Sweet and Tender Beasts, part 3
And the final part....
After few days they started to meet small farms and villages. The landscape was forming into a more open ground. Spring had reached the lower altitudes and many farmers were out in the fields, turning up the soil, planting seeds. Buying food became easier, many of the small farms were eager to trade in coins, even if some were wary of the strange travellers. If beds were offered for the night they were often refused. Anna was not a common sight in these tiny homesteads. A woman dressed like a man, in the company of men clearly not her relations. Van Helsing had sensed her discomfort in the first farm and did not push the matter. And secretly he also enjoyed the closeness of her sleeping form in the nights. She was only an arm’s reach away and it calmed the wolf. In a house such closeness would be impossible.
The full story of the Valerious family also unravelled over the camp fire. Anna’s account of events were very different from the cold monotones of the Vatican archive. The isolation of her family explained her discomfort. She was in no way trained or schooled in the behaviour suitable for high born ladies. Her life had been violent since birth and she had scolded herself in ways Van Helsing could never fathom. A life lived only in the faith of destruction and continuity of their line.
Carl was happy that she had agreed to join them. Their journey to Transylvania had been a silent and swift one. Her presence brought chatter and action. She often demanded to stop to admire the view, or to eat properly. Sometimes Carl wondered about their destination, about what would happen on arrival. All the servants of the order knew the customs; family was frowned upon. Women, the weaker sex, were considered distractions as comrades, if not as bed warmers. Carl had often wondered if the Order would have sent them if Velkan had not been alive.
* * * * * * * *
A first larger village came into view behind a dense forest. The sun was hanging low in the sky bathing the village in orange light. Most of the villagers were gathered in the middle of a circle of buildings, a town centre of sorts, mingling beside tables squeaking with the weight of food. A set of barn doors were nailed together, creating a make-shift dance floor into the square. A small band was warming up next to it.
Anna smiled; he could feel it, a radiant smile that lit the evening. She spurred her tired horse on towards the village. A herd of young men were the first to notice their arrival, or notice Anna’s arrival. Her dark hair shone in the waning sunlight. The group gathered eagerly around her horse, all weighting their words to this stranger.
“What has brought such a Lady into our humble village?”
He was a young man, no more than twenty, with light hair and fine features. He had pushed himself through the group, standing beside her.
“A place to rest our weary horses, and our weary selves as well.”
Anna smiled.
“And possibly to take part in the dance.”
Now she was truly smiling, eyes fixed on the small company by the dance floor. Van Helsing guided his horse next to Anna, their legs touching. He felt the questioning stares from the group of men. Noble Ladies rarely travelled without a family member, a protector, who spoke and acted on her behalf.
Every village, no matter how small, held its power struggle, Van Helsing was aware of this. To obtain a wife, new blood, from outside the community always meant rise in power through one’s offspring, thus visitors were always welcomed in hopes of a union. In a village this remote and isolated, young men were forced to seek a spouse from outside their community in avoidance of inbreeding. Young Ladies were always welcome, but those who accompanied them posed a bar to the union. He could see the eyes of the men gauging him; was he a brother; a knight; a lenient husband who allowed his wife to speak before him.
“Give them road!”
A giant of a man walked towards the little group as fast as his massive girth allowed. He was dressed in a black cassock. He had obviously spotted Carl from the distance. Clergy men felt kinship towards each other, a common ground in any country. Van Helsing motioned Carl to ride up front; the priest was more likely to advice Carl on a respectable tavern, where one could stay with a noble woman. Clumsily Carl dismounted his horse and hurried to greet the man.
“We are travelling to Rome, to the Holy City. Lady Anna has left her family behind in Transylvania…”
Carl had barely begun his explanation of their strange journey and company when the massive priest whacked him on the shoulder.
“Newlyweds, splendid!”
The man boomed, and began leading Carl towards the circle of buildings. Anna met his eyes. Slowly she nodded, accepting the lie and letting her horse follow in Carl’s wake. The massive priest led them to an ominous looking little pub called the ‘Mad Ferret’. Van Helsing wondered if the pub might have possibly been named after the village’s resident clergy. The pub had a few rooms sectioned off from the living quarters as a makeshift inn; the village clearly got only few passers through in a year. Anna did not seem concerned over the sleeping arrangements, her eyes were more drawn to the window, and the dance floor on the square. He suspected that sleep was the last thing on her mind.
The square was alive with music and spinning bodies. Through the whirlwind of people they could see Carl standing in a corner of a large table looking lost and apprehensive. The source of his apprehension became apparent when a large matron approached him clearly with a dance in mind. Rescue was in order as they made their way around the dance floor. Quite a few gazes caught Anna’s back, but Van Helsing’s presence made most of the calls for a dance die on the eager suitors’ lips. Carl was most grateful for the opportunity to hide behind their combined bulk. The lead fiddler began a new tune and the rest of the company followed suit, all in slightly different pace. The dancers formed four groups in which they divided themselves into two columns, men and women facing each other. Anna was almost twitching.
“Does the great Van Helsing dance?”
She enquired bowing slightly towards him, challenge in her voice. He shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes.
“No. I tend not to.”
“Now, that is no manner to answer a Lady’s call for a dance.”
The man with light hair seemed to have come from nowhere, now bowing before Anna.
