*drunroll*
This is the first part of my nano for this year, tentatively titled Dracula/Frankenstein 2008. genre is.. um, yeah. I wish I knew.... warnings include graphic sex, lots of blood, vampires, gore, bad language and so on. Oh, and the thrumming at your feet? Bram Stoker spinning in his grave.
The moonlight turned the banks of snow just as cold as the chill night air.
It was cold enough t that her cheeks burned as she made her way back home, through the deserted streets and roads of her hometown. No other soul was brave or foolish enough to go out now, not in this weather, and especially not since there was ice hockey on TV, she thought ruefully as she adjusted the strap of her backpack.
She was almost home; only one more turn, past the snow-covered rowan hedge, and she would be on the last stretch to home. No more than a hundred yards and…
She gasped when she came across the body on the ground; dark and imposing, stark in the moonlight, and oh god, the black stains on the snow had to be blood…
She choked on a scream when the figure shifted, raising its - his head. A pair of blood rd eyes met her eyes, boring deep, inflicting a command upon her - she would bring him somewhere safe somewhere hidden, do as he bid her…
The words were a silent command in her mind, a burning desire to obey filling her. She would do anything he asked of her, she would obey him…
No!
Gritting her teeth, she straightened from where she had began to bend down to help him. She felt the … creature’s confusion at the fact that she resisted, that she would not let anyone control her like that…
“You’re lucky,” she gritted out as she stood straight, just for the barest of moments, before bending d0own out of her free will, “That I root for the monsters.”
**
it had not been easy to bring him to her home, even if it had been less than a hundred yards to her doorstep. He was a big guy - easily six foot six, and definitely built like a Greek good under the dark clothes. He was also prone, which was not helping, nor was the fact that he was bleeding - the blood was dark and seeping but it was still blood, and she could not help but shudder a bit.
Once inside, she managed to wrestle him on the divan before her legs gave way and she ffell on her knees, exhaustion coming over her. With the cold and the exertion, she was feeling drained of energy beyond belief.
Even with her tiredness he could not help but look at the mn, the creature tht was now lying there, breathless, eyes closed. She knew he was not… dead. Not the way people usually were - she couldn’t feel it or any other tripe like that, but she knew that with the blood red eyes and the way she had heard him in her head, well….
Guess she was in a ghost story now.
No, not a ghost story, she corrected herself. Because this guy was too solid to be one, and her back was definitely feeling it. In fact, she probably would know just how solid as soon as she managed to get up - she would have to figure out where he was bleeding from, clean the wound…
Even deep in thought, she was unable to look away from his face. It was a damn fine face, she had to admit - dark, strong features, definitely Slavic, his lips almost too soft to fit the face if not for the cruel curve. He was as pale as the snow outside, or maybe it was just an effect caused by the fact that his hair and neatly trimmed goatee and moustache were raven black - for the first time she could honestly use that word…
She gasped, just a little, s the long-lashed eyes fluttered open and met hers, the blood red replaced by the most vibrant green she had ever seen.
**
He watched her for a long moment.
She had shaken off his command: she had not bent under his will. She had denied him… and then done his bidding anyway. In her blue eyes he e could see determination, and perhaps a little apprehension, but no fear. They were as clear as sapphires, not cloudy as those who bent to his will.
Interesting.
“Where have you borough me?” he asked her without preamble. He could tell they were alone - not a single heartbeat but hers could be heard.
“My home,” she said simply, and he was surprised at how pleasant her voice was. Cultured, unlike the majority of these peasants. “Need any more details?”
”That will suffice, for now.” He looked her over; she was not showing any signs of fear - her heartbeat was steadily falling, in a way that told him she had exerted herself greatly to bring him here when his weakened state had led to unconsciousness. He would have to do something about it - deal with the wounds on his side, feed to regain his strength… the girl would offer ample bounty, he believed - the thrum of blood beneath her skin was strong, and the scent quite alluring as she tilted her head, looking at him questioningly.
“Is this the part where you want to bite me?”
The question surprised him; he looked at her closely again, noticing the curiosity burning in her eyes and the way she was clutching her hands together, not in fear but.. something t hat was between apprehension and exhilaration.
“Why do you think I would do that, girl?” He said slowly.
Lessee… you had the flashy red eye thing, your blood is too thick to be normal, and you were looking at my neck and… flaring,” she said, frowning a bit. “I am making an educated guess here - you are some sort of a vampire, and with the whole bleeding and falling into a heap outside thing, you need to feed. So, do you want to bite me?”
Strong-willed.. Observant. Fearless. Curious. Foolhardy.
What an interesting mix. He smiled, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light. “Yes, girl.. I will bite you.”
She smiled, almost beatifically. “Good,” she murmured. “Just don’t kill me, I am more useful to you alive.”
He sat up languorously, instead of lunging for her; his long-fingered han beckoned for her and she stood up from where shed crouched, shedding the bulky coat she has still been wearing as she took a step closer. She draped herself into his lap clumsily - she was no courtesan.
. He had no intent of killing her - indeed, she would be more useful to him alive. She was intriguing, and although he would have to drain a mortal to gain his full strength, a small taste of the bliss throbbing just beneath her skin would make it easier to bide ihis time…
**
she had often wondered what something like this would feel like; she had never quite come close with any of her wonderings. The cold fingers wound into her hair and pulled her head back with gentle ruthlessness, as cold lips sought out her pulse point. She could feel the cool flick of a tongue and it made her shiver before there was a sharp, startling pain and she bit her lip trying to not to scream.
She felt the blood welling up in the wound, felt it so hot against her skin - the contrast with his lips was immense, the cold and heat mingling in a way that made her squeeze her eyes shut and fight the shudders going through her body, starting at the pit of her belly and travelling through her spine, trying to escape her lips as moans and whimpers.
She was by no means inexperienced, but God she had never felt anything like this - never.
When hr withdrew, his now slightly warmer but by no means warm tongue flickering across the wound almost soothingly, she did whimper. The loss of his touch made the fire that had pooled in the pit of her stomach more insistent, more ravenous - it made her so needy…
“You will not bend to my thrall,” he whispered, his pale lips soft as silk against the shell of hear, “But I can still make you mine.”
she wanted to beg,- she wanted to plead for him to make her his, to touch her, to not let the fire torment her but to consume he…
“You.. arrogant bastard,” she breathed as his fingers brushed against the curve of her breast, so cool but still leaving a burning trail, “Did I say you could… oh god…”
He had discovered the tip of her breast and even through the layers of clo9th the cold twist of his fingers made her moan, her back arching as she twisted in his arms.
“No God, girl,” he purred into her ear, his accent thickening, “Only I. Only… Dracula.”
**
She made the sweetest noises when he had her - whimpering, begging wordlessly.. but her blue eyes stayed unclouded with anything but pleasure. And not even the revelation of his true name had made her fear him -something he found almost inconceivable. He was Vlad Tepes Draculae, the son of the Devil, a g feared godless creature of legend… and she was now looking at him, her blue eyes steady, and asking him if he wanted her to tend to his wounds.
His wounds were already healing - they had not hampered him overmuch as head taken her, but yes, they would need some tending to- he could felt he slow seep of blackened blood from some of them.
“You may, girl,” he told her as she rose swiftly, if clumsily.
”Would it make any difference if I told you I had a name and asked you to use it?” she raised an eyebrow.
Dracula smirked. Had she been any other, such insolence would have brooked a wrathful response, but.. she was quite special, in her fearless way, si he did not mind.. overmuch.
“What is your name, girl?”” he asked, letting his amusement show.
“Mari.”
**
It was not the beginning of a beautiful friendship - no, it was the beginning of something quite strange. Mari g found herself watching almost dispassionately as he slaughtered the hopeless vampire hunter wannabes who’d taken a lucky pot shot at him, and then…. She had followed. She had left everything behind and become…. Something she was not quite sure what.
She still had no idea how much was myth and how much truth, but she knew some things - Dracula was just as powerful as all the stories claimed, and yes, he had once been known as the Impaler because of his favoured method of execution. After she had began to travel with him, his constant shadow, his constant.. companion, she had began to read up on him - the myths, the legends, the truths…. Right now, she was reading yet another novel in which he had a role in, and wondered if she would dare to ask him how much of it was true.
She was not his thrall - she was doing this out of her own free will, and she knew he was letting her because she amused him - she was, for some reason, completely fearless towards him and he liked it. (and, she thought with a bit of pride, he probably appreciated some other assets she had as well) but she had no desire to overstep the bounds she knew were there, somewhere.
It was an interesting, comfortable existence. In these modern times, there was no business with carriages and coffins - no, Dracula had adapted to the twenty first century with alarming alacrity. Private jets, fancy cars with blackened windows, and something straight out of the Empire Strikes Back for him to rest in… or rather, that was what the thing looked like from the outside, Inside, she knew, rested a beautiful ebony coffin with blood red lining; something rather cliché but she suspected it was rather comfortable.
She had never had any reason to try it out herself - when her…. When Dracula came to her, it was always in her lushly appointed rooms. She gave herself to him willingly - both her body and her blood. He did not feed from her as much as he considered her a delicacy, he knew - he slaked his thirst on some poor wretch who earned his displeasure and then came to her.
She did not mind it - she liked the thought of being special to him. Perhaps, she mused occasionally, she would be the first one of his new brides. The last three, she knew, had been wiped out during the Incident, which had inspired certain Mr. Stoker to write a fascinating book.
