Patience.
It's the life blood of any hunter, the ability to wait and outwit your prey. To sit still and allow it to come to you, to see who will be the victor.
And for my exploits, I usually win.
The night was chill, a light crust of snow on the ground and clouds masking the sky, keeping me from seeing the moon. I could smell the blood, laced with fear, with desperation. It was taunting me, tantalizing me.
She was close. So close I could almost feel her neck in my mouth, taste her blood. There was something about her blood, something that made me almost throw caution to the wind and unleash all my power on her.
But I hadn't lived for as long as I had by not planning, by being careless. I continued to trot forward in the form of a grey-black furred wolf, nose low to the ground, ears swiveling about, trying to narrow down her location.
There, just there. Blood.
I don't know what it is, but whenever I take on the form of an animal, my thoughts become more primal, except when I take on Cromwell's form. Then it's just me in a different shape, with Cromwell's mind going dormant for the time I need his form.
But my instincts were screaming at me to chase down whatever it was that was bleeding, teasing me with its sweetness. I picked up my pace a bit and saw a few spots on the ground, splotches of red against the red.
Blood. There, there.
I begin to run, throwing a howl out into the wind, having it answered by the many wolves that guard my realm. I crest a hill, and there she is, limping along as fast as she can.
I give out another howl and delight as she spins, seeing me and trying to move faster. This is what I live for. The thrill of the hunt, the kill.
The hunt was short. They had been getting that way since the Belmont's had left. Nothing was challenging anymore. Nothing perked my interest. Even taunting Rip in her tiny cell had lost its thrill. I hadn't been down in a decade.
I shifted back to my human form and strode forward, grabbing her and spinning her to face me, my fanged visage twisted in a smile of triumph. I brush my hands across my cloak front, wiping snow from the lapels.
"You were a bit of a chase, but it was worth it." I leer at her as she stands straight, the only signs of her fear being the tremble in her lips and the scent in her blood. I lean forward and run my tongue against her flesh, feeling her shudder at the contact. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, making it obvious that I'm savoring the smell of her fear. I open my eyes again and look at her just in time to have a physic blast hit me full in the mind.
The pain was intense, but brief. She had power but poor control, something typical of witches that woke in their power late in life. It was a simple matter to block her from my mind and insert images of what I could do to her, some of which were tempting to do.
Such a shame she wasn't a virgin.
It was a delightful meal, but later that night I started hearing a voice rail at me in the dark.
Murderer. Killer. Monster. Liar, scum.
Most of them I didn't mind, since they were accurate. But scum, that bothered me to the point that I began to wish that the other voices would cease. As time went on, the voice grew louder, annoying to the point of my casting my brides from my chambers. I couldn't stand it anymore. I could feel my sanity cracking at the edges, my dignity crumbling at the telepathic assault.
I traced the event back to the woman I hunted down, the witch. Had she placed a curse on me?
Voices from the grave. Some curse. Why couldn't it have been something like locusts or flames from heaven, something fun, something challenging?
Such is my luck, to surpass anything on this Earth to the point that neither my enemies nor myself attempt to do anything anymore. We both know who would win. I had a goodly portion of Transylvania under my direct control. I began questing about for a new place to set up shop, and my eyes lighted upon the tiny island of England.
Perfect.
The voices continued to get worse, until I would snap at thin air, frightening a servant or causing one of my brides to cringe in fear. Eventually the elder of the gypsy caravan that stayed frequently came to me, bowing in respect.
"Scuzat'i-mã, Tatã. If I may present some advice?"
I smiled, a rarity for me even then. "Bunã seara, Elder. What wisdom do you bring me?"
She bowed her head again, deferring my greeting as befitted a proper servant. "Far be it for me to presume that I know more than you, but I do believe I can assist you in this curse that plagues your waking moments."
I eyed her, letting her know that it was within my power to turn her into a snack there and then if she displeased me in the least. "Go on," I growl.
She brought her hands together. "I have used similar curses in the past. It causes the conscience of the one cursed to berate the mind on their past deeds. It continues until the victim goes mad or kills himself."
