Sweet and Tender Beasts, part 1
Summary: What if it had all gone differently? This is Anna’s story. Alternative Universe; veers off after Van Helsing drugs Anna, but still follows most of the plotlines of the film.
Warnings: Violence, sex and religious themes. NC-17/R, if that is not your cup of tea then do not read it.
Author’s Notes: Firstly thank you to my greatly abused beta Ruby, who has selflessly tolerated my late night phone calls and rants, sat over tea for hours going over the details of this story and been a very supportive friend over great distances and on msn on very inconvenient hours. Somehow she seems to understand me better that I understand myself.
Secondly I have tried to keep the historical details in this story as accurate as possible. However I do not live in any of the countries mentioned in this story so my knowledge of their history and culture is limited. The geographical locations used in this story are actual places that did exist during the 1800’s, but whether they had harbour activity or provided certain services is not necessarily historically accurate.
Disclaimer: ‘Van Helsing’ and all its related articles are the property of Universal Studios and Stephen Sommers. I am not making any money off this.
(Give not thy strength unto women
nor thy ways to that which destroyeth kings)
- Tori Amos, ‘God’
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dark was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
- Rufus Wainwright, ‘Hallelujah’
She woke up suddenly, as if someone had yelled in her ear. She felt short of breath and a strange taste clogged the back of her throat; a sudden rage boiled in her; Van Helsing. She rose from her bed swiftly, only having to resort into clutching the door frame, the after effect of the poison and the painful way her corset constricted her body made it hard to breathe. She pushed the discomfort aside and willed herself to move. She stalked through the corridors angrily spitting his name, aware of how ridiculous she looked, but her pride would not let her leave this unpunished. She marched into the drawing room, insults on her lips, only to find it empty.
She sensed the wrongness in the room immediately; the air felt off, something she had learned to be wary of. Slight sounds of movement which, under different circumstances, could almost be figments of her imagination, reverberated in the walls. Slowly she lifted a pistol from one of the weapons desks. The metal was cool in her hand, a comfort of sorts.
The form was just a glimpse in the corner of her eye, as she moved it was already gone. The familiar shapes of furniture became hindrances, hiding places. This was not the first time for one of Dracula’s minions to have visited the castle. She shivered; there had always been someone to watch her back. She was not ready for a lonely death. An involuntary scream escaped her as the shape was suddenly in front of her, the strange smell in her nostrils.
Velkan’s clothing were torn and wet, his face was distraught even beneath the happiness. She could do nothing except embrace him even if everything about him felt strange, felt wrong. The clammy fear that had gripped her chest since his fall was finally gone. There were so few moments in her life when she was allowed to lower her guard, to be safe, she was never willing to let them go.
“Oh, Anna….. You….”
She had felt stretched all week, her body weary and tense. He was now the only familiar link she had and she welcomed him, ignoring the warning in her mind. Suddenly his face transformed into a horrified mask.
“Dracula is planning…..”
He pulled his wet form away from her embrace, cowering against the wall. A horrible convulsion shook of his body forcing him to the floor.
“Don’t….Castle Frankenstein…. You can’t….”
The rest of his words were drowned by the animalistic scream issuing from his throat. She could do nothing but watch as his body changed, face lengthening, body contouring to an impossible form. The pistol was still clutched in her hand, now warm with the heat of her skin. Tears, uninvited, were streaming from her eyes; a sob she would not let out was shaking her breast.
“Velkan….. No….please…..”
Even with her whole body shaking, her arm was steady as she rose to aim. The pistol was an independent part of her, separate from the screaming, crying woman attempting to break free.
“I love you.”
The smell of powder and blood filled the room. The half transformed beast’s head had fractured, blood and bone staining the wall. She wanted to die, wanted to drown. A heavy pressure on her chest made it difficult to breathe. She felt Van Helsing run up to her side, pulling her away. The rage returned with new vigour. She pulled out of his grasp and pointed her pistol between the man’s eyes. She could feel him readying himself for a struggle.
“I will kill you.”
There was icy determination in her voice, and he backed away. Her eyes were hostile and raw, and he knew that if he would make the wrong move she would pull the trigger. Of all the monsters he had faced this was the most difficult one. He was not out here to kill her, and the rage in her eyes confirmed that if they were to fight, someone would die, and for the first time he was not sure if he would come out victorious.
