Transylvania, 1521
Did he care about her? Russa would never know. She loved that man more than anything, and yet he did so many things to hurt her. He had once said that beautiful things are only beautiful when they are unhappy. If he kept her because she was beautiful, then he must at least have had a reason for doing these things. She missed so those quiet nights where they would sit in the library at firelight, spending time together. It would be so beautiful, the chess board with its lovely wooden pieces and the tall shadows they threw across the checked spaces. She loved to hold the black king in her hands and cradle it, and he loved watching her do it. Then they would play.
The corners of her mouth twisted into a slight smile as she recalled how, whenever she checked him, he would cover her hand that held the piece she had just moved with his own, and lean in closely and kiss her. Just a soft kiss, but it would last for so long. She used to wonder why he'd kiss her when she was beating him in the game. Then she feared the kisses muddled her senses, for when they broke away, the board always looked differently, and he always beat her. She finally decided, although she had no proof, that he would move the pieces with his other hand, and although that meant cheating, it didn't bother her.
She remembered her favourite game they had ever played. She had checked him, and he had begun to kiss her, and she had kissed him back, but reached for his hand in an effort to catch him. She caught it, and the two of them had knocked the entire board over, the pieces flying. It had almost seemed sad then, but then she realised that they most likely wouldn't have finished the game anyway. They had been caught up in the kiss completely. He had entwined his hand in her hair, cupping her face, bringing her down to the library floor in heated passion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and dropped the chess piece she had been holding. When they broke away, it had been gently. She had thought then that he loved her. Lying in his arms, looking up into his moonlit eyes, she had whispered, "I love you more than I love the stars in the sky."
His expression had changed and he had held her body to his, quietly, and they sat like that for ages, neither speaking or daring break the peace.
Russa looked down at the stone bridge she stood on, then looked up at the night sky in wonderment. The stars twinkled at her, then moon hovered in hesitation. She held up her hand to the moon for a moment as though reaching for it, calling it to come down to her. Her hand fell and her eyes filled with tears, and she looked up at the sweet sky.
She did not realise someone was behind her until she saw a breath by her shoulder, crystals hanging in the air like smoke in the cold night air.
"I felt I might find you here," the voice remarked. She took a deep breath and turned around.
"Vlad," she said quietly. He brushed away a tendril of his hair, and she gazed into his unreadable eyes.
"You seem so spend a lot of time out here lately," he said coolly, looking past her and up at the sky. She saw the pools of moonlight reflected in his eyes, then the stars. She wondered that he was perhaps thinking of that same night, for when he looked back at her, it was with a faint curiosity.
"Y-yes. Well, I...don't like the Castle as much as I used to." She stammered, and shivered as a winter breeze swept past her exposed neck.
He gave her that look, the one that made her feel transparent before him.
"You have lived there for thirty two years," he said slowly, his lips curving into a smile. He obviously thought her statement absurd. "And you don't like it?"
"I think I am allergic to Verona's perfume," she said, wrinkling her pointed nose. He chuckled and crushed her waist to his body, smelling her hair.
"Although it is true that hers is much more blatant than your own, I must say that that is not a logical reason for keeping outside so often. I have missed you," he said, his voice containing with it a hint of humour.
"You're right," she giggled. "I should have said I was allergic to Verona"
He drew back, shaking his head at her. "You and your fits of jealousy," he chided with amusement. "She's only been here for a short while, the other two even less." He failed to mention how he had been consumed with that same emotion himself when they had been young and she had had her heart stolen away by...someone else.
"I know..." she started, then shut her eyes. She wouldn't finish the sentence. He put his arm around her and they began to walk off the snowy bridge.
"I would think you would find it cold," he remarked, admiring the picturesque effect of snowflakes caught in her eyelashes. "It's mid-winter, and it is, after all, the middle of the night."
"I have always loved the winter," she said softly, her gaze loosing focus once more. "You came for me in winter."
He looked at her, feeling a stirring of something that was most certainly not indifference. How odd it was... "Yes, I did, didn't I?" he murmured.
They continued their walk. He looked at the deadly icicles hanging from the tree branches like Aleera's earrings. He wasn't sure why he took in Verona, then the other two. He hadn't exactly needed anyone else, he hadn't even needed Russa. Was it perhaps the novelty of her, the concept of collecting brides like dolls, that he found so enticing? Maybe it was an addiction he had needed to cure desperately.
He had found Verona in Italy. The daughter of a wealthy businessman, of course, in high society, having grand parties. Her mother and sisters had been content as young girls to be married off, to sit behind a curtain while in the presence of Lords and Ladies and Knights and many other important persons. Verona was not like that. She did not believe in submitting herself to the will of a husband, and although she was the oldest of all her sisters, she never married.
He remembered well the night they had met...it had been during a rainstorm, and he had not wanted to get wet, so he had stopped at a grand mansion to stay for the night. His thick accent and charming nature had appealed to the family, as well as their only unmarried daughter, who seemed ambitious enough. When he told the family of him being a Count, they welcomed him into their home.
He had been given full access to the house. He had repaid them by ensuring that their only daughter not remain an unmarried disgrace, marring their reputation.
He had only needed a night, naturally, to convince her to join him. One night in the library, and just a few words spoken between the two of them....
"Verona, is it?"
"Yes, that is my name."
"I like the way it feels on my lips," he had said smoothly, and brought her mouth to his own. "I also like the way this feels on my lips."
