Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Deep into the woods, there was a hole just for him. It was the only place he felt normal. Thick trees barred any spying eyes from peering in, their gentle creaking in the wind covering his footsteps. The path to his safe space was worn down by dozens of ancestors, hundreds of years of this ancient practice. Here, in the forest’s black heart, he had the first and last opponent he would ever have.

Every Belmont had beat this old scarecrow down. It frame was splintered, head flopped and crooked. Richter propped it back up. He’d have to make a new one, soon. His strikes were too hard. He was ripping it right off its stand. Still, it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t doing his best.

He wasn’t strong enough to save Grandpa Juste.

Steel eyes flashed in the dark. Sacred silver followed them. No! It couldn’t be ending like this! His family was supposed to have peace! Dracula was dead and gone, buried under his own wicked stone. His father and forefathers long gone were avenged once again. This was the time he was supposed to make his own family, have his own sons and daughters, teach them in the ways of the whip. Magic too, from Grandpa Juste. 

His peaceful dream was fading away. Doctor Iris gave Grandpa two, three days more at most. And Annette

What was this? Their third try? And what did they have to show for it but blood and tears?

Not again. Not another loss. Not one more. 

Timbers shattered in Richter’s grief. He snarled, his rage louder than any wolf pack’s cry. The Vampire Killer tore fluff from the scarecrow’s face. It cracked, slumped, hung heavy and dead. It still wasn’t enough. Richter beat it again and again, every strike severing the frame a little further down, as violent as hammering lightning. It splayed out, its cross broken, fanning out in gouging fangs.

“What are you doing out here?” 

Richter’s arm froze. The tip of the Vampire Killer fell heavy at his side. Shame crept up his cheeks. Maria had found him. He hadn’t heard her footsteps over his rage. She stood at the edge of his practice ring on soft feet, a curious kitten before the guns of war. What she discovered left her eyes wide. 

“Richter?” she squeaked.

He rubbed his sore arm, his callouses kneading through his pain. “Yes, Maria?”

“Grandma Lydie was looking for you.” Her soft fingers folded over her pinafore. “It’s...um..Not too long now.” 

Guilt ran an icy stake through Richter’s heart. He was wasting his time out here. More embarrassments ran down his back as he glanced at the mess he left in the forest arena. There was no monster to be slain out here, nothing he could do to rescue Grandpa Juste from his fate. All that he had done was destroy a toy. 

Brown hair tumbled over tired, weary eyes. “Alright.” 

Richter turned back to the Belmont estate, his head hanging as limply as his attack dummy. He pitched the Vampire Killer aside. It clattered to the ground, its heavy chains rattling against his soul. They were still shackled to his heart. So, the Belmont’s curse had finally claimed dear Grandpa Juste, too. It wouldn’t be all that long before it would pull Richter down. They were damned to fight the darkness forever. Envied. Loathed. Alone.

Rattling stirred him. Maria hustled to his side, the Vampire Killer bundled in a heap between her arms. She could never wield the venomous weapon. It didn’t mean she didn’t respect it. At that moment, she was more of a Belmont than Dracula’s slayer was. She still had reverence for the Belmont’s sickly tasks. 

Maria pushed his burden onto him once more. “Here.”

Tired hands took it back. “Thank you.”

He waited for a coldness that wouldn’t come. Maria was as warm as the sunlight filtering through the forest canopy, stronger than the darkness that lingered around them. She didn’t judge Richter for his anger or fear. She was so small, unable to carry the same burden he did. Where his emotions ran dark and deep, hers bubbled up, overflowing like fresh fountain water from her shining eyes. 

Even with tears trembling at the edge of her eyes, she forced her gaze into Richter’s. “It’s alright, you know.”

Richter’s brow fell. “It’s not.” 

“No. I know.” Tiny fingers dug into the folds of Maria’s skirt. “But, I mean, it’s alright if you want to cry.”

“I don’t want Grandpa Juste to see me crying. He’s suffering enough as it is.” Richter brushed back a defiant hair. “I’ll just make Grandma Lydie and Annette cry, too. No good comes of it.”

Big, blue eyes dug into his side. “You don’t have to be strong today, Richter. You just have to be there.”

Maria’s words flowed like cold water through his heart. Of course, Annette and Grandma Lydie needed him. They were both so thin, so frail, in need of his comforting arms and strong chest. Grandpa Juste needed him, too. Richter couldn’t save him from his mortal illness, couldn’t take the rising phlegm from his lungs. Couldn’t even promise him a cursed heir. 

He could be there.

He would.

Chapter Text

He would have had no reason to be out so late, had it not been for his grandfather. 

There was a part of Richter that felt like he could still find the old man out here, just past the edge of his manor, gathering herbs for teas. Chamomile brushed past his legs. They stroked him, pitied him. The gentle hands that placed their fathers in the earth, sent their seeds scattering into the thicket—they had returned to the same soil that he had loved.

And not a damn person had come to mourn him. 

Richter rubbed a stubborn tear from his eye. That wasn’t quite true. Grandma Lydie had been there, face much brighter and braver than the day she had to bury her son and daughter-in-law. At least Grandpa Juste had passed peacefully. That was more than a Belmont usually got. Annette had been at his right side throughout the funeral service, Maria to his left. Both soaked his handkerchief through. Tera sang a lovely song. Doctor Iris stopped by with her apologies. 

That was it. That was all the respect his grandfather had got. It stuck in Richter’s craw. He swatted a bloom away as he stewed in his rage. All of his grandfather’s friends were dead. None of the townspeople had taken the time from their busy lives to see him. Why would they? Who alive remembered the deeds of his youth, the kindness of his twilight? Who recalled running in terror from Dracula’s forces, guided under his wing, being the people’s shield when Richter was their sword? His glory had dulled to his humility. In the end, he was just some old man, just a friendly face with his flower patch, just—Juste.

The thought horrified Richter.

Would the same happen to him? Would people forget the day Dracula rose, set their village ablaze? People had already forgotten his father and mother’s names. Even he hardly remembered how deep and warm his mother’s features were, how golden and steely his father’s gleamed. They were forgotten. Juste was rotting. And Richter, hero of the people, was soon to be worms’ meat, too.

“No!” Richter shouted.

He stomped down. He still had his grandfather’s writings and those of his grandfathers before him. They continued on, back and back, going back to the crusades and their family’s first dreadful encounter with demons. Even if it was just in his family, he would live on. So would Juste, Simon, every Belmont that had ever—

The ground thumped.

Richter raised his head. What was that? A footstep? Too heavy for any of the creatures that lived here. Singular, as well. He glanced around, looking and listening for where that sound had come from. Perhaps a branch had fallen. Maybe a rock rolled downhill. Or perhaps—

Thump. 

“Who’s out there?” Richter reached for his weapon. “Show yourself.”

No one—nothing—responded.

The Belmont huffed. It figured. He slid the Vampire Killer into his right hand, circled about his location. Staying still was inviting a sniper’s arrow. Moving masked the invader’s footsteps. He paused, moved, paused again, went backwards. Nothing he did revealed his stalker. 

“What do you want? Hmm?” The hunter patted his side. “Gold? Blood? My attention? What?” 

“What do you want?” the forest echoed back.

Hair raised from his burly arms. He cursed himself for not grabbing his thicker jacket. Rubbing his left arm, Richter snarled at his stalker. “I’ve made my desires clear. Either show your face or leave me alone.”

“You have,” the forest agreed. “You don’t want to be forgotten.”

Richter raised an eyebrow. Who in the hell could have known that? He picked his brain, trying to put a face to that voice. It sounded so familiar, and yet, nothing like anyone he could remember. “Listen, pal. You’ve got some nerve to—”

“You have two choices,” the forest cut him off. “Come with me.”

“That’s only one choice,” Richter scoffed.

His antagonist repeated itself. “Come with me or else.”

The second option burst from the ground.

White fingers clamped onto his ankle. Richter shouted, snapping at the ground as he tried to fight the ghoul’s pull. Flowers burst beneath the Vampire Killer’s strikes. The smooth hands would not let him go. They dragged Richter down, deeper and deeper, the black earth swallowing his legs. They drew tighter around his waist, chamomile stems winding up his chest and throat, the whole ground trying to pull him into its abyss.

Richter screamed thoughtless words. “Grandpa, let me go!” 

So, he did.

The young man fell onto his knees as the plants shrank back. The velvet-soft, iron-tight grip on his ankle let go. He pulled himself from what would have been his grave, panting and shivering. Richter cursed himself, his nonsensical thoughts. It wasn’t Grandpa Juste. It could never be. He was too pure to be something of the undead. 

That voice. That damned voice. He believed it. 

It lured him again. “Are you ready to come home?” 

“Where is home?” Richter asked.

The voice of the forest laughed again as verdant light blinded the hunter. He held a weathered hand over his eyes, trying to see once again. Just as soon as his sight had cleared, he wished it hadn’t. All around him hovered green spheres, breadcrumbs to the specter’s home. They went to the forest’s edge, through meadow and cave, across seas like St. Elmo’s fire. They raised up, piercing Richter’s heart with poisoned fangs as they came to rest upon jagged clifftops.

Dracula’s Castle. The only place a Belmont really mattered.

The only place Richter belonged.

Chapter Text

"If you've got an ass, I'll kick it!" Richter shouted at the shuddering shadows. 

His taciturn companion was not so boisterous. "May I point out one problem?" 

Alucard didn't really need to say anything. Richter knew how foolish he was when the creature crawled into the light. Not even the kaleidoscopic colors of broken stained-glass windows could tart up the abomination's rotten, seeping skin. Ichor and boiled bones oozed from burst flesh, seeping towards long legs and elegant boots. Richter pushed Alucard and Maria back. He sucked in a breath, his hissing mute compared to the monster's growls. 

It wasn't that the creature didn't have an ass. Technically, it had a lot of asses. They were all just digesting to pieces in its bowels. 

"Maneater?" Richter asked. 

"Of some sort," Alucard nodded. "It's abrasive to weaponry, to say nothing of what it will do to flesh." 

Maria squeaked as one heavy tendril flopped by her ankle. "I can't sic my birds on that! It'll eat them!" 

"Then keep to your spirits." The dhampir pulled Richter back as the black sludge surged forward. "Belmont. Holy water. It should be able to—"

The rest of his strategy went up in a screech as ichor latched onto ivory skin.

Chapter Text

"Careful where you step," was the only warning Alucard gave.

Impossible green waves snaked around their ankles. Each step into the cave brought them deeper into the tangle springing from the earth. Maria and Richter held their lips firm. A plant could not live underground. It needed sunlight, winds, rain. If it were a giant fungus, that would be understandable. But a plant? It was preposterous!

Richter held a hand over a bottle of holy water on his waist. He wanted to pitch it in immediately. If it wasn't for Alucard's insistence on finding out what lived at its depths, he wouldn't have hesitated. Maybe it was unfair for him to assume that whatever this shrubbery was could be responsible for all the missing sheep and shepherds in the area. Still, it didn't look particularly innocent. It wasn't as sweet as his grandfather's garden, at any rate. No flowers, no leaves, no fruit. Just endless vines tipped with coarse fiber, jagged thorns. 

Maria leaned against Alucard's back. "What do you suppose this is?" 

"I am not certain," the dhampir whispered. "Though I've run across some peculiar flora before, I've never seen one of this size."

"It's got to be old to get this big," Richter muttered. 

Alucard nodded. "Well nourished, too." 

Richter scowled at the thought. He doubted it was just the soil feeding this spiraling forest. His boots could hardly find ground through the winding vines. Even Maria's small feet couldn't always find a hole to step into. She flinched as she put her entire weight onto one vine. It didn't react—didn't care. They were no more than flies resting on its stalks.

Low thumping made his stomach churn. It pounded on his eardrums. Mining? No, it couldn't be that. No miner would get this far in without hacking the plant to pieces. His uneasy heart made his mind race. A pulse? Could that be it? That was even more inconceivable! No plant would have blood in its body.

Well, no plants but those of Dracula's.

Richter's arm hair bristled. He was starting to regret taking this job.

"Well, Eagle Eyes?" Richter asked. "See anything?" 

Faint gold light flickered across the cave as Alucard shook his head. "No. I suspect—" 

A pop crushed his thoughts. 

Alucard scowled as he pulled his foot up. Gore stretched between the toe of his boot and the floor. Maria jumped back, one hand over her mouth. Greasy pulp smeared both soil and stems as Alucard placed his foot down once more. In the low light, it was hard to tell if Alucard had stepped in some sort of fruit or the burst remains of a dead lamb. 

Disgust squeaked between Maria's fingers. "It grew through it!" 