“I have no need for saviours. I have only one purpose here. I will kill him even if I have to ride to the pits of hell to do it. If you are here to help me, then do it.”
“I apologise, but you cannot face him alone.”
“Yes I can. I have faced him alone many times. If you are not prepared to stand by my side then leave.”
He did not leave. Slowly, still eyeing him suspiciously, she lowered the gun and turned away. She walked to the other side of the room and collapsed on the floor. His first instinct was to go to her, but the gun still lay beside her. Laboriously she undid the straps of her bodice letting it fall to the stony floor. She screamed, with such ferocity that it made him flinch. The sound issuing from her throat did not sound human; she banged her fits on the floor screaming her sorrow out.
Gently he walked to her and kneeled down.
“I am sorry.”
She did not know which incident he meant, maybe both, but took the offered handkerchief anyway. A thick curtain of black hair concealed her expression as she wiped her face. As she rose from the ground her face had become unreadable.
“Dracula is planning something in Castle Frankenstein.”
“You cannot…”
Her hands were still cradling the pistol, eyes hooded and dark.
“Yes I can, and you will help me.”
* * * * * * * *
The trek to Castle Frankenstein was a silent one; Anna’s demeanour was still cold, firmly forcing him to keep his distance. Van Helsing realised this was not something he could push aside. He needed her on his side; she knew the lands, and her experience in dealing with vampires was valuable. He had never encountered a worthy ally in any of his myriad assignments; or, he though wryly, one that he would have thought worthy. Anna had never allowed him even the thought of questioning her involvement.
After the unfortunate death of Dr. Frankenstein over a year ago, only a few villagers had dared to approach the castle. Anna had watched, discontented, from her window as the angry villagers had stormed the citadel. She had been aware of the accusation of grave robbery and of the wild rumours of the Doctor’s experiments. She would have preferred an open trial, taking him in broad daylight, not this skulking with torches and pitchforks; the world would think them savages. Choose your battles, sister dear. Velkan had been the voice of reason, imploring her to accept the rash judgements of the mob. Would he have survived, if she had implored harsher; commanded justice for the vile doctor? It was Velkan’s words spoken many months ago that drove her into the castle as much as his death mere hours ago. She had told Van Helsing that Transylvanians always look at the brighter side of death, they were forced to. She had accepted death as a companion many years ago, always flirting with its presence, courting it, just to be allowed to see her family again. The loneliness had festered in all of their souls even when her family had still been with her. Now death seemed a good companion; it brought hope of seeing her beloved ones again; in times of peace.
She began to regret their decision to ignore law the moment she walked into the castle. It had the smell. The smell of small rotten animals, fear, stale old sheets; Dracula had been here. She knew it, before they found the slimy pouches, before Van Helsing unveiled the deformed face of a baby vampire. They could both feel the light currents moving through the slimy bags, trembling in their fingers. It was a slight movement, a shifting shadow in the cavernous doorways surrounding the rundown hall.
With the shadows dancing in the corners, she began to feel the slight probing on the edges of her senses, someone looking a way in through the defences of propriety. She knew then that he had her like a puppet on a string. She willed herself to fight, just enough to get closer, to see him. Maybe she would see the flaw that all of her ancestors had missed. She crept on between the pouches as the shadows grew bolder, now finely defined against the ceiling. Van Helsing ran to chase the being that had suddenly appeared as if conjured up out of nothingness, as the wood fixtures began to crumble under an unnatural pressure, forcing her to back away and seek cover near the stone walls still holding strong. The open shaft almost pulled her in, her body slamming hard against the wooden interior, winding her. The box began to move up.
* * * * * * * *
Dracula played with him. Dangling crumpets from his past in his fingers, discussing them as common knowledge, continuously smiling, holding all the cards. His pace was slow, a man taking his Sunday stroll, but still forcing Van Helsing to back away. A glint had appeared into his eye during the exchange, his lips forming into a sneer.
“She is a fall flower, grown too late, bloom frozen, unspoiled.”
There was no questioning of whom he spoke, no questioning the lusting tone. Van Helsing felt cold, even if his hand still burned from the fire of the cross. Dracula had brought him here to gloat, to flaunt his masterpiece. Not Velkan, a mere body already cold, but Anna lured here to fill his need. A perfect plan; her own brother used to lure her in.
“I will open her, and she will love me for it.”
They were now moving into the darkness, both men cloaked in black, now hardly seeing each other.