She had eyed him all evening. She fell prey to his sweet seductions easily. And now she was all his, and no other mans'.....her will, body, heart and soul belonged only to him.
Looking into Russa's dark doe eyes, he did not think that he could truly say the same about her.
"Russa, why is it you have never joined the Brides and I when we feed?" he asked suddenly, frowning. He had invited her for nights, but she never went, although she said she would.
"The Brides and you..." she repeated, a melancholy tone to her voice. "You make it sound as though I ....am not a bride."
"You know you are my Countess, not my bride. Now, please," he said, clearing his throat.
"Well, I have tried, you see, but you know I always enter the village through that passage in the woods that you have showed me," she stated, "and you never seem to be in the village when I get there."
He frowned and stroked her hair absent-mindedly. "Are you certain of this?"
"Absolutely," she responded, and fell silent. He shrugged.
"Will you accompany us tonight?" he asked as though it was merely an invitation to tea.
"I will need some persuading," she said softly. He chuckled coldly. He had known it. The Count brought his mouth down to her ear and whispered, "How is this for persuasion?"
He kissed the tender skin behind her ear softly, then began to kiss her neck with all the fervor of one who keeps one's lust under perfect control and is thus enslaved to it.
She mewed in pleasure and broke away quickly. "That is fine. I am convinced," she said. He was not surprised. She was unaccustomed to the raw sensuality he so often displayed with his Brides.
"Good." he said, and looked to the foreboding shadow that was his home. She followed his gaze. "Let us tell my brides, shall we? For tonight we feed."
The vampire shifted and stretched his powerful wings, then soared into the sky. Russa sighed, watching the clouds churn, and drew her cloak closer as his might blew winds and ice and snow over her. She did not like that form of his. She never could see any of the man she loved in it.
In her room, Aleera was quiet. She sat before a blank mirror, staring with hollow eyes at the space where her head would be, combing her fiery hair. Behind her, she saw a door open. She could not see anyone, of course, and at that she frowned. But she knew it was Marishka, for the door was thrown open with a bang, and it was thrown all the way open and left that way. She frowned at that, too.
"Aleera!" said the golden haired bride, almost in a purr. If they were all three of them cats, those brides, Aleera felt the Finnish girl would bea lioness, Verona a black panther, and herself a tiger. Marishka was in an exaggerated dancer's pose, which was not surprising. The girl loved to mock the 'stuffy' forms of dance, as she felt that dancing was for self-expression, and thus only very boring people danced so gravely. "We have all been invited out for dinner on the town. Verona is waiting on the staircase. Would you like to come-?"
She stopped talking at the sight of the empty mirror, void of any reflection.
"Oh, Aleera," she sighed, and sat beside her friend and 'younger sister'. She missed being the middle of so many children, as she had been. This place, with the Master, felt like home to her, what with everyone being there. Besides Russa, of course. That girl did not belong to any family Marishka was a part of. "Did you wish to see yourself?"
Aleera nodded, a lump in her throat.
"Trust me. You are beautiful, Aleera," the blonde said, brushing hair out of the girl's eyes. "Truly. The Master certainly thinks so, or he would not have taken you here. Is that not enough?"
Aleera looked away and put down the golden comb, which her Master had given to her. There were strands of her curls in the teeth, and they were quite beautiful.
"What are we, if the mirror does not even want to behold us?" she asked to the room. Silence enveloped the question and gave no answer.
Marishka hugged her close, and then pulled away, her eyes sparkling. "You're a vampire, a Bride of Dracula. And a hungry one. Dinner on the town tonight!" she whooped, then leapt from her seat and spun around the room. Aleera's own eyes were alight with the prospect and she stood and began to follow the other out.
"Good, Miss Mirror is coming at last!" cat-called Marishka, laughing wildly like an exotic bird. "I hear that even Russa is coming tonight. Isn't that great?"
Aleera took her creature of the night shape and flew down the staircase, past Verona, who also changed, and Marishka lept from the banister and changed just before falling, then did a curvy loop-de-loop around the ceiling before following them out, where they were greeted by the Master.
"Since when is that anything great?" Aleera returned wickedly, and the two shrieked with laughter as they sped through the winter sky.
Only whenVlad came out again, with three screeching white figures, didRussa revert to her batlike- although it was quite unlike his, it was most certainly not feathered like the trios', and in that she took great pleasure- figure and take to the sky, her black wings beating madly against the December winds, her hair around her head like underwater rushes. She caught up quickly, and flew alongside her love, Vladislaus; although on the other side of him was, unfortunately, the white figure of also-dark-haired, cat-eyed, glittering jewel of Italy, Verona Dracula.
She sighed at the way Vladislaus looked at her. Maybe she should have stayed behind...She lowered to fly with Marishka and Aleera, who at least did not compete with her in queue.
This chapter is naturally named after Threat the First. The other two shall be addressed as well. I'd like to thank my reviewers:
LadyValerious: Your story is amazing! I like the part where she first realises that she's under his power...-shivers-I can't imagine what that must be like! Anyway, thanks for checking this out.
Midnight Walker: Scorpios shall rule the Earth. We rock! I didn't know you read Van Helsing stuff too, I thought you only checked out my HP stuff. Thanks, though!
Lady Vladislaus: It meant so much to me that you reviewed this story. Thank you! I know I sort of did that in my last review, but I mean it. And I can't wait for you to update! Well, yes I can. But don't keep me doing it! I don't like to. You'll see more Russa, she isn't so meek as she seems in this chapter. She has a short temper, too.