“If I might have the honour of this dance…”
Merrily Anna took the offered hand and let the young man lead her into one of the groups. She was an excellent dancer, Van Helsing noted almost immediately. She had an acute sense of rhythm and grace, moving with the steps with precision. Their fast gallop between the columns of dancers made her shriek with joy. The villagers, on an off the dance floor, were clapping with obvious approval with the music.
He had felt the tightening in his gut at the first sight of the young man; competition, the wolf had whispered; hindrance, his mind had professed. Now the sway of her body, perfectly matching his in the heat of the music, made his fists clench. She was not his wife, even if the assumption of the priest had pushed them into this charade of pretend, and no matter how greatly he wished, he could not walk into the floor and demand her. He considered himself an educated man, but his knowledge in peasant harvest dances was greatly lacking, Anna on the other hand seemed to be a master.
Periodically she would return to his side, carrying glasses of thick beer or corn, only to return into the mêlée. The early evening turned into night as dark clouds began to veil the new stars. The rain began suddenly and with such force that some of the younger ladies shrieked in surprise. The mass of villagers began pushing into a large barn just outside the clearing. The huge wooden building obviously served as the village’s main food storage, the smell of old cabbage had seeped into the walls and floor.
Anna had taken a seat atop a large barrel, brushing her fingers through her wet hair. Even if the whole company had moved into the old barn swiftly, most of them had been caught in the worst of the rain. The rain had not beaten the enthusiasm out of them, but most were throwing wet overcoats onto the floor and starting up a new tune, now a slower, mournful tone, matching the rain’s slow symphony against the roof. Slowly he walked to stand beside her barrel, offering a relatively clean handkerchief, which was, after a moments hesitation, accepted gladly.
“What is this one called?”
“The Last Waltz.”
“To this, I can dance.”
She eyed the offered hand wearily, but accepted it none the less. The glow from the lit torches was enough to give the barn low light, surrounding the few remaining dancers in a warm cocoon. He was not much of a dancer, but he pulled her gently against his chest, slowly swaying with the music, taking her back to those few fateful moments in the darkness of the chapel. The smell of garlic and his sweat overrode the powerful smell of hay and food in the circle of his arms. Anna refused to examine the tendrils of want curling in her stomach, not yet. Not yet.
* * * * * * * *
It was an early morning when the small harbour of Privlaka finally came into view behind the hills. They had been riding all night. Carl had a few days ago realised that they were going to miss the ship back, which would mean a month wait or a ride through the peninsula. They had ridden almost continuously. They had all learned to nap on their horses, tying the reigns to the watcher’s saddle.
They were still quite high up, but the harbour, with their ship, was clearly visible in the morning light. Van Helsing shadowed his eyes.
“The sails seem to be in shreds.”
They rode down the hill to the right, directing their path towards the town, only for Anna to stop her horse on a jut stretching from the mountain side. They were still high up, the huge mass of the sea spread in front of them, a massive drop into the water only a few meters away. The blue, glittering surface reflected the rising sun and the slight wind blowing in the hills pillowed her hair. Van Helsing rode next to her. She tuned to him and smiled. Yes, it is beautiful, he thought.
They found a small path next to the forest and began descending the slope. They did not have to ride far, when an inn was revealed in another jut formed in the slope. A young woman was spreading laundry in the back garden, white sheets pillowing in the wind. As if she had felt their gazes, she looked up and walked up to the fence.
“When is the ship to Ancona leaving?”
The woman looked thoughtful for a moment.
“It was supposed to leave yesterday, but they got caught in a storm on the last crossing. I presume they are leaving in a day’s time.”
She turned back to her laundry, almost as they were leaving she shouted:
“If you are looking for affordable housing, the entrance to our inn is on the other side, facing the harbour.”
The front of the house was built more grandiose, obviously to lure travellers coming from the hubbub of the harbour. The innkeeper was already on the porch as they rode around the corner, a middle aged man with a wide, friendly face. He showed their horses to the modest stables, hidden in the other corner of the house. Van Helsing saw the fascinated gaze of the innkeeper following Anna as she unloaded and stripped her horse with sure hands.
The entrance hall was not very large; a sitting area with large leather chairs dominated most of the space. Huge doorway next to the stairs opened into the dining hall. The innkeeper stepped behind the large wooden counter. Most of the room keys were still in the hooks behind him; obviously not a busy season.
“We shall have three rooms.”
Anna’s clear voice sounded behind Van Helsing before the innkeeper had even begun to speak. He looked at her disapprovingly, but turned to the keys none the less. Van Helsing turned to look at her. He sometimes forgot that she was royalty, her heritage was edged into the lines of her body and to the contours of her voice, so slightly as to be sometimes overlooked, but she knew what it was to command. In these parts, when coming from a woman, such behaviour was not usually taken well. Van Helsing could see the muscles tensing in the innkeeper’s neck; finally he turned and laid the keys on the counter, pointedly turned to Van Helsing and spoke.
“Would your wife like a bath…?”
“No. I would not like a bath. When you address me, speak to my face.”
Her voice was steel. She walked to the counter, picked up one of the keys, and disappeared up the stairs with her saddle bags thrown over her shoulder. The innkeeper turned back to Van Helsing with a wry smile on his lips.
“You have quite a handful there.”
“She is not my wife, and I would advise you to address her with respect in the future.”
He picked up his key and followed her up the stairs. Carl fidgeted for a while and then, timidly, picked up his keys. He placed few gold coins onto the counter to pay for the nigh, nodding to the innkeeper.