“I will let her see God.”
And he was gone. The chill intensified.
* * * * * * * *
The ride up in the little cart made the back of her stomach hurt, she almost rolled out of the shamble as it came to a sudden stop. Castle Frankenstein had been abandoned long before its latest occupant had arrived with carriages and in a hurry to find a suitable “housing”. It was draughty, more than castles usually and it had a strange way of moaning in the night time. The main hall, serving as a laboratory, was by no means as deserted as it should have been. Small creatures squabbled among themselves arranging tubes and metal contraptions. Silently she crept by the walls, holding herself in the shadows. The forced stillness came so suddenly she would have screamed if it would have been possible. It was like ice was seeping into her muscles, hindering all movement and breath. The little vile servants edged closer, they sensed the change in her demeanour, sensed the panicked beating of her heart. She tried to close her eyes. Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with you…
“Anna… Oh Anna, what a beauty you have turned into.”
The hairs at the back of her neck rose, the chill in her bones intensified. He moved to stand in front of her, all suave and smooth motion, disguising the demonic creature living inside the flesh of human. His cold hand came to stroke her face.
“You brother was such a good blood hound, was he not?”
He smiled, hands moving to caress her hair.
“Did he not bring me the greatest price?”
The servants were tittering madly beside him, their gawky little mouths snapping in glee. She squeezed her eyes close. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb…
“You pray, do you not? To that pathetic God of yours, beg for mercy, for forgiveness. Pray to the Virgin to soothe your soul; your longing. Oh do not be so coy Princess; I know what festers in your lusting heart.”
He took Aleera’s words; making them his with such an ease one could not deny the intimate connection. She wanted him to die.
“You know nothing. Of God; or of me”
Her voice shook with rage, spitting to his face.
“We are not so different, Him and I.”
His cold hands slid down her neck, chilling her pulse, down her front pushing her stomach through the hard bodice.
“Through the innocence of Mary His son received a divine mortal life. Through the innocence of you my children will receive a life eternal.”
Slowly he turned her, like a circus director revealing his greatest performance yet, to a spiked table in the far side of the round room. The servants were gathered round it, some even caressing the thick leather straps nailed to the wood. Violently they heaved a burned carcass from the slab; it was to be her place now.
“You will shed your hair, drain your blood, and give me your life. And after; you will be mine.”
Watching the instruments of her end being prepared, she felt her noble ideals beginning to dissipate. She had lived with death, with the knowledge of its unavoidability, of its glory, but now she wanted to run, to plead; to grovel for her life, just one moment more of breath in her lungs. Dracula’s fingers were running on her spine like nervous mice, he felt every though she had. His enjoyment came not from shaming her, but from the knowledge that he could.
“But do not worry, young Princess, you will see your vile God soon enough.”
Van Helsing was standing in the darkness of the small service entrance at the base of the laboratory floor, wrapping himself in his coat, hiding in the shadows. Dracula was too jubilant to notice his presence, his every movement, every word radiated victory, satisfaction. Even through the icy mask he could see Anna’s terror, her every attempt to break free.
Suddenly Dracula’s fingers stilled on Anna’s hip, his head cocked as if to listen. The two brides flew in, hissing, spitting towards them. Van Helsing could see Anna stiffen even further at the sight of the vampires. They circled the pair, darting forward and then back again like a pair of vultures.
“My loves, I have finally found the vessel for our children, for our life.”
His voice was honeyed, victorious, hands continuing their petting.
“I will not share your bed with Her!”
Aleera’s words were vicious, hissed to Anna, even if they were addressed to Dracula.
“No. No, my dears.”
He was spreading his arms, to embrace his current loved ones. Van Helsing could see the exact moment he lost hold of Anna. Her body, coiled with tension, sprang into motion. She crashed through a cavernous window into the parapet outside. He ran after her through the shattered glass, Dracula’s screams in his ears. He could feel the coils of Dracula’s will struggling for a hold on his mind, on Anna’s, but his concentration was too thin: too involved with his wailing brides.
She was facing the stony wall, violently pulling an iron cable attached to the stonework. He rushed to her and circled her palms within his and gave the cable a firm yank, springing it loose. She grabbed on to his coat with her left hand, the right instinctively wrapping around the hard metal twine. They jumped. Gravity and the harsh winds pillowing around the tower tore their bodies, the only reason, Anna later though, they stayed on was Van Helsing’s gloved strong fingers holding on to the cable, and holding on to her.