She was right. Little green roots speared out of the sheep's carcass. It grew in a hard ball in the cavity of its abdomen, swelling through putrid skin. Curious tendrils unfurled from the corpse. They fell atop bloodied wool, slinking softly as they spread themselves out.  Both Maria and Richter flinched as it reached towards them, bobbing up and down from the ground. 

Richter yanked the bottle from his belt. "Get back. I'm burning this!" 

"Don't be rash," Alucard grumbled. He stepped around the rotten body, nose crinkled. "We may trap ourselves in here, if we are not careful. It's best to start a controlled burn, rather than—"

The shifting plant stabbed through his plans. 

A red blur slammed Alucard into a wall. It laced between growths, embedding itself inside soft, warm flesh. Maria's screams were louder than Alucard's. Her fear was white hot. Blinding embers surrounded her as she reached for Alucard's body. Richter flinched. The cave was thrashing, livid—alive.

More fire flashed at his feet. He slammed the holy water vial into the ground. Burning rain tore fluid from vines, sent the whole cave shuddering with smoke and flames. In the raging fire, he saw Maria pull tendrils from Alucard's stomach. The heat that fell from him was red, wet, cascading. He collapsed on her shoulder, knocking both into the putrid gore on the floor. Maria jammed her hands into Alucard's side. She could stem the flow of blood, or she could support him as they tried to escape. She could not do both.

"Richter!" Maria cried out.

Tough hands folded over soft fingers. Scarlet mist seeped through both. Alucard coughed, putting everything in his body into pulling his blood back. More escaped from his lips. Richter shivered. There was no time to waste. Damn the bounty, damn the sheep, and damn this monster! They had to get out before they were all fertilizer!

Richter yanked Alucard up, holding the dhampir's bleeding side against his own. "Torch it!" 

Even pitiful, dribbling fireballs joined divine scorching as the trio ran for their lives.

Chapter Text

There were no birds singing in the forest. Not that the black shadow passing through its winding groves minded. He was a man of silence, his words too rich for him to spend carelessly. Talking was the labor of others, not a prince, disgraced as he was. Nobody did that work—filled that void. There was no idle chatter, no long-winded gossip, no off-key singing or coy flirting or any gush of sound. 

In absence of that warmth, the world was silent and cold. 

The graceful shadow pulled a strand of hair back, tucking it behind a pointed ear. Though his hearing was better than an average human's, he could hear nothing more than the soft padding of fresh, fallen leaves beneath his feet. There should have been some animal, right? A rabbit, a wolf, a songbird. Something. Yet, in the verdant spring of life around him, flesh and blood were gone.

He swallowed, his throat dry. If Maria was here—

"Hey!" A strong hand yanked him back. "Hold up! Your cloak's caught." 

The wanderer paused. His companion was right. Pinched between the ragged bark of a rotting log was the end of his cape. He reached down to fish it out, but his friend's fingers were faster. With a sharp tug, the hunter snapped it free. Two sets of teeth sucked in air as they realized the friend's mistake. Cotton frayed between calloused fingers, the silken lining inside ripped into thin threads.

"Damn it," the hunter grumbled. "Sorry about that, Alucard." 

Sighing, Alucard plucked his cape away from clumsy fingers. "Do not fret, Richter. I will mend it later." 

A mighty snort ripped its way from Richter's nose. "Like you sew." He shook his head, wild, dark curls bouncing against his sharp cheekbones. "If I were you, I'd leave that to Maria. She's got a steady hand, and—"

Richter stopped rambling as Alucard's face fell. 

The hunter slapped himself. Of course, Alucard was miserable. On a good day, he was little better than a silver-lined storm cloud. Only Maria seemed capable of turning his cold, morose condition away. Given how long she had been missing—the days of travel and nights spent shouting her name into the countryside—it was no wonder Alucard was both in pain and a pain in the ass. He tried to keep his expression as smooth and unbroken as polished marble, but he couldn't do it. It was at times like this that Richter could tell that Alucard was part human—that he loved and hurt as badly as the hunter could.

Sighing, he clapped a hand on Alucard's shoulder. "Well, when we find her."

"As you say," Alucard agreed.

Richter's eyebrows arched. "We will find her."

Alucard nodded in turn. "So I hope." 

He turned his head up, chin pointed towards the canopy. Not that he expected Maria to be in the trees above him, but he thought something would have to be around. What could have lived in these woods? What would have scared them off? There had to be birds, at least. Sparrows, nuthatches, waxwings, wrens, owls—

Richter's voice boomed in his left ear. "Just what are you looking for?"

The dhampir huffed. Richter could be so nosy. "Birds. Odd that none are around, don't you think?"

"It is rather dead, now that you've mentioned it." Richter folded his arms, the brawn beneath his jacket straining it as hard as his brain was now working. "The only places like this are—well, the ones your father has taken over."

"That's not quite true," Alucard pointed out. "There are usually zombies or some sort of undead roaming his conquered territories. It's never quite devoid of life."

Richter rolled his eyes. Like the undead and the living had the same spark of life. He skipped past Alucard's odd view, keeping to the task at hand. "Well, we know there's got to be one living thing in here, right? At least, that's what the locals kept saying." 

"I don't know how well we can take the word of panicked, superstitious villagers," Alucard replied. 

"Oh, ho! Mister High Horse, coming in to educate the common folk." Richter leaned down, speaking with a dopey voice as he shuffled past Alucard. "Please, mister. Tell us'n how there could be not no ferocious monster in these here woods!" 

"I never said anything of the sort!" The dhampir turned his nose away. "You humans have the tendency to blow events out of proportion. What was just a mere sighting could have been anything from a trick of the light to—"

Richter pushed his chest out, holding himself as proudly as Alucard did. "You huuumans, with your silly little superstitions and putting disgusting garlic on everything and—"

Alucard turned back. "I sound nothing like that."

"You do, too!" The hunter poked his friend in the chest, beaming as the dhampir flinched. "Maybe you don't have your head that far up your ass, but—"

A screech cut through their argument. 

The dhampir went straight as a lance. He raised his hand, embers fanning beneath his fingertips. Richter snapped his whip from his hip, the weapon's length slapping against the forest floor, drawing a bloom of dust. Both dropped their stances as gold and gray eyes clapped upon their intruder. They grumbled in a deep chord.

It was just an owl. 

"And here, I thought we were going to get some action," Richter muttered. 

Alucard pursed his lips into a small smirk, one eyebrow pulling back. "Why, Richter. Don't you know a ferocious monster when you see one?" 

As the hunter rolled his whip back, he sulked. "Been following one all day."

The dig slid off Alucard's shoulders. He was more focused on their interloper. It was a bit too early for an owl to be on the hunt. Any sensible predator would have waited for the sun to finish setting before coming out. He tipped his head, slow to approach the owl. What an odd color it was, too. White was not a color that blended well into the forest. And those eyes—

How many owls had eyes like the sea?

Alucard held his breath as he neared the bird. It fluffed up, agitated. The dhampir stopped. There was a strange aura to the bird, some peculiar scent or weird energy. Even beneath four layers of clothing, the dhampir shivered. Some painful nostalgia left him cold, wanting. 

He raised his hand to the owl, waving it down. "Come. I won't—"

Another scream cut across his ear.

The dhampir jerked back as a second set of golden claws tore against his head. Heat tacked down his hair. He touched his exposed ear, grimacing as he drew back bloody fingertips. Two shadows cut over him as he recovered from the sudden attack. Where had that damned second owl come from? They had traveled alone all day, and now, they were being bombarded by birds!

Richter sucked in his breath. "Alucard."

"It's nothing." The dhampir batted away Richter's concerns. "Merely a scratch. It will heal soon." 

The vampire hunter spun him around, yanked him forward by his cape. "That second one—that was Maria's!"

Alucard jolted upright. Richter was correct. They knew that prissy bastard of an owl anywhere. He was just as territorial and protective of Maria as the two men were. The only difference was Maria allowed him to be so fickle. Certainly, she could fight, cut any man down to size. All the same, birds came to her calling, ripped and shredded enemies with nails sharper than she could ever grow. They were her blade—her shield. 

And they were escaping. 

"After them!" Richter shouted.

He shoved his hand forward, pushing Alucard on. It passed through mist where the dhampir once stood. Alucard was two steps ahead of him, his shattered thoughts snapping back together. No feet could catch up to the two fleeing birds in a forest this thick and overgrown. Wings could. So, Alucard grew them—gave up every last part of his beauty to become a simple bat.

Well, perhaps a bat with a few minor accessories. Like he could fool anyone into thinking he was a normal creature with a tiny crown and sword. 

Freed from the earth, Alucard cut through the forest. Richter disappeared quickly behind him, his shouts staying only a few seconds longer. He couldn't slow down for the beleaguered human. The two owls were little more than blips in black and tan trees striping the forest. If he was ever to find Maria, he couldn't lose them.

Twisting, rushing, diving—the dhampir rushed faster and faster onwards. Bark whipped past his fur, taking tufts from his stomach. Orange heat poured in from the horizon. Alucard swallowed, tongue clicking against his fangs. The sun was fading fast. His magic was seeping away faster. Wild energy ripped across his shoulders and wings as he swerved through another massive trunk. He was just upon them, white tails and wings splaying, driving on like spooked horses. 

All three broke the forest's edge.

Alucard jerked back. Beady eyes flared open. There, gouging through the sunset-bathed canopy of the forest, was an old castle towering beside a murky pond. The roofing was sliding off, plopping into the water in shattered pieces. One spire was torn in two, its head buried beneath the pond's surface. Its heart was glowing with candlelight, forlorn cries wailing from deep within its walls. Alucard's stomach dropped. It sounded like the howls of ghosts.

He darted around, trying to find his quarry once more. They disappeared into the castle's shadow, the sunset shielding them from his hunt. Irritation huffed out of curled nostrils. Damn it all! His plans scattered with the last rays of light. If he couldn't find those birds again—if Richter was lost back in the thick of the woods—if Maria was in that castle, suffering—

The last of his energy burned out with the fleeing sun.

Alucard was vaguely aware of his latest mistake as winds rushed between his fingertips. The matter he had shed to take on his new, tiny form all came rushing back, the magic power he had used to keep his beauty away depleted. Some use his looks would be when they were splattered on the ground beneath him. The dhampir glanced below his legs, fighting the urge to scream in sheer terror. The pond! It was his only chance!

He arched forward, his hands folded together as he aimed for his only salvation. Nervous teeth clamped onto his lip. The sting of water against his head was his next misery. All thoughts in his head vacated with a slap on his skull. His body sank, speeding towards the pond's bottom. Darkness drenched him, took him into its icy clasp. 

Then, there was air—warmth. 

An ungainly pop broke the surface of the pond. Alucard coughed, legs churning as he tried to keep afloat. Steady arms pulled him to the pond's edge. He stumbled onto its banks, clothes heavy with cold water. He expected nothing more than wet sand to comfort his aching head. Instead, he found rest on soft, smooth legs.

Alucard glanced up, doubting his spinning vision. "Maria?"

He refused to believe his luck. This was some sort of trap, wicked magic from the eerie castle trying to draw him in. Gentle fingers on his temples tried to coax him out of his doubt. Nothing more than his own deduction would satisfy him. He fought to sit up, eyes forced open by his fingers. There before him was the color that greeted him after every nightmare—sapphires like the dark waves of the sea framed in gold.

She grabbed him again, fingers clenched in wet finery and sopping hair.

All he could ask as they shivered was, "Where have you been?" It came again and again, his stone mask cracked and crumbling. "Where have you been? All this time...all this time..."

"It's complicated," Maria laughed, her tears soaking him again. Her dread was too heavy for her to keep her head lifted. "God, why did you have to find me?" 

His heart was the next to shatter. The dhampir sat up, hurt and confused. "What do you mean by that?" 

That question was even harder for her to answer. "You fool." She curled into his chest, salty tears sliding over his drenched cravat. "He will want you, too. He won't let you leave."

Though everything else in Alucard was breaking, his mind was still sharp. Maria was a hostage? Who could possibly keep her imprisoned? She had the power of four gods on her side. No mere brick and mortar could cage her. Whoever had her in his thrall was a man stronger than the divine. 

Or, perhaps worse—a demon in his own right.

"Who is your captor? How is he holding you?" Alucard took Maria's shoulders, pulling her back straight. "You are not bound by any chains. Come. Richter and I will take you home." 

"I-I can't go home. Not like this." Gold hair curled with her frustration. "God, why did you have to see me like that?"

The dhampir stared at her. See her like what—like the wonderful young lady she was? He couldn't take his eyes off of her. So many weeks she had been missing—so long since he had last seen her—and she wanted him to flee? There was a time when he could have buried himself and forgotten her, but that had long since passed. She thought he had to be in the human world. So, there he would remain.  So would she.