A part of her had to wonder, what would it be like if there were other brides - what it would be like, to share his attentions with others? Even share a bed with others? She did not quite mind the idea - she just hoped that she would not have to deal with backstabb9ing cattishness. Because quite frankly, she was not the sort of a woman who went for that.
She knew that some people - some of the gypsies still attending to Dracula, some of the powerful businesspeople he dealt with, some other vampires they had passed - wondered what she was to him. She was, to be honest, vaguely unsure. She was not tending to any particular servile duties, she was not just his bed toy - she supposed that companion was the best word she could come up with.
It was better than “court jester” anyway.
Mari was rather certain that this would not be how things would stay for all eternity - or, indeed, for very long. But she was going to enjoy every single moment of it.
**
Dracula watched from the shadows as his young companion was absorbed in a book. It was nothing of importance - it was one of those various cheap romances she amused herself with, not something that mattered. He knew she enjoyed Machiavelli and Shakespeare s much, if not more s she did these useless flights of fancy, and therefore he did not mind the fact that they were often found in his library between the more serious tomes.
In addition to fearless and observant, she had turned out to be a very, very intelligent girl - one of the most intelligent she had ever met. He was occasionally astonished at the leaps of logic she was capable of - mortals capable of such were incredibly rare.
He did not intend to let her stay mortal much longer - no, he intended to make her his eventually.. but for now… for now, he found her warmth much more enticing. Before her looks would diminish, of course - he found her very attractive, in a way a certain Flemish painter would have wept for and painted a masterpiece to immortalize her charms. Such beautiful pale skin, paler still since he found great delight in tasting her essence, and hair nearly as pale… and those eyes that held no fear, only sharp intelligence… and strange kindness.
**
Looking over the edge of the precipice, as if waiting for something to stare back, the blond man was a vision that hat might have made the breath catch in the throat of anyone but Zladko; but even he could not help but pause to admire the long, lean lines of Chas’s body and the shadows that sharpened the face even further.
“What do you want?” the blond asked, not turning to face him. The voice was rougher than usual, with something else than just cigarettes and booze.
“You to come home,” Zladko said, pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his long leather coat. “You’re a mess.”
Chas laughed. “Christ, Zladko, that’s the understatement of the year.”
The Russian sighed. “Yes, my friend, I know. But she’s gone - she is not going to come back.”
Chas’s expression twisted, the long scar on his cheek twitching. “She’s dead, Zladko - she’s fucking dead. I killed her, with my own fucking hands. I killed my sister.”
Zladko gritted his teeth. “I know. I was there.” I held her arms as you plunged the knife into her hear.
Chas laughed again, his voice tinged with desperation. “Christ, Zladko.. just bugger off and leave me alone.”
He shook his head. “No.” I am not losing you, too.
**
The first thing he realized when he woke up ws the livid headache right above his eyes; it was as I f slivers of glass were hammered right above his eyes.
With a groan, Chas opened his eyes, trying to sit up; when he found tht he could not move, his arms tied to the bed, he swore.
“Bloody Mary and her wailing vestal virgins, what the duck did you do?”
2Tied you on the bed, friend,” Zladko’s warm voice came from the other side of the roo where the Russian was seated in a large armchair, a book open on his knees. “Do you remember last night.”
”Let me make an educated guess,” Chas groaned. “I got drunk, we fought, you kicked my ass and dragged me here?”
”Without putting too fine a point to it, yes.” Zladko’s voice was tinged with amusement. “SO you did not drink enough to lose your memory, did you?”
Chas groaned. “No, but…”
*
”It’s happened so many time s in the past month you could just guess.” Zladko sighed and rose, setting the book carefully aside as he stepped across the room to where Chas lay. “Want me to untie you?”
Chas sighed. “Yes please.”
He knew why Zladko had tied him - there was only one reason his friend would have done that. He’d gone for a knife, intent to finish what Maria had started.
The scar on his cheek twitched - it was mostly healed by now, but the memory of his sister’s fury-twisted face was still there.. it was what he sought to drown out in the countless bottles of whisky he went through, night after night…
“Stop brooding,” Zladko said quietly. ”Please.”
**
Mari knew that Dracula knew she was observing him - but thankfully, he did not mind. She was fascinated by him - his long, graceful hands flew over the laptop keyboard just as firmly as they held quills and ink wells when she had watched him at another time.
He was concentrating on whatever he was doing, and she knew it was something veer important. She strongly doubted je was playing solitaire - although she had seen that happen as well… not that she would ever bring that one up. The urge to tell him that the red nine would go over the black ten had been nearly overwhelming, though.
For an ancient vampire and a man known for his legendary cruelty, he was quite the amicable man. he was nothing she had imagined him to be - no one could have imagined him, she thought. He was, in so many ways, the stereotypical vampire; tall, dark, handsome and cruel, with a debonair, worldly air…. And yet, he seemed so different in ways.
The Dracula Bram Stoker had written about had clung to the past; the one now on the other side of the room embraced the future - and not in a megalomaniac movie villain way, either. He had no plans of using biotech to turn himself invincible, or to create an army of vampires to take over the world, or anything stupid like that. No, he seemed to be quite content with…. Doing other things.
Like, apparently, reading the evil Overlord List, taking into account the latest forward she found in her inbox. Annotated, she noted with a raised eyebrow. Now this should be fun to read…
When she finally rose from her chair and stretched, her yawn turned into a surprised cry as s cold arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a cool, hard body. She whimpered, her neck tilting without thought as cool lips sought out the pulse point, lavishing attention for a long, long moment before they parted and she felt the familiar sharp pain…
The het from his bite, the hot gush of blood that set her spine on fire ws countermanded by the cold, cold touch on her skin. The thin fabric of her dress parted easily, falling away from her pale body as the skilled hands made he moan and writhe.
His tongue traced a path from the still-throbbing wounds on her neck, down to where the tips of her breasts were stiff and aching after the cruel twist of his fingers. She whimpered, her back arching as he lavished attention on her, so much but not enough… when he began to trail lower still, his eft finger followed by his skilled tongue, she did cry out.
She found herself pushed over the table, forgotten book digging painfully into her spine as Dracula loomed over her. His green eyes had turned red with lust, t and the corners of his mouth were stained with her blood. She shivered, desire pooling at the pit of her stomach as she begged him, wordlessly - take her, bring an end to the torment he wreaked upon her.
His cool hardness invaded her ruthlessly, but not brutally; she had long ago exhausted any jokes about his old moniker and instead she simply whimpered, her hands digging into his shoulders as she was ravished.
She’d become senseless with pleasure long before he found his satisfaction, the sting of his teeth finding her throat again was enough to send her into spiralling darkness.
**
Dracula left her in the four-poster bed. He might have been too hasty, to drink from her twice during their encounter. She looked like a statue of palest marble, of perhaps alabaster, held between the dark satin sheets.
Yes, it was such a shame these modern artists were such.. fools. Otherwise, he thought, she would have been the perfect subject of an artist’s skills.. perhaps indeed a statue, with palest of golds for her hair, or h perhaps a grand painting….
Indeed, the only thing marring her beauty was the vicious mark on her throat - his mark. Perhaps, he mused, he would take her mortal essence sooner than he had anticipated. It was a tempting thought, to drink until the last sweet drops passed his lips and then feed her his own blood, feel her pretty lips latching onto his chest…
He blinked slowly. Where had that thought come from?
His childer, when he had created them, had tasted his blood from wound on his wrist,,,, but with this particular morsel, he contemplated letting her drink from a wound upon his chest, right above his heart….. this was not something he should have even thought about!
His fists clenches; a part of him was telling him to dispose of her immediately - she was dangerous, if she could inspire such thoughts. She would be a weakness - she would need to be eliminated.
His features twisting in anger, he spun on his heel and disappeared into cold fog.
**
Waking up with Zladko’s hair in his mouth was not something Chas had expected to ever happen.
But it did.
The bed was narrow, the springs poking painfully into his back - no doubt, it was yet another fucking useless hotel room. One of his hands was tied to the headboard, and Zladko’s brawny body was covering his. Even past the headache stabbing through his eyeballs, he thought he had a decent idea of what had happened.
He’’d gotten drunk, they had fought, Zladko had dragged him back and passed out on top of him in the middle of tying him up… had never happened before, but it was not a big deal.
When Zladko shifted on top of him, burying his dark head in the curve of his neck, Chas suddenly realized I was, in fact, quite the big deal.
He was a guy. Zladko was a guy. And like all the men in the world, they both greeted the morning enthusiastically… or, to not to put too fine a point to it like the Russian would say, that was Zladko’s hard dick poking into his hip. And Chas’s own cock was not exactly disinterested, either.
fuck, it’s Zladko! Some part of his brain was screaming. He nearly was your brother in law. Hes your best friend, fuckface - don’t you fucking ruin this!
Unfortunately, that part did not have a large, warm hand suddenly on bare skin, rucking up the stained t-shirt he wore; Zladko had to be asleep, he would have never done that, would have never slid a hand over Chas’s ribcage like that, all warm and trough an d fuck, so good…
He groaned, his hips bucking; maybe it was some cruel trick of god’s but Zladko shifted in his sleep, their groins lining together; instead of mere denim and air, Chas’s cock was now pushing against a hard thigh, the nearly unconscious rhythm matched by the Russian.
When Zladko’s eyes flew open, Chas bit back a curse; he had no idea what to say, what to think.. he was going to say something when his lips were covered by Zladko’s, his mouth possessed in a long, deep kiss.
