Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books.
Kind of a Dracula AU, or a snippet of one at least. I may add another chapter to this in future, but for the moment it is a one-shot.
Warning for possible dubious consent because of Aleksandr dazzling Alina, but there is no sex.
Alina does not think this is an ideal honeymoon.
She'd been so happy when her childhood friend Mal had appeared back in London after five years away, thrilled when he'd wooed her with smiles and bouquets of blue irises, delighted when he proposed, and excited when he told her they were taking a European tour for their honeymoon.
It turns out, however, that Mal has very specific parts of Europe in mind. His itinerary does not include the likes of Paris or Rome or Venice, but instead they visit countless little villages full of superstitious inhabitants who seem afraid to even talk to them.
When Alina goes to pack away some of Mal's clothes in one inn, she's shocked by what she finds in his luggage.
"What is this?" she asks, pointing at the heavy silver crosses, wooden stakes, pistols, cloves of garlic and carefully packaged glass bottles filled with what looks like water, "Mal, those stories they told us at the orphanage were just to scare us, they're not real."
"But it's true, Lina!" her husband's eyes shine with a fervour she's never seen before, an enthusiasm he's never shown for anything else, not even her, "Mr Van Helsing has shown me. Count Dracula walks among us, and it is my solemn, holy duty to destroy the foul fiend before he does more harm."
"I understand," she says, although she really does not, "but could we not stop somewhere else for a little while, perhaps in France or Italy or Switzerland."
Mal shakes his head, "this is the most important thing, Lina, and time is of the essence."
He leaves her alone then, to go off to another wretched meeting with the like-minded men he seems to find in every village. She can count on one hand the number of times they have lain together since their wedding night, and yet they have been married almost four months.
This is not what she wanted, nor what she expected.
She isn't sure how long she can keep living like this.
Alina falls asleep before Mal comes back to the room. This is nothing new and she is depressingly used to it.
But there is a difference this time. A most unusual dream.
Alina is flying.
No, wait, she is being cradled in strong arms as someone else soars through the air. She looks up but it is pitch black, scarcely any moon at all, and all she can see is that he is pale and dark haired.
She's wearing only a white nightgown, pretty but rather scandalously thin, and yet she cannot sense any sort of chill in the air. In fact, she feels oddly warm, safe and secure in the arms of this mysterious stranger.
They approach a castle, bats swooping around the turrets, and fly through an open window into a richly decorated bedchamber.
There is a dressing table covered with glass perfume bottles and sparkling jewellery. An open wardrobe gives Alina a glimpse of beautiful dresses in black and blood-red and gold. As they pass by the huge, ornate mirror, Alina can see her reflection – she looks wide-eyed and rosy cheeked … and entirely alone, hovering oddly in mid-air as if the man holding her is invisible.
He lays her down on the lovely canopied bed and, in the flickering candlelight, Alina finally gets a good look at him.
Tall, shockingly handsome, dark hair and neatly cropped beard, eyes entirely black, glimmering in the light.
He crawls onto the bed, looming over her. His cold hands push her nightgown up to her hips, fingers trailing over soft, smooth skin, tracing patterns on her ankles before sliding up her calves to then press gently into her thighs.
It's wrong, surely, to be letting a man who is not her husband touch her like this, but his gaze is hypnotising and her mind is hazy, unable to formulate any thoughts or muster the strength to push him away. It feels so nice, after all, to have someone actually touch her, lingering like she is to be savoured rather than behaving in a hurried and bored manner, the way Mal always seems to.
"What a sweet little thing you are, milaya," he murmurs, "you're quite wasted on a fool like Oretsev. He stomps around one country, entirely ignorant of the fact that I come from somewhere else entirely. But that is what red herrings are for, isn't that right, Alinochka?"
"Who … who are you?" she whispers breathily as he bends his head and mouths at her inner thigh, teeth scraping her skin ever so slightly.