How could she ever be ashamed of her appearance? Her inner warmth shined through her skin. Her smile lit up the night brighter than the fullest moon. Maybe her hair would blanch to match him one day, her body age and wither, but her eyes would always have those surging blue-green tempests, cutting him to the bone when he made her mad and soothing him when—

Wait. Her eyes.

He had seen them just a few minutes ago.

"That owl. Was that—" Alucard pulled himself back. "No." 

Maria's grin collapsed under her grief. "Every day. Every day, I have to turn into that. And if I want to be myself at night, I have to come back to this awful place and—"

She wilted. Alucard did not let her fall. He held her again, thoughts clearing, agony stronger than before. Shapeshifting was difficult magic for anyone to master, even one as blessed as Maria. Forcing it on another living being, even more troublesome. Anyone that could twist Maria around was powerful—dangerous. Someone Alucard had to take down.

Sharp teeth tore through the dark forest. "This will be the last day you suffer this fate." He pulled her up once more, anger in his irises flaring. "Once Richter arrives, we shall lay siege on this place and slay—"

"Don't you think we've tried to fight him off?" Maria hissed. 

"We?" the dhampir echoed. 

Maria pointed into the castle's glowing innards. "I'm not the first girl he's taken." 

Dozens of bell-shaped shadows rustled in the windows, spilling out into the shimmering lake. Alucard stood up, took count of every head in every window. Not even his womanizing father had taken these many hostages at once. Certainly, he liked female companionship, but only one at a time. One lure to trap hunters, one meal to satiate his thirst, one woman to wind back the hands of every clock in the castle and bring him back to the blissful days of his past. 

His father was selfish and greedy. This swine, with his imprisoned harem? Repulsive.

Alucard drew his sword. "Maria. Stand."

She did so. "Please, Alucard. Listen to me!" 

"If your own safety is not motivation enough to fight, then help me save them," Alucard murmured.

The distressed damsel groaned. Why did the dhampir have to be so damned determined? "Alucard, just—"

"Who dares set foot in my kingdom?!"

Wraiths tore away from the windows, screaming as a gargantuan shadow overtook them. He had shoulders wider than five men, standing as tall as an ogre. His mane fell in ragged curls over smooth fabric, nose blunt and pressed down, breath thick enough to curl like smoke from a chimneystack. Thin lips twisted from a thickly folded frown into a yellow, gleaming smile. Maria shuddered, reached over Alucard's chest, held him back. There was nothing her tiny form could do to shield her companion from the demon's gaze—the lust tripping from his bared mouth.

"Another lost maiden?" The towering shadow laughed. "My, how lovely. You will make a splendid addition to my realm." 

Alucard stiffened. "I am no maiden!" 

His building retort was silenced by Maria's elbow in his gut. She turned back to glance at him, demanding only one thing of him. "Run." 

 "I will not," the dhampir refused. He pulled from her protection, careful of her presence as he raised his sword. "Beast! Your cruelty ends tonight! Surrender your prisoners, or I shall break their bonds and your bones!" 

His challenge earned him nothing. Not a derisive laugh. Not a jeer. Barely a twinkle in the giant's eye. Alucard held his ground, listening for the spring of a trap or friendly footsteps. Richter was much better at these sorts of rescues. Alucard needed his back-up—Maria's magic. It was taking both humans longer to step to his side than he anticipated. 

Longer than the time he had to spare. 

A silver flash snapped in the beast's eye. It cracked across the pond, racing straight for the defiant knight. Maria held him back, stomped into the ground. From the earth sprang hexagonal plating—a manifestation of the Black Tortoise of the North. It caught the bolt, sending it scattering in a blast of white lightning. Alucard flinched at the sudden impact. Even on the edge of twilight, it was as blinding as staring into the midday sun.

Maria's captor mocked her efforts. "How many times will I have to strike you this time, girl?" 

"How dare you!" Alucard snarled. 

"Don't listen to him!" Maria rebuked Alucard. "Just run!" 

He turned to Maria, hair falling into his face as he shook his head. "How could I ever—"

Agony lanced his heart. 

At first, he thought it was breaking for Maria. Splintering mana proved him wrong. Maria's spell was fractured, her power as hollow as her cursed bones. The demon's unholy glare found purchase in Alucard's chest. It was as awful as being impaled by iron fresh from the forger's fire. He gasped, unable to breathe. Every last one of his cells was scorched by lighting. He didn't feel the crack of earth behind his head, Maria's hands and tears on his skin as she tried to get him up. 

The night went impossibly white, then devoid of anything. 

Alucard did not expect to wake up.

He was used to nightmares. He had lived nearly seventy years under his father's torment, the rest bound in what was supposed to be eternal sleep. In a way, his life had been nothing but locked in terror. That was why he latched so hard onto the chest he was sleeping against, coughing and sputtering as he revived. He was alive—free—and he was not going to be dragged under again.

"Easy! Easy." A hand rubbed against his head, stroking his cheek with its thumb. "Geez, Al. You're a little pain in the ass, you know that?" 

Little? Alucard was hardly that. Perhaps he was built trimly, but he still stood at least half a foot over most humans. Who was Richter to call him little? The dhampir grimaced, then burrowed into Richter's jacket again. Richter was here. Late, but like Alucard could call him out on that, considering it took him a year to respond to Richter's plight. 

What had happened to Maria? Those poor women? That madman in the castle's window? 

He opened his mouth to ask those precise questions.

All that came out was screeching. 

Alucard clapped his fingers over his nose. It was long, coated in black fur, ending in curled nostrils. The dhampir jolted again. His fingers shot out as long as his body, webbing arching between each spindly digit. He curled about in Richter's lap, searching over himself again and again. This was his bat form! What was he doing already transformed? He never did that in his sleep, so—

He looked at Richter, eyes wide, fearful of his cursed fate. 

Richter sighed. "I suppose you can't tell me what happened, can you?"

Chapter Text

She sank with her falling tears.

How could she have forgotten? She was a woman with power. To most people—to men with power to lose—she was the most frightening creature in the world. The villagers from her hometown never treated her as violently as these people did. To them, she was still sweet Maria, young Maria, the little girl that Richter had plucked from Dracula's fangs and then punched them out. They weren't afraid of her magic. She protected them, worshipped with them, laughed and smiled and danced. These people didn't know that, though. All they saw was a woman attacking a mugger with a dragon. 

Even the innocents she had saved used the same word for her. Witch. Maria Renard, a witch!

She knew what these people would do to witches.

She could hear the villagers even now, gathering timber and dry grass. Pitchforks dragged against the earth, flames whipping through the air. So what if she had escaped them for now? It wouldn't be long until they found the dusty little shed that she and Alucard cowered inside. They had to think of a plan as soon as possible. Run, fight, prove Maria's purity. Something. Anything. 

Maria's mind was paralyzed.

So was Alucard's.

"I suppose you don't have a plan?" Maria sniffled. 

Alucard could hardly breathe. His face was frozen, lips pulled into a slight gasp. Nervous fingers fussed with his cravat. They gripped, squeezed, squirmed. He rested himself against the wall, struggled to keep his legs beneath him. The only thing that didn't move was his gaze. He stared straight through Maria, his eyes ringed with red. 

Maria wiped her tears away, streaking her face with mud. "Alucard?"

"Distraction. We need one." His words were short, disjointed. "I could slip out and make. But, if I leave you....If they..."

"Then, we run together." Maria laid herself against his wall. She arched away from cracks in the door, trying not to think of the embers rolling by. "We-we'll go to the woods. We can make it back home by foot, right?"

He shook his head. "They'll send hunters."

She perked up. "Then, we beat them." 

"If they hurt you..." Alucard's knees buckled. "I can't. Not again." 

Maria tipped her head. "Alucard?" 

The dhampir was out of air. He slipped down, hair sticking to the rough wood. Maria landed next to him. She couldn't believe the storm clouding Alucard's eyes, the glaze that froze his eyelids back. This wasn't like him at all. He was supposed to be haughty, spine held taut, confident in his blade and black magic. Even if he wouldn't swear vows, he would fulfill every challenge given to him. What had poisoned him, snapped his back? 

This was not the right time to ask. Maria had to, all the same. "What happened?" 

All Alucard could wheeze was, "My mother."

Maria knew more than she ever cared for about Alucard's father. His mother was a completely different story. Not that he hid who she was, but he only spoke about her in small amounts. When he was reading. When Maria was cooking. When they were sick, pouring over the remnants of his mother's records, trying in vain to find the right remedy before ichor could spew out of them again. Maria knew that Alucard once had a mother, that he loved her, and that she was long gone. But, until now, that was it.

She looked out to the masses with smoldering torches and saw his mother's fate. 

No word she could ever say would be enough of a balm for that wound. She knew that pain all too well. The Belmonts were her family because she had none left. Her mother and father were devoured by the monster that had sired her faithful companion. Their screams haunted her. Even in her nightmares, she could still see them, could still watch black and blue robes run red with blood. 

Those images were behind her eyelids, threatening to haunt her at any moment. Alucard's nightmare was right before their eyes—ready to play out again.

She forced his shut with a single kiss. 

Her guts always twisted when she was intimate with him. He was cold, dry, so easy to ignite. A single touch would melt his skin. Yet, he let Maria burn him down. She, with her energy and fire, always swirling and churning, had earned the love of wicks and wax. She knew her power over him. That was why she had to build him back up, mold his spirit with her own. The cracks in his vertebrae were hers to fill, his hair hers to smooth, his tears her joy to clear away.

The heat outside their hiding place was nothing compared to the warmth between them. Maria stroked Alucard's jaw, rested her forehead against his. He laid his right hand against her left shoulder. Trembling, it struggled to reach around her. She closed the gap, crushed his broken heart against hers. Finally, arms folded behind her back. Shaking breaths stilled. Red eyes faded to gold, fear smothered. 

Maria brushed one last tear away, then tucked a rogue strand of hair behind Alucard's ear. "I'm sorry." 

"So am I," Alucard conceded. "I will save you. Just give me a moment to find the best way to do so." 

His confidence drew a smile from her. "Don't think I'm letting you do it all by yourself, Mister." 

Chapter Text

Guilt cut Lyudmil down long before the incubus' claws did.

He deserved this death—deserved to be ripped into gorey little hunks. His victims' blood should drain free from his body. How many women had he killed? Girls? Three hundred and fifty years, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. How many of those days did he really need to eat? How many times had he killed just for the thrill of it? To do what—to cause nightmares? To appease his master?

No. His true master was here, and he had broken his heart.

That tore Lyudmil up. He froze pale, fell forward, begged on his knees for forgiveness. All that came from his throat was stolen blood. He coughed, splattering an angel-soft face with foul humanity. He'd ruined him. Hurt him. Failed him.

It was easy to die, knowing he deserved it.

Living was a bit of a surprise.

Lyudmil wasn't certain what tipped him off. Maybe, it was the cool moisture dotting his lips. Maybe, it was the softness of the material beneath his back. Maybe even his stinging wounds gashed him from his nightmares. All he knew was that he was alive—well, as alive as a vampire could be—and that he did not deserve to be.

There were very few clues to his location. The dry, static-riddled air of the abandoned church was replaced by something humid, gentle. Darkness swathed him. Perhaps, a crypt, then. Not that the graveyards around here could afford a coffin this lush. He ran a finger down its side. Ebony wood. Red satin. A single pillow, firm, but pleasing enough. 

There was dirt, wine, sweet blood.

Lyudmil reached out. He pushed against the lid of the coffin, senses kicked wide awake. He wanted that blood. Its flavor. No, its favor. Chills ran down Lyudmil's back. It couldn't be. He couldn't be so lucky.

He looked over the lid of his coffin and found treasure in the dark.

Silver fell from an alabaster brow. It covered two golden, shining rings. Pale lips parted, revealing coral membranes set behind diamond-bright teeth. Lyudmil's heart raced. He did not feel worthy to be by anyone so splendorous. Who would dare put a rotting corpse beside the crown jewel of Castle Dracula?

He did not feel worthy of saying his companion's name, never-the-less his title. "Master." 

Dark, gentle chords soothed him. "Lyudmil."

"Where..." the vampire peeked out of his coffin, fearful of the tiniest shimmer in the shadows. "Where am I?"

"My home," his master answered him.

Home? Did he mean Castle Dracula? That was impossible. Dozens of men and women had smashed it to rubble. His master himself, twice. But, what other home could there be for someone like his master?

That didn't matter, to Lyudmil. Home was where his master said it was.

"Why have you taken me here?" he asked. 

Lightning split from flashing eyes. "To take care of you."