“Aleera! Who is she?”
His words barely carried over the howling wind.
“My uncle’s wife.”
The hard sand of the courtyard hit her so suddenly that her knees locked and made painful tremors run through her legs. He still held her up.
“She betrayed us. Maybe not by choice…”
She drew a breath.
“Many of us have died for this. She did not even accomplish that.”
Her voice turned very cold as she turned to their horses, still tied to the post near the stables, frantic and afraid. He was as glad to leave Castle Frankenstein behind as Anna was. He could feel the late afternoon rays of the sun shield their ride back to the village, giving them the needed cover to return to the Valerious castle.
* * * * * * * *
The chapel of the castle lay underground. There had once been a church up the hill, but it had been destroyed hundreds of years ago. Her ancestors had considered that a holy place, their final refuge, was to be safe. So they had carved a church of stone into the foundations of the mountain that rose behind the castle. She clutched her rosary, worn and smooth with years of use.
“Even if I walk in the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil….”
But she did. Fear had become much a part of her day as breathing and eating. They had been raised with the taste of it. Hidden away in the many secret rooms of the castle until old enough to fight, old enough to die. Her father had wished for her to marry, she knew this. But very few men of her rank were willing to travel here, behind God’s back, to find a wife whose purpose was to die, die fighting evil. Pictures of her had been sent around Europe, in hope of a husband and with that an heir to their endless quest, but none had come. Secretly in her heart she had been glad; and ashamed for it.
Once when she was very young she had silently one night slid into the chapel to witness her young uncle’s wedding. The old priest’s words had reverberated around the stone. He had spoken of purity and loyalty. Of the holy sacraments. The young bride was the image of the splendour of the saints in her white gown, still innocent of what she was marrying into. Three moths later he was found dead in the mountains. The bride was not found at all and when the family discovered her whereabouts it was already too late, she was already heavy with Dracula’s spawns. She had not understood then. Later on her mother, in silent tone, had explained why she was not allowed out. Why she, unlike the other girls of the village, was not allowed to the smithy where the young apprentice’s broke steel or to the stables where the smell of horse and hay ruled.
“You cannot pass this quest on idly.”
There had been such deep sorrow in her mother’s voice. For her she had grown to be a fierce fighter, equal to her brother and father. She had grown chaste like the hundreds of saints that decorated the walls of her home. But now her body had become the enemy, her chastity the dagger. With Dracula’s sinister words everything she had lived by vanished. Now her mother’s voice urged her to the smithy, to play with the other girls, but she could not, would not. The enemy she had so long fought was now inside her, in her flesh. She knew that Van Helsing would not let her get in the way. He would eliminate the threat, with her consent or not.
She pulled a worn out book from underneath the leg rest. It was Velkan’s psalm book. Dear Velkan, who would will his sister to carry on fighting. She was not sure if she had the strength left anymore. She bowed her back, slowly reciting holy words into the silence of the stone.
* * * * * * * *
It is like this he found her. Kneeling in front of an altar of stone buried deep with in the earth. During their hasty return from Castle Frankenstein she had been silent, face ghostly pale. Carl had not noticed her leaving in his enthusiasm for Dracula’s attempts to create life out of nothingness. He had watched her distraught gaze wander around the valley, then later around the paintings, and her father’s map. He knew what must be done, but found himself skittish towards the task. He did not know how to approach her; all the monsters he had killed seemed miniscule in comparison to her hunched form. Slowly he walked in. If she noticed his presence she gave no sign. She did not turn when he called her name. Slowly he kneeled next to her in the cold altar.
“My mother used to read this when I could not sleep.”
Her voice was clear and serious.
“Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow…”
“…Let me hear joy and gladness; Let the bones that you have crushed rejoice.”
He finished. Her eyes were hooded in the darkened room when they rose to meet his. She was on her guard, ready for a fight. The thought alone made him want to flinch.
“I cannot take anything that you are not willing to give.”
“But would you if I am to refuse?”
There was a steely edge to her voice. He would have to send her away, and she would not leave. She was honour bound to this land and to her faith. How could he ask her to forsake either one? She had turned again to face the altar painting. He felt a huge welt of tenderness swell inside him towards this noble, fierce creature, who had taken him so silently, unawares. How could he ever ask that?