“Thank you.”
As he walked up the stairs he saw the young woman from the garden standing in the dining room doorway, looking covetously after her newest quests.
* * * * * * * *
To sleep in a real bed was luxury she had not even dared to dream of. The insistent knocking on the door finally managed to drag her out of the protection of the huge pillows. She slid the door open a tiny fraction, just barely able to see Carl’s smiling face.
“The dinner is being served now, and were we thinking of eating?”
She nodded. Food would be good. Still groggy from the long sleep she pulled her clothing on and ambled downstairs. The dining hall was nearly empty. A huge wooden table took most of the space, smaller tables were scattered sparsely around the edges of the room. Carl and Van Helsing were occupying one in the far north corner. He looked so out of place, she could not help but smile. He had taken his hat off, but still wore his long coat even inside. There were already bread and butter on the table.
The fatigue of the last few days had not completely disappeared during the day, his muscles felt worn down, and secretly he rejoiced in the stillness of the coming crossing, the silent containment of a ship. He had felt her when she entered the foyer, would have felt her without Carl’s announcement of her presence. She looked lovely, smelled better. She was smiling, sleep still clinging to her eyes. The wolf had been waking for a week now, pulling his eyes to her tired body during the long hours of their ride, when he was too tired to contain the beast within the walls of his mind. It was not the church that haunted him, even if the moments in the dark kept him company at nights, but Dracula’s castle. He had had strength enough to fight Dracula, to preserve his goal, but the fight had exhausted him. He had killed, brutally, before, but not as an animal driven by instincts. It was destruction, annihilation of everything he knew, the blissful ignorance of his missing life, of his servitude to the Order. The wolf, the primal lust that had lead him into that church, had known her. Mine. A possessive thought of an animal that mates for life.
The innkeeper’s perky little wife started carrying food to the table; game, boiled vegetables, mushrooms and two pitchers of wine. Their meagre rations had barely covered the ride from Transylvania, and they had not been able to carry heavy loads of food in fear of tiring the horses. He could not make himself eat, only to watch her, fingers moving over the carcass of the bird, nimbly removing flesh from bone. She ate with her hands, ignoring the cutlery, pointedly laid beside her plate. She had not bathed, the sweat of the journey still lingered on her skin, calling the wolf.
The innkeeper’s wife walked towards their table again. If he had been paying attention he would have seen the exaggerated sway of her hips and the laces undone in her cleavage. She laid a plate of warm honey crumpets on the table, Anna instantly purred in her throat at the sight of the sweets. She leaned over the table to snatch one. The stretch of her back made the wolf growl, made even him growl. He could imagine the palms of his hands pressing into her back, warm through the cotton shirt, pushing her onto the table. He violently rose from the table, tearing through the hall, blood pounding in his ears, heart beating against his ribcage.
Anna and Carl looked at his swiftly retreating back. Anna still had a half honey crumpet in her mouth.
“I was not going to eat them all.”
Carl shrugged and helped himself to more mushrooms.
* * * * * * * *
She cannot stay. Cannot. How could he not overcome this? The day had turned into an evening, a light of the crescent moon guiding late ships into the harbour. He had come to the decision days ago, but had refused to face the reality of parting from her. The savage longing of the wolf over the dinner table had made him realise that there was no going back, the gnawing desire had festered in his mind too long for absolution.
Now he was standing outside her door, desperately wishing for her not to answer. But fate, it seems, was never accommodating to his wishes. She invited him in with a wave of her hand. She had dragged the chair from the corner of the room to the open widow, letting the first spring breeze into the room. She had propped up her legs on the window frame, a wine glass in her hand as she turned to look at him, body skewing into an awkward angle. He was agitated, pacing, refusing to meet her eyes.
“You must travel to Rome by yourself.”
His voice was hard. Anna rose from her chair to fully face him.
“Why this sudden change in plan?”
Her voice was questioning, suspicious of his cold demeanour. Was it possible that he had received new orders, was this something to do with his sudden exit from the dining hall? She was fully aware that Van Helsing’s orders had not included her passage to Rome.
“All you are required to know is; you cannot accompany us.”
“Required….”
The clear astonishment was now waging with anger, making her voice shake. He made a move to leave, her hand shot out to stop him.
“Do not touch me.”
He hissed between clenched teeth before her hand even made contact, pulling himself to the other side of the room, making no effort in concealing his desire to be as far from her as possible in the crammed space of the room. Anna made no move towards him, now there was rage burning in her eyes.
“If we fall apart now; I need to hear you say it. I deserve to.”
She turned to face the window, eyes once more gaining the painful quality she had nearly lost during their journey.
“Was it all just a lie?”
“No.”
A mere whisper.
“Then tell me.”
She was not looking at him, voice as quiet as his own. He felt the pull, clawing itself out of his chest, clambering to her, willing her not to cry, not for him.
“When I…”
His own voice raspy in his ears, lifeless, hesitant.
“…changed. I knew nothing, nothing besides my fierce determination to kill. I was not strong enough to fight it; he was merely the first one to cross my path.”
“Why did you not kill me?”
Anna seemed to regret the words as she voiced them.
“Because at that moment; you were mine.”
He willed her to listen, to understand. Maybe he had pushed her away once too many, isolating himself, but the wolf had seen, had known.
“That part of the wolf stayed with me, even with the antidote coursing in my veins, making me human again -- I cannot fight this any longer.”