Interesting. So I was supposed to go mad with my past deeds? How laughable.
"And how does one rid himself from these pestering voices?" I asked.
"I will have to mix a tonic. However, there is a problem, Lord."
"A problem?"
She looked me in the eye. "It must be taken by a human and then the human must be drained."
I smirk. "I see no problem as yet."
"The tonic contains Orpheus, Liege."
Orpheus. The vampire's narcotic. Drinking from a human that had been dosed with Orpheus was the ultimate high in some circles. I, on the other hand, detested anything that defiled the blood.
"Is it needed?"
"Sadly, my Lord. It is integral to the tonic since it helps your mind reach the Astral plane, where the voices emanate from. However, the amount is only enough for you to reach that point. You must direct your view and find the spirits that taunt you."
I dismissed her and went to consider my options. It wasn't a difficult choice, just one that required deliberation. As I have said before, patience is the heart of a hunter, and anyone that lives to see another day learns the value of a well placed thought.
But in the end, I had no choice, I suppose. "Concoct your elixir, Elder. Bring it to me post haste. Or I may choose a few of your people for demonstrations."
It had been a while since I impaled someone. I was bored, and that might just relieve some of the tension.
That evening, after draining some poor bastard that just happened to be passing by at the wrong time and settling back into my coffin, I waited for the elixir to take effect.
At first, I thought nothing was happening. Then, the lid of my coffin flew off, and standing there was Richter Belmont.
Funny, I thought he had died a few decades ago.
The man looked at me and then spoke in a voice that was and wasn't his.
"Get up and follow me. We have much to see."
And I did, to my surprise. I guess that I was intrigued enough to wonder what was going on.
He led me to a large stone basin, filled with what looked to be mercury or molten silver. I looked at its rippling surface and saw gauzy images within the liquid.
"So what is this, Belmont? I have no time for games."
Richter looked at me, amused. "You fail to realize that the affects of the Orpheus have already taken hold of you, vampire. How else would I be able to communicate with you, being dead some fifteen years now? Events have been carefully planned to allow this meeting. A great tragedy is coming, Count."
"Ah, war, how delightful," I said, lips quirking at the thought. Maybe that was what I needed after I cured myself of this dratted curse.
"You fail to understand my meaning, Count. The tragedy I speak of is not just of human concerns. It entails your kind as well. There will not be survivors of either predator or prey."
I looked at him askance, not believing. "And why should I believe you, one whose family is dedicated to wiping me out?"
He looked at me, and for the first time I caught the hint of a second image overlaid on his, one of flowing robes and great wings furled behind his back.
"Because I am not he, but a messenger using his guise. In this, you will be the deciding factor of the war, and though much violence will come during it, only you and the love of another will be able to end the chaos that is promised."
"But chaos is so delightful," I said. "Why would I wish to stop it?"
The angel looked at me. "Because in time, you will. You will become tamed by your own hand and bow before a human master by choice."
I burst out laughing at that, it was so absurd. Me, Dracula, Prince of Walachia, Count of the local area of Romania, Lord of the Night, bow to a human?
The messenger ignored my mirth. "My words ring true, vampire. In time, you will believe, and at that point the journey towards redemption will begin."
I woke, and in the weeks that followed I forgot the strange visions as I amused myself with the impaling of a few villagers and a foray into Turkey.
But then Van Helsing stepped into my life, and I remembered the vision, and for the first time in my life I wondered if God did exist.
If He did, then that meant what the vision had shown me would be real, and soon too.
In the years subsequent to my submitting to Van Helsing, I came across a publication from a young writer named George Ripley, taking on the form of an ancient scroll. One line in the middle caught my eye, and after finishing the rede, I decided that things were falling into place. I had the words etched into the coffin that I had taken to England when I traveled with my 'captor' several decades ago.
The Bird of Hermes is my name,
Eating my wings to make me tame.
How ironic, that my pride has bound me to this farce of a prison, in hopes of a redemption if I fall? I have to be insane.
Wait.
I am.
Heh.
Ha ha ha, heh he he heh.
Wonderful. Now the real fun begins.