She spoke towards the altar painting; her voice did not waver.
“How can I do anything but consent?”
Warnings: Violence, sex and religious themes. NC-17/R, if that is not your cup of tea then do not read it.
Author’s Notes: Firstly thank you to my greatly abused beta Ruby, who has selflessly tolerated my late night phone calls and rants, sat over tea for hours going over the details of this story and been a very supportive friend over great distances and on msn on very inconvenient hours. Somehow she seems to understand me better that I understand myself.
Secondly I have tried to keep the historical details in this story as accurate as possible. However I do not live in any of the countries mentioned in this story so my knowledge of their history and culture is limited. The geographical locations used in this story are actual places that did exist during the 1800’s, but whether they had harbour activity or provided certain services is not necessarily historically accurate.
Disclaimer: ‘Van Helsing’ and all its related articles are the property of Universal Studios and Stephen Sommers. I am not making any money off this.
(Give not thy strength unto women
nor thy ways to that which destroyeth kings)
- Tori Amos, ‘God’
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dark was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
- Rufus Wainwright, ‘Hallelujah’
She woke up suddenly, as if someone had yelled in her ear. She felt short of breath and a strange taste clogged the back of her throat; a sudden rage boiled in her; Van Helsing. She rose from her bed swiftly, only having to resort into clutching the door frame, the after effect of the poison and the painful way her corset constricted her body made it hard to breathe. She pushed the discomfort aside and willed herself to move. She stalked through the corridors angrily spitting his name, aware of how ridiculous she looked, but her pride would not let her leave this unpunished. She marched into the drawing room, insults on her lips, only to find it empty.
She sensed the wrongness in the room immediately; the air felt off, something she had learned to be wary of. Slight sounds of movement which, under different circumstances, could almost be figments of her imagination, reverberated in the walls. Slowly she lifted a pistol from one of the weapons desks. The metal was cool in her hand, a comfort of sorts.
The form was just a glimpse in the corner of her eye, as she moved it was already gone. The familiar shapes of furniture became hindrances, hiding places. This was not the first time for one of Dracula’s minions to have visited the castle. She shivered; there had always been someone to watch her back. She was not ready for a lonely death. An involuntary scream escaped her as the shape was suddenly in front of her, the strange smell in her nostrils.
Velkan’s clothing were torn and wet, his face was distraught even beneath the happiness. She could do nothing except embrace him even if everything about him felt strange, felt wrong. The clammy fear that had gripped her chest since his fall was finally gone. There were so few moments in her life when she was allowed to lower her guard, to be safe, she was never willing to let them go.
“Oh, Anna….. You….”
She had felt stretched all week, her body weary and tense. He was now the only familiar link she had and she welcomed him, ignoring the warning in her mind. Suddenly his face transformed into a horrified mask.
“Dracula is planning…..”
He pulled his wet form away from her embrace, cowering against the wall. A horrible convulsion shook of his body forcing him to the floor.
“Don’t….Castle Frankenstein…. You can’t….”
The rest of his words were drowned by the animalistic scream issuing from his throat. She could do nothing but watch as his body changed, face lengthening, body contouring to an impossible form. The pistol was still clutched in her hand, now warm with the heat of her skin. Tears, uninvited, were streaming from her eyes; a sob she would not let out was shaking her breast.
“Velkan….. No….please…..”
Even with her whole body shaking, her arm was steady as she rose to aim. The pistol was an independent part of her, separate from the screaming, crying woman attempting to break free.
“I love you.”
The smell of powder and blood filled the room. The half transformed beast’s head had fractured, blood and bone staining the wall. She wanted to die, wanted to drown. A heavy pressure on her chest made it difficult to breathe. She felt Van Helsing run up to her side, pulling her away. The rage returned with new vigour. She pulled out of his grasp and pointed her pistol between the man’s eyes. She could feel him readying himself for a struggle.
“I will kill you.”
There was icy determination in her voice, and he backed away. Her eyes were hostile and raw, and he knew that if he would make the wrong move she would pull the trigger. Of all the monsters he had faced this was the most difficult one. He was not out here to kill her, and the rage in her eyes confirmed that if they were to fight, someone would die, and for the first time he was not sure if he would come out victorious.
“I have no need for saviours. I have only one purpose here. I will kill him even if I have to ride to the pits of hell to do it. If you are here to help me, then do it.”