“fuck,” he murmured when Zladko pilled back, his dark hair hanging around their faces like a perverted veil, “what the fuck are you doing?”
”You need to ask?” the Russian grinned and kissed Chas again - plunging his tongue in deep and making thinking impossible - especially since that warm, rough hand had delved down to his jeans, and was yanking open the buttons with brutal efficiency.
The hand wrapped around him and he blond groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut as he began to thrust into the tight grip.
“Just let go,” Zladko murmured hoarsely, “Just let go…”
Chas came with a choked cry, straining against his bonds. His eyes flew open and he looked at Zladko, his expression that of bewilderment as the older man lifted his hand and began to lick off the sticky white droplets.
“What the fuck?” Chas asked o hoarsely. “What the fuck did just happen?”
”Well, not that, but close,” Zladko said, almost matter-of-factly. “What, donöt tell me you didnnöt like it.”
chas laughed bitterly. “You know I did,” he said hoarsely. “Why? Why now?”
**
Zladko had no answer. He had nt intended to fall asleep on Chas, he hadn’t intended to let this happen - head been asleep still when it had began, thought it but pleasant dream but when he had woken, his instincts had taken over…
“Do I remind you of Maria?” Chas asked bitterly.
Zladko was horrified. “God, no!” he proclaimed. “No.. I could. I could never betray her memory like that”
”Then why?” Chas demanded, sitting up as far as his bonds allowed.
“I…” t her dark Russian was at loss for words. “Because it seemed like a good idea,” he said, knowing it was a weak defense.
Chas laughed again. “Christ on a fucking cracker,” he groaned, “of all the things…”
Before Zladko could say anything, Chas hand had caught him by the front of his sweater and yanked him close; it was Chas’s tongue thrusting between his lips now, Chas’s body twisting so that Zladko’s half-hard erection was brought to full attention again.
”If we’re gonna do this,” the blonde hissed against his lips, “Then we’re gonna do this right, mate.”
**
it was a slow, languorous morning for Mari. She woke slowly, her body drifting into awareness much slower than her mind.
Dracula had taken his fill of her the night before, she remembered. And he had seen her to bed - he always did. It was so wonderful of him…. It was amusing that of all the men she had ever been with, the Impaler of Wallachhia was the most considerate.
She knew that she would only have to ring a bell, and one of the gypsies would bring her breakfast in bed - a hearty one, with lots of leafy greens and red meat. The importance of good nutrition when one donated blood more than regularly should not be overlooked, after all.
She decided to indulge, and rung the bell. Within moments, one of the silent servants appeared and she requested her breakfast to be brought to her, and a bath be prepared.
It was one of the perks that came with living with a prince - a staff at her disposal. She had been seriously weirded out in the beginning but she was getting used to it, now, but she was not going to go into bitch mode towards them,; no, she was always very nice to the servants and never thought they were any less important just because they were doing the drudge job,.
She had not exactly made friends, but the servants liked her, and she liked them as well. The fact that she was their prince’s companion made true bonding impossible, but she did not mind overmuch.. She was familiar with solitude, after all.
Mari glanced at the clock; it was little past six, meaning that the sun would set soon and her… and Dracula would rise from his coffin soon enough. She had a pretty good idea of what their night would consist of - a dinner in public and a party afterwards, to build up his public persona. Unlike the lore stated, Dracula was perfectly capable of eating human fare, and even enjoyed some of it . he most certainly did drink wine, for one... even if it would have taken incredible amounts to affect him. Unlike her.
She blushed as she remembered the time he had amused himself by having her sample some of the more potent vintages he had in his cellars - she had found herself disgracefully giggly after but a few glasses, and she thanked God and karma for the fact that she had not done anything he found distasteful.
It was funny, she mused, how much she did get away with, taking into account that he was Dracula, the impaler, and a generally very nasty person. She supposed it had to do with the fact that for some reason, his mind powers simply did not work on her at all. She could shrug them off… and she had chosen to follow him. She was doing all this out of her own fee will, and she supposed it w as probably rather refreshing to the prince.
It was really easy to think of him as the prince - sure, in popular culture, Dracula was a count but this man was no count - this man was a prince. A ruler, someone who was no mere noble but royalty, and it was evident in the way he did everything… and she liked it.
Not that she fanfcied herself his princess. She was not htt stupid.
**
It was not a seedy bar; to call it such would have elevated it too much. It was a disgusting excuse of a watering hole, and that meant Chas felt right at home, settled in a dark corner with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a Zladko.
“Why are we here again?” the Russian asked him. “We could be doing something better…”
”Like fucking`=” Chas grinned sharply, and got an irritated hiss in return.
”No. looking for information. Trying ft find..”
Trying to find the bastard who turned Maria.
“We’ll get contacts here,” Chas said quickly, pushing the thought aside. “There is someone we really need to meet, she will be here later tonight…”
As it turned out, when the woman they were there to meet arrived, Chas and Zladko were otherwise occupied - the filthy bathroom stall was not an ideal place for an encounter, but it served well enough for a hard fuck against the wall.
Chas was grinning like the cat who got the cream as they made their way to the bar; he remained standing, leaning against the deeply-scratched wood s he spoke to her.
”Buy you a drink, love?”
the woman turned slowly around, her heavy boots making no sound. From the long leather coat and the hundreds of tiny braid decorating her long dark hair, one might have expected someone delicate but she most assuredly was not.
Her green eyes were cold, and Chas knew that under the loose clothes, enough weapons to outfit a small brigade hid.
The green eyes ran over Chas in an insolent, appraising manner and when they finally met his brown eyes, she smirked. “Yes.”
Chas smirked, when he heard Zladko growl and a hard arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him against the Russian. “What’s your poison, love?”
”Vodka.”
It might have been very much like a bad movie after that, but Zladko and the woman known only as Madonna soon were engaged in a drinking competition - vodka, straight. And the implied prize was the blond man lounging against the bar, smirking indolently and calling out various rude comments.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, their competition was interrupted. Suddenly, both Zladko and Madonna raised their heads, their nostrils flaring as if sensing something - even Chas straightened.
“How many?” the blonde asked quietly.
“Four, maybe five,” Zladko said, his expression grim as he reached inside his jacket.
“Hunting,” Madonna said curtly. “There’s a student party two blocks from here.”
”So not only a buffet, but also free drinks,” Chas snorted. Is hands wee thrust deeply into the pockets of his grey trench coat, wrapping around a rosary and a piece of living wood. He could feel the comforting weight of the Holy Bible, King James Version, in the breast pocket.
Zladko was discreetly checking his guns, and Chas could see the glint of steel as Madonna checked the sword she had hidden under her long coat.
It was good to be back in business.
**
Slick with blood, both his own and that of his prêt, Zladko pushed Chas against the wall and kissed him hard.
There was no gentleness here, not when he tore into the younger man’s clothes, bit into the pale lips, his breathing harsh and cold, he needed to take, he needed Chas’s heat, needed t fee….
“Fucking bastard,” Chas gasped as the Russian pulled back, tilting his head so Zladko could sink his teeth into the straining flesh of his neck, to leave dark bruises that would ach for days and days.
Zladko only groaned, his hand finally tearing open the fly of the blond’s jeans and finding hardened flesh, hot and ready already. He squeezed, bringing forth a strangled gasp from Chas.
“Fuck…”
”Yes,” Zladko hissed, working his hand up and down Chas’s cock ruthlessly.
The blond did not resist, much, when he was spun round and pushed against the wall, his erection trapped between his body and the hard bricks; Zladko’s hands were busy pinning him down and freeing his own aching cock to give him any relief.
It was a hard, brutal fuck, full of blood and pain and bruises. Zladko pounded into Chas’s willing body, bruising and biting, his nails tearing not the younger man’s skin as he took him hard.
Afterwards, Chas laughed breathlessly. “We should do this more often,” he said. “Killing them makes you fuck like a beast.”
His words made Zladko shudder. “I am not an animal,” he said quietly.
“No, you just act like one.”
**
the knowledge that more of his kind had been slain in this city that was now his domain did not both Dracula overmuch. The slain were young and foolhardy, and it was nothing but a culling of the flock. There were too many lf his kind -the blood had grown thin and weak in many of them.
What did bother him, however, was who exactly had been involved in the killings. He knew quite a lot about the woman known as Madonna, and this was not like her - she was as mercenary as they came, and such random killing, especially with the assistance of others, was not usual for her.
Which was why he intended to summon her to him.
She, like his latest companion, was not afraid of him. Then again, she did not know who he was - to her, he was but a very powerful vampire, not the most legendry of his kind. And Madonna was not the sort of a woman who was afraid of vampires.
She had not bothered to clean up for this meeting; held in one of the brand-new, mirror glass skyscrapers I the city, she looked decidedly out of place on her clunky boots, leather pants and sour expression. He had instructed that she should not be inspected by the security - he knew very well how armed she was. Several guns, four or five knives, and a sword, somewhere in the folds of her coat.
“So, you wanted to see me, Alucard?” he asked curtly.
He smirked. He knew she thought his choice of a pseudonym was nothing but an attempt to affect an air of danger, that he was using the lore to his advantage, trying to imply he was something that he was not.. supposed to be. “Yes.”
She waited for him to elaborate. “Three nights go, you were involved in an incident at the docks.”
“Yeah.” She didn’t bother denying iot.
”Who paid for it?” Dracula asked sharply. “And who else was involved. Tell me everything.”