Lyudmil hung his head. Well, there was a hundred ways to do that. Perhaps the wisest would have been a stake through the heart. He wasn't sure why he wasn't dead, anyway. The sun should have burned him on the spot. Magnus' claws, torn him to pieces. Standing in the presence of the Belmont clan's Vampire Killer should have been more than enough to kill him. 

But, his master's way hurt the most of all.

He was killing his servant with kindness.

"May I check your injuries?" his master asked. 

Who was Lyudmil to refuse him? "Of course, Master."

Sparkling fire filled an open palm. Gentle fingers guided it to an oil lamp. In the low light, Lyudmil was dazzled. His master was still splendorous, like a rose frozen by time. A soft sorrow filled his empty heart. He remembered their long-lost youth, days spent in the summer breeze, sunlight burning wax-soft skin. He could never see his master in such glory again. Not without scalding his eyes out.

Shame coated his skin. What had he become? He was frozen too, but not in the same lovely way as his master. He should have rotted away by now. His bones and flesh should have been nothing more than dust. His heart was lead, blood black, eyes as raw as the gore he craved. Lyudmil was the grave incarnate, hungry, yearning to fill himself with nothing more than worms' meat. 

And yet, his master did not fear him—not even the ravenous teeth to his endless maw.

Racing thoughts were stilled by a single summon. "Lyudmil?

"Yes, Master?" he answered.

The slightest bit of irritation crinkled his master's smooth brow. "Please, stop calling me Master."

He may as well have asked Lyudmil to stop calling Istanbul Constantinople. Still, for his master, he would try anything. "Yes, Ma—Alucard." 

His compliance earned him a slim grin. "How are you feeling, Lyudmil?" 

"Strange," the vampire replied.

Alucard nodded. "I did not think a vampire would be so severely affected by the toxin from an incubus' claws, but—"

"What?" Realization dropped onto Lyudmil's head. Alucard was checking his wounds, not the holes in his soul. "No. My injuries aren't bothering me. It's merely..."

He couldn't finish his thoughts. Not with eyes that brilliant locked onto his.

Lyudmil let his head drop back into his coffin. He felt like a fool. What was he supposed to say to Alucard? That he looked wonderful? Beautiful? Like he hadn't aged a day? How could three hundred and fifty years go by? How could he pretend that Alucard was still the same teen ripped from his arms? If he was, it made his pining all the worse. Alucard was a fish out of the sea, fascinated with humanity. Lyudmil was no human anymore. Nothing that deserved such kind attention.

Pain flushed through atrophied nerves. "I wish that I could still cry."

Long hair fell into his coffin. "Lyudmil?" 

"You..." he could hardly say the poisonous words on his tongue. "You should have killed me, Alucard."

Lyudmil couldn't see what precisely broke inside of Alucard. He could hear it. It came out of the dhampir's throat in a small crack. A thought not fully formed. A protest silenced. Logic and emotion crashing together, shattering thoughts.

All Alucard could murmur was, "Why?"

"You know what I am." Lyudmil turned his face away, ashamed to bare his teeth. "I'm...I'm a monster."

Alucard nodded. "And that is my fault."

Lyudmil's shame shattered. He snapped around, staring into eyes glowing with celestial luster. It wasn't right! His master was—and his wounds had been—and he could hardly remember, but the creature on his neck—the weeping and gnashing of teeth, that night—

Perhaps it was true. Perhaps, Alucard had made him a vampire. That didn't mean Alucard made him a monster. Magnus' tricks—no, Lyudmil's actions—had done that.

"I don't..." Needy fingers reached out. Lyudmil brought them back. The last thing he wanted to do was touch Alucard's skin—leave any bruises on him. "It's not...oh, Alucard."

The dhampir's head fell. "You never could see me as a monster, could you, Lyudmil?"

"Absolutely not," the vampire replied.

"Neither could the people of this village. Not Richter, and not Maria." Alucard turned towards a distant door, staring to lands Lyudmil had only stumbled through in complete darkness. "Though I am not human, they treat me kindly, as if I were one of their own. To not extend the favor to you would make me a monster."

Cold tranquility shocked a beat from a dead heart. What was Alucard doing? Forgiving him? How could he? Lyudmil knew too well of his sins. He could remember every pulse stilled beneath his fingertips, the taste of bubbling fear at his lips, the sound of drained bodies hitting cobblestone roads like a dried husk. He was a murderer of the worst sort. Consistent. Hunting the weak. Repeating the motion again and again, smiling, fueled by violence.

He couldn't accept Alucard's forgiveness, no matter how splendorous it was. "You know what I have done."

Alucard nodded. "So do Richter and Maria." 

"You know I must have blood. Fresh blood." Lyudmil shuddered just at the thought of a piping hot meal. "And the only way to get that is—"

Lyudmil's thoughts came to a screeching halt as Alucard threw him onto another track. "Lyudmil. You remember my mother, don't you?"

"Lady Lisa. Of course." Lyudmil bowed his head. "I will never forget her."

Alucard lifted his head, keeping it even, as if he were wearing a crown. "How do you suppose she lived so long, in my father's presence?"

Lyudmil stopped. 

To be honest, he had never sat down and thought about it. Lisa was gone well before Lyudmil had sought refuge in her final home. He knew of her talents, her gentleness, the same twinkle in her eyes that Alucard now carried. He knew who she loved. How much she loved. The fruit of such love. 

She was a human. Alucard's father, a monster.

And yet, it was not monsters that had killed her.

"There must have been others Dracula fed from," Lyudmil murmured.

Alucard nodded. "Sometimes, when there is no choice, so do I."

The thought of Alucard being reduced to a carrion's diet made Lyudmil's stomach tangle. "Alucard?"

"When winters run long, and there is little food to be had, I forego eating human meals. The local butcher's shop supplies me with...leftovers." The dhampir dropped his head, unable to hold eye-contact with Lyudmil's swelling eyes. "Barring even that, the blood from three rats are enough to satisfy me for a day."

"Master..." The thought of eating something so low made even a vampire sick. "That's..."

Conviction forced Alucard to lock eyes with Lyudmil again. "Lyudmil, what did I ask of you?"

The frosty chill in his former master's voice pierced Lyudmil's winding thoughts. How strange it was, to address Alucard so freely. Stranger still, how he had changed. It was difficult for Lyudmil to see past his companion's youthful mask. Three hundred and fifty years had changed Alucard. Glamor fell to practicality. Self-loathing to acceptance. His needs to those of others.

It made Lyudmil ashamed. "To think you have had to consume such vile things, Alucard..."

"I took such actions so the humans I cherish can live." Alucard folded his hands in his lap. "Our instincts can be controlled, Lyudmil. Used for the betterment of everyone, not just ourselves. I wish for you to learn that same control."

"Alucard..." Lyudmil shook his head. "I...I don't know if I am strong enough to do that."

Thin fingers tightened. "You must, Lyudmil."

Dark thoughts swirled like a storm within the vampire's head. "What if I can't?"

Alucard's answer haunted him. "I cannot bear to kill you again."

Truth ripped the mask from Alucard's face. Wretched, squirming fear writhed beneath his placid demeanor. It made Lyudmil sick. Alucard was responsible for one man's death. Lyudmil was responsible for the deaths of thousands. Their lack of control would drain the life from the world. There would be no more dancing women, no more tavern songs, no more boys and girls sharing flowers and love. Nothing Alucard loved.

To see Alucard without love would truly be watching his best friend die.

Lyudmil couldn't kill him, either.

Creaking wood cracked him out of his dark thoughts. Lyudmil glanced up. He could see slivers of light through planks. Nothing so fatal as to kill him, but annoying enough. He watched shadows fall, listening to a dissonant tune being belted above him. Not quite the song of angels, from what he could here. Still, its presence filled the dark recess with an uplifting beat.

It was all Lyudmil could do not to laugh. "Who is that up there?"

"Maria." Alucard sighed. "I do apologize for her loudness, but—"

"That human girl that came after you?" Lyudmil struggled to hold his shaking head fast. "Do you know nothing about housing wolves with lambs, Alucard?" 

"Neither of you are mere animals," the dhampir replied. "You are stronger than your instincts, and she is stronger than both of us."

One single laugh escaped Lyudmil. "To think that a woman finally tamed you, Alucard." He leaned back, his grin sly. "And to think of all those times I had to defend you from harpies and succubi..."

Alucard followed Lyudmil with a smirk of his own. "You may have been a shield to my spine, Lyudmil, but I have not forgotten where you sheathed your sword."

Cold blood boiled.

Well, Lyudmil certainly hadn't forgotten about that, either.

It was all he could do to search for anything else to look at. His friend's face was too beautiful, too stirring. Lyudmil's heart was still, his lungs squeezed flat. Other parts of him were more that roused at the mere memory of his companionship with Alucard. He needed to think of something pure. Small. White. Charming. 

He narrowed his gaze on a small table.

Tiny flowers spilled from a simple vase. They fell as light as snow. With one sniff, Lyudmil could tell what they were. He had seen them everywhere in his youth, tumbling from baskets, weaved into thick hair. Their light scent was as refreshing as a cool breeze.

"Don't tell me," Lyudmil chuckled. "Those are—"

"Indeed," the dhampir agreed. "The ones from the meadow."

So, they were for him. Lyudmil tried not to sigh. It was a lovely gesture, but a foolish one. "This is no place for flowers, Alucard. There's no sunlight down here. They're just going to die." 

"They have already been picked, Lyudmil." A growing frown pinched Alucard's jaws shut. "They are already..."

The vampire knew what the last word in that sentence was. Dead. Gone. Just like him. Just as pale, too. At least, they were better smelling. Unable to hurt people. Not something people ran from.

And yet, Alucard didn't run from him—even as he now was.

Lyudmil reached out. He took ahold of silk-smooth hair, stroking it out of a worried face. "They're lovely, Alucard. Thank you."

Finally, the weight of Alucard's frown disappeared. "You are welcome, Lyudmil."

Sharp teeth made a wicked smile even more diabolical. "However, I will need more of them."

"Pardon?" Alucard asked.

"Well, you can't make a flower crown out of so few!" Lyudmil teased.

"Ah..." The dhampir's sigh was light, warm. "You would know better than I."

Lyudmil pushed himself upright. He leaned out of his coffin, about as subtle as a nymph bathing in a meadow's pond. "I suppose you wouldn't be interested in learning how to make a garland, now, would you?"

The purity in Alucard's response lifted Lyudmil's spirit. "Very much so."

"Very well, then!" The vampire met the dhampir's sparkling eyes, basking in their brilliance. "When you get some time, I will need you to gather at least fifty of them."

"Fifty?" Alucard repeated.

"Indeed!" Lyudmil chuckled. "It'll be enough for both you and I to make one."

A single nod cemented Alucard's agreement. "I see."

"Then, when we are done with them, we can give them to Maria." Lyudmil tipped his head, his smile as genuine as it had been in life. "She'd like them, don't you think?"

His sentiments confused Alucard. "I suppose so. Though, wearing two crowns at once may be a bit much, even for her."

Lyudmil flicked a strand of Alucard's hair back at his friend. "Well, white flowers wouldn't stand out on us."

It was an unfortunate side effect of their condition. From now until the end of their miserable lives, they would be as pale as corpses. Yet, it didn't seem to hold Alucard's grace back. Perhaps Lyudmil couldn't evaluate himself in a mirror anymore, but he still had the judgment of a good friend. As long as Alucard's eyes glimmered when he looked at him, that would be enough.

Lyudmil let his head tip. "Though, if you could get me another color..."

Alucard nodded. "Name it." 

"These flowers also grow in shades of yellow," Lyudmil explained. "They would be a perfect match for your eyes."

Chapter Text

Heat radiated from quivering shoulders, burning Richter's fingers.

The hunter balked. What was he to do? The only remedy he could give Alucard for his pain flowed through his veins. Fallen leaves didn't make for any reliable gurney. The only protection they had was the rosy streaks of light creeping through the forest. Even it tangled in blanketing mist. 

It couldn't be helped. Alucard needed to rest. 

"There." Richter nodded towards the gaping hollow of a fallen trunk. "Lay down. I'll cover you." 

Alucard shook his head. "Closer. Just a little..."

Wherever he thought he was going, the journey was too far. Swifter came the ground. Richter caught him before he could crash nose-first into the forest floor. Both men flinched, groaning. Poorly mended wounds tore. They drew blood, gasps from a slender throat. Richter hissed in turn. Some nursemaid he was! If the dhampir's ego didn't break him, Richter would. 

Any protests left on Alucard's tongue stayed there. He swiveled on weak ankles, then leaned towards the gaping trunk. Richter lowered him into its pulpy center. Rustling followed his fingertips, leaves swishing aside as he readjusted the dhampir's cape to fall over his frame. One more layer fell. It coated him in royal blue, its dye radiating coolly over cold skin. 