“I apologise, but you cannot face him alone.”
“Yes I can. I have faced him alone many times. If you are not prepared to stand by my side then leave.”
He did not leave. Slowly, still eyeing him suspiciously, she lowered the gun and turned away. She walked to the other side of the room and collapsed on the floor. His first instinct was to go to her, but the gun still lay beside her. Laboriously she undid the straps of her bodice letting it fall to the stony floor. She screamed, with such ferocity that it made him flinch. The sound issuing from her throat did not sound human; she banged her fits on the floor screaming her sorrow out.
Gently he walked to her and kneeled down.
“I am sorry.”
She did not know which incident he meant, maybe both, but took the offered handkerchief anyway. A thick curtain of black hair concealed her expression as she wiped her face. As she rose from the ground her face had become unreadable.
“Dracula is planning something in Castle Frankenstein.”
“You cannot…”
Her hands were still cradling the pistol, eyes hooded and dark.
“Yes I can, and you will help me.”
* * * * * * * *
The trek to Castle Frankenstein was a silent one; Anna’s demeanour was still cold, firmly forcing him to keep his distance. Van Helsing realised this was not something he could push aside. He needed her on his side; she knew the lands, and her experience in dealing with vampires was valuable. He had never encountered a worthy ally in any of his myriad assignments; or, he though wryly, one that he would have thought worthy. Anna had never allowed him even the thought of questioning her involvement.
After the unfortunate death of Dr. Frankenstein over a year ago, only a few villagers had dared to approach the castle. Anna had watched, discontented, from her window as the angry villagers had stormed the citadel. She had been aware of the accusation of grave robbery and of the wild rumours of the Doctor’s experiments. She would have preferred an open trial, taking him in broad daylight, not this skulking with torches and pitchforks; the world would think them savages. Choose your battles, sister dear. Velkan had been the voice of reason, imploring her to accept the rash judgements of the mob. Would he have survived, if she had implored harsher; commanded justice for the vile doctor? It was Velkan’s words spoken many months ago that drove her into the castle as much as his death mere hours ago. She had told Van Helsing that Transylvanians always look at the brighter side of death, they were forced to. She had accepted death as a companion many years ago, always flirting with its presence, courting it, just to be allowed to see her family again. The loneliness had festered in all of their souls even when her family had still been with her. Now death seemed a good companion; it brought hope of seeing her beloved ones again; in times of peace.
She began to regret their decision to ignore law the moment she walked into the castle. It had the smell. The smell of small rotten animals, fear, stale old sheets; Dracula had been here. She knew it, before they found the slimy pouches, before Van Helsing unveiled the deformed face of a baby vampire. They could both feel the light currents moving through the slimy bags, trembling in their fingers. It was a slight movement, a shifting shadow in the cavernous doorways surrounding the rundown hall.
With the shadows dancing in the corners, she began to feel the slight probing on the edges of her senses, someone looking a way in through the defences of propriety. She knew then that he had her like a puppet on a string. She willed herself to fight, just enough to get closer, to see him. Maybe she would see the flaw that all of her ancestors had missed. She crept on between the pouches as the shadows grew bolder, now finely defined against the ceiling. Van Helsing ran to chase the being that had suddenly appeared as if conjured up out of nothingness, as the wood fixtures began to crumble under an unnatural pressure, forcing her to back away and seek cover near the stone walls still holding strong. The open shaft almost pulled her in, her body slamming hard against the wooden interior, winding her. The box began to move up.
* * * * * * * *
Dracula played with him. Dangling crumpets from his past in his fingers, discussing them as common knowledge, continuously smiling, holding all the cards. His pace was slow, a man taking his Sunday stroll, but still forcing Van Helsing to back away. A glint had appeared into his eye during the exchange, his lips forming into a sneer.
“She is a fall flower, grown too late, bloom frozen, unspoiled.”
There was no questioning of whom he spoke, no questioning the lusting tone. Van Helsing felt cold, even if his hand still burned from the fire of the cross. Dracula had brought him here to gloat, to flaunt his masterpiece. Not Velkan, a mere body already cold, but Anna lured here to fill his need. A perfect plan; her own brother used to lure her in.
“I will open her, and she will love me for it.”
They were now moving into the darkness, both men cloaked in black, now hardly seeing each other.
“I will let her see God.”
And he was gone. The chill intensified.