After Madonna had left, Dracula steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. The woman had not been paid for this - it was but an amusement for her. What she had been paid for, was information - the two men with her had given her full loot, and a sizeable amount of money in exchange for a name. Although, she made clear, she would have preferred the rice to be paid in nature by the pretty young blonde hunter.
The name she told him was one Dracula recognized.
Dominick.
He was aware of the other vampire’s aspirations - far too high for one such as he. Thin of blood and with no class, the fool believed himself to be most powerful of their kind.
It was clear that the men Madonna had been with had intentions of hunting the fool down. It was not quite likely that they would succeed, so... perhaps some assistance was called for.
**
Mari blinked. She could not have heard him correctly. “You want me to… go find and help a pair of hapless vampire hunters?”
Dracula smirked. “You heard correctly, girl.”
Mari blinked again. “Why?”
”You need not know that,” Dracula was still smiling. “Only know that it is my wish that they succeed in their quest.”
Mari was about to ask anyway, but as soon as her lips parted, they were covered by his cold and cruel ones, taking her mouth in a ravishing kiss.
“Damn you,” she breathed as he pulled back, her heart thundering in her ears as she felt him starting to unbutton the high collar of her shirt. “Damn you…”
”I am already damned, girl,” he purred as he bent his head to her throat and she could only whimper. Indeed, he could not use his powers of compulsion on her but god, the touch of his long fingers he feel of his sharp fangs on her throat - it made her as mindless as any thrall.
The prince was indulgent today - he took his time lavishing attention on her, and rather than to take her, he guided her to her knees. This was not something he often allowed her to indulge in and she took to it joyfully, knowing that the warmth of her lips on his cool skin would bring him much pleasure.
Afterwards, she found herself languorous and sleepy - a combination of endorphins and blood loss, she knew. But she also felt the strange strengthening that being allowed to taste Dracula led to - the legends that claimed that he cried blood had neglected to mention that certain other things were definitely tinged with blood, as well.
After she felt her strength return, she called for one of the gypsies to bring her something to eat as she set to pack - oh, they would have prepared everything for her, if she’d willed it, but she did not feel comfortable with the idea - she wanted to know precisely where everything was, for one.
She’d gained a whole new wardrobe when she had joined the prince’s household, but now, she went for her old clothes, for the inelegant, “alternative” things she enjoyed. Into her backpack went mostly utilitarian clothes, some of them decorated with fierce devils and shining skulls, some of it camouflage and all of it suggesting someone who was definitely not, ah, whatever the hell she had c become to Dracula.
You must be stealthy, head told her, you must play one of them.
She could do that.
Mari smirked, bending down to lace on a pair of combat boots. One thing was sure, though; she was no Buffy.
**
It was a dark, dank basement bar that Chas and Zladko were sitting at. It was not much more than a hole in the wall, but there was something rather interesting that kept it from being just another nameless dive.
Namely, the clientele-.
Zladko’s fingers were itching for his guns as he watched a horned beast walk past, cradling a young blonde girl to his side. A part of him was screaming for him to draw his weapons and eradicate the stench of evil filling his nostrils like the sickly-sweet smoke of burning corpses.
“Calm down, mate,” Chas hissed, laying a hand on his shoulder “We got to behave.”
Zladko snarled, he knew very well they had to, or else they would not walk out of here - and Maria’s tormentor would go free. That cursed woman had sent them here, in search of a man who could lead them to where the vampire called Dominick made his lair.
“Christ, you’re so tense,” the blond complained. “I have half a mind to slip under the table and…”
Zladko never gave his friend a chance to finish; he spun around grabbing Chas by the base of the neck and pulled him into a hard, punishing kiss.
“That always does shut you up,” he hissed when the brown eyes met his, dazed with lust as the blond gasped for breath.
The wolf-whistle startled him and he released his hold of Chas, standing up abruptly and pushing the table away
“Nice show,” the girl who had whistled said. “Any chance of more?”
She looked human. But Zladko knew better than to trust, especially in a place like this. He drew deep breath, reaching out with his senses…
“Oy, that’s not polite!” the girl complained, taking a step back and crossing her arms across her chest. She wore a pair of black wrist-warmers with pink skulls on them, Zladko noted. The pink was the only splash of colour in her attire; the combat boots, cargo pants and turtleneck shirt were all black. .
“Neither is staring, love,” Chas said with a smirk.
“Well you were putting on a show,” she said with a grin that was intended to be disarming, and Zladko gritted his teeth. She was human - but there was something not quite right in her… she wa s paler than she should have been, and he could sense something was not quite right…
“Would your name happen to be Joe, love?” Chas asked, grinning at her. The Russian blinked - maybe this was the Joe that Madonna had sent them to find.. he was not quite sure if the huntress had ever specified the gender of the snitch they were after.
The girl shook her head, her pale hair swaying around her face. “Nope, I’m Mari,” she told them.
Zladko felt a brief stab of pain; only intense concentration kept him from showing it, an he knew Chas was going through the same… for even if this girl looked nothing like the sweet, gentle Maria had been like… the pet name was still a sharp reminder.
She smiled, not having noticed anything. “Buy a girl a drink?”
**
It was not easy to find out who they were looking for, but the information, once wheedled out of Chas, was helpful to the extreme.
“So why do you guys want to find Joe Schmoe?” she asked Chas, sipping her fourth tequila sunrise.
“He knows where ht rat bastard Dominick is,” the man slurred; he had gone through almost half a bottle of jack Daniels while she had been here, and she was rather certain he’d had more before she arrived.
She could feel the Russian’s dark eyes boring into her as she looked at him; despite the vodka he’d had, he looked still as sharp as anyone. “So, why do you want to find this Dominick dude?” she asked, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
“None of your business,” the Russian said curtly, and Mari felt a sliver of annoyance.
”Come on!” she said, “You an tell me, I promise to not to tell anyone.”
She knew, vaguely anyway, why they were after Dominick. The guy dabbled in sorcery and had fucked up, turning someone and getting them messed up enough hat they lost all control…. And that had been the blond guy’s sister.
“It’s his fault I killed my sister,” Chas said darkly, his eyes suddenly unfocused as he stared straight through her.
Mari blinked. Before she could say anything, Chas reached out and plucked a shard of glass from the depression in the middle of the table. Some other patron had smashed their glass, no doubt of it, and the establishment had not been in a hurry to clean it thoroughly..
With almost fascinating horror she watched his fist clutch around the glass, blood welling up and starting to fall down in rivulets; the same hand went to his arm, where the sleeve of the trench coat and dress shirt were pushed up, the sharp glass sluicing into the pale flesh…
“You fucking wanker,” the Russian growled at his friend and Mari’s eyes widened even more as he watched a large hand moving lighting fast to snatch away the glass, to grasp the injured hand and bring it to the man’s lips. She knew he was not a vampire, but holy fuck did he like blood - his tongue snaked along the bleeding wounds, drinking the crimson liquid gushing from the wounds.
The blonde man was cursing, his free arm braced against the back of his seat, his back arching and his body torn between... something. “Duck, Zladko,” he moaned, and Mari could hear a clear trace of arousal, “Don’t---“
”You fucking well know you don’t have to, you don’t need to,” the Russian growled, giving the arm a squeeze. “It gets too much, I’ll give you the pain!”
For a moment Mari wondered if it was wrong to watch, but from where she was sitting, the small dark alcove Zladko dragged Chas into was in perfect view - well, as perfect as any view could been in the dim gloom, but hell, what she was seeing could not have been more gorgeous no matter how much light there was.
When they eventually slumped against the wall, their harsh breathing audible over the din and clamour, she couldn’t help but bite her lip. She was filled with need, hot fire burning in the pit of her belly as her fingers curled into the arm rest and left long gashes in the already torn leather. She wanted, fuck, she wanted.. and she had no doubt that Chas at the very lest would be willing indulge as soon as he could thinks straight.. or any other patron in the bar…
But she would not betray Dracula. She was in his bed, she was his companion, and although no thing had been said nor implied.. she knew she would never do something like that. it was not fear of retribution - no, it was something deeper., a sense of belonging, a sense of personal integrity .And, she admitted, she did not wish to risk losing the incredible pleasure Dracula wreaked upon her t his whims.
“Like the show, love?” Chas asked when they stumbled back into what passed for light, wincing as he sat down.
”Very much,” She said with a grin. “Now… you guys, you were looking for this Dominick dude.. I want to help.”
The Russian’s dark eyes bored into her. “It’s too dangerous, girl,” he said with conviction.
”Look, this is where you give me the whole you are on a dangerous mission spiel?”
“We’re on a mission from God,” Chas snorted. “Or…Or Buddha., Or the flying spaghetti monster.”
Mari bit her lip in order to not to laugh. “And that is supposed to make me to not help you because…”
””People die, girl,” Zladko said harshly. “You come here, you know of these creatures. You know what they are capable of.
“How stupid do you think I am?” Mari asked, an edge to her voice. “Yeah, I know what these creatures are like. I am not just some stupid bint seeking a few supernatural thrills. I’m here because this is…” she hesitated. She had intended to say, “This is where I belong” but that was not true. She belonged with Dracula. “Something I know very well.” She finished.
it was the blond man who looked at her sharply. “And what makes you think we won’t just send you back to Dominick in pound pieces, love?”
”Excuse me?” She blinked.
”You got vampire bites on your neck,” Chas drawled, “You ain’t just a girl, love, you’re someone’s pet. And I can’t think of a reason why a bloodsucker’s little toy would be here, talking to us, if not ordered by its master.”
Fuck.
