Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Van Helsing characters. I only own Kida. The italicized composition also does not belong to me. It belongs to an anonymous writer.
Van Helsing: Blood Rain
Chapter Three: When It Dies…
Dracula sat in his sleeping chambers, observing one of the candles on its tall iron stand. He was seated on a very plush, red-patterned couch, leaning his cheek on a fist propped up on an armrest. His legs were regally crossed, and his deep azure eyes stared blankly at the flame.
Marishka, one of his brides, entered the well-lit chamber. "Master?" Her small, high voice reached him even before it echoed against the stone. She smiled, her lips most and tantalizing. The bride made her way toward him, swaying her voluptuous body seductively as the thin cloth failed to hide much of her thighs' pale flesh.
The Count continued to stare at the dripping wax, ignoring the youngest bride's performance.
Undaunted, she sidled herself beside her Master and locked her arm with his, flirting her generous bosom and pressing one of her breasts to his arm. Her pale cheek rested on a black-sleeved shoulder. "What are you doing?" She cooed gently.
Dracula was silent. The bride pouted cutely to attain his attention.
The vampire sighed, and replied with a slightly cryptic query. "What becomes of a candle once it has burned out?"
The question confused the bride, but she was unwilling to allow the conversation slip. "Uhm… It… doesn't melt?"
"Precisely." The puzzled look on the bride's countenance momentarily brightened, but was contorted into an expression of worry when she saw the Master approach the candle and extinguish it. He turned back to her and locked her gaze in his now angered one. Marishka gasped and whimpered quietly. "Master?" Dracula approached her, and cupped her chin, keeping her face toward his. His voice, though, hadn't been tainted by the passionate fury in his eyes. "The same principle applies to Van Helsing. The more the hunter's life is threatened, the more of a nuisance he becomes. Unless he makes an unscheduled visit to the gates of the afterlife."
Marishka could only reply with another whimper. In the distance, a distinct explosion could be heard, followed by the unmistakable scent of the friar's Glycerin 48. Dracula enveloped the frail bride in his arms and took in the scent of her hair. He then whispered seductively into her ear, "You, as one of my brides, will help see him through."
"Marishka!" Verona called amidst Aleera's maniacal cackles, summoning her to the scene.
Marishka turned back to her master, who encouragingly nodded, wearing an ambiguous smile on his lips. The bride smiled in turn, then whirled in the window's direction.
Grey wings unfolded, and claws lengthened, eyes narrowed in shape and a beautiful, savage shriek reached his ears, bathing him in the refreshing aura of young, ardent hatred.
Gabriel… —he thought, as Marishka's wings cooled his face as she entered the confusion— …your destruction… is nigh.
BE STILL!