced the protruding bones of his collar. She responded, but he did not notice. His ears were far too interested in what her gasps were telling him…
Rawnie flew up in her bed, sheets tangled around her curled legs. Sweat seeped from her skin and soaked the thin garment wrapped around her body. Her breath shot out of her parted lips fiercely as her shaking hands gripped at the bedding below her. The already messed hair was tangled roughly and strewn around her face, blocking her frightened, yet lustful eyes from any gaze that may be barreling down upon her.
Sexual fantasies were never a rarity for the painfully single woman, but the lack of giant olives or midgets running around the room left her with a feeling of not waking from a dream. It was far, far to realistic for her taste. Though realism was usually never a bad thing in such dreams, the startling image of the man hovering over her with the generous hands took the shape of the very vampire in the holding cell a few stories below her.
The feel of his long fingers along her spine was still freshly lined on her back, and the tiny places along her shoulder still held the small indents of his tasting teeth. The whole thought of it forced her to slide from the bed and take a few steps away from the resting place that had fed her these images. Her hands gripped at the long sleeves of the oversized shirt she had the long running habit of sleeping in, leaving behind the beautiful silks and satins in the wardrobe across the room. Her exposed legs became covered in bumps for a moment from being hit with the force of the cold air that circulated through the manor. Unsteady hands felt along the short sofa for the robe she had discarded before retiring to bed earlier and quickly slipped it over her shoulders.
"Need alcohol," she breathed out as her arms wrapped the warm garment around her body and her feet moved briskly over the carpet and into the barren hallway. As the bedroom door fell shut behind her, Rawnie quickly worked her way down the various halls and stairways the house had to offer, mind set on a soothing glass of liquid that would surely melt all the memories of that dream away.
As bare feet reached the platform of the final case of steps the woman began to make her final turn toward the bar to her right, her hand already preparing to pour the whiskey she was so fond of. However, the distinct feeling of not being the only being around stopped her from giving into her urges and forced her limp body back around. She knew for a fact that the person she was to find wouldn't be the Count. Her instincts had already been trained to send her body into overdrive when the pale man was near her. Besides, after the visions she had woken up from Rawnie could imagine that she could feel out his aura from a mile away.
She entered the large arched doorway to her left to confront whoever it was that had disturbed her beeline quest for the bar. Popping her head to the side slightly to remove a piece of poorly angled hair from her view the gypsy was suddenly returned to the sensual state of mind she had forced out of her mind upstairs.
It was no secret that Gabriel Van Helsing was an attractive man in both personality and physical perspectives. His finely sculpted features, thick locks, and constant state of five o'clock shadow was a welcomed sight for any single woman out on her own. Luckily at the moment his attention was focused elsewhere and gave the woman's deep brown eyes a moment to take in the pleasing image she was offered. The usual weighty leather coat he was accustom to wearing was gone, resting on some piece of furniture off to the side, finally allowing the female gaze to map out the lines of his formed muscles from beneath the brown vest and tattered sweater. His body type was that of perfection in the eyes of scholars. Broad shoulders and strong chest slimed down into a slender waist and powerful legs. Up top, his hair twisted at the ends and poured over his shoulders as his intense eyes glared out at the large painted map in front of him. Below, his booted feet were parted at shoulder width and stamped hard into the floor while his ungloved hand gripped the top of a crystal glass that swirled around the assumed liquor inside.
"Lost?" she finally spoke up, sure to cover her voice in the normal sarcasm she threw at the Roman. Sexual tension was not something that needed to be shown through words.
Van Helsing looked up when her voice filtered through his concentration. Though his face continued to hold that seriousness that he wore so often, the woman's skimpy state did not escape his notice. The off-white robe did nothing to extenuate her form though it did off a healthy glimpse of her bare legs by the way it fell open in front of her. The large top she wore beneath was long enough to hide what needed to remain unseen, but the collar intended to grip the neck had long ago lost its elasticity and drooped down the front of her chest. Her hair was a tangled mass atop her head and still managed to hold a curious amount of appeal. It was an…exhilarating sight to say the least.