"Aren't..." Lancing ribs pricked into Alucard's thoughts. It took him a moment to swallow his pain. "Please...you need this." 

"I'm fine," Richter deflected. "You're not." 

If it were any other day, Alucard would have argued with him. He was delicate, frilly, and vain, but he was still a man. He carried his pain beneath a stone-still face, always fighting to keep it raised. Not even vitality as overflowing as his could struggle forever. His stubbornness kept putting him in coffins. 

Even now, it was forcing him to speak. "I am sorry." 

"Don't apologize," Richter huffed. "Just rest. We can move when you're ready." 

Leaves crinkled as a heavy head shook. "This is my fault." 

No. Really, Richter had nobody to blame but himself. He was always getting ahead of everyone, always trying to crack the toughest shells first. Sometimes, not even a jaw as strong as his could crush it. He was a lot of flesh and bone, but that just left more nerves to hit. 

If he had only seen that axe behind him—if he had just turn around or jumped away—

His fingers trembled as he put a hand on Alucard's shoulder. The dhampir hissed, but he didn't pull away. He clenched his eyes shut as Richter pulled the layers of clothing over him upwards. Red skin throbbed around his chest and left shoulder. Blood trickled through a tender split. It was a miracle Alucard's wound was only that big. Any other man would have had their arm severed from their shoulders, mutilated like the carcass of a field-dressed deer. 

Richter readjusted the cloaks around Alucard, then laid them back down. "It's not your fault. It's mine." He turned from the dhampir, the trunk creaking as he sat against it. "I wasn't paying attention to what was going on behind me." 

"You did not drive that axe into my shoulder," Alucard murmured. 

Dry truth burned like whiskey on Richter's tongue. "If you didn't have to watch my back all the time, it wouldn't have ended up in yours." 

Alucard's only protest was a sigh. The full length of his body curled into a ball, heat and magic burning around him. It was a miracle that he wasn't starting the forest on fire, the way his dark powers grew. Richter didn't fear them. It was perhaps the only good gift that Dracula had given him. The only reason he was here at all. 

Some meager essence of Alucard's princely nature seeped through his pursed lips. "Please, don't let me sleep long. We...we need to keep going..." 

Richter grimaced. Alucard was looping. It would only get worse, if he didn't rest. "Sleep. Please." 

Wary fingers reached for soft skin, softer silk. How unfair it was that Alucard would always be so soft. This was not the body becoming of a fighter. He shouldn't be forced to fight the Belmont's war, but he kept returning to their ranks. What general would be a foolish enough to put a ponce on the battlefield? 

That thought was just as unfair, though. 

Miracles were not in Richter's fingertips. All he had was the touch of a barbarian. Yet, he used it as best as he could. He brushed past Alucard's ear, let tendrils fall between his fingertips. It fell thicker than any waterfall, sparkled like silver even in the lowest of light. With a soft swoop, he pulled it away from Alucard's face. He left his fingers along his temples, his rough touch the only comfort he could give. 

Worry washed over the hunter. This was no great coffin. Nothing the likes of Alucard should be sleeping in. No doubt, something would smell their blood over fallen leaves, see them hunkering in the mist. He didn't know if he could take another battle. Guardian angels couldn't stop another axe's blow. 

No. He couldn't think like that. Danger would not be coming. Richter had proof of hope between his palms. It came in through a narrow nose, out of gentle lips. Alucard was finally asleep. He had faith in Richter's protection, trust in his senses. It had to be some kind of madness, to trust the senses of mortals. Yet, Alucard did. It was the only reason he was beside Richter, the only reason he kept wanting to lay in the lap of humanity. 

Pride relaxed Richter's shoulders. He would protect Alucard—just as the dhampir had protected him.

Chapter Text

They would never have separated, had there been any time to work together.

The stars never rested. Neither did thieves. If Richter and his company were going to find the lost Tongue of Dracula, they had to race against time and half-a-dozen bloodthirsty guilds. That meant nabbing the three charms that would open the path to the nearest alleged tomb of Dracula. It was no place Alucard recognized, but it was not one he was willing to leave unexplored. There couldn't be a single scrap of the devil floating about in the aether. 

Maria had beaten both men to their room at the inn. She rubbed it in Richter's face, dangling a star-speckled chain from her fingers. Richter pulled a second golden pendant from his satchel. Monster blood made the smiling sun glow red. Both hunters nodded in approval. No crypt or monster could hold them back.

"Have you seen Alucard yet?" Maria asked. 

"Nope." Richter gathered her pendant. "I wouldn't worry, though. You know him. He'll come crashing in any minute now."

A thunk at their window proved him right. 

Maria squawked at the sudden noise. A heap of black leather curled in the corner of the inn's windowpane. She bounced over, then threw the windows open. The invader tumbled inside. She yelped again as it unfolded into layers of ripped silk and frayed hair. All Richter saw over her fawning was a raised hand, a silver and blue moon dangling from black gloves. 

Richter collected Alucard's catch. "Nicely done."

"Thank you," the dhampir huffed.

He was able to gather enough dignity to stand up. Though his magic and transformations could conceal a lot, they could not hide the hollowness in Alucard's cheeks. There was an unusual sheen to his skin. Actual sweat, for once. As he wobbled to the washroom, both Maria and Richter flinched. His cape was little more than ribbons. The hem of his jacket was slashed. Even his cravat dangled from his neck.

Worst of all was his hair.

Half of it still reached his waist. The ends were crispy, matted, flooding the room with an acrid stench. The other half broke just below his shoulder blades. He kept reaching back, snarling at the abrupt stop in his hair. Whatever attacked him had torn him apart.

Richter followed him as he sulked off. "Do you need some help?" 

All the hunter received for his kindness were clothes tossed in his face.

Alucard shed his ruined finery, grumbling at every last piece. There was no fixing his cape. He flicked his gloves aside, cursing at missing buttons. Away went his cravat, his jacket, his vest. Even a few tiny frays in his dress shirt spelled doom for the last of his layers. 

"Damn it all," Alucard growled as his shirt crumpled from his fingers. 

"I've got a spare shirt, if you need it," Richter offered.

Maria leaned over his shoulder. Her eyes didn't stay level with the dhampir's. "I can go look through town too, if you need something new!" Her sweetness went a little tart as she flushed pink. "Or, you know. If you're comfortable like that, who am I to stop you?"

Richter placed a hand on top of her head, then pushed her back. "Down, girl." 

"I appreciate your concern, but..." Idle fingers clenched onto snarled tresses. "This is nothing to worry about. Truly." 

Their young lady friend immediately knew what was wrong with him. She patted at Richter's shoulder, then her own hair. The hunter nodded in agreement. There was nobody as vain about their hair as Alucard was. He had good reason to be proud of it. Normally, it was smooth as silk, thick, long, clean. More like a princess' hair than a hunter's. Everyone in town knew him by that alone. To destroy that was to destroy his identity—the first trait that captivated and tamed strangers. 

"Did you happen to pack some shampoo, Maria?" Richter asked. 

She nodded. "I'll get it."

Alucard lifted his head from slumped shoulders. He gave Richter a dirty glare. The hunter shook his head, then grabbed a wooden bucket in the corner of the room. He took one sniff, then nodded. It was clean. It would do. 

"You just stay right there," Richter ordered. "I'll be back."

Lean fingers reached out for him. "We don't have time. In a few hours, our quarry will—"

Richter pushed his hand back. "I will be right back."

The hunter slipped down the stairs, past noisy customers drinking heavy liquor. He popped out the back of the inn. An old silver pump sprang from the ground. Richter tossed the bucket before the faucet's nose, then grabbed the handle. A few hard pumps had cold water splattering all over the place. He grumbled, realizing how much he missed his plumbing at home. He'd rigged pipes into the family manor. Alucard had gone a step further, helping him cobble together a functional heater. What a luxury it was to have hot water on demand. It made his current draw even colder. 

He bumped into Maria on the stairs while returning. She had a coin purse on her hip, a note full of numbers in her hands. Alucard's measurements. Richter looked over them, then scowled. Completely unrealistic and unfair. He waved Maria on as she went to do her duties. It was just as well they split their tasks again. Definitely less time consuming that way.

It made what Richter had to do a little more comfortable, knowing no one else would be watching.

The Belmont closed both their room door and the washroom door behind him. Alucard gave him a wary glare. He drew back as Richter popped a knife from his side. The hunter rinsed it in the bucket, then placed it in the slop sink. With one nudge, Richter pushed the bucket to Alucard's side. He threw his gloves over his shoulder, then reached for Maria's bottle of shampoo. 

"You might want to heat that up," Richter recommended. "Otherwise, this is going to be a little uncomfortable." 

Not like it wasn't already. 

Sighing, the dhampir drew his hand above the water. A dull heat rose from his fingertips. Steam filtered through, little bubbles rising from warm depths. Richter nodded, then plopped a heavy dollop of shampoo in the dhampir's hair. Slick smacks slid between his palms. 

Alucard frowned, one canine jutting just above his left lip. "I can bathe myself, Belmont." 

"This isn't a bath," Richter corrected him. "You might want to lay down. This is going to hurt your back, otherwise." 

Gold eyes stared through him. The hunter didn't move. Alucard could have a frightening glare to him, but it wasn't nearly as bad as his father's gaze. Sighing, the dhampir did as he was asked. He grumbled again as Richter pushed his soiled clothes beneath his shoulders, propped him just the slightest bit off the ground. Richter grunted as he kneeled behind Alucard's head. This wasn't the most comfortable position to work in, but there was little choice. 

Slimy fingers pushed matted hair into the warm water. Even with a massive hunk missing, the silver strands nearly gushed over the tub's brim. Richter drew Alucard's head back, forced the very top of his head beneath the water. He was met again with frustrated eyes.

That fiery glare softened as Richter placed his hands on Alucard's scalp. 

Rough fingers pressed against plush roots. They rubbed in circles, holding over pressure points. Thick eyelashes fell. Alucard's head became heavy in Richter's hands. The hunter smiled. Though the dhampir made no noise, Richter knew he was content. 

The hunter held Alucard's head up as he scrubbed at stubborn snarls. "So, what was it? A giant dog? A golem? A dragon?" 

"A doppelganger," Alucard murmured.

"Pain in the ass," Richter grunted. He shifted Alucard's head to the right, picking at a knot as he ran his mouth. "Always thinking they can use your skills against you. Amateurs!" 

The dhampir sighed. "I find other elements of them more troubling." 

"The whole face snatching element." The hunter nodded, then dug deeper in. "Definitely cruel."

Alucard agreed. "And yet, it's..."

He lowered his head. Richter caught his problem in the water's ripples. There was no reflection beneath his fingers. He looked as if he was washing the hair of a ghost. For as much fuss as Alucard put into his appearance, he had no confirmation of what he truly looked like. People could lie. Reflections could not. Without the latter, all he had was the eyes of others and how they chose to describe him.

That, and the twisted mimicry of monsters.

"It's the only time you see yourself," Richter finished. 

"My image is cruel," the dhampir added. 

"That's just the way doppelgangers are. They always look like they're about to kick a puppy." Rough fingers squeezed drippings from Alucard's hair. Heavy with water, it turned as dark as a storm cloud. "Trust me. You don't look like that much of an asshole." 

Alucard sat up, splashing water down Richter's front. "That much?" 

His frustration only drew laughter from Richter. No, those eyes could never scare him, no matter how they blazed. The hunter snapped a towel over Alucard's head. He fluffed up soaked tendrils, pleased as they fell in white strands from his fingers. Alucard tried to tuck them back in. Richter batted his hands away. This was something the Belmont had to control—nothing for the dhampir to fuss about. 

As he slid down Alucard's spine, Richter explained himself. "Sorry. Most men don't look like you do. If I didn't know you any better, I'd think you were some sort of peacock." He waved a hunk of towel around, then shook his head again. "You're just too polished."

"I do not feel like that, right now." The slightest bow of Alucard's head sent misshapen strands cascading over his shoulders. 

"Well, that's because you left half of you back in a cave." Richter picked up the longer, heavier side of Alucard's hair. "Hold still. I'm going to even you out." 

There was a sharp clatter as Richter drew his knife out of the slop sink basin. He fanned the inner-most strands of Alucard's hair out, then held it taut. The dhampir didn't so much as flinch as Richter took a knife to his back. The hunter was proud of how much Alucard trusted him. It wasn't every creature of the night that would sit so patiently, so confident in the hunter's intentions. 

Soft tearing followed Richter's knife. He drew it upwards, letting wet curls plop into his lap as he framed Alucard's shoulders. His cuts were as precise and sharp as those who used shears. One side went up, then the other, both clipped bit by bit until they were even. Richter dusted off his pants as he studied his work. The remainder of Alucard's hair wasn't much longer than the hunter's, now. It almost looked modern—civilized. 