“I am no one’s toy!” she snarled, baring her teeth. Her hands clenched into fists as she looked first at Chas, then at Zladko; both men were alert and fuck, she knew the hand in the pocket of that long leather coat was holding a gun.
**
The moonlight turned the banks of snow just as cold as the chill night air.
It was cold enough t that her cheeks burned as she made her way back home, through the deserted streets and roads of her hometown. No other soul was brave or foolish enough to go out now, not in this weather, and especially not since there was ice hockey on TV, she thought ruefully as she adjusted the strap of her backpack.
She was almost home; only one more turn, past the snow-covered rowan hedge, and she would be on the last stretch to home. No more than a hundred yards and…
She gasped when she came across the body on the ground; dark and imposing, stark in the moonlight, and oh god, the black stains on the snow had to be blood…
She choked on a scream when the figure shifted, raising its - his head. A pair of blood rd eyes met her eyes, boring deep, inflicting a command upon her - she would bring him somewhere safe somewhere hidden, do as he bid her…
The words were a silent command in her mind, a burning desire to obey filling her. She would do anything he asked of her, she would obey him…
No!
Gritting her teeth, she straightened from where she had began to bend down to help him. She felt the … creature’s confusion at the fact that she resisted, that she would not let anyone control her like that…
“You’re lucky,” she gritted out as she stood straight, just for the barest of moments, before bending d0own out of her free will, “That I root for the monsters.”
**
it had not been easy to bring him to her home, even if it had been less than a hundred yards to her doorstep. He was a big guy - easily six foot six, and definitely built like a Greek good under the dark clothes. He was also prone, which was not helping, nor was the fact that he was bleeding - the blood was dark and seeping but it was still blood, and she could not help but shudder a bit.
Once inside, she managed to wrestle him on the divan before her legs gave way and she ffell on her knees, exhaustion coming over her. With the cold and the exertion, she was feeling drained of energy beyond belief.
Even with her tiredness he could not help but look at the mn, the creature tht was now lying there, breathless, eyes closed. She knew he was not… dead. Not the way people usually were - she couldn’t feel it or any other tripe like that, but she knew that with the blood red eyes and the way she had heard him in her head, well….
Guess she was in a ghost story now.
No, not a ghost story, she corrected herself. Because this guy was too solid to be one, and her back was definitely feeling it. In fact, she probably would know just how solid as soon as she managed to get up - she would have to figure out where he was bleeding from, clean the wound…
Even deep in thought, she was unable to look away from his face. It was a damn fine face, she had to admit - dark, strong features, definitely Slavic, his lips almost too soft to fit the face if not for the cruel curve. He was as pale as the snow outside, or maybe it was just an effect caused by the fact that his hair and neatly trimmed goatee and moustache were raven black - for the first time she could honestly use that word…
She gasped, just a little, s the long-lashed eyes fluttered open and met hers, the blood red replaced by the most vibrant green she had ever seen.
**
He watched her for a long moment.
She had shaken off his command: she had not bent under his will. She had denied him… and then done his bidding anyway. In her blue eyes he e could see determination, and perhaps a little apprehension, but no fear. They were as clear as sapphires, not cloudy as those who bent to his will.
Interesting.
“Where have you borough me?” he asked her without preamble. He could tell they were alone - not a single heartbeat but hers could be heard.
“My home,” she said simply, and he was surprised at how pleasant her voice was. Cultured, unlike the majority of these peasants. “Need any more details?”
”That will suffice, for now.” He looked her over; she was not showing any signs of fear - her heartbeat was steadily falling, in a way that told him she had exerted herself greatly to bring him here when his weakened state had led to unconsciousness. He would have to do something about it - deal with the wounds on his side, feed to regain his strength… the girl would offer ample bounty, he believed - the thrum of blood beneath her skin was strong, and the scent quite alluring as she tilted her head, looking at him questioningly.
“Is this the part where you want to bite me?”
The question surprised him; he looked at her closely again, noticing the curiosity burning in her eyes and the way she was clutching her hands together, not in fear but.. something t hat was between apprehension and exhilaration.
“Why do you think I would do that, girl?” He said slowly.
Lessee… you had the flashy red eye thing, your blood is too thick to be normal, and you were looking at my neck and… flaring,” she said, frowning a bit. “I am making an educated guess here - you are some sort of a vampire, and with the whole bleeding and falling into a heap outside thing, you need to feed. So, do you want to bite me?”
Strong-willed.. Observant. Fearless. Curious. Foolhardy.
What an interesting mix. He smiled, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light. “Yes, girl.. I will bite you.”
She smiled, almost beatifically. “Good,” she murmured. “Just don’t kill me, I am more useful to you alive.”
He sat up languorously, instead of lunging for her; his long-fingered han beckoned for her and she stood up from where shed crouched, shedding the bulky coat she has still been wearing as she took a step closer. She draped herself into his lap clumsily - she was no courtesan.
. He had no intent of killing her - indeed, she would be more useful to him alive. She was intriguing, and although he would have to drain a mortal to gain his full strength, a small taste of the bliss throbbing just beneath her skin would make it easier to bide ihis time…
**
she had often wondered what something like this would feel like; she had never quite come close with any of her wonderings. The cold fingers wound into her hair and pulled her head back with gentle ruthlessness, as cold lips sought out her pulse point. She could feel the cool flick of a tongue and it made her shiver before there was a sharp, startling pain and she bit her lip trying to not to scream.
She felt the blood welling up in the wound, felt it so hot against her skin - the contrast with his lips was immense, the cold and heat mingling in a way that made her squeeze her eyes shut and fight the shudders going through her body, starting at the pit of her belly and travelling through her spine, trying to escape her lips as moans and whimpers.
She was by no means inexperienced, but God she had never felt anything like this - never.
When hr withdrew, his now slightly warmer but by no means warm tongue flickering across the wound almost soothingly, she did whimper. The loss of his touch made the fire that had pooled in the pit of her stomach more insistent, more ravenous - it made her so needy…
“You will not bend to my thrall,” he whispered, his pale lips soft as silk against the shell of hear, “But I can still make you mine.”
she wanted to beg,- she wanted to plead for him to make her his, to touch her, to not let the fire torment her but to consume he…
“You.. arrogant bastard,” she breathed as his fingers brushed against the curve of her breast, so cool but still leaving a burning trail, “Did I say you could… oh god…”
He had discovered the tip of her breast and even through the layers of clo9th the cold twist of his fingers made her moan, her back arching as she twisted in his arms.
“No God, girl,” he purred into her ear, his accent thickening, “Only I. Only… Dracula.”
**
She made the sweetest noises when he had her - whimpering, begging wordlessly.. but her blue eyes stayed unclouded with anything but pleasure. And not even the revelation of his true name had made her fear him -something he found almost inconceivable. He was Vlad Tepes Draculae, the son of the Devil, a g feared godless creature of legend… and she was now looking at him, her blue eyes steady, and asking him if he wanted her to tend to his wounds.
His wounds were already healing - they had not hampered him overmuch as head taken her, but yes, they would need some tending to- he could felt he slow seep of blackened blood from some of them.
“You may, girl,” he told her as she rose swiftly, if clumsily.
”Would it make any difference if I told you I had a name and asked you to use it?” she raised an eyebrow.
Dracula smirked. Had she been any other, such insolence would have brooked a wrathful response, but.. she was quite special, in her fearless way, si he did not mind.. overmuch.
“What is your name, girl?”” he asked, letting his amusement show.
“Mari.”
**
It was not the beginning of a beautiful friendship - no, it was the beginning of something quite strange. Mari g found herself watching almost dispassionately as he slaughtered the hopeless vampire hunter wannabes who’d taken a lucky pot shot at him, and then…. She had followed. She had left everything behind and become…. Something she was not quite sure what.
She still had no idea how much was myth and how much truth, but she knew some things - Dracula was just as powerful as all the stories claimed, and yes, he had once been known as the Impaler because of his favoured method of execution. After she had began to travel with him, his constant shadow, his constant.. companion, she had began to read up on him - the myths, the legends, the truths…. Right now, she was reading yet another novel in which he had a role in, and wondered if she would dare to ask him how much of it was true.
She was not his thrall - she was doing this out of her own free will, and she knew he was letting her because she amused him - she was, for some reason, completely fearless towards him and he liked it. (and, she thought with a bit of pride, he probably appreciated some other assets she had as well) but she had no desire to overstep the bounds she knew were there, somewhere.
It was an interesting, comfortable existence. In these modern times, there was no business with carriages and coffins - no, Dracula had adapted to the twenty first century with alarming alacrity. Private jets, fancy cars with blackened windows, and something straight out of the Empire Strikes Back for him to rest in… or rather, that was what the thing looked like from the outside, Inside, she knew, rested a beautiful ebony coffin with blood red lining; something rather cliché but she suspected it was rather comfortable.
She had never had any reason to try it out herself - when her…. When Dracula came to her, it was always in her lushly appointed rooms. She gave herself to him willingly - both her body and her blood. He did not feed from her as much as he considered her a delicacy, he knew - he slaked his thirst on some poor wretch who earned his displeasure and then came to her.
She did not mind it - she liked the thought of being special to him. Perhaps, she mused occasionally, she would be the first one of his new brides. The last three, she knew, had been wiped out during the Incident, which had inspired certain Mr. Stoker to write a fascinating book.
A part of her had to wonder, what would it be like if there were other brides - what it would be like, to share his attentions with others? Even share a bed with others? She did not quite mind the idea - she just hoped that she would not have to deal with backstabb9ing cattishness. Because quite frankly, she was not the sort of a woman who went for that.