"It certainly seems that way at times," the man finally answered and tore his eyes away from Rawnie and back toward the map that flooded the wall. The slight sound of the queens bare footsteps over the wood signified the closeness the two were about the experience, but Gabriel managed to remain calmly staring at the wall with a slight grin.
"Well, as of now you're here," the Valerious stabbed a finger on the map in their general location, then slipped it over toward the northwest side, toward Rome, "in a short time, you will be here."
"Awfully confident that this will get sorted out, aren't you?"
"I have no intention of planning my future around this ordeal, Gabriel."
"And if things don't work out as you hope?" he asked and lifted his glass to take another sip. However, Rawnie snatched the drink from his hand and brought it to her own lips before downing the rest of the contents.
"Then I'll deal with it when the time comes." With that, she snuck the glass back into his hand before turning her back on him and moving her way back through the arched door towards her original destination. Van Helsing immediately followed.
"So, pray tell my dear Ms. Valerious, what has you up at…" he paused and looked at his time piece, "2:36 am?"
"I could ask you the same," her words echoed as she entered the larger room and slipped back behind the bar, instantly grabbing for a cool bottle.
"I don't find myself sleeping much these days," he sighed and absently glanced toward the floor, down into the depths of the holding cell below. The look that appeared on Rawnie's face instantly told him that she knew what he was hinting at.
"Oh, good. Knowing you're up most of the time makes me feel better about sleeping the vast majority of the night."
"Good to know you share my sympathies," Van Helsing mumbled and slipped onto one of the tall stools that wrapped around the bar. Unexpectedly, the tired woman had no sharp response for his comment and instead busied herself with the task of drinking the glass dry of all contents in a record time. As soon as there was nothing but glass to touch her tongue, the bottle once again clanged with the glass and refilled the vacant space. Van Helsing watched with mild interest.
"Bad dream?"
Rawnie only glared at him between gulps.
"You surely can't expect to get a good sleep with that thing down there," the man mumbled, causing her to stop her consuming for an instant, "His strength does not only lie in his muscles."
"I know," she stated plainly before taking another sip.
"You apparently have some connection to him, which will only make him stronger."
"I know."
"Even a familiarity with him can be dangerous."
"Mmhmm."
"Anna was-"
The moment the name passed his lips, the heavy glass thudded down on the shiny bar top with a clenching hand still wrapped tightly around it. Lips tightened in irritation from both parties and the tension quickly took a hard left from sexual to angry. Rawnie just found it wonderful that she could hardly have a conversation with the man who was going to save her without lashing out at his throat.
"I'm not Anna."
A pause.
"Ms. Valerious-"
"Rawnie."
"Yes…I apologize," he said quietly while taking a small drink form the bottle she had discarded. Rawnie grunted.
"No you're not. You're simply trying to smooth things out."
"And what else am I suppose to do? Do you want to have another screaming match, Rawnie? God knows I'm up for it."
Grabbing the bottle back into her possession quickly, the gypsy turned sharply and moved out from behind the bar before retreating into the other room, choosing the less violent path for this argument. From behind, she could feel Gabriel glaring at her back as she tipped the liquor up and drained it down her throat. Though the sound of her chugging she could distinctly hear the rattle of the barstool being dismounted and the heavy boots of the Roman following her closely.
"Stalker," she spat.
"You have to stop being so damn difficult. Stop acting like this is all under control and that there's nothing to worry about," at this point, Van Helsing hand the woman's stiff shoulders in his hands and forced the bottle away from her eager mouth. "Everything's not fine and it won't be fixed easily. Stop pretending this is a game, Rawnie. This is not another bump in your road."
"Would you rather me panic? Run out into the streets hungry for revenge, Gabriel? Would you rather me pace back and forth like a lunatic all day? Would you prefer me to be more like Anna, Gabriel?"