Richter spun one strand around his pointer finger. "You've got some natural curl in your hair." 

"It will stand up and fray out, if it's too short." Alucard pulled a tendril over his left shoulder. He rubbed the cut end, pleased at its smoothness." Well done. Though, I haven't had my hair this short in quite some time." 

"Just think of it as being easier to fight in," Richter suggested.

The dhampir hummed in agreement. He turned to thank the hunter. Sloppy drips from the top of his head blinded him. He grumbled, then wiped his eyes clean. Richter tried not to snort as Alucard batted the hair framing his face aside. He had seen cats in the rain with more poise than the dhampir. 

"May I ask another favor of you?" Alucard asked.

Richter rocked back, resting on his rump. "Name it." 

"Can you..." The dhampir lifted the hair on his forehead up. "Can you trim this as well?" 

That would be a little trickier, so close to Alucard's eyes. It wasn't anything Richter couldn't handle. "Alright. Just keep still."

Alucard froze as Richter placed a hand along the side of his head. His spine was rigid, unnatural. The hunter snaked his right fingers behind Alucard's neck. Gentle prodding relaxed the dhampir once more. When he was loose enough for Richter to control with one hand, tough palms rested on his smooth jawline. One last roll had him in place. 

Not many people would sit so calmly with a knife that close to their eyes. Even with closed eyelids, Alucard showed no fear for what Richter was doing. The hunter flipped his knife upside down, pressing strands between his thumb and the blade's edge. Hair fell onto Alucard's pointed nose. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop a sneeze. Both he and his hairdresser laughed as Richter swatted the rogue clippings from his face.

"Man," Richter chuckled. "You have some nice cheekbones." 

"Belmont, please." There was that familiar dismissive tone again. Richter was happy to hear it. 

"Sorry. Got distracted." Pulling the left side of Alucard's fringe up, the hunter prepared for one last cut. "Just a little more." 

The last of Alucard's wild hair fell away. Richter sat back, admiring his work. The part that had once split Alucard's face evenly was now asymmetrical. Even with his trimming, the left side still fell heavier than the right. It wasn't a bad mistake, per se. Just unusual. It made Richter focus more on Alucard's left eye, searching for gold beneath a white veil.

Richter scratched his chin with the back of his knife. "Not bad, if I say so myself."

Alucard reached up to touch Richter's work. A soft smile split his frown. "Thank you." He tried to hide his embarrassment. With a good hunk of his hair on the ground, he had no cover. "I didn't expect you to be so proficient in hair care."

"Guess Grandpa Juste did rub off on me, after all." The hunter tucked his knife away, its empty reflection drawing a sting. "Too bad you can't see it." 

That made Alucard chuckle. "I have my ways of knowing how I look." 

Richter snorted. "Do tell."

A clatter at their room's door had both men sitting up. Maria was back. She burst into the room, fresh clothing dangling from her right arm. Flopping backwards, she landed with a light bounce on the bed. She kicked off her shoes, then sighed, her voice happy and bright. 

Alucard gave the vampire hunter a tiny smirk. "Observe."

He stood up, his towel draped over his shoulders like his ratty cape. The dhampir didn't make it three steps outside of the washroom before Maria squealed in delight. Richter snorted, then nudged the tub full of wet hair and filthy water into the corner. He peeked around the door, watching as Maria scurried around Alucard, picking up and analyzing every last little cut Richter had made. He crossed his arms, satisfied and amused. Maria was no liar. Her eyes were a clear reflection of the beauty she saw in Alucard—the pride she had for Richter's work.

"This is so good!" Maria beamed. "Where did you get the idea for something like this?"

Richter shook his head. "Just came to me." 

The young lady sighed in admiration. "I should get you to style my hair sometime.  Maybe braid it or put flowers in it or—" 

"Alright! Enough!" Brown tresses curled in frustration as Richter tried to regain his pride. "I'm a hunter, not a foofy hairdresser!"

He could feel Alucard's slim smirk resting on his shoulders. "There's no shame in having many talents, Belmont." 

Something soft and warm settled in his chest. It set him on fire. He couldn't let its irritating embers burn. With one growl, Richter flipped the dhampir next to Maria. She shrieked with laughter as Richter pitched her purchases on top of Alucard's chest. The dhampir tipped his head, confused. All those eyes did was infuriate Richter more. 

"May I ask what that was about?" Alucard asked. 

All Richter could articulate was "I am a man!" 

"Yes," Alucard agreed. "A very sensitive one." 

Before the Belmont was done wrestling with him, his sleek hair would be a mess once again.

Chapter Text

He clenched the railing, trying not to fall.

The center of his mind was flipped. His waxy skin was melting, hair plastered to his head and sweaty back. This wasn't right. He had to be sick. That was the problem. Adrian Fahrenheit ?epe?, three-hundred sixty-eight years old and counting, did not get sick. That was a human foible, not a dhampir's weakness.

So, he could still get drunk. He could be poisoned, should the wrong food end up in his stomach. Hell, if the sun was too long over his head, soaking through four layers of black clothing and his flesh, he could melt into a puddle. He still did not get sick. Not these pitiful little flus that came and went, nothing bacterial or viral. It was as ridiculous as Dracula coming down with tuberculosis.

And yet, he stumbled. 

There was a blankness in time, something sharp and quick followed by spinning darkness. He put his hands beneath his chest, then pushed up. His spine pinched. Fire spread from his right knee and thigh. The dhampir breathed, then forced his blood to his bruising skin. A few more falls like that, and he wouldn't be able to cover his wounds any longer. 

He put his head on the third-to-the-last step. Long lashes folded over tired eyes. The world continued to sway around Alucard. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow. This wasn't a problem he could solve clinging to the wooden stairwell. He had to find a remedy. What would his mother use in such a situation? Cold water? Ginger? Peppermint? 

The latter two would be difficult to find, but perhaps—

"Alucard?" 

The dhampir stiffened. The last thing he wanted anyone to see was him spinning around like some kind of drunken dervish. Or worse yet, clutching the stairs like a frighten child to his mother's skirt. Especially not Maria. She doubted his strength enough as it was. He put his knees beneath him, then pushed upward. He had to get back to his room before she got worried.

"Do not trouble yourself," Alucard huffed. "I should be back to my quarters in a—"

The floors bucked him again. His fingers tightened. That little flinch was enough to have Maria scurrying to his side. Concern churned in her eyes, her teeth pinched to her lower lip. Alucard's head dropped onto his forearms. There was no sending her away now. She was stubborn with any problem—especially the ones Alucard tried to hide from her.

Maria pulled a sticky tendril from his forehead. "What's wrong? I've never seen you like this before." 

The dhampir shook his head. "I don't think I've—" 

An unsettling grumble came from Alucard's stomach. He clapped his left hand over his mouth, then turned away from Maria as fast as he could. The battered fish and chips in his guts made a sudden reprisal through his fangs and fingers. The splatter of half-digested food was enough to make him want to throw up again. He groaned, then reached for his handkerchief. This mess couldn't go noticed by anyone else.

He had just finished cleaning his fingers when Maria stole the dirtied sheet from him. "I'll take care of this."

"You don't have to—" A greasy bubble floated from his mouth. "It's not your mess to—"

"Just take it easy," Maria coaxed him. 

Without any fear or disgust, she set to cleaning up Alucard's sick. He leaned against the stairwell's railing, watching her with dimming eyes. Maria was immune to filth and gore. She had grown up in it, stomped through monster and human guts alike. Her iron stomach was the only reason she survived Dracula's clutches. That, and her guile. Richter's aid, as well. Alucard envied her strength. The world could rot around her, and she'd still find something to smile about. 

She folded the dirty side of his handkerchief inward, then tied it shut. "Now, then. What's come over you?" 

"I don't know." Alucard's shoulders dropped, their refined sharpness gone. "I have never felt this way before. Perhaps you should stay back, lest I've caught something." 

Maria shook her head. "I've seen a hundred zombies bite you, and you've never gotten this sick! I don't think you're contagious. Well, more than normal, anyway." 

The dhampir sighed. "It must be some sort of brain fever. I feel as though everything is swaying." 

"Well, everything is," Maria nodded. "After all, we're—"

She stopped at once, gasping. A short giggle chirped free from her ribcage. Alucard groaned. This weakness was infuriating enough. He didn't need her teasing. 

"What is it?" he croaked. 

Maria propped her right shoulder under his left side. "You're seasick!" 

He pinched his brow. Seasick? He'd been on a boat before! Granted, not much longer than a few hours, but wouldn't he have felt this before? His eyes glazed over as the floor rocked again, pushing him more onto poor Maria's shoulders. He sighed again. Seasickness! The man who had traveled through an entire inverted castle, thrown off his keel by a tiny little tide!

Maria pushed him towards his room. "Come on. You'll need to lie down." She nudged his door open with her forehead. "I've got some peppermint candies in my room. That always helps me. Think you can keep one down?" 

"If I cannot, I will clean up my next mistake," Alucard muttered. 

"Hey. Relax." She bumped him in the chest. "Just a few days more, and we'll be into port."

If he made it with all of his organs still inside of him, he would be amazed.

Chapter Text

She stared into the mirror, groaning.

It was going to happen one of these days. One morning, she was going to wake up, and she'd be old. Wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. Saggy skin. Moles. Skin tags! It wouldn't be so bad if everyone didn't treat her like a perpetual princess. That, and if her house mate ever aged at all. Maria dropped her head onto the mirror, then grumbled again. It wouldn't be five, ten more years, and she'd look like a perverted old witch with some hot, young stud trotting around her farm. What would everyone say about a sight like that?

There was a creak in the floorboards behind her. "Is something wrong?"

Maria glanced up. She was grateful that she couldn't see Alucard's face in the mirror. It made it that much easier to cope with her rotting. "God, I'm so old."

"You are twenty-five," Alucard replied. "Hardly so." 

"But look at my face!" Maria smooshed her cheeks around, distressed with the crinkles in her skin. "I've got all of these wrinkles coming in. And—and this!" 

She looked down, pulling at the greatest source of her distress. There, out of the right side of her head, sprang a single white hair. It wouldn't be long before her entire head would be coated in them. What would she do then? She'd have to chop her hair off, or she really would look like a witch.

Alucard placed his hand on the top of her head. "I apologize." 

"It's not your fault." Maria's shoulders rolled forward as she slumped. "I mean, I knew that this was going to happen someday. I'll turn into a shriveled-up prune, and you'll still be—"

The moaning lady squeaked again as Alucard pulled back. In between his fingers was the hair that had caused her so much grief. He had been gentle as possible about removing it. She hadn't even felt the prick on her scalp from his grooming. She tipped her head, then blinked in confusion. There was no reflection from the plucked strand. 

"I believe this is mine," the dhampir smirked. 

Maria patted the top of her head. "What? You mean—You—"

"I don't know why it distresses you so," Alucard teased. "You seem to like the color on me."

"That's because you don't look like an old crone," Maria sighed. She leaned into the sink, trying not to melt to the floor in embarrassment. "I-I know this was what I signed up for, living with you, but one of these days, I'll be so old and ugly that you'll never want to—"

Stroking on her back stilled her mind. Maria dropped her head, letting Alucard rub the tension out of her shoulders. She didn't dare look at the pity in his eyes. This wasn't easy for him, either. There were still days he would call Richter by his forefather's name. He took every pet's death much too hard, humans harder still. He had to go on, frozen in time, while the world whipped around him and left him in the dust. Even she would abandon him, one day. 

Sometimes, she hoped that Alucard would simply forget she ever lived. At least, he wouldn't hurt that way.

The way he spoke, she knew that would never happen. "I will always want your company, Maria. Neither your age nor your appearance will change that." 

She grabbed his hands, rubbing back against cold fingers. "Thank you." 

"However, if you find my appearance uncomfortable, I can always take a different form." Alucard pulled back, his smirk still fixed. "I am a shapeshifter, after all. It wouldn't be too difficult to appear as though I am aging alongside you." 

Maria snorted. She had seen Alucard's idea of what wolves and bats were supposed to look like. Blue fur and tiny crowns did nothing to disguise his supernatural nature. God knows what he thought an old human was supposed to look like. He'd probably end up with lilac-colored hair or a face like a leather purse or—or—

"Maybe Grandpa Juste," Maria laughed.

Alucard tipped his head. "Come again?" 

She tugged on his cloak, pulling him towards the stairwell. "Let's go visit Richter. I've got a painting I want you to see." 

"Very well," Alucard agreed. "Though, if I may bathe first—" 

Another enormous groan split their home. She was going to grow white hairs of her own before Alucard would be ready to go out!