She knew that some people - some of the gypsies still attending to Dracula, some of the powerful businesspeople he dealt with, some other vampires they had passed - wondered what she was to him. She was, to be honest, vaguely unsure. She was not tending to any particular servile duties, she was not just his bed toy - she supposed that companion was the best word she could come up with.
It was better than “court jester” anyway.
Mari was rather certain that this would not be how things would stay for all eternity - or, indeed, for very long. But she was going to enjoy every single moment of it.
**
Dracula watched from the shadows as his young companion was absorbed in a book. It was nothing of importance - it was one of those various cheap romances she amused herself with, not something that mattered. He knew she enjoyed Machiavelli and Shakespeare s much, if not more s she did these useless flights of fancy, and therefore he did not mind the fact that they were often found in his library between the more serious tomes.
In addition to fearless and observant, she had turned out to be a very, very intelligent girl - one of the most intelligent she had ever met. He was occasionally astonished at the leaps of logic she was capable of - mortals capable of such were incredibly rare.
He did not intend to let her stay mortal much longer - no, he intended to make her his eventually.. but for now… for now, he found her warmth much more enticing. Before her looks would diminish, of course - he found her very attractive, in a way a certain Flemish painter would have wept for and painted a masterpiece to immortalize her charms. Such beautiful pale skin, paler still since he found great delight in tasting her essence, and hair nearly as pale… and those eyes that held no fear, only sharp intelligence… and strange kindness.
**
Looking over the edge of the precipice, as if waiting for something to stare back, the blond man was a vision that hat might have made the breath catch in the throat of anyone but Zladko; but even he could not help but pause to admire the long, lean lines of Chas’s body and the shadows that sharpened the face even further.
“What do you want?” the blond asked, not turning to face him. The voice was rougher than usual, with something else than just cigarettes and booze.
“You to come home,” Zladko said, pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his long leather coat. “You’re a mess.”
Chas laughed. “Christ, Zladko, that’s the understatement of the year.”
The Russian sighed. “Yes, my friend, I know. But she’s gone - she is not going to come back.”
Chas’s expression twisted, the long scar on his cheek twitching. “She’s dead, Zladko - she’s fucking dead. I killed her, with my own fucking hands. I killed my sister.”
Zladko gritted his teeth. “I know. I was there.” I held her arms as you plunged the knife into her hear.
Chas laughed again, his voice tinged with desperation. “Christ, Zladko.. just bugger off and leave me alone.”
He shook his head. “No.” I am not losing you, too.
**
The first thing he realized when he woke up ws the livid headache right above his eyes; it was as I f slivers of glass were hammered right above his eyes.
With a groan, Chas opened his eyes, trying to sit up; when he found tht he could not move, his arms tied to the bed, he swore.
“Bloody Mary and her wailing vestal virgins, what the duck did you do?”
2Tied you on the bed, friend,” Zladko’s warm voice came from the other side of the roo where the Russian was seated in a large armchair, a book open on his knees. “Do you remember last night.”
”Let me make an educated guess,” Chas groaned. “I got drunk, we fought, you kicked my ass and dragged me here?”
”Without putting too fine a point to it, yes.” Zladko’s voice was tinged with amusement. “SO you did not drink enough to lose your memory, did you?”
Chas groaned. “No, but…”
*
”It’s happened so many time s in the past month you could just guess.” Zladko sighed and rose, setting the book carefully aside as he stepped across the room to where Chas lay. “Want me to untie you?”
Chas sighed. “Yes please.”
He knew why Zladko had tied him - there was only one reason his friend would have done that. He’d gone for a knife, intent to finish what Maria had started.
The scar on his cheek twitched - it was mostly healed by now, but the memory of his sister’s fury-twisted face was still there.. it was what he sought to drown out in the countless bottles of whisky he went through, night after night…
“Stop brooding,” Zladko said quietly. ”Please.”
**
Mari knew that Dracula knew she was observing him - but thankfully, he did not mind. She was fascinated by him - his long, graceful hands flew over the laptop keyboard just as firmly as they held quills and ink wells when she had watched him at another time.
He was concentrating on whatever he was doing, and she knew it was something veer important. She strongly doubted je was playing solitaire - although she had seen that happen as well… not that she would ever bring that one up. The urge to tell him that the red nine would go over the black ten had been nearly overwhelming, though.
For an ancient vampire and a man known for his legendary cruelty, he was quite the amicable man. he was nothing she had imagined him to be - no one could have imagined him, she thought. He was, in so many ways, the stereotypical vampire; tall, dark, handsome and cruel, with a debonair, worldly air…. And yet, he seemed so different in ways.
The Dracula Bram Stoker had written about had clung to the past; the one now on the other side of the room embraced the future - and not in a megalomaniac movie villain way, either. He had no plans of using biotech to turn himself invincible, or to create an army of vampires to take over the world, or anything stupid like that. No, he seemed to be quite content with…. Doing other things.
Like, apparently, reading the evil Overlord List, taking into account the latest forward she found in her inbox. Annotated, she noted with a raised eyebrow. Now this should be fun to read…
When she finally rose from her chair and stretched, her yawn turned into a surprised cry as s cold arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a cool, hard body. She whimpered, her neck tilting without thought as cool lips sought out the pulse point, lavishing attention for a long, long moment before they parted and she felt the familiar sharp pain…
The het from his bite, the hot gush of blood that set her spine on fire ws countermanded by the cold, cold touch on her skin. The thin fabric of her dress parted easily, falling away from her pale body as the skilled hands made he moan and writhe.
His tongue traced a path from the still-throbbing wounds on her neck, down to where the tips of her breasts were stiff and aching after the cruel twist of his fingers. She whimpered, her back arching as he lavished attention on her, so much but not enough… when he began to trail lower still, his eft finger followed by his skilled tongue, she did cry out.
She found herself pushed over the table, forgotten book digging painfully into her spine as Dracula loomed over her. His green eyes had turned red with lust, t and the corners of his mouth were stained with her blood. She shivered, desire pooling at the pit of her stomach as she begged him, wordlessly - take her, bring an end to the torment he wreaked upon her.
His cool hardness invaded her ruthlessly, but not brutally; she had long ago exhausted any jokes about his old moniker and instead she simply whimpered, her hands digging into his shoulders as she was ravished.
She’d become senseless with pleasure long before he found his satisfaction, the sting of his teeth finding her throat again was enough to send her into spiralling darkness.
**
Dracula left her in the four-poster bed. He might have been too hasty, to drink from her twice during their encounter. She looked like a statue of palest marble, of perhaps alabaster, held between the dark satin sheets.
Yes, it was such a shame these modern artists were such.. fools. Otherwise, he thought, she would have been the perfect subject of an artist’s skills.. perhaps indeed a statue, with palest of golds for her hair, or h perhaps a grand painting….
Indeed, the only thing marring her beauty was the vicious mark on her throat - his mark. Perhaps, he mused, he would take her mortal essence sooner than he had anticipated. It was a tempting thought, to drink until the last sweet drops passed his lips and then feed her his own blood, feel her pretty lips latching onto his chest…
He blinked slowly. Where had that thought come from?
His childer, when he had created them, had tasted his blood from wound on his wrist,,,, but with this particular morsel, he contemplated letting her drink from a wound upon his chest, right above his heart….. this was not something he should have even thought about!
His fists clenches; a part of him was telling him to dispose of her immediately - she was dangerous, if she could inspire such thoughts. She would be a weakness - she would need to be eliminated.
His features twisting in anger, he spun on his heel and disappeared into cold fog.
**
Waking up with Zladko’s hair in his mouth was not something Chas had expected to ever happen.
But it did.
The bed was narrow, the springs poking painfully into his back - no doubt, it was yet another fucking useless hotel room. One of his hands was tied to the headboard, and Zladko’s brawny body was covering his. Even past the headache stabbing through his eyeballs, he thought he had a decent idea of what had happened.
He’’d gotten drunk, they had fought, Zladko had dragged him back and passed out on top of him in the middle of tying him up… had never happened before, but it was not a big deal.
When Zladko shifted on top of him, burying his dark head in the curve of his neck, Chas suddenly realized I was, in fact, quite the big deal.
He was a guy. Zladko was a guy. And like all the men in the world, they both greeted the morning enthusiastically… or, to not to put too fine a point to it like the Russian would say, that was Zladko’s hard dick poking into his hip. And Chas’s own cock was not exactly disinterested, either.
fuck, it’s Zladko! Some part of his brain was screaming. He nearly was your brother in law. Hes your best friend, fuckface - don’t you fucking ruin this!
Unfortunately, that part did not have a large, warm hand suddenly on bare skin, rucking up the stained t-shirt he wore; Zladko had to be asleep, he would have never done that, would have never slid a hand over Chas’s ribcage like that, all warm and trough an d fuck, so good…
He groaned, his hips bucking; maybe it was some cruel trick of god’s but Zladko shifted in his sleep, their groins lining together; instead of mere denim and air, Chas’s cock was now pushing against a hard thigh, the nearly unconscious rhythm matched by the Russian.
When Zladko’s eyes flew open, Chas bit back a curse; he had no idea what to say, what to think.. he was going to say something when his lips were covered by Zladko’s, his mouth possessed in a long, deep kiss.
“fuck,” he murmured when Zladko pilled back, his dark hair hanging around their faces like a perverted veil, “what the fuck are you doing?”