The man reared back for a moment at the verbal hit but held her shoulders strongly.
"Anna died defending what you shrug off," he hissed in retaliation, his anger finally beginning to bubble to the surface. Rawnie gave a slightly bitter chuckle before raising the alcohol back to her lips and shoving herself away from the warrior.
"Ah, yes, 'round and 'round we go with this conversation. I'm sure you know how much easier this would all be if dear, sweet Anna were here to give you words of inspiration, wouldn't it? Being by someone who fights for a noble cause and not for the utter right to live is much more 'deep' isn't it?" she paused and wiped away a droplet of amber liquid on the corner of her mouth, "I'm tired of you silently blaming me for this situation. I'm not the one that's making it difficult, Helsing."
"I've never blamed you for any of this, Rawnie."
"Oh, horseshit!" she screeched, face reddening form the anger. "I've heard you talk to Carl, yourself…walls! If I had been here, I couldn't been me instead, right? Correct, sir? Or, hey, I could have saved her, couldn't I? Save you all this grief?"
Another gulp.
"It could have been possible for you to be of some help," he stated calmly while the woman unleashed the rage that was slowly being squeezed out of her by the strong liquor.
"Yes, I suppose you could think of it that way, but hey," she paused and gave a small chuckle, "I'm not the one that killed her, am I Gabriel?"
A deep quiet settled over the wide room and the irritated smile disappeared from Van Helsings face slowly. The aura of the conversation went to angry to a dormant sadness and guilt. Rawnie knew the story of how her sister had met her end, she had been informed that no one was directly at fault. However, her inebriated mind worked to find a hit that would cause Gabriel to back off, and she unfortunately succeeded. Though the grief that was filtering through the room was entirely the mans, the guilt seeped from the woman like sweat.
"I…" she started and raised her empty hand to her forehead. She closed her eyes tightly for a moment or two, bringing her rational thoughts to the surface. "I didn't mean it like that…"
She hadn't expected immediate forgiveness. Gabriel only gave a brisk nod of his head, unreadable eyes still tracing her own uncertain ones.
It seemed as if the two stood in the room in silence for hours, together but as alone as ever. It was no secret that deep down neither like the other very much. He was too set on the business of the day and the past. She busied herself with her relations with vampires and how much time she would get in the day to drown herself in the glorious liquor stashed around the house. Finally the serenity was broken by the scrapping sound of the bottle in Rawnie's hand being placed on an end table. Van Helsing turned his head to the side, popped his jaw to himself, and inhaled deeply. This was an awkwardness they had not planned on dealing with.
"I'm going to bed," he mumbled and slowly turned from the woman who stood there in all her disarrayed glory. Before his boots made it across the threshold of the doorway, the Queen made a small noise in the back of her throat that caused him to jerk his head back her way with weary eyes. Her mouth popped open and shut a few times before actual words began to take shape.
"I'm sorry. I don't think that you-"
"I know," he interrupted with a small yet emotional bruised smile on his handsome face. "Goodnight, Rawnie."
The clock upstairs chimed for the second time since Rawnie had retreated down the stairs and tunnels of the basement and outside of the cell that contained the man…thing, that she had been cursed with. Her mind reached into memory and finally figured it was most likely four o'clock in the morning. Not that it made any difference, her body was far from wanting sleep. For some reason the cool, rough feeling of the stone below and behind her felt more inviting on her body than anything a bed could offer.
She wasn't sure why she came to the conclusion that she needed to be down in the dungeon, if anyone upstairs were to find her in such close vicinity to Dracula she would be given a firm slap to knock her back into good sense. Luckily there was no sign of any life wandering around the manor except for her. Even the warrior from Rome was heard snoring through the thick door of his chambers. Now it was only Rawnie still walking about.
Rawnie and Dracula.