"I, milaya, am the nightmare in the dark, the creature peasants like to warn travellers of, the monster who feasts and yet is never sated. A man of a hundred different names. But you, my sweet Alinochka, can call me Sasha."
"Sasha," she breathes out as he turns his attentions to her breasts, slicing straight through her nightgown with the odd bladed ring he wears, taking one nipple into his mouth and teasing the other with the lightest touch of the ring's sharp point.
Alina moans loudly, lewdly, even though she's supposed to be a refined lady, bucking her hips, searching for something to fill the aching emptiness between her legs.
He seems to sense her desperate want, lifting his head from her breasts to sigh and stroke her hair, "poor, needy little thing," he coos, "you've never been satisfied, have you?"
She shakes her head and whines because he's right. Mal is a careless lover, barely touching her before he thrusts inside her, finishing so quickly that there's no chance of Alina finding that ever-elusive climax that Genya had once whispered about after her marriage to Mr Kostyk.
"I'll take care of you the way you deserve, Alinochka, just as soon as we find each other properly."
She hums contentedly as his lips move to her neck. Mal seems like a distant thought now, an unimportant consideration as she lies on the bed, naked under Sasha's hungry gaze.
"Just a taste," he says, almost to himself, voice low and heavy with desire, "I won't take you until you're with me in person, but you'll allow me this indulgence, Alinochka."
It's not really a question, but Alina nods anyway. She doesn't know what he's referring to but, in this moment, she'd give him anything he wanted.
"Good girl, so sweet for me," he praises her, hands pushing against her shoulders, pressing her further into the mattress.
She only has a moment to see his mouth open, a flash of fangs, before he latches onto her neck and begins to feast.
Alina wakes to sunlight streaming in through the windows of the room she shares with Mal, although her husband is, as expected, nowhere to be found.
Her head is fuzzy, one side of her neck aches terribly, and she's unusually sticky and damp between her legs.
She can't remember her dream, no matter how hard she tries.
A few hours later, Alina ventures downstairs, feeling a little out of sorts, with a high-collared dress to hide the pinprick marks on her neck (she's told Mal not to leave the windows open, and now she has to deal with an insect bite).
She finds Mal in the dining room, talking to a tall gentleman dressed all in black.
"Lina," he waves her over, "meet Aleksandr Morozov. He's an expert on Dracula."
"Charmed," Mr Morozov smiles widely at her, showing oddly sharp, bright white teeth, taking her hand and kissing it gallantly.
Alina flushes pink. There's something awfully familiar about this man, and she tries to hide the fact that his mere presence is making her shamefully aroused.
They are seated together for lunch, but Mal soon stands up to greet a fellow 'vampire hunter', leaving Alina alone with Mr Morozov, trying not to tremble and fail entirely.
"Are you joining Mal and his friends, then?" she asks, unwilling to call this ridiculous trip a hunt, "or just passing through on your own trip?"
"Oh, I think I'll stay a while," he tells her, dark eyes intent on her, his gaze dropping to her neck so often that she thinks it must be affecting her subconscious, making her bite itch where it had been fine before, "I do so look forward to getting to know you better."
Her eyes are drawn to his hands, carefully cutting up his meat, although he never actually takes a single bite. On one of his fingers is a most peculiar ring.
Images flash through Alina's mind, startling her so much that she nearly knocks over her tea cup.
"Careful," he murmurs, helping her right everything, "we wouldn't want anything to smash and cut your hands. All that blood everywhere."
He licks his lips. And there's another image seared on her brain, of fangs sinking into her neck like a knife cutting through soft butter, of a delirious kind of ecstasy.
"You … I … how …" she stutters out.
"Is something wrong?" he asks, the picture of solicitous concern.
Alina just shakes her head, tells herself to stop being a fool, "no, I apologise, Mr Morozov, I'm quite alright."
She's just letting Mal's twisted tales of vampires get to her. It was only a silly dream.
As Alina picks up her tea-cup and takes a sip, her neck continues to itch.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. At the moment I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.