”You need to ask?” the Russian grinned and kissed Chas again - plunging his tongue in deep and making thinking impossible - especially since that warm, rough hand had delved down to his jeans, and was yanking open the buttons with brutal efficiency.
The hand wrapped around him and he blond groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut as he began to thrust into the tight grip.
“Just let go,” Zladko murmured hoarsely, “Just let go…”
Chas came with a choked cry, straining against his bonds. His eyes flew open and he looked at Zladko, his expression that of bewilderment as the older man lifted his hand and began to lick off the sticky white droplets.
“What the fuck?” Chas asked o hoarsely. “What the fuck did just happen?”
”Well, not that, but close,” Zladko said, almost matter-of-factly. “What, donöt tell me you didnnöt like it.”
chas laughed bitterly. “You know I did,” he said hoarsely. “Why? Why now?”
**
Zladko had no answer. He had nt intended to fall asleep on Chas, he hadn’t intended to let this happen - head been asleep still when it had began, thought it but pleasant dream but when he had woken, his instincts had taken over…
“Do I remind you of Maria?” Chas asked bitterly.
Zladko was horrified. “God, no!” he proclaimed. “No.. I could. I could never betray her memory like that”
”Then why?” Chas demanded, sitting up as far as his bonds allowed.
“I…” t her dark Russian was at loss for words. “Because it seemed like a good idea,” he said, knowing it was a weak defense.
Chas laughed again. “Christ on a fucking cracker,” he groaned, “of all the things…”
Before Zladko could say anything, Chas hand had caught him by the front of his sweater and yanked him close; it was Chas’s tongue thrusting between his lips now, Chas’s body twisting so that Zladko’s half-hard erection was brought to full attention again.
”If we’re gonna do this,” the blonde hissed against his lips, “Then we’re gonna do this right, mate.”
**
it was a slow, languorous morning for Mari. She woke slowly, her body drifting into awareness much slower than her mind.
Dracula had taken his fill of her the night before, she remembered. And he had seen her to bed - he always did. It was so wonderful of him…. It was amusing that of all the men she had ever been with, the Impaler of Wallachhia was the most considerate.
She knew that she would only have to ring a bell, and one of the gypsies would bring her breakfast in bed - a hearty one, with lots of leafy greens and red meat. The importance of good nutrition when one donated blood more than regularly should not be overlooked, after all.
She decided to indulge, and rung the bell. Within moments, one of the silent servants appeared and she requested her breakfast to be brought to her, and a bath be prepared.
It was one of the perks that came with living with a prince - a staff at her disposal. She had been seriously weirded out in the beginning but she was getting used to it, now, but she was not going to go into bitch mode towards them,; no, she was always very nice to the servants and never thought they were any less important just because they were doing the drudge job,.
She had not exactly made friends, but the servants liked her, and she liked them as well. The fact that she was their prince’s companion made true bonding impossible, but she did not mind overmuch.. She was familiar with solitude, after all.
Mari glanced at the clock; it was little past six, meaning that the sun would set soon and her… and Dracula would rise from his coffin soon enough. She had a pretty good idea of what their night would consist of - a dinner in public and a party afterwards, to build up his public persona. Unlike the lore stated, Dracula was perfectly capable of eating human fare, and even enjoyed some of it . he most certainly did drink wine, for one... even if it would have taken incredible amounts to affect him. Unlike her.
She blushed as she remembered the time he had amused himself by having her sample some of the more potent vintages he had in his cellars - she had found herself disgracefully giggly after but a few glasses, and she thanked God and karma for the fact that she had not done anything he found distasteful.
It was funny, she mused, how much she did get away with, taking into account that he was Dracula, the impaler, and a generally very nasty person. She supposed it had to do with the fact that for some reason, his mind powers simply did not work on her at all. She could shrug them off… and she had chosen to follow him. She was doing all this out of her own fee will, and she supposed it w as probably rather refreshing to the prince.
It was really easy to think of him as the prince - sure, in popular culture, Dracula was a count but this man was no count - this man was a prince. A ruler, someone who was no mere noble but royalty, and it was evident in the way he did everything… and she liked it.
Not that she fanfcied herself his princess. She was not htt stupid.
**
It was not a seedy bar; to call it such would have elevated it too much. It was a disgusting excuse of a watering hole, and that meant Chas felt right at home, settled in a dark corner with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a Zladko.
“Why are we here again?” the Russian asked him. “We could be doing something better…”
”Like fucking`=” Chas grinned sharply, and got an irritated hiss in return.
”No. looking for information. Trying ft find..”
Trying to find the bastard who turned Maria.
“We’ll get contacts here,” Chas said quickly, pushing the thought aside. “There is someone we really need to meet, she will be here later tonight…”
As it turned out, when the woman they were there to meet arrived, Chas and Zladko were otherwise occupied - the filthy bathroom stall was not an ideal place for an encounter, but it served well enough for a hard fuck against the wall.
Chas was grinning like the cat who got the cream as they made their way to the bar; he remained standing, leaning against the deeply-scratched wood s he spoke to her.
”Buy you a drink, love?”
the woman turned slowly around, her heavy boots making no sound. From the long leather coat and the hundreds of tiny braid decorating her long dark hair, one might have expected someone delicate but she most assuredly was not.
Her green eyes were cold, and Chas knew that under the loose clothes, enough weapons to outfit a small brigade hid.
The green eyes ran over Chas in an insolent, appraising manner and when they finally met his brown eyes, she smirked. “Yes.”
Chas smirked, when he heard Zladko growl and a hard arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him against the Russian. “What’s your poison, love?”
”Vodka.”
It might have been very much like a bad movie after that, but Zladko and the woman known only as Madonna soon were engaged in a drinking competition - vodka, straight. And the implied prize was the blond man lounging against the bar, smirking indolently and calling out various rude comments.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, their competition was interrupted. Suddenly, both Zladko and Madonna raised their heads, their nostrils flaring as if sensing something - even Chas straightened.
“How many?” the blonde asked quietly.
“Four, maybe five,” Zladko said, his expression grim as he reached inside his jacket.
“Hunting,” Madonna said curtly. “There’s a student party two blocks from here.”
”So not only a buffet, but also free drinks,” Chas snorted. Is hands wee thrust deeply into the pockets of his grey trench coat, wrapping around a rosary and a piece of living wood. He could feel the comforting weight of the Holy Bible, King James Version, in the breast pocket.
Zladko was discreetly checking his guns, and Chas could see the glint of steel as Madonna checked the sword she had hidden under her long coat.
It was good to be back in business.
**
Slick with blood, both his own and that of his prêt, Zladko pushed Chas against the wall and kissed him hard.
There was no gentleness here, not when he tore into the younger man’s clothes, bit into the pale lips, his breathing harsh and cold, he needed to take, he needed Chas’s heat, needed t fee….
“Fucking bastard,” Chas gasped as the Russian pulled back, tilting his head so Zladko could sink his teeth into the straining flesh of his neck, to leave dark bruises that would ach for days and days.
Zladko only groaned, his hand finally tearing open the fly of the blond’s jeans and finding hardened flesh, hot and ready already. He squeezed, bringing forth a strangled gasp from Chas.
“Fuck…”
”Yes,” Zladko hissed, working his hand up and down Chas’s cock ruthlessly.
The blond did not resist, much, when he was spun round and pushed against the wall, his erection trapped between his body and the hard bricks; Zladko’s hands were busy pinning him down and freeing his own aching cock to give him any relief.
It was a hard, brutal fuck, full of blood and pain and bruises. Zladko pounded into Chas’s willing body, bruising and biting, his nails tearing not the younger man’s skin as he took him hard.
Afterwards, Chas laughed breathlessly. “We should do this more often,” he said. “Killing them makes you fuck like a beast.”
His words made Zladko shudder. “I am not an animal,” he said quietly.
“No, you just act like one.”
**
the knowledge that more of his kind had been slain in this city that was now his domain did not both Dracula overmuch. The slain were young and foolhardy, and it was nothing but a culling of the flock. There were too many lf his kind -the blood had grown thin and weak in many of them.
What did bother him, however, was who exactly had been involved in the killings. He knew quite a lot about the woman known as Madonna, and this was not like her - she was as mercenary as they came, and such random killing, especially with the assistance of others, was not usual for her.
Which was why he intended to summon her to him.
She, like his latest companion, was not afraid of him. Then again, she did not know who he was - to her, he was but a very powerful vampire, not the most legendry of his kind. And Madonna was not the sort of a woman who was afraid of vampires.
She had not bothered to clean up for this meeting; held in one of the brand-new, mirror glass skyscrapers I the city, she looked decidedly out of place on her clunky boots, leather pants and sour expression. He had instructed that she should not be inspected by the security - he knew very well how armed she was. Several guns, four or five knives, and a sword, somewhere in the folds of her coat.
“So, you wanted to see me, Alucard?” he asked curtly.
He smirked. He knew she thought his choice of a pseudonym was nothing but an attempt to affect an air of danger, that he was using the lore to his advantage, trying to imply he was something that he was not.. supposed to be. “Yes.”
She waited for him to elaborate. “Three nights go, you were involved in an incident at the docks.”
“Yeah.” She didn’t bother denying iot.
”Who paid for it?” Dracula asked sharply. “And who else was involved. Tell me everything.”
After Madonna had left, Dracula steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. The woman had not been paid for this - it was but an amusement for her. What she had been paid for, was information - the two men with her had given her full loot, and a sizeable amount of money in exchange for a name. Although, she made clear, she would have preferred the rice to be paid in nature by the pretty young blonde hunter.