She couldn't see him; she didn't dare open the door and peek in on her prisoner, but she could feel him…hear him even. She knew he was awake, sitting up and staring at the door that separating him from the outside…from her. She knew he was burning holes in that strong wood door with his startling eyes, because for the vast majority of the time that she had been down there, her own eyes had been doing the same. They strained and worked as if trying to look through the door. She knew it was a battle she would never win…though she wasn't sure about him.
He knew she was out there. He knew that her hands that played along the stone floor would sometimes reach out over the dirt in an attempt to get closer to the door. His keen ears could hear her labored breath as she tried to convince herself to go back upstairs. He could hear her convince herself otherwise.
Again, the clock chimed.
Five o'clock.
Rawnie's knees were pulled up toward her chest and her arms were wrapped around, holding the thin robe in place. Grains of dust and gravel mixed in her hair when she rested her head back against the wall lazily. Her body was now aching for a bed and a comfortable mattress, but her eyes were firmly locked onto the bolted door to her right. He was still paying desperate attention to her. Every so often she could hear the chains inside rattle about, giving the sign that he was as restless as she felt.
"Rawnie."
The sound of the slick voice vibrating through the stone walls made the woman jump slightly. She knew it was not Van Helsings, it was far too smooth. It wasn't Charlie's, it was too sensual. It had to be…
"Dracula," she whispered hoarsely, and was answered with a deep chuckle.
"My dear, Rawnie," the vampire hissed out again, "Why do you keep yourself so distant from me?"
As he spoke, the woman slowly inched herself up from her sitting position and stood leaning against the wall, hands splayed out on the stone harshly. Slowly, hesitantly, her feet moved across the dirt and grime, closer and closer to the door. On the other side, the pale man moved from sitting to stand upright, hands limp at his sides. He could feel the heat from her flow over him as she approached the door, that feeble door that could easily be snap in two if not for his damned chains. A low growl escaped his mouth when the sound of his restraints clanked echoed as he moved forward.
Outside, she could also hear the sharp sounds as the monster inside attempted to pull from the wall. Rawnie placed her hands against the cold door and inhaled deeply. Her nails seemed to instinctively claw carefully into the barring wood that separated her from what she feared and needed at the same time. Again, a heavy sound reached her ears as the strong creature inside pulled at the strong chains holding him, his anger now coming through in his voice.
"Open the door, Rawnie," he called out in a near desperate tone that did not fit his voice at all.
She began panting. Her hand ached to reach for the latch that would so easily and quickly remedy this door problem, but something held her back. It was wrong. It was wrong for her to be down there, wrong for her to be throwing herself against the door, wrong to be aching for the beast that waiting inside for her. It was so wrong…so sinful.
"I am a sinner," she mumbled to herself matter-of-factly. The alcohol on her breath, the sweat and satin dreams she had, the lack of church…Her shoulder suddenly gave a sharp throb, jolting her body roughly. Rawnie gripped onto the scar tightly hoping the pressure would somehow chase the odd pain away. Again, a throb. As if sensing the strange happenings outside, Dracula gave another hard yank on the chains with a feral sound, bringing the walls of the cell to shake unsteadily. Warmth began to grow under her fingers as blood pumped to the scar wildly and a small groan of discomfort parted her lips.
'You are a sinner,' a voice in the back of her mind agreed, the syllables in each words pounding out through the scar. The wrinkled, female voice spoke out again, 'You're as cold as we are.'
"Cold as we are…" the gypsy whispered, the grip around her shoulder loosening. In an instant it was as if her body had caught on to the fact that she was lacking sleep and her eyes began to drift close as she stood leaning against the door.
"Rawnie!" the near angry voice from inside the room screamed out, interrupting her retreat into slumber. Her first instinct was to fear the fearsome sound coming from the creature, but her brain told her otherwise. Just as her eyes popped back open from the momentary tired spell, the heat seemed to melt away from her shoulder, and the throbbing dulled as if it were being smothered by the cold energy leaking out from under the door in front of her.
"What are…" she started and faded out as the Counts voice penetrated once more.