* * * * * * * *
The ride up in the little cart made the back of her stomach hurt, she almost rolled out of the shamble as it came to a sudden stop. Castle Frankenstein had been abandoned long before its latest occupant had arrived with carriages and in a hurry to find a suitable “housing”. It was draughty, more than castles usually and it had a strange way of moaning in the night time. The main hall, serving as a laboratory, was by no means as deserted as it should have been. Small creatures squabbled among themselves arranging tubes and metal contraptions. Silently she crept by the walls, holding herself in the shadows. The forced stillness came so suddenly she would have screamed if it would have been possible. It was like ice was seeping into her muscles, hindering all movement and breath. The little vile servants edged closer, they sensed the change in her demeanour, sensed the panicked beating of her heart. She tried to close her eyes. Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with you…
“Anna… Oh Anna, what a beauty you have turned into.”
The hairs at the back of her neck rose, the chill in her bones intensified. He moved to stand in front of her, all suave and smooth motion, disguising the demonic creature living inside the flesh of human. His cold hand came to stroke her face.
“You brother was such a good blood hound, was he not?”
He smiled, hands moving to caress her hair.
“Did he not bring me the greatest price?”
The servants were tittering madly beside him, their gawky little mouths snapping in glee. She squeezed her eyes close. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb…
“You pray, do you not? To that pathetic God of yours, beg for mercy, for forgiveness. Pray to the Virgin to soothe your soul; your longing. Oh do not be so coy Princess; I know what festers in your lusting heart.”
He took Aleera’s words; making them his with such an ease one could not deny the intimate connection. She wanted him to die.
“You know nothing. Of God; or of me”
Her voice shook with rage, spitting to his face.
“We are not so different, Him and I.”
His cold hands slid down her neck, chilling her pulse, down her front pushing her stomach through the hard bodice.
“Through the innocence of Mary His son received a divine mortal life. Through the innocence of you my children will receive a life eternal.”
Slowly he turned her, like a circus director revealing his greatest performance yet, to a spiked table in the far side of the round room. The servants were gathered round it, some even caressing the thick leather straps nailed to the wood. Violently they heaved a burned carcass from the slab; it was to be her place now.
“You will shed your hair, drain your blood, and give me your life. And after; you will be mine.”
Watching the instruments of her end being prepared, she felt her noble ideals beginning to dissipate. She had lived with death, with the knowledge of its unavoidability, of its glory, but now she wanted to run, to plead; to grovel for her life, just one moment more of breath in her lungs. Dracula’s fingers were running on her spine like nervous mice, he felt every though she had. His enjoyment came not from shaming her, but from the knowledge that he could.
“But do not worry, young Princess, you will see your vile God soon enough.”
Van Helsing was standing in the darkness of the small service entrance at the base of the laboratory floor, wrapping himself in his coat, hiding in the shadows. Dracula was too jubilant to notice his presence, his every movement, every word radiated victory, satisfaction. Even through the icy mask he could see Anna’s terror, her every attempt to break free.
Suddenly Dracula’s fingers stilled on Anna’s hip, his head cocked as if to listen. The two brides flew in, hissing, spitting towards them. Van Helsing could see Anna stiffen even further at the sight of the vampires. They circled the pair, darting forward and then back again like a pair of vultures.
“My loves, I have finally found the vessel for our children, for our life.”
His voice was honeyed, victorious, hands continuing their petting.
“I will not share your bed with Her!”
Aleera’s words were vicious, hissed to Anna, even if they were addressed to Dracula.
“No. No, my dears.”
He was spreading his arms, to embrace his current loved ones. Van Helsing could see the exact moment he lost hold of Anna. Her body, coiled with tension, sprang into motion. She crashed through a cavernous window into the parapet outside. He ran after her through the shattered glass, Dracula’s screams in his ears. He could feel the coils of Dracula’s will struggling for a hold on his mind, on Anna’s, but his concentration was too thin: too involved with his wailing brides.
She was facing the stony wall, violently pulling an iron cable attached to the stonework. He rushed to her and circled her palms within his and gave the cable a firm yank, springing it loose. She grabbed on to his coat with her left hand, the right instinctively wrapping around the hard metal twine. They jumped. Gravity and the harsh winds pillowing around the tower tore their bodies, the only reason, Anna later though, they stayed on was Van Helsing’s gloved strong fingers holding on to the cable, and holding on to her.