“Then do not.”
There was fire in her eyes, but not that of rage.
“I wanted this, even before the church. When you stood in that clearing and challenged me.”
She began walking to him, now for the first time really looking at him, into him.
“The desire was not yours alone. The betrayal was not yours alone.”
She was looking at him with tiredness in her eyes he had not seen since their leaving. She was offering to tame the beast in him, and maybe hers as well. He had seen the silent rage in her eyes licking the surface, courting her.
“Will you now finish it?”
There was urgency in the kiss, a tearing violence neither was willing to contain anymore.
There was still the same pull, as strong as it had been in Castle Dracula, asking her to stay, to give in. She did, nails sinking into his scull, devouring, fierce, determined, answering. He sank to his knees pushing her ass onto the hard wooden edge of the bed. It was violent and hard; and she welcomed it; the harsh hands tearing her corset free, leather snagging, the pads of his fingers gentling her stomach and breasts, pushing her down.
She pushed herself up as his hands travelled her torso, pulling his thick jumper off. Her hands found them by accident, long scars lining his upper back in perfect geometry. He stilled, hands frozen against her sides, as she explored the pumps and ridges of the long healed flesh. He trembled.
“Is it painful?”
“No… not pain.”
His voice was rough, choked, spoken against her skin, an admission divulged in flesh if not in voice.
She bit into his shoulder in understanding. He growled. Part of her understood the dark coiling need of the wolf. He pushed her down again, deft fingers curling under her trousers. She let her back curve; her hips rise with the pull of his fingers. This she remembered: silent, deft, coarse hands now pushing her legs apart; pushing her apart. There was an ease to his movements now, lavishness, you are mine he seemed to say.
His head was buried between her legs before she had time to react. She snapped her knees tightly around his head; hands pulling his hair.
“Too much.”
She was breathless; gasping like a fish on dry land. He let his lips graze the side of her knee, slowly gentling his hands around her thighs. Both of his thumbs pushed her, slow circles, over and over; dark eyes piercing into hers. It was like a huge breath: a wave building beneath her breast bone, her stomach, under his fingers. His motions were so calm, so unrelenting; they made her breathless. Her back began to curl without any warning. He was still watching: seeing her breaking. She pushed her palms against her face breathing harshly into her own flesh.
“Don’t hide”
She shook her head in the cover of her hands.
“Ohgodohgod.”
The prayer escaped her lips in a frantic whoosh. His thumbs pushed back again, smaller and smaller circles. His mouth was back; his lips and tongue and teeth and fingers making her speak a new language of gasps and moans, escaping her lips like thieves in the night. Her heels pushed into his back, into his scars; her body rising of the bed. She wailed into her palms, breaking in private darkness.
His lips ghosted over her quivering stomach, easing her down, hands caressing her legs still slung over his shoulders. He shushed into her flesh meaningless words which she seemed to understand anyhow. He crawled to lie next to her slowly coaxing her hands away from her face.
Anna shook her head, still keeping her eyes tightly shut. She buried her head in his chest; still hiding. His hand found its way into her hair, massaging her scalp.
“Hey,”
His voice was soft, lips right next to her ear.
“You alright?”
Anna could only shake; her hands pushed into his armpits her face rubbing against his skin. Silently he murmured in her ear, the fingers of his other hand pushing their way back between her legs, slowly relieving the ache. She bit one of his nipples in slow confirmation.
Slowly he rolled them over, half sitting against the headboard, letting Anna rest on his chest. She felt like she was waking from a very long sleep. Her body was humming, a slight current running just beneath the surface of her skin. Her eyes were completely dark, pupils dilated to the brink when she looked at him. She braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself onto his stomach; kissing him from above. His hands stroked her back; slowly down from the mass of hair in the back of her scull to the swell of her ass and back again. She smiled.
“Now.”
He curled his legs and braced his heels against the mattress, supporting her body as she slowly took him. It was so easy, Anna wondered, as if she had been born to do this. He grunted and bit the side of her shoulder.
He looked at her; her eyes were so open now; sure and endless. He could not help but grin and she smiled back; understanding his joy. Her movements were turning deeper; knees now tightly squeezed against his sides; making him throw his head back. She hummed and bit his chin; squeezing him tightly. His whole body was trembling, coiled tension of weeks pouring out. She moved with him, again, his body taking a new shape around her like a massive seismic shift. She is moulding me, he thought through the haze.
“Do not move yet.”
She wanted to keep him, right here, tired, content, in her. He raised his head to look, tired eyes beneath the sweat drenched hair. She pushed some of it from his face and let her forehead fall against his. Their lips touched, but it was not a kiss; more of a sharing of breath. Her eyes were dark, but clear. He felt light, weightless.
Anna let her fingers comb through his hair as if petting. She smiled; her voice warm.
“You tame me so well.”
* * * * * * * *
She walked to the edge, bare feet freezing in the still damp grass. Sun was barely up, making mist dance on the still waters. She pulled the thin shirt tighter around herself, slightly shivering. She could feel him come up behind her, before his hands circled her body, pulling them together.
“It is beautiful.”
“Yes, it is.”
His nose was buried in her hair, voice muffled. Anna thought that maybe he was not referring to the sea at all. His coat smelled of sweat and garlic and of her.
“Come to Rome with me.”
Voice still muffled, but near her ear. She smiled. Why not? And nodded.