Chapter Text

The night was as dark and deep as the waves of the ocean. Its winds pulsed like a tide, drawing warmth from swaying grass. Leaves rustled in their pull. They almost sounded like rain falling to the earth. Even without a single drop of water on his skin, Alucard was submerged. Indigo beauty left him light on his feet, floating through the peaceful night.

A dream more beautiful than nature played in the back of his mind. It lit up an empty window with spilling gold. Alucard listed, staring at Maria's bedroom window. She was fast asleep by now. But, selfishly, a part of him wanted her to wake up, to throw back the glass and let her hair tumble in the breeze. The dhampir rubbed his face. How could he be awake and still dream of her?

He should be back in his bed.

Or in hers.

Was there even a difference between the two anymore?

Long fingers folded over a trembling heart. A voice beneath them hummed a quiet prayer. "Faerie."

Small sparkles glimmered like stars. His familiar fluttered into his realm once more, careful as she pulled back reality's curtains. "What is it, Master?"

"I…" The dhampir's request caught in his throat. "I need to talk with someone."

The little sprite tipped upside down. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all." With that, Alucard patted his shoulder. "Come with me. I wish to take a walk."

It was a rare day that the faerie refused his orders. She hopped on his right side, weaving herself into the tendrils of the dhampir's hair. Alucard folded his right hand over her knees as he walked, careful to keep steady as he disappeared into the forest behind his home. He was used to walking with a crown and cape. His little faerie was a far lighter burden than them.

 Oak and pine parted. Soft feet followed a path long since worn down. It drew into the sky, rolling like a surf's crest. At its gentle peak, Alucard found a grand seat. It was flocked in white flowers and blue grass, crickets and butterflies dancing and springing on its surface. The dhampir and his companion took their spot alongside the insects, turning to face into the meager kingdom that they all called home.

Forest trees. Tilled land. A church. Houses. His own home. How beautiful they were, crowned by mountains and stars.

"It's a wonderful view, isn't it?" Alucard asked.

He could feel the faerie nod in his hair. "Very pretty."

Golden eyes softened. "I suppose it will only be this way for a short while."

"The sun will rise again. But, it'll set again, too," the faerie noted. "This will be here tomorrow night."

"But, not forever."

"No…"

The dhampir slumped. How was he ever going to talk about what was on his mind? Couldn't the winds and insects fill in the night's void? Perhaps the hooting of Maria's owls. Anxiety throbbed in Alucard's pulse. He fell backwards, trying to even out the distribution of his blood once more.

Fluttering wings yanked the faerie upward. "Master? What's wrong?" She plopped onto his chest, disturbed to feel the tremulous beat beneath her seat. "Your heart is racing!"

"I am not ill," Alucard murmured. "Merely…conflicted."

The faerie stretched herself across his chest. "How so?"

Logic was supposed to numb Alucard from his follies. It only brought him more pain. "The house won't be here forever. Neither will the trees, nor the village, nor the people in it." He turned his attention away from the temporal beauty of the night. "I will lose them all."

"Master, don't think like that." A tiny finger wound three strands of his hair around it. "You'll upset yourself."

"I know that I should not think in such a fashion," Alucard agreed. "But…"

A head far too heavy lulled to the left. White petals beside him glowed under the moonlight. He reached a finger out, bouncing against one blossom. They were soft, pliant, smooth. So full of beauty and life.

Were these the blooms that Lyudmil loved?

How cruel it was that Alucard forgot.

At once, the faerie knew her master's thoughts. They were as much at the end of his fingertips as they were on his lips. "You're in love."

Despite himself, the dhampir smiled. "Yes."

"With Maria?"

"Yes."

The faerie leaned over him. "And she—"

"Yes." A single nod of his head was enough to shake tears from Alucard's eyes. "Yes, I'm all too certain of it."

Thin arms wrapped around his neck. If the faerie could have been large enough, she would have picked him up, swept him off his feet. Not that the dhampir could give her greater compassion without harming her. He nuzzled into her hair and side, finally secure enough to return such tenderness. How hard it was for two such creatures to show their care. At least, both of them had the strength to do so.

"Congratulations," the faerie whispered.

"Thank you." The words split his tears like stones. "I can't help but be afraid. The last time I felt like this, I…"

"I know, Master." The faerie was all too familiar with those wounds. How horrid that such painful injuries didn't leave a single scar on him. There was no evidence of his pain, nothing more than the trickles pouring down his chin and over her hair.

Even with such a loving friend at his neck, confession tore Alucard's throat. "A part of me wants to run away, even now. To cut my losses before they are stolen from me. "

"That's why you are out here with me and not with Maria," his familiar teased.

Not that he could say she was wrong. "I...I suppose so."

Wings fluttered below his chin. The faerie landed on his chest once more, eager to take up her old space. She stretched herself out, laying her ribs against his sternum. "You know, there's a saying way out in the Far East, Master." She spun his hair with her tale. "They say that passion spoils the soul. That it leads to ruin."

"I know that to be all too true," Alucard sighed. "Even so, I find it impossible to temper my passions. I would blame my father, but…well. Not all of my curses are his fault."

The truth drew a giggle out of the faerie. "It's okay to be a little spoiled, Master. Just as long as you know what you have and appreciate it."

But, did he?

Alucard took stock of his accounts. He had the Belmont family. He had Maria. He had their little home, their little village, the quiet peace of this night. He had clothing and food and familiars and any bed he chose to lay within. Certainly, that was better than the confines of a casket. For him to dream of its limited boundaries was masochistic.

His familiar tipped her head, laying her face in a nest of his hair. "I think you know what you risk, should you run away."

Alucard nodded. "And what I will pay should I follow my father's passions. "

"You will get hurt, no matter what you do." The faerie kept her wisdom simple and blunt. "You just need to decide which pain is worth enduring."

A man of great wisdom and philosophy would have taken hours to debate such a statement.

Alucard came to his conclusion in a single second.

Muscles moved slower than his mind. He rolled himself up gently, bracing the faerie as she slid down his stomach. He ran a single digit down her back, smoothing her hair and wings. In a way, it was comical that such a small creature tried to bear his burdens. Stranger still that she held them stronger than Atlas.

He was reassured. Lonesome. Conflicted. Completely contrary. He could have the love of this little creature and the people around him whenever he wanted, and somehow, he had managed to push them all away. To think he could have love whenever he desired it was overwhelming.

Alucard was a man of balance and control. He would not spoil himself on such sweets.

With quiet confidence, the dhampir stood, carrying his companion with him. "I'm going home."

The familiar smiled into his chest. "It is a home with her, isn't it?"

Wasn't that obvious?

Pixie dust coated his skin. The faerie leapt out of his grasp, stopping only once to kiss his forehead. With that, she was off. Alucard smiled. Well, he needed to go, too. Staying out here on his own was foolish.  

Grass slid beneath his feet. The company of insects parted at his leaving. Trees and brush stood guard as Alucard drew himself back home. More wonderful than the endless, rich blue around him was the fire that blotted it. It came through mottled skies, a shining moon, candlelight in an open window.

Was he dreaming? Perhaps not.

But, Maria's presence was a vision, all the same.

She pulled out of her window, hair falling as she leaned forward. "Alucard? Are you alright?"

"Of course." The dhampir kept his smile small, checked. "May I come up?"

Two pats invited him into her room. Maria never backed away, never flinched as webbed wings leapt into her arms. She cradled Alucard's transformation, as tender with him as she was her owls. With a gentle slide, she plopped him onto her bed. She waited beside him with a sleepy patience, matching his grin as he spilled out into her bed.

Like the faerie before her, Maria laid herself on Alucard's chest. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it? "

He opened his heart, let her sink into it. "It is all the more radiant in your eyes."

Chapter Text

She buried her face in the settee, trying not to die. 

It felt like ages since they had gone home. This whole month was cursed. First, there was the necromancer's fortress a week's ride south of town. Then, after freeing all of their sacrifices, they had to escort each one home. Then, the full moon struck. There was never a night's peace during that. If it wasn't Richter tearing a calf muscle, it was Alucard being dragged into the night, only to be recovered bloodied and bare the next day. That wasn't even getting started on the witch trial that Maria barely survived! 

Thin arms curled around a fluffy pillow. There was no place like home. 

If it hadn't been for Alucard's intrusion, Maria would have instantly fallen asleep. "Are you alright?" 

"I'm going to sleep for the next three days," Maria grumbled into her pillow. 

"As you will." Alucard was never one to get worked up about oversleeping. "I'm going to check around the house. Call me if you feel unwell." 

Someone had to make sure the place was staying up, after all. A lot of things could have broken between the time they left and the time they got back. At least his little minions could watch the animals while they were out. One less thing to worry about. Just as well, too. Her head felt like it was splitting open down her hairline. 

Maria buried her head beneath the pillow. She wanted Alucard's cold shadow back to block out the sun. A fresh ache made her stomach churn. She hadn't felt this worn down in a long time. Every tick of the grandfather clock in their front room gouged another gash in her head. She had to have picked something up. Eaten something bad. Maybe she was even approaching her time of the month.

Blonde hair popped out of her hiding place. When was the last time she'd had that, anyway? 

She padded her way to the kitchen, her pillow held on top of her head. There was a little calendar she kept on the wall. Just a simple one from the market—a little bit of free advertising from a grocer. It helped to keep Alucard on pace with other humans. Months would blur together for him, if he wasn't mindful. For Maria, it served another purpose. Little dots of ink kept her in tune with herself. 

It was Annette's suggestion that she start timing herself. Not that she didn't know when she was going to have her lady time. Alucard would always get fussier a few days before, both drawn in and repulsed by the smell of oncoming blood. Still, she kept the practice. It gave her some peace of mind—let her know when to open her bedroom door and when to close it. 

Maria squinted. Frustration fed her burning migraine. The last mark was in May. Just around her birthday, of course. Because that was the gift she wanted. The dot on the calendar wasn't the problem. It was the void of ink that followed, days left unwatched.

Eight weeks.

It had been eight weeks since her last period. 

She counted back and forth, her headache building. One, two, that romantic night in the countryside, three, four, the beginning of their hell month, five, definitely should have been by five, six, seven, eight. Eight weeks. Her stomach twisted again. Could it be? It didn't seem right. She was having awful headaches, but she wasn't throwing up. That was what the other ladies of the village experienced when they were pregnant. Though, sometimes they complained of being tired, and sometimes they were dizzy, and sometimes they couldn't fit quite right into their old clothes because—

"Oh, no..." she groaned. 

A deep voice had her shivering again. "Did we forget someone's birthday?" 

Maria flipped around. She pulled her pillow over her chest, whacking Alucard in the sternum with it. As he leaned back, she shooed him away. "No! No. It's nothing, really." 

Alucard's eyes narrowed. He placed a hand on the calendar, his pointer finger scrolling through the dates. "Don't fret. I'm sure whatever it was, it's..."

He stopped. 

Sweat beaded down Maria's neck. She could see the clockwork gears grinding in his head. He wasn't a fool. He knew what the marks on the calendar meant. If anything, he encouraged her to keep them. She knew she was lucky. Richter had told her stories. The only people Alucard would lay with were those that made him feel safe. She was the one that had pulled him in, earned his trust. On the edge of their nightmares, they had found each other. That was why they clung so closely—loved so completely. 

Foolishly. 

"Eight weeks," was all he said. 

"Yes," Maria answered. 

A blank mask hid Alucard's thoughts. His jaw locked firm, the curl of his lips fixed. There was no flash of teeth, no frown, no smile. Only a flicker of fire in his eyes gave Maria any indication of his mood. He lowered his head, cheeks narrow and ashen. He fussed with his gloves, pulling at the trim around his wrists. It was only by messing with the leather fabric that he was able to contain himself. 

"I know you haven't been well, but..." The words hooked on his teeth. "Do you suppose—"

"I don't know." How could she? She'd never been pregnant before. "I mean, it's been a while, but...I just don't know." 

The last of black leather peeled from Alucard's hands. He raised his palms, then reached for Maria's hand. "May I have your hand?" 

She shrugged. "Sure."

Her fingers trembled in his. It was more from chills than fear. Not like he could help how cold his skin was. He stared at her fingertips, eyes glowing and locked. Maria had never seen him so spaced out before. Was this scaring him that badly? 

"What are you doing?" Maria asked. 

"Those with the vampire's curse are sensitive to heat within a living creature. They can trace the flow of blood throughout a body." Alucard steadied Maria's hand. His eyelids grew heavy as he focused. "If you give me a moment, I will be able to find whether or not your blood is coursing through two hearts." 

She shivered again. The vampire's curse. How callously Alucard talked about his condition. She knew why he hated it so much. His warped bones caged a broken heart. Everything he cherished crumbled to dust in his arms. He could turn anyone he bit into a wild monster. Worst of all, every creature of the night knew his scent, desired his praise. They wanted him to be the same as his father—the awful man that had torn her parents' throats apart.