“Aleera! Who is she?”
His words barely carried over the howling wind.
“My uncle’s wife.”
The hard sand of the courtyard hit her so suddenly that her knees locked and made painful tremors run through her legs. He still held her up.
“She betrayed us. Maybe not by choice…”
She drew a breath.
“Many of us have died for this. She did not even accomplish that.”
Her voice turned very cold as she turned to their horses, still tied to the post near the stables, frantic and afraid. He was as glad to leave Castle Frankenstein behind as Anna was. He could feel the late afternoon rays of the sun shield their ride back to the village, giving them the needed cover to return to the Valerious castle.
* * * * * * * *
The chapel of the castle lay underground. There had once been a church up the hill, but it had been destroyed hundreds of years ago. Her ancestors had considered that a holy place, their final refuge, was to be safe. So they had carved a church of stone into the foundations of the mountain that rose behind the castle. She clutched her rosary, worn and smooth with years of use.
“Even if I walk in the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil….”
But she did. Fear had become much a part of her day as breathing and eating. They had been raised with the taste of it. Hidden away in the many secret rooms of the castle until old enough to fight, old enough to die. Her father had wished for her to marry, she knew this. But very few men of her rank were willing to travel here, behind God’s back, to find a wife whose purpose was to die, die fighting evil. Pictures of her had been sent around Europe, in hope of a husband and with that an heir to their endless quest, but none had come. Secretly in her heart she had been glad; and ashamed for it.
Once when she was very young she had silently one night slid into the chapel to witness her young uncle’s wedding. The old priest’s words had reverberated around the stone. He had spoken of purity and loyalty. Of the holy sacraments. The young bride was the image of the splendour of the saints in her white gown, still innocent of what she was marrying into. Three moths later he was found dead in the mountains. The bride was not found at all and when the family discovered her whereabouts it was already too late, she was already heavy with Dracula’s spawns. She had not understood then. Later on her mother, in silent tone, had explained why she was not allowed out. Why she, unlike the other girls of the village, was not allowed to the smithy where the young apprentice’s broke steel or to the stables where the smell of horse and hay ruled.
“You cannot pass this quest on idly.”
There had been such deep sorrow in her mother’s voice. For her she had grown to be a fierce fighter, equal to her brother and father. She had grown chaste like the hundreds of saints that decorated the walls of her home. But now her body had become the enemy, her chastity the dagger. With Dracula’s sinister words everything she had lived by vanished. Now her mother’s voice urged her to the smithy, to play with the other girls, but she could not, would not. The enemy she had so long fought was now inside her, in her flesh. She knew that Van Helsing would not let her get in the way. He would eliminate the threat, with her consent or not.
She pulled a worn out book from underneath the leg rest. It was Velkan’s psalm book. Dear Velkan, who would will his sister to carry on fighting. She was not sure if she had the strength left anymore. She bowed her back, slowly reciting holy words into the silence of the stone.
* * * * * * * *
It is like this he found her. Kneeling in front of an altar of stone buried deep with in the earth. During their hasty return from Castle Frankenstein she had been silent, face ghostly pale. Carl had not noticed her leaving in his enthusiasm for Dracula’s attempts to create life out of nothingness. He had watched her distraught gaze wander around the valley, then later around the paintings, and her father’s map. He knew what must be done, but found himself skittish towards the task. He did not know how to approach her; all the monsters he had killed seemed miniscule in comparison to her hunched form. Slowly he walked in. If she noticed his presence she gave no sign. She did not turn when he called her name. Slowly he kneeled next to her in the cold altar.
“My mother used to read this when I could not sleep.”
Her voice was clear and serious.
“Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow…”
“…Let me hear joy and gladness; Let the bones that you have crushed rejoice.”
He finished. Her eyes were hooded in the darkened room when they rose to meet his. She was on her guard, ready for a fight. The thought alone made him want to flinch.
“I cannot take anything that you are not willing to give.”
“But would you if I am to refuse?”
There was a steely edge to her voice. He would have to send her away, and she would not leave. She was honour bound to this land and to her faith. How could he ask her to forsake either one? She had turned again to face the altar painting. He felt a huge welt of tenderness swell inside him towards this noble, fierce creature, who had taken him so silently, unawares. How could he ever ask that?
She spoke towards the altar painting; her voice did not waver.
“How can I do anything but consent?”