THE END
(for now)
After few days they started to meet small farms and villages. The landscape was forming into a more open ground. Spring had reached the lower altitudes and many farmers were out in the fields, turning up the soil, planting seeds. Buying food became easier, many of the small farms were eager to trade in coins, even if some were wary of the strange travellers. If beds were offered for the night they were often refused. Anna was not a common sight in these tiny homesteads. A woman dressed like a man, in the company of men clearly not her relations. Van Helsing had sensed her discomfort in the first farm and did not push the matter. And secretly he also enjoyed the closeness of her sleeping form in the nights. She was only an arm’s reach away and it calmed the wolf. In a house such closeness would be impossible.
The full story of the Valerious family also unravelled over the camp fire. Anna’s account of events were very different from the cold monotones of the Vatican archive. The isolation of her family explained her discomfort. She was in no way trained or schooled in the behaviour suitable for high born ladies. Her life had been violent since birth and she had scolded herself in ways Van Helsing could never fathom. A life lived only in the faith of destruction and continuity of their line.
Carl was happy that she had agreed to join them. Their journey to Transylvania had been a silent and swift one. Her presence brought chatter and action. She often demanded to stop to admire the view, or to eat properly. Sometimes Carl wondered about their destination, about what would happen on arrival. All the servants of the order knew the customs; family was frowned upon. Women, the weaker sex, were considered distractions as comrades, if not as bed warmers. Carl had often wondered if the Order would have sent them if Velkan had not been alive.
* * * * * * * *
A first larger village came into view behind a dense forest. The sun was hanging low in the sky bathing the village in orange light. Most of the villagers were gathered in the middle of a circle of buildings, a town centre of sorts, mingling beside tables squeaking with the weight of food. A set of barn doors were nailed together, creating a make-shift dance floor into the square. A small band was warming up next to it.
Anna smiled; he could feel it, a radiant smile that lit the evening. She spurred her tired horse on towards the village. A herd of young men were the first to notice their arrival, or notice Anna’s arrival. Her dark hair shone in the waning sunlight. The group gathered eagerly around her horse, all weighting their words to this stranger.
“What has brought such a Lady into our humble village?”
He was a young man, no more than twenty, with light hair and fine features. He had pushed himself through the group, standing beside her.
“A place to rest our weary horses, and our weary selves as well.”
Anna smiled.
“And possibly to take part in the dance.”
Now she was truly smiling, eyes fixed on the small company by the dance floor. Van Helsing guided his horse next to Anna, their legs touching. He felt the questioning stares from the group of men. Noble Ladies rarely travelled without a family member, a protector, who spoke and acted on her behalf.
Every village, no matter how small, held its power struggle, Van Helsing was aware of this. To obtain a wife, new blood, from outside the community always meant rise in power through one’s offspring, thus visitors were always welcomed in hopes of a union. In a village this remote and isolated, young men were forced to seek a spouse from outside their community in avoidance of inbreeding. Young Ladies were always welcome, but those who accompanied them posed a bar to the union. He could see the eyes of the men gauging him; was he a brother; a knight; a lenient husband who allowed his wife to speak before him.
“Give them road!”
A giant of a man walked towards the little group as fast as his massive girth allowed. He was dressed in a black cassock. He had obviously spotted Carl from the distance. Clergy men felt kinship towards each other, a common ground in any country. Van Helsing motioned Carl to ride up front; the priest was more likely to advice Carl on a respectable tavern, where one could stay with a noble woman. Clumsily Carl dismounted his horse and hurried to greet the man.
“We are travelling to Rome, to the Holy City. Lady Anna has left her family behind in Transylvania…”
Carl had barely begun his explanation of their strange journey and company when the massive priest whacked him on the shoulder.
“Newlyweds, splendid!”
The man boomed, and began leading Carl towards the circle of buildings. Anna met his eyes. Slowly she nodded, accepting the lie and letting her horse follow in Carl’s wake. The massive priest led them to an ominous looking little pub called the ‘Mad Ferret’. Van Helsing wondered if the pub might have possibly been named after the village’s resident clergy. The pub had a few rooms sectioned off from the living quarters as a makeshift inn; the village clearly got only few passers through in a year. Anna did not seem concerned over the sleeping arrangements, her eyes were more drawn to the window, and the dance floor on the square. He suspected that sleep was the last thing on her mind.
The square was alive with music and spinning bodies. Through the whirlwind of people they could see Carl standing in a corner of a large table looking lost and apprehensive. The source of his apprehension became apparent when a large matron approached him clearly with a dance in mind. Rescue was in order as they made their way around the dance floor. Quite a few gazes caught Anna’s back, but Van Helsing’s presence made most of the calls for a dance die on the eager suitors’ lips. Carl was most grateful for the opportunity to hide behind their combined bulk. The lead fiddler began a new tune and the rest of the company followed suit, all in slightly different pace. The dancers formed four groups in which they divided themselves into two columns, men and women facing each other. Anna was almost twitching.
“Does the great Van Helsing dance?”
She enquired bowing slightly towards him, challenge in her voice. He shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes.
“No. I tend not to.”
“Now, that is no manner to answer a Lady’s call for a dance.”
The man with light hair seemed to have come from nowhere, now bowing before Anna.