"Open the door, Rawnie."
"What are you doing to me?" the woman hissed terribly as another roll of pain came over her body and once more sent her to the filthy floor below, knees scraping painfully on the hard surface.
"Ouvrez la porte!" he screamed in a French tongue, hoping that the language she had been accustom to for years would bring her around.
"Ouvrez la porte…" she repeated in a dream-like state. Her body was again racked with pain and her mind assaulted with viscous whispers from the dry voice that contrasted terribly with the silky voice that had accompanied the pain in the past.
A terrible roaring shriek pounded out from the cell and again the sounds and pain were pushed away, if only for a moment.
The instant her body was released from its personal prison, Rawnie reached up and jerked at the handle of the heavy door shoving herself to her trembling legs and sending the door open with such a force bits of loose material drifted to the floor. Inside the sight of the Count standing tensely against taught chains, tangled hair splayed over his face, and eyes dully radiating from beneath. The seconds that passed as they stared at each other seemed to pass by all too fast, for once her weak eyes fluttered shut and open, Rawnie could feel the unknown forces in her body lurching forward once more, struggling to get to the surface of Dracula's temporary relief.
'What are you doing?' the woman's own subconscious mumbled, a break from the confusion that came with the strange voices, 'Run, run back upstairs. Van Helsing has to be awake from the screams. He will know what to do.'
"Really?" she asked herself aloud, gaining nothing but an empty and awaiting stare from the vampire.
'He will think you've lost your mind if he were to find you in the arms of this monster,' the voice reasoned, 'What good could come from this? For all you know, that beast is the one causing this pain.'
"Rawnie," the pale man burst in on her thoughts and struggled to reach out to her, "Come."
'He can't help you,' she told herself before her mind was thrown roughly to the side by the streak of pain flashing over her eyes. She stumbled forwards slightly, arms stretched out to the side to keep her balance from leaving her. Only mere feet away now. She could tell herself all night that no good would come from this, this wouldn't help anything, she was just being selfish…But, every now and then she would catch glimpses of Van Helsing saying 'Anna wouldn't have done that'. She would see her fathers face after he put her on the carriage to France with that nearly disappointed expression he bore that she never understood. She would picture her mothers crying face as she stood in the doorway, gripping at hem of her sleeve tightly. Suddenly she could remember what she had felt for the past ten years.
She wasn't a Valerious. Not anymore.
She wasn't Anna. She never would be.
She would never be what anyone wanted her to be, and no one would ever know why that was.
Except for…perhaps this monster in front of her. This creature that took everything she didn't have and pined for so long. Yet…possibly the only being alive that knew solitude as well as she did…the only being that she had any live connection with.
With that last thought, her knees buckled and Rawnie fell into the waiting arms of the Count who quickly pulled her up to his height. She was as limp as a rag doll in his lean arms, but her wide eyes and unsure expression told that she was anything but unaware. He knew she was not oblivious to the fact that she was unarmed and undefended in his arms. She knew that any moment he could tear her throat out and be done with it. She had recklessly thrown her life in his wicked hands.
Upstairs, the heavy thump of Gabriels boots rang out clear in the vampires keen ears. The man was aware of some sort of strange happenings below. Though his life was not in danger, the Count did not look forward to the hail of bullets he was sure to receive if he was caught with the limp gypsy in his arms. However, the power the tickled at the back of his mind and the tightened grip of the woman on his jacket sleeve signaled that there were things to be tended to.
Quickly tearing away the layers of cloth that covered the offending area along woman's shoulder, Dracula ran his chilled fingers along the smooth bump of the scar, feeling its heat rush off the flesh like an internal flame that was threatening to burn her from the inside out.
"It will only be temporary," he whispered huskily, struggling to keep his primal urges down to a controlled level. If Rawnie heard his or not was unknown, because the moment the words passed his lips her body stiffened from the agony that again tackled her, and then…
Nothing.