The name she told him was one Dracula recognized.
Dominick.
He was aware of the other vampire’s aspirations - far too high for one such as he. Thin of blood and with no class, the fool believed himself to be most powerful of their kind.
It was clear that the men Madonna had been with had intentions of hunting the fool down. It was not quite likely that they would succeed, so... perhaps some assistance was called for.
**
Mari blinked. She could not have heard him correctly. “You want me to… go find and help a pair of hapless vampire hunters?”
Dracula smirked. “You heard correctly, girl.”
Mari blinked again. “Why?”
”You need not know that,” Dracula was still smiling. “Only know that it is my wish that they succeed in their quest.”
Mari was about to ask anyway, but as soon as her lips parted, they were covered by his cold and cruel ones, taking her mouth in a ravishing kiss.
“Damn you,” she breathed as he pulled back, her heart thundering in her ears as she felt him starting to unbutton the high collar of her shirt. “Damn you…”
”I am already damned, girl,” he purred as he bent his head to her throat and she could only whimper. Indeed, he could not use his powers of compulsion on her but god, the touch of his long fingers he feel of his sharp fangs on her throat - it made her as mindless as any thrall.
The prince was indulgent today - he took his time lavishing attention on her, and rather than to take her, he guided her to her knees. This was not something he often allowed her to indulge in and she took to it joyfully, knowing that the warmth of her lips on his cool skin would bring him much pleasure.
Afterwards, she found herself languorous and sleepy - a combination of endorphins and blood loss, she knew. But she also felt the strange strengthening that being allowed to taste Dracula led to - the legends that claimed that he cried blood had neglected to mention that certain other things were definitely tinged with blood, as well.
After she felt her strength return, she called for one of the gypsies to bring her something to eat as she set to pack - oh, they would have prepared everything for her, if she’d willed it, but she did not feel comfortable with the idea - she wanted to know precisely where everything was, for one.
She’d gained a whole new wardrobe when she had joined the prince’s household, but now, she went for her old clothes, for the inelegant, “alternative” things she enjoyed. Into her backpack went mostly utilitarian clothes, some of them decorated with fierce devils and shining skulls, some of it camouflage and all of it suggesting someone who was definitely not, ah, whatever the hell she had c become to Dracula.
You must be stealthy, head told her, you must play one of them.
She could do that.
Mari smirked, bending down to lace on a pair of combat boots. One thing was sure, though; she was no Buffy.
**
It was a dark, dank basement bar that Chas and Zladko were sitting at. It was not much more than a hole in the wall, but there was something rather interesting that kept it from being just another nameless dive.
Namely, the clientele-.
Zladko’s fingers were itching for his guns as he watched a horned beast walk past, cradling a young blonde girl to his side. A part of him was screaming for him to draw his weapons and eradicate the stench of evil filling his nostrils like the sickly-sweet smoke of burning corpses.
“Calm down, mate,” Chas hissed, laying a hand on his shoulder “We got to behave.”
Zladko snarled, he knew very well they had to, or else they would not walk out of here - and Maria’s tormentor would go free. That cursed woman had sent them here, in search of a man who could lead them to where the vampire called Dominick made his lair.
“Christ, you’re so tense,” the blond complained. “I have half a mind to slip under the table and…”
Zladko never gave his friend a chance to finish; he spun around grabbing Chas by the base of the neck and pulled him into a hard, punishing kiss.
“That always does shut you up,” he hissed when the brown eyes met his, dazed with lust as the blond gasped for breath.
The wolf-whistle startled him and he released his hold of Chas, standing up abruptly and pushing the table away
“Nice show,” the girl who had whistled said. “Any chance of more?”
She looked human. But Zladko knew better than to trust, especially in a place like this. He drew deep breath, reaching out with his senses…
“Oy, that’s not polite!” the girl complained, taking a step back and crossing her arms across her chest. She wore a pair of black wrist-warmers with pink skulls on them, Zladko noted. The pink was the only splash of colour in her attire; the combat boots, cargo pants and turtleneck shirt were all black. .
“Neither is staring, love,” Chas said with a smirk.
“Well you were putting on a show,” she said with a grin that was intended to be disarming, and Zladko gritted his teeth. She was human - but there was something not quite right in her… she wa s paler than she should have been, and he could sense something was not quite right…
“Would your name happen to be Joe, love?” Chas asked, grinning at her. The Russian blinked - maybe this was the Joe that Madonna had sent them to find.. he was not quite sure if the huntress had ever specified the gender of the snitch they were after.
The girl shook her head, her pale hair swaying around her face. “Nope, I’m Mari,” she told them.
Zladko felt a brief stab of pain; only intense concentration kept him from showing it, an he knew Chas was going through the same… for even if this girl looked nothing like the sweet, gentle Maria had been like… the pet name was still a sharp reminder.
She smiled, not having noticed anything. “Buy a girl a drink?”
**
It was not easy to find out who they were looking for, but the information, once wheedled out of Chas, was helpful to the extreme.
“So why do you guys want to find Joe Schmoe?” she asked Chas, sipping her fourth tequila sunrise.
“He knows where ht rat bastard Dominick is,” the man slurred; he had gone through almost half a bottle of jack Daniels while she had been here, and she was rather certain he’d had more before she arrived.
She could feel the Russian’s dark eyes boring into her as she looked at him; despite the vodka he’d had, he looked still as sharp as anyone. “So, why do you want to find this Dominick dude?” she asked, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
“None of your business,” the Russian said curtly, and Mari felt a sliver of annoyance.
”Come on!” she said, “You an tell me, I promise to not to tell anyone.”
She knew, vaguely anyway, why they were after Dominick. The guy dabbled in sorcery and had fucked up, turning someone and getting them messed up enough hat they lost all control…. And that had been the blond guy’s sister.
“It’s his fault I killed my sister,” Chas said darkly, his eyes suddenly unfocused as he stared straight through her.
Mari blinked. Before she could say anything, Chas reached out and plucked a shard of glass from the depression in the middle of the table. Some other patron had smashed their glass, no doubt of it, and the establishment had not been in a hurry to clean it thoroughly..
With almost fascinating horror she watched his fist clutch around the glass, blood welling up and starting to fall down in rivulets; the same hand went to his arm, where the sleeve of the trench coat and dress shirt were pushed up, the sharp glass sluicing into the pale flesh…
“You fucking wanker,” the Russian growled at his friend and Mari’s eyes widened even more as he watched a large hand moving lighting fast to snatch away the glass, to grasp the injured hand and bring it to the man’s lips. She knew he was not a vampire, but holy fuck did he like blood - his tongue snaked along the bleeding wounds, drinking the crimson liquid gushing from the wounds.
The blonde man was cursing, his free arm braced against the back of his seat, his back arching and his body torn between... something. “Duck, Zladko,” he moaned, and Mari could hear a clear trace of arousal, “Don’t---“
”You fucking well know you don’t have to, you don’t need to,” the Russian growled, giving the arm a squeeze. “It gets too much, I’ll give you the pain!”
For a moment Mari wondered if it was wrong to watch, but from where she was sitting, the small dark alcove Zladko dragged Chas into was in perfect view - well, as perfect as any view could been in the dim gloom, but hell, what she was seeing could not have been more gorgeous no matter how much light there was.
When they eventually slumped against the wall, their harsh breathing audible over the din and clamour, she couldn’t help but bite her lip. She was filled with need, hot fire burning in the pit of her belly as her fingers curled into the arm rest and left long gashes in the already torn leather. She wanted, fuck, she wanted.. and she had no doubt that Chas at the very lest would be willing indulge as soon as he could thinks straight.. or any other patron in the bar…
But she would not betray Dracula. She was in his bed, she was his companion, and although no thing had been said nor implied.. she knew she would never do something like that. it was not fear of retribution - no, it was something deeper., a sense of belonging, a sense of personal integrity .And, she admitted, she did not wish to risk losing the incredible pleasure Dracula wreaked upon her t his whims.
“Like the show, love?” Chas asked when they stumbled back into what passed for light, wincing as he sat down.
”Very much,” She said with a grin. “Now… you guys, you were looking for this Dominick dude.. I want to help.”
The Russian’s dark eyes bored into her. “It’s too dangerous, girl,” he said with conviction.
”Look, this is where you give me the whole you are on a dangerous mission spiel?”
“We’re on a mission from God,” Chas snorted. “Or…Or Buddha., Or the flying spaghetti monster.”
Mari bit her lip in order to not to laugh. “And that is supposed to make me to not help you because…”
””People die, girl,” Zladko said harshly. “You come here, you know of these creatures. You know what they are capable of.
“How stupid do you think I am?” Mari asked, an edge to her voice. “Yeah, I know what these creatures are like. I am not just some stupid bint seeking a few supernatural thrills. I’m here because this is…” she hesitated. She had intended to say, “This is where I belong” but that was not true. She belonged with Dracula. “Something I know very well.” She finished.
it was the blond man who looked at her sharply. “And what makes you think we won’t just send you back to Dominick in pound pieces, love?”
”Excuse me?” She blinked.
”You got vampire bites on your neck,” Chas drawled, “You ain’t just a girl, love, you’re someone’s pet. And I can’t think of a reason why a bloodsucker’s little toy would be here, talking to us, if not ordered by its master.”
Fuck.
“I am no one’s toy!” she snarled, baring her teeth. Her hands clenched into fists as she looked first at Chas, then at Zladko; both men were alert and fuck, she knew the hand in the pocket of that long leather coat was holding a gun.
**