Walter trots down the hill, summer-dry grass crunching underneath his feet. The horizon is vibrant, a tasteless hot pink and the nanny goat in his arms stirs and bleats pathetically. He yawns, sleepy in the face of daybreak, eager to be home.
Home is where the heart is and his heart, such as it is, is with her. Their den is set in the forgotten ruins of a temple to an equally forgotten Mediterranean god, pillars built in front of a natural cave system where it is cool and dark and peaceful. This tiny island their sanctuary, free of humans, a single beach breaking merciless vertical cliffs and positively crawling with feral goats. It's the perfect place for them to be together.
His Integra comes out to greet him, rubbing her eyes, restful and fretting. He never gives her as much blood as she'd like, because if he indulged both her and his own gluttony the goats would be gone in no time and they'd have to move on. Growling low in her throat, she lunges forward, her wild hair everywhere and the nanny squeals and dies. She's as messy as ever, blood all over her face and she's so trembling, delicious, that he simply has to lick it away.
They don't talk. There's really nothing to say. Nudging her, he gently urges her towards the cave; like her sire she doesn't burn easily, but she has a tendency to wander and Walter has utterly no intention of trying to find her in the morning light. It's happened once; he finally found her sheltered behind a rock, wrapped up in a defensive ball and by then the sun was so high that he'd had no option but to wrap himself around her and shield her with his body. The burns were agonising and even with the vampire's famed regeneration, had taken weeks to heal.
Walter misses human blood. He misses the hunt and the kill. Feral goats are cunning foes but they lack a certain vital spark and they smell badly besides. Sometimes, on the rare occasions that teenagers or rich tourists land on the beach, he stows on board their boat and waits for them to come back. Then, when the boat is out to sea, he waits again for the sun to set and comes out with the night. He's gotten good at scuttling boats. He's gotten very good at night swimming. Sharks taste bad, but they're a challenge. He always keeps the money and the jewellery afterwards; he knows that it'll come in handy one day, and his Integra likes things that sparkle, she wears layers of gold and gemstones and dances for him in the moonlight. She looks beautiful in the necklace of purple river pearls and blue glass beads that he bought for her in Venice. He has tried carrying the blood to her in his mouth and his stomach, but it doesn't work because he always, at some point, swallows. Now he just takes a thermos.
A little ways inside the cave system there is a little grotto, sandy floor, low, comfortable ceiling. Small holes in the walls let the sunlight in but they are easily plugged with hide or hair or grass and when the sun is behind the island, he can use them to see out. When he can't sleep he explores the cave system. It's quite extensive and he suspects that it'll be some time before he's discovered it all. He's been looking for underwater links to other islands. He hasn't found any yet but he's hopeful.
Great banks of white candles line the grotto walls. His Integra is afraid of the dark. In the dark the both of them can feel...
...him.
Alucard.
Walter whines, deep in his throat. It's equal parts fear and desire. Hiding is difficult for him, and vampires are territorial. He hasn't fought in so long and he misses it. Alucard obviously has other things to do, but there is blood connecting all three of them, and on odd occasions Walter feels him, searching. Alucard is old and bound by the sea and his power is limited by it. Otherwise, the former butler and his Integra would have been found and exterminated a long time ago.
With quick movements, he lights the candles. His Integra just stands there, in the middle of the floor, head titled as she listens to Alucard's call. Walter has made certain that she knows better than to answer it.
He's made a little hollow in the sand, lined it with summer-dried grass so that it is soft and fragrant. He lies down in this now, pulls her down beside him. Gentle bites to her neck and shoulders to distract her; she likes that, mews appreciatively and arches her back. As much as he'd like her too, he doesn't let her bite him back. She's not ready for independence and he's not ready to give it to her.
Walter isn't stupid. He knows that his time is comparatively limited. There's always Alucard, or the bastard Sir Hellsing and if he can avoid them for long enough there's always his Integra. She still isn't what she was before she was shot and any progress has slowed dramatically with his vampire blood. Nevertheless, as slow as it is, progress is progress and sometimes he can feel something slow and angry and powerful slip through the tangled layers of her mind. If it's not Alucard, she'll doubtless be the death of him one day.
He buries his face in her hair, breathes in. It can only be expected. She is, after all, his Integra.
His little girl.