She felt absolutely nothing. All she could see was the moist wall of the prison, all she could hear was the echo of someone speaking in the far off distance, and all she could smell was the bitter yet refreshing scent of the Counts hair as it brushed along the side of her face. It was like a pressure was being lifted from her slowly, inch by inch. The heat began to melt away and was replaced with the familiar cool the had drifted from the creature that was now holding her tightly. The taunting words that had filled her head only seconds ago were being filtered away and out of her mind, leaving only her thoughts to roam. The strange affliction ceased to abuse her body and her fingers were able to release the soft material of Dracula's clothing. And then, she knew.
With all the distraction of the 'curse' gone, she was able to concentrate on what was happening in the present. She was then aware that the vampire was currently latched onto her shoulder, his fangs clinched tightly down on the scar that had been nothing but trouble for her for so long. Her animal instinct was the panic, to struggle and jerk away from the carnivore like threat. Though strangely enough, a warmth mixed with the chill of her new temperature created a soothing effect, evaporating all of her fears and allowing her eyes to drop closed. The dead mans hands gripped at the back of her robe, keeping her body pressed depressingly close to his own as his jaw muscles worked fiercely to drain the clump of dead flesh of its liquid.
It was disgusting on his tongue. The sweet, yet sour taste of blood never met his senses, instead only the shocking and vile substance that could not be identified. It poured from the scar like a vast well and down his throat where it would be left to fester in his insides. Drops crept out from the sides of his lips and dribbled down Rawnies weak garments, staining them hopelessly. The last ounces were coming, he could feel it. He could feel the tension in her body slipping away and the minor case of possession being washed into the back of her subconscious for the time being.
But it would be back. Until the ordeal was completely resolved, it would be back to haunt the Valerious again.
"Hands off," a deep, menacing voice floated into the room and forced the vampires eyes, as well as the woman's, eyes open. Standing in slight disarray, lacking the usual sweater and gun hoister stood Gabriel Van Helsing, arm out at length pointing pistol at the forehead of the momentarily helpful Count. The still drinking creature only gave a muffled hiss in response and slowly walked backwards, pulling the weak woman with him.
"Now," Van Helsing growled and cocked the weapon as he followed the Count across the room before shoving the barrel against the vampires cranium. The two males had a violent argument with their eyes before one of them made the next move. Dracula removed his jaws from Rawnie's shoulder and spat out the extra bits of dark substance onto the floor. The warrior gave a baffled look at the strange sight. He expected gushing blood…not this, stuff. Though odd, it still did not change the fact that the woman was motionless in the 'monsters' arms and Gabriel slowly began to squeeze the trigger.
A hand shot up and grabbed the pistol barrel.
"Stop…" an exhausted voice suddenly piped up and brought both men to gaze down at the female. Van Helsing reached for her. The Count pulled her away, almost like a child who's favorite toy was being threatened. The chains hindered any small movements that he could have made, but Dracula was able to gently help the woman gain her own balance, all the while glaring over at the Roman who still stood with the gun pointed toward the ceiling.
"What did you do?" the armed man accused and quickly held out an arm as Rawnie stood on her own two legs, wobbling back and forth like a newborn foal.
"He didn't…" she started and tried again to form her words properly, "He didn't do…anything. He…"
Gravity pulled at her arms and began to tug her down toward the hard ground, refusing to allow her any form of adult walking skills back just yet. Though her already bleeding knees could have been subject to more pain, Rawnie reached out and grasped at the arms of both men, who both instinctively brought themselves closer to her to act as a crutch. Instantly the two men locked eyes once more. Van Helsing had a look of pure hatred etched on his handsome features. Dracula had a countenance of near amusement toward the bitter man.
Though both had a clear glaze in their eyes that they threw at each other wildly. A look that clearly said the other was touching something he should not.
As if to interrupt the silent war, Rawnie tilted her head from side to side, popping her neck a few times as if she had just awoken from a long nap.
"I need a drink."