“If I might have the honour of this dance…”
Merrily Anna took the offered hand and let the young man lead her into one of the groups. She was an excellent dancer, Van Helsing noted almost immediately. She had an acute sense of rhythm and grace, moving with the steps with precision. Their fast gallop between the columns of dancers made her shriek with joy. The villagers, on an off the dance floor, were clapping with obvious approval with the music.
He had felt the tightening in his gut at the first sight of the young man; competition, the wolf had whispered; hindrance, his mind had professed. Now the sway of her body, perfectly matching his in the heat of the music, made his fists clench. She was not his wife, even if the assumption of the priest had pushed them into this charade of pretend, and no matter how greatly he wished, he could not walk into the floor and demand her. He considered himself an educated man, but his knowledge in peasant harvest dances was greatly lacking, Anna on the other hand seemed to be a master.
Periodically she would return to his side, carrying glasses of thick beer or corn, only to return into the mêlée. The early evening turned into night as dark clouds began to veil the new stars. The rain began suddenly and with such force that some of the younger ladies shrieked in surprise. The mass of villagers began pushing into a large barn just outside the clearing. The huge wooden building obviously served as the village’s main food storage, the smell of old cabbage had seeped into the walls and floor.
Anna had taken a seat atop a large barrel, brushing her fingers through her wet hair. Even if the whole company had moved into the old barn swiftly, most of them had been caught in the worst of the rain. The rain had not beaten the enthusiasm out of them, but most were throwing wet overcoats onto the floor and starting up a new tune, now a slower, mournful tone, matching the rain’s slow symphony against the roof. Slowly he walked to stand beside her barrel, offering a relatively clean handkerchief, which was, after a moments hesitation, accepted gladly.
“What is this one called?”
“The Last Waltz.”
“To this, I can dance.”
She eyed the offered hand wearily, but accepted it none the less. The glow from the lit torches was enough to give the barn low light, surrounding the few remaining dancers in a warm cocoon. He was not much of a dancer, but he pulled her gently against his chest, slowly swaying with the music, taking her back to those few fateful moments in the darkness of the chapel. The smell of garlic and his sweat overrode the powerful smell of hay and food in the circle of his arms. Anna refused to examine the tendrils of want curling in her stomach, not yet. Not yet.
* * * * * * * *
It was an early morning when the small harbour of Privlaka finally came into view behind the hills. They had been riding all night. Carl had a few days ago realised that they were going to miss the ship back, which would mean a month wait or a ride through the peninsula. They had ridden almost continuously. They had all learned to nap on their horses, tying the reigns to the watcher’s saddle.
They were still quite high up, but the harbour, with their ship, was clearly visible in the morning light. Van Helsing shadowed his eyes.
“The sails seem to be in shreds.”
They rode down the hill to the right, directing their path towards the town, only for Anna to stop her horse on a jut stretching from the mountain side. They were still high up, the huge mass of the sea spread in front of them, a massive drop into the water only a few meters away. The blue, glittering surface reflected the rising sun and the slight wind blowing in the hills pillowed her hair. Van Helsing rode next to her. She tuned to him and smiled. Yes, it is beautiful, he thought.
They found a small path next to the forest and began descending the slope. They did not have to ride far, when an inn was revealed in another jut formed in the slope. A young woman was spreading laundry in the back garden, white sheets pillowing in the wind. As if she had felt their gazes, she looked up and walked up to the fence.
“When is the ship to Ancona leaving?”
The woman looked thoughtful for a moment.
“It was supposed to leave yesterday, but they got caught in a storm on the last crossing. I presume they are leaving in a day’s time.”
She turned back to her laundry, almost as they were leaving she shouted:
“If you are looking for affordable housing, the entrance to our inn is on the other side, facing the harbour.”
The front of the house was built more grandiose, obviously to lure travellers coming from the hubbub of the harbour. The innkeeper was already on the porch as they rode around the corner, a middle aged man with a wide, friendly face. He showed their horses to the modest stables, hidden in the other corner of the house. Van Helsing saw the fascinated gaze of the innkeeper following Anna as she unloaded and stripped her horse with sure hands.
The entrance hall was not very large; a sitting area with large leather chairs dominated most of the space. Huge doorway next to the stairs opened into the dining hall. The innkeeper stepped behind the large wooden counter. Most of the room keys were still in the hooks behind him; obviously not a busy season.
“We shall have three rooms.”
Anna’s clear voice sounded behind Van Helsing before the innkeeper had even begun to speak. He looked at her disapprovingly, but turned to the keys none the less. Van Helsing turned to look at her. He sometimes forgot that she was royalty, her heritage was edged into the lines of her body and to the contours of her voice, so slightly as to be sometimes overlooked, but she knew what it was to command. In these parts, when coming from a woman, such behaviour was not usually taken well. Van Helsing could see the muscles tensing in the innkeeper’s neck; finally he turned and laid the keys on the counter, pointedly turned to Van Helsing and spoke.
“Would your wife like a bath…?”
“No. I would not like a bath. When you address me, speak to my face.”
Her voice was steel. She walked to the counter, picked up one of the keys, and disappeared up the stairs with her saddle bags thrown over her shoulder. The innkeeper turned back to Van Helsing with a wry smile on his lips.
“You have quite a handful there.”
“She is not my wife, and I would advise you to address her with respect in the future.”
He picked up his key and followed her up the stairs. Carl fidgeted for a while and then, timidly, picked up his keys. He placed few gold coins onto the counter to pay for the nigh, nodding to the innkeeper.