None of them could stand to see Dracula's plague spread again. Not Richter, not Maria, and certainly not Alucard.

Maria jerked back. New terror struck her. Vampirism didn't travel just through blood. If that were the case, then Alucard would not be standing before her, eyebrows pinched in confusion. It was a congenital disease. It was in every part of Alucard's body—the very reason he had driven others away. She had let him inside her. She had exposed herself to his plight, caressed it.

Now, she could be carrying it.

"A-Alucard?" Maria stammered. "I need you to tell me something." 

He nodded. "What is it?" 

"If I am—well, if we're..."  Her fingers looped around in the air as she tried to process her thoughts. "I mean, I guess your mother survived it, but—" 

"Do not fret." Soft fingers stroked the back of her knuckles as Alucard took her hand once more. "There is no need to speculate on this. If you are pregnant, I will get you every aid so you do not stay that way.  I won't let you suffer such a burden."

Maria shook her head. "Like having a baby would be the worst thing to happen to me."

"I suppose you have lived through worse, but all the same, there's no need for you to go through this." Gold eyes flicked behind white tendrils, nervous and ashamed. "I rather you didn't, at any rate." 

"But what if I wanted to?" Maria asked.  

Her words hit him in the back. They pierced through to his lungs. He jerked back, shocked. His composure cracked as his spine whacked against the kitchen counter, his soft breath jarred into a wheeze. There was fire in his eyes, red irritation in his gums. Even his fangs had lanced out, drawn blood from a startled lip. A knife in his side would not have horrified him as much as Maria's question. 

"Don't be ridiculous!" Thin fingers reached out once more. 

Maria drew back. She folded her hands around her pillow, clutching it tighter to her chest. "I'm not joking, Alucard. What if—what if we did have a child?" 

The dhampir stopped breathing. His jaw dropped, lips just barely pulled apart. If Maria hadn't known any better, she would have thought that his soul had left his body. It was all he could do to brace himself against the counter. Maria frowned, her mouth twisted to the left. For being so stoic most of the time, he could sure be a drama queen when his back was against the wall. 

"That would go against everything we agreed upon," Alucard huffed. "The only reason I was willing to entertain your companionship was because you were willing to do what it took for such a conception not to happen." 

"Well, yes. And we did!" Her arms slumped, defenses slipping. "But, you know. Mistakes can happen. It's not like it's anything worse than—"

Scared fangs snapped. "There cannot be any more children from Dracula's blood!" 

There it was again. It always came down to Dracula—the big, bad man that haunted them both. No one feared him quite like Alucard. Others would run screaming or kill themselves before Dracula could corrupt them. Alucard could not. He had to stand in his father's toxic shadow, bear his name and curse. There was still a part of Maria that couldn't believe they were father and son. Alucard was too quiet, too distant, too preoccupied with what was just and kind. If it weren't for his teeth, etiquette, and the way he slouched in chairs, Maria would have never made the connection between the vampire and his child. 

That fact was the only ground she had in this argument. "I'm not going to raise another Dracula, and neither are you." 

Alucard straightened his back. "You cannot be so confident that any child of ours would not be as wicked as he."

"I can't!" she agreed. "But you aren't." 

He flinched again. Maria rolled her eyes. Of course, he didn't believe her. He would have worn horsehair shirts and slept in snowbanks, had his friends not routinely pulled his head out of his ass. It was not hard to love how deeply he cared about humanity, how eagerly he wanted to protect them. His self-revulsion was annoying, heart-breaking—utterly wrong. 

Maria ran her right hand through her hair. "Look. You might be half of him, but you're not him. Not at all. That's why I love you." 

All the dhampir did was sigh. "Maria—"

"And I also love you because you're a good listener, so listen to me!" She propped her pillow on her hip, one hand akimbo around it. Nothing that came from her was so fearful that she had to hide it. "No child of yours will ever be like him. You, Richter, Annette, and I would never let that happen. That monster wasn't powerful enough to drag you down! If he couldn't corrupt you, then there's nothing he can do against any baby of ours!"

She drew in a breath. Alucard did not interrupt her. She exhaled a giggle, watching the splinters in his mask for any changes in his temper. He was still afraid. So was she. Not like they could go about town with a baby out of wedlock without judgment. Hell, the other hunters would castrate Alucard for that alone. Still, he kept quiet, waiting to hear the last of her argument. If he was willing to put his fears aside, then so would she.  

"Just promise me that you'll give it a chance," Maria sighed. 

A slight nod gave away Alucard's thoughts. His jaw softened, lips closed in a quiet smile. The most he could do to hide his feelings was close his eyes. That did nothing to stop the grin spreading across Maria's face. Of all the things she expected to end in a night-long debate, she thought this would be one. To see him concede so quickly was startling. 

"I suppose my mother took the same risk," Alucard whispered. 

"She did!" Maria agreed. She finally extended her hand, fingers wiggling as she baited Alucard's touch. "And I think you turned out pretty well." 

All he said as he took her hand was, "If you say so." 

Neither human nor dhampir fussed as Alucard went back to his blood reading. Maria kept as still as she could. It was hard to mask the racing in her heart. Alucard caught that quickly. As he raised an eyebrow, she turned her head away, flushed. Maybe it was silly to get worked up over something as small as a few blank squares on a piece of paper. Even so, she was able to face them like a lion. Having Alucard's support made her feel powerful—her heart stronger than before. 

It was after a quiet moment that Alucard lowered her hand. "It is as I thought." 

Blonde hair bounced as Maria hopped onto her toes. "You mean I'm—"

"Anemic and dehydrated," Alucard clarified. 

Maria's eyebrows pinched. "What?" 

She squealed again as the same hands that soothed her yanked her off the ground. Not that she wasn't used to Richter carrying her around like a giant doll, but Alucard wasn't the kind of man to sweep a lady off of her feet. He was somber as he took her into the living room once more, just as serious and grave as a doctor. "You haven't been eating and drinking properly. Nor have you been getting proper rest."

"I'm not some princess!" Maria squirmed to pull herself upright, stubborn as ever to prove herself. "You don't have to pamper me!" 

Low eyebrows and glowing eyes cooled her temper. "I have never made such an accusation. However, you have been overworked. Neither Richter nor I have been seeing to your needs. I must make this up to you."

Maria groaned again. There he was, beating himself up over the slightest infraction again. If anyone knew what true evil looked like, it had to be him. Surely, he could see that he wasn't that. He was too gentle with her, slow and graceful as he laid her down on the settee once more. A slow smile stirred warmth in her chest. Some frightening, repulsive creature Alucard was.

"You're sure I'm not pregnant?" Maria asked. 

"Of course." He took the pillow in her arms to tuck under her head. "In your condition, your body can hardly complete one cycle. No wonder you skipped two in a row." 

Maria let a sigh puff her hair out of her face. It was good that she wasn't pregnant. This was hardly the time for them to have a baby. Still, she was a little disappointed. It would have been fun to see what chaos it would have caused. More than that, she was starting to wonder what kind of father Alucard could be. Stern, yes. Strict and full of annoying rules. But, that kindness in his hands, the way he worried over her—how could he not be a good parent? 

It felt sad not to share that love with someone new. 

Cold palms wiped sweat from her head. "Are you alright?" 

"A little disappointed," she admitted. 

Another cool press of skin to her head made her flush red. This affection was wholly unlike Alucard. She had a better shot at getting a kiss from a merman than from him. The ones with fish faces. Still, he knew when to hold back and when to draw close. This was a time she needed him near. Wordlessly, gently, he knew—drew her sorrow away.

"You are young, Maria. Free and unburdened." His thumb ruffled across her hair. "Enjoy it while it lasts. It always goes too quickly for humans like you." 

She groaned again. "You always have to bring up the 'poor mortal humans' thing, don't you?" 

He was smart enough not to argue with her again.

Chapter Text

Gears grinding. Metal doors pulling open. The sneers of a hundred demons echoing in his ears. Chains rattling. Glass and jewelry clinking. Sand dragging beneath each step he took.  

Alucard could keep time in a timeless dimension by them alone.

How many times had his captor made him repeat this embarrassing display? Enough for the dhampir to get good at it. He held his chin high, his shoulders steady, cloaking himself in what little cover he had as he entered the colosseum's pit. At some point, Galamoth would have to grow bored with this mockery. There was only so little more the demon could take from him. His clothing. His dignity. His haughtiness.

Perhaps the massive dragon had hunted him throughout the centuries. Maybe a single slip-up was all it took to overtake him. Alucard would not let Galamoth enjoy such a victory forever. He had time to plan, strategies to make.  All the dhampir needed was one more mistake—a stone forgotten, a door left open, a sword unsheathed—and he would be out of this hell.

But, not before his captor dragged others into it.

The smallest change in routine struck like a needle of ice in Alucard's chest. It froze his feet. Snarling guards laughed, shoving the captive forward. It was all he could do not to stumble. Hands reached out to him, ready to catch him. There was nothing they could have done to spare him from such shame.

Alucard snarled, his woe impossible to stifle.

Maria was here.

He didn't even have to ask how such a feat was possible. Galamoth could reach through time, snatch up what he wanted. Maria was powerful, spiritually blessed. She was also little taller than the dragon's ankle, weighing no more than a single one of his fingers. Alucard's heart sank. If Maria only had beryl jewelry, a lighting rod, something to draw away the worst of Galamoth's powers. But, no. He knew when to snatch up a demon like Dracula's son, and worst yet, when to cage an angel.

Galamoth's laughter rubbed like the sand in Alucard's aching feet. "Welcome, Alucard. I have a guest for you, today."

So he'd noticed.

"I've told her about what a wonderful performer you've become." One thick nail braced Maria's jaw, catching on blonde tendrils as it pulled back. "She's ever so excited to see what you can do."

Excitement. Yes. Surely, that was what a lady felt, being dragged into hell. To watch her companion writhe like a worm on a hook. Complete elation.

"Come on, now," the dragon hissed. "You'll dance for her, won't you?"

Anger bolted through Alucard's chest. He felt the strings of Galamoth's manipulation wind through him, tie him at the ankles and wrists. Frustration jutted between his shoulder blades, the last of his dignity locking him stiff. What a cruel trick! To be forced to entertain his captor again—to have to debase himself in front of Maria?

He almost couldn't bring himself to look at her. What was she thinking? How could she bear to see him in bonds of silver and satin, to see him so low? He expected to see her pity. Sure enough, it was there, locked between the folds of her fingers and the gasp she hid. More tortured him. His suffering drowned in her anguish, in the tears brimming in her wide eyes.

She wasn't embarrassed for him, wasn't loathing his appearance.

She was scared.

Very well. Truth be told, so was he.

Alucard pulled his right arm behind his chest, then his foot behind his left heel. He twisted back, letting routine take over. There was no defense he could give Maria, no comfort from the blades and shields stolen from him. No grandiose words could be whispered with interlopers listening. All he could share was his body—what strength still burned within it.

Fire erupted from his palms. The crowd of demons leering over him squealed in delight as he pulsed trailing flame through his fingers. Embers snapped with him, rotating, wheeling like his swords long stolen from his hands. Their light flared in Maria's eyes. With every flicker, her fingers slid lower, exposing the awed gasp replacing her silenced screams.

Flashing eyes closed. Pointed ears throbbed from the howling crowd, their pain a deafening drum. Hatred rolled with sweat down Alucard's back. Of all the arts he knew, he hated this dance the most of all. It drew bellowing laughter, lusting gazes. But, with numbed senses, he could pretend the crowd of monsters gathered around him was gone. That he was with those he trusted. That he could dare to reveal himself.

How he burned for those he loved.

His jaw clenched. If only he could open it, shout to Maria, say anything. He shared little more than the words and stings of insects in his dance. Every glance he gave to Maria was one more punctuation in his thoughts. He was vulnerable, yes. Bare in armaments. There were still fangs in his mouth, magic in his blood. Perhaps a battle against the horde around them would be a battle lost. But, he able to fight. Willing, if she willed it.

Fire crashed into the ground. Alucard knelt in its crater, smoke rising like a twisted cape around him. He did not raise his head, did not roar in indignation at his humiliation. His body curled still before Maria, its prayers rising with the vertebrae in his aching back. He would fight, if she wanted a fight. He would endure, if she needed time to prepare.

He needed her will—a single word.

Deep laughter rolled like thunder over Alucard's prone body. "Good boy." That same fetid breath turned to Maria, released from teeth even worse than the dhampir's. "Well, my dear? What do you think?"

She didn't speak to Galamoth. To Alucard. To anyone in the audience.

All she said was, "Seiryuu."