Disclaimer: I do not own Van Helsing or any of the characters. I just write fan fiction and put up their pictures on my wall. Especially those of Dracula and Carl.

Devil's Love
 Chapter Two

Carl's eyes fluttered open. His first fleeting impression was of a dull, throbbing pain. The second was the fact that he knew not of where he was.
Sitting up, his cloak falling off his shoulders, he took stock of his surroundings. The room was sparsely furnished, but still looked more luxurious that the homes of the village. Carl was on a bed, on top of the blankets, the pillow rumpled from the weight of his head. A fur rug covered the cold stone floor and a small nightstand was next to the bed, an unlit candle resting on its cracked surface. A windowsill seat was draped with a fringed blanket and one small pillow. The window itself was covered by heavy, dark curtains, blocking out the sunlight (if there was any) and blocking Carl's view.
Feeling stiff and still experiencing the small, throbbing pain, Carl tried rolling his shoulders. The pain became suddenly worse for an instant, throbbing more powerfully, and he felt something wet slide down his back. Pulling aside his robes just enough to see his shoulders, to see a small, lightly-bleeding cut and deep bruises, memories of the attack (How long ago? he thought. How long have I been here?) returned to him. His first thought centered on the hunter, Van Helsing; was he recovering from the injuries of the vampire bride? Where was he? Where am I? Carl thought dismally, wiping at the small trickle of blood with his thumb.
Suddenly, a man was in the room with him. Carl jumped back, startled, against the wall, frozen. The man brushed back a strand of dark hair and seemed not to pay attention to Carl. His hair and black clothing contrasted startlingly with his pale skin, making it seem, if possible, paler. He finally turned his head to look at Carl. "I thought I heard your heartbeat," he said, a wry smile on his lips. His eyes, however, lingered on Carl's bleeding shoulder. "It echoes quite loudly in these halls."
Carl realized who this man must be. No, not a man, a monster. A blood-sucking fiend who killed innocents. His black eyes seemed to capture Carl's, paralyzing him, thinning out his breath. But there was something, just something, in Dracula that reminded him of Van...No! If Carl had been able to shake his head, he would have done so furiously. Van asked forgiveness for his kills, Van was a good man. Dracula, he killed innocents, no second thoughts about it. He was wrong to compare a man like Van to such a...a monster.
Dracula's eyes released Carl, turning to once again gaze at his blood. Carl moved his hand to cover the cut; it wasn't bad at all and had nearly stopped, but the vampire would be irresistibly drawn. He knew that no matter how much he hid it, the faint traces of the blood's scent were in the air. Dracula strode, slowly, as if he had no care in the world, toward where his captive sat. Only the cold fact that there was no where to go but out the window (and Carl expected the room was most likely high up) kept him from jumping off the bed and running. By now, the count was too close for any escape attempt.
Carl's breath grew ragged, harsh, in his fear as Dracula leaned over the narrow bed, his face close to the friar's. To Carl's morbid fascination, the vampire's foot was tapping a fast, steady rhythm on the rug-covered floor. A rhythm that matched his heartbeat perfectly. Now made aware of it, his heartbeat suddenly sounded too loud, resounding in his ears and bouncing off the walls.
"How strange," Dracula said, speaking in a quiet tone. "Your heart beats so fast. Where is your bravery from earlier; the bravery that allowed you to throw the holy water on Mirashka? What do you fear now, little friar?"
The "little friar" gulped. Why? Why couldn't he be strong like Van? Or maybe Anna? Either one could've stood up to this man. Carl regretted the fact he had not taken a silver stake from the arsenal. Now was the perfect opportunity, if he could've moved.
A sardonic smile was on Dracula's face. He's enjoying this, Carl thought, he's enjoying my fear. That angered Carl, a little. But enough to give him enough courage to speak. "I-I'm not...afraid..." he stammered hoarsely, trying his best under the circumstances to sound brave.
"Oh?" The corner of Dracula's mouth twitched. Suddenly, he was sitting on the bed next to Carl, languidly leaning against the wall, pulling a loose thread from his cuff. Carl jumped back, knocking his shoulder against the wall. He was quite sure he just added another bruise to it, or at the very least, a scrape. Dracula's dark eyes were on his shoulders again, not on the healing cut this time, but the bruises.
"It seems Verona was a little rough with you." Dracula stretched forth his hand in what Carl supposed was meant to be a friendly gesture. However, it was far from friendly in his eyes. "I can heal you, if you wish," the count went on, seemingly oblivious to the look on Carl's face.
The friar gulped again, his mouth dry. It was sure to be a trap. Why would his captor (and Dracula, of all people) offer to heal him? This thought buzzed in his head, knocking on his skull. What was going on? He wasn't dead; Dracula was in the same room, but he wasn't dead. "W-what do...you want f-from me?"
"I simply asked if you wanted treatment. After all, you are a guest in my castle. I would hate for you to be uncomfortable."
"D-don't touch me!" Carl stood, backing against the wall, his leg knocking against the nightstand. Dracula remained seated, his face no different. Carl's hand groped for the cross around his neck, grasping it, praying to God for courage. "H-how long am I a 'g-guest in your castle'?"
"Until your Van Helsing comes to get you." Dracula appeared silently at the door, as he had when he had come. He smiled dryly, his fangs hidden. "If you wish for nothing more, I'll leave you in peace. Excuse me."
Dracula left, leaving Carl to wonder how much peace he'd get in this castle.

Dracula had not gotten far before Verona and Aleera were with him. Their hands were on his shoulders, not softly caressing, but firm.
"Is he dead?" was Aleera's first question.
"No."
His brides wailed softly. "Van Helsing killed Mirashka after the little friar man threw holy water on her. They both should die." Their hands clenched on his shoulder, nails digging into his flesh. It didn't bother Dracula, much less cause him pain, but he wasn't feeling very tolerant of it at the moment.
"They both soon will be dead, but not before I say." He shrugged off the touches of his brides. The two looked slightly taken aback, shocked evident on their faces. Dracula let them stay like that a moment before circling his arms around their waists.
"Until I say, no drop of the friar's blood shall fall from his veins."

End of Chapter Two

Another chapter up already! I hope I spelled the brides' names right. Am I keeping everybody in character? If I'm not, please tell me. I love to hear your opinions in your reviews! One bright spot of my day, that is; especially if they're not flames!