“Thank you.”
As he walked up the stairs he saw the young woman from the garden standing in the dining room doorway, looking covetously after her newest quests.
* * * * * * * *
To sleep in a real bed was luxury she had not even dared to dream of. The insistent knocking on the door finally managed to drag her out of the protection of the huge pillows. She slid the door open a tiny fraction, just barely able to see Carl’s smiling face.
“The dinner is being served now, and were we thinking of eating?”
She nodded. Food would be good. Still groggy from the long sleep she pulled her clothing on and ambled downstairs. The dining hall was nearly empty. A huge wooden table took most of the space, smaller tables were scattered sparsely around the edges of the room. Carl and Van Helsing were occupying one in the far north corner. He looked so out of place, she could not help but smile. He had taken his hat off, but still wore his long coat even inside. There were already bread and butter on the table.
The fatigue of the last few days had not completely disappeared during the day, his muscles felt worn down, and secretly he rejoiced in the stillness of the coming crossing, the silent containment of a ship. He had felt her when she entered the foyer, would have felt her without Carl’s announcement of her presence. She looked lovely, smelled better. She was smiling, sleep still clinging to her eyes. The wolf had been waking for a week now, pulling his eyes to her tired body during the long hours of their ride, when he was too tired to contain the beast within the walls of his mind. It was not the church that haunted him, even if the moments in the dark kept him company at nights, but Dracula’s castle. He had had strength enough to fight Dracula, to preserve his goal, but the fight had exhausted him. He had killed, brutally, before, but not as an animal driven by instincts. It was destruction, annihilation of everything he knew, the blissful ignorance of his missing life, of his servitude to the Order. The wolf, the primal lust that had lead him into that church, had known her. Mine. A possessive thought of an animal that mates for life.
The innkeeper’s perky little wife started carrying food to the table; game, boiled vegetables, mushrooms and two pitchers of wine. Their meagre rations had barely covered the ride from Transylvania, and they had not been able to carry heavy loads of food in fear of tiring the horses. He could not make himself eat, only to watch her, fingers moving over the carcass of the bird, nimbly removing flesh from bone. She ate with her hands, ignoring the cutlery, pointedly laid beside her plate. She had not bathed, the sweat of the journey still lingered on her skin, calling the wolf.
The innkeeper’s wife walked towards their table again. If he had been paying attention he would have seen the exaggerated sway of her hips and the laces undone in her cleavage. She laid a plate of warm honey crumpets on the table, Anna instantly purred in her throat at the sight of the sweets. She leaned over the table to snatch one. The stretch of her back made the wolf growl, made even him growl. He could imagine the palms of his hands pressing into her back, warm through the cotton shirt, pushing her onto the table. He violently rose from the table, tearing through the hall, blood pounding in his ears, heart beating against his ribcage.
Anna and Carl looked at his swiftly retreating back. Anna still had a half honey crumpet in her mouth.
“I was not going to eat them all.”
Carl shrugged and helped himself to more mushrooms.
* * * * * * * *
She cannot stay. Cannot. How could he not overcome this? The day had turned into an evening, a light of the crescent moon guiding late ships into the harbour. He had come to the decision days ago, but had refused to face the reality of parting from her. The savage longing of the wolf over the dinner table had made him realise that there was no going back, the gnawing desire had festered in his mind too long for absolution.
Now he was standing outside her door, desperately wishing for her not to answer. But fate, it seems, was never accommodating to his wishes. She invited him in with a wave of her hand. She had dragged the chair from the corner of the room to the open widow, letting the first spring breeze into the room. She had propped up her legs on the window frame, a wine glass in her hand as she turned to look at him, body skewing into an awkward angle. He was agitated, pacing, refusing to meet her eyes.
“You must travel to Rome by yourself.”
His voice was hard. Anna rose from her chair to fully face him.
“Why this sudden change in plan?”
Her voice was questioning, suspicious of his cold demeanour. Was it possible that he had received new orders, was this something to do with his sudden exit from the dining hall? She was fully aware that Van Helsing’s orders had not included her passage to Rome.
“All you are required to know is; you cannot accompany us.”
“Required….”
The clear astonishment was now waging with anger, making her voice shake. He made a move to leave, her hand shot out to stop him.
“Do not touch me.”
He hissed between clenched teeth before her hand even made contact, pulling himself to the other side of the room, making no effort in concealing his desire to be as far from her as possible in the crammed space of the room. Anna made no move towards him, now there was rage burning in her eyes.
“If we fall apart now; I need to hear you say it. I deserve to.”
She turned to face the window, eyes once more gaining the painful quality she had nearly lost during their journey.
“Was it all just a lie?”
“No.”
A mere whisper.
“Then tell me.”
She was not looking at him, voice as quiet as his own. He felt the pull, clawing itself out of his chest, clambering to her, willing her not to cry, not for him.
“When I…”
His own voice raspy in his ears, lifeless, hesitant.
“…changed. I knew nothing, nothing besides my fierce determination to kill. I was not strong enough to fight it; he was merely the first one to cross my path.”
“Why did you not kill me?”
Anna seemed to regret the words as she voiced them.
“Because at that moment; you were mine.”
He willed her to listen, to understand. Maybe he had pushed her away once too many, isolating himself, but the wolf had seen, had known.
“That part of the wolf stayed with me, even with the antidote coursing in my veins, making me human again -- I cannot fight this any longer.”
“Then do not.”
There was fire in her eyes, but not that of rage.
“I wanted this, even before the church. When you stood in that clearing and challenged me.”
She began walking to him, now for the first time really looking at him, into him.
“The desire was not yours alone. The betrayal was not yours alone.”
She was looking at him with tiredness in her eyes he had not seen since their leaving. She was offering to tame the beast in him, and maybe hers as well. He had seen the silent rage in her eyes licking the surface, courting her.
“Will you now finish it?”
There was urgency in the kiss, a tearing violence neither was willing to contain anymore.
There was still the same pull, as strong as it had been in Castle Dracula, asking her to stay, to give in. She did, nails sinking into his scull, devouring, fierce, determined, answering. He sank to his knees pushing her ass onto the hard wooden edge of the bed. It was violent and hard; and she welcomed it; the harsh hands tearing her corset free, leather snagging, the pads of his fingers gentling her stomach and breasts, pushing her down.
She pushed herself up as his hands travelled her torso, pulling his thick jumper off. Her hands found them by accident, long scars lining his upper back in perfect geometry. He stilled, hands frozen against her sides, as she explored the pumps and ridges of the long healed flesh. He trembled.
“Is it painful?”
“No… not pain.”
His voice was rough, choked, spoken against her skin, an admission divulged in flesh if not in voice.
She bit into his shoulder in understanding. He growled. Part of her understood the dark coiling need of the wolf. He pushed her down again, deft fingers curling under her trousers. She let her back curve; her hips rise with the pull of his fingers. This she remembered: silent, deft, coarse hands now pushing her legs apart; pushing her apart. There was an ease to his movements now, lavishness, you are mine he seemed to say.
His head was buried between her legs before she had time to react. She snapped her knees tightly around his head; hands pulling his hair.
“Too much.”
She was breathless; gasping like a fish on dry land. He let his lips graze the side of her knee, slowly gentling his hands around her thighs. Both of his thumbs pushed her, slow circles, over and over; dark eyes piercing into hers. It was like a huge breath: a wave building beneath her breast bone, her stomach, under his fingers. His motions were so calm, so unrelenting; they made her breathless. Her back began to curl without any warning. He was still watching: seeing her breaking. She pushed her palms against her face breathing harshly into her own flesh.
“Don’t hide”
She shook her head in the cover of her hands.
“Ohgodohgod.”
The prayer escaped her lips in a frantic whoosh. His thumbs pushed back again, smaller and smaller circles. His mouth was back; his lips and tongue and teeth and fingers making her speak a new language of gasps and moans, escaping her lips like thieves in the night. Her heels pushed into his back, into his scars; her body rising of the bed. She wailed into her palms, breaking in private darkness.
His lips ghosted over her quivering stomach, easing her down, hands caressing her legs still slung over his shoulders. He shushed into her flesh meaningless words which she seemed to understand anyhow. He crawled to lie next to her slowly coaxing her hands away from her face.
Anna shook her head, still keeping her eyes tightly shut. She buried her head in his chest; still hiding. His hand found its way into her hair, massaging her scalp.
“Hey,”
His voice was soft, lips right next to her ear.
“You alright?”
Anna could only shake; her hands pushed into his armpits her face rubbing against his skin. Silently he murmured in her ear, the fingers of his other hand pushing their way back between her legs, slowly relieving the ache. She bit one of his nipples in slow confirmation.
Slowly he rolled them over, half sitting against the headboard, letting Anna rest on his chest. She felt like she was waking from a very long sleep. Her body was humming, a slight current running just beneath the surface of her skin. Her eyes were completely dark, pupils dilated to the brink when she looked at him. She braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself onto his stomach; kissing him from above. His hands stroked her back; slowly down from the mass of hair in the back of her scull to the swell of her ass and back again. She smiled.
“Now.”
He curled his legs and braced his heels against the mattress, supporting her body as she slowly took him. It was so easy, Anna wondered, as if she had been born to do this. He grunted and bit the side of her shoulder.
He looked at her; her eyes were so open now; sure and endless. He could not help but grin and she smiled back; understanding his joy. Her movements were turning deeper; knees now tightly squeezed against his sides; making him throw his head back. She hummed and bit his chin; squeezing him tightly. His whole body was trembling, coiled tension of weeks pouring out. She moved with him, again, his body taking a new shape around her like a massive seismic shift. She is moulding me, he thought through the haze.
“Do not move yet.”
She wanted to keep him, right here, tired, content, in her. He raised his head to look, tired eyes beneath the sweat drenched hair. She pushed some of it from his face and let her forehead fall against his. Their lips touched, but it was not a kiss; more of a sharing of breath. Her eyes were dark, but clear. He felt light, weightless.
Anna let her fingers comb through his hair as if petting. She smiled; her voice warm.
“You tame me so well.”
* * * * * * * *
She walked to the edge, bare feet freezing in the still damp grass. Sun was barely up, making mist dance on the still waters. She pulled the thin shirt tighter around herself, slightly shivering. She could feel him come up behind her, before his hands circled her body, pulling them together.
“It is beautiful.”
“Yes, it is.”
His nose was buried in her hair, voice muffled. Anna thought that maybe he was not referring to the sea at all. His coat smelled of sweat and garlic and of her.
“Come to Rome with me.”
Voice still muffled, but near her ear. She smiled. Why not? And nodded.
THE END
(for now)