Sweet and Tender Beasts, part 2
The second part to Sweet and Tender Beasts. The file in itself is so huge I have to cut it into sections.
Carl was hiding behind a large stack of old tomes, dragged from the ancient Valerious library, when he walked in. He had never understood Carl’s desire for the clergy. He was a scholar and a scientist, in these times that was a merit in itself.
“The doors and windows must all be barricaded.”
“She consented, did she?”
His glare was icy, and Carl swiftly ducked behind another stack of books.
“Barricaded, yes, will do.”
She had risen from the altar with such a hurry, which left him reeling. Her brusque manner and tone had almost managed to hide the fear lurking in the corners of her body. He knew the castle must be made as secure as possible. Dracula did not take failures lightly and would be soon attempting to take her again. Dracula was not stupid; he knew that Van Helsing, even though his mission was a holy one, would not hesitate to take Anna’s honour in his effort to defeat the Count. Until then they would be vulnerable. They would have to be well prepared; most of the defences would be in Carl’s hands. He needed time, no, he wanted time; Anna needed time.
The huge windows of the study were already equipped with heavy iron shutters. The castle had been built and re-built to last aerial attacks over the centuries. Thick iron rods were driven into the stone work at every opening and most of the courtyard was surrounded with an iron grating.
He heard the screeches of Dracula’s brides as they entered the castle; they reverberated in every goblet and window. He was on his feet immediately running towards the winding staircases that lead up to the towers. Carl dove to the desk to save what documents he could. The screeching was moving down the staircase, and now it was mingled with Anna’s shouts and curses. She stormed out of the small doorway, her bare feet slapping loudly against the stone works of the floor. She was carrying a long sword, already tainted with vampire blood.
The creatures were not far behind. They instantly flew to the ceiling, yelling foul things. Anna rushed to the weapons chest, and he rushed to her. One of the creatures descended swiftly, its claws grabbing her hair, attempting to pull her into the air. They were already halfway up the room, and Anna’s screams of rage began to change into panic, when he finally found the silver stakes strapped onto the woodwork of the chest. A fast throw with his steady hand and the stake met its target. The beast’s claws instinctively released their captive. She stumbled to the floor, but immediately rose, expecting another attack. The force of the blow had sent the vampire flying against one of the seven huge windows of the hall. The weight of the beast managed to break the class and the shutters, before it disintegrated into the cold air. The other beast flew after its sister, wailing horribly.
Snow was blowing in through the broken window. If the remaining bride would capture Anna, it would be all over. Dracula would delay no more with idle chatter. He dashed to the sword cabinet where she was fighting with the centuries-old lock.
“You need to get away!”
“There is nowhere for me to go!”
Her voice was frantic over the howling wind that had increased in strength, as if hailing for Dracula himself. There was no time. Fast she pulled him to the corner of the room, where an old and smelly tapestry covered a wooden door that lead into the family chapel. The door was thick oak and had a heavy bolt on the other side. It would hold.
Their breathing was harsh in the darkness. Torches lit in the chapel gave eerie light to the hallway. The frustrated howls of the remaining bride made the stonework vibrate.
“Are you hurt?”
Slowly she shook her head, her fingers buried in her thick hair massaging the skin where it had been pulled.
“Anna, we don’t have any time… If they attack again…”
“I know”
She took a hold of his hands and guided them to the fastenings of her trousers on the side of her hip. Resting his hands against the lacings, feeling her hot skin through the fabric, he bent down to kiss her.
“Please don’t…”
Her voice was barely more than a breath against him, a nameless request, a fear; he did not know how to answer. Instead he concentrated on the intertwining strings binding the cloth. Laces undone, she helped him to push the fabric down her legs, kicking it away. His belt, worn with years of use into soft and yielding, came loose easily in her hands. She was not heavy, lifting her was easy, her legs snatched around his middle, and an apprehensive grunt escaped her throat. Her feet were trembling against his legs; her fingers clutched painfully his shoulders as he pushed against her.
“Easy…easy…”
But she could not settle down; her thighs were rigid against his hipbones, knuckles white against his dark coat. He lifted her body higher, her hips resting against his stomach, bearing all of her weight onto him. Slowly she lowered her mouth to meet his. She was still reserved, holding back, hands clutching onto his coat. Slowly she unwound, her lips parting to let him in, her legs twining around his back. Carefully he held her hips and pushed in. She tore her mouth from his drawing a whining breath; his left hand supported her back letting her accommodate him. His other hand pushed between them, slowly circling his thumb between her legs. Her breath caught, and low whine escaped through her parted lips.
Her eyes were huge in the low light, looking straight at him. She parted her legs slightly, trusting him to hold her up, moving onto him, her lips parted to exhale. It sounded loud as the wind in the silence of the passage. She rested her forehead against his, breathing against his lips.
“Move. I shall fall apart if you don’t.”
He pushed, keeping his hand against her back, protecting her skin against the harsh stone. Slowly they found a mutual rhythm. Her head was thrown back, hair spread against the stone wall; he buried his face against her neck muffling his signs into her body. He felt wetness against the side of his face, tears. She was crying, silently mouth gasping for breath. He stilled, still half buried in her body.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head, lifter her hand from the fold of his coat to caress his cheek.
“No.”
She kissed him, lips open and hungry, tears merging into the kiss. He felt the change in her body, she pushed back to meet him, allowed him to set the pace. Her heels pushed tighter against his back, leaving bruises behind.
“Anna…”
His voice broke half through the word. He was shaking, his stomach was cramping with the force of holding back. Her legs, twined around him, pulled him even closer. An angry sob escaped through his lips.
“Don’t hold back.”
Release felt like a kick in the stomach. He buried his head against her, trying to muffle the deep moan that tore itself from him. She wrapped herself around him, riding the tremors of his body.
Slowly his knees gave away underneath their combined weight, and he settled onto the floor letting his legs rest, but still holding her against his chest. Her breath began to slow down, as the adrenalin ebbed away. She started to shiver, from the exhaustion, from the cold air of the chapel. He grabbed the edge of his coat and engulfed her in the fabric. Later on she would remember the smell and texture of him against her, the smell of sweat, leather, garlic. She was so tired, her body and limbs felt stretched. But somehow, she felt content, content in a way endless hours of prayer or gruelling fights would never result in. She wanted to burrow herself into him; she pushed her face beneath his chin, hiding. For a moment he had stilled the rage in her.
A loud banging on the door made her wake from her daze. Carl’s voice, in frantic screams, was calling for them. From the warmth of his coat she started looking for her trousers. They dressed with speed, unable to look one another in the eye. Carl was still yelling, for them, and for God, as Van Helsing wrenched the door open. The friar’s hands were overflowing with parchment and books, his face was distraught. He brightened up immediately as they stepped from behind the tapestry.
“Dear God… The beasts just flew in… They broke the windows…. And the howling…. Where did you go?”
Carl’s prattle washed over them, he seemingly had forgotten that they had been present in the fight. Before Van Helsing could answer
“We were in the chapel.”
Her tone did not give any opening for questions. She turned on her heel and marched into the stairs disappearing onto the lower floors. He watched her go dejectedly.
“What happened?”
His glare was even frostier than before.
* * * * * * * *
The washroom of the castle was on the lowest floor above ground. The servants, still petrified by the earlier attack, were preparing her bath with trembling hands. She stood in the shadowy corner of the room watching them at work, and refusing to change into her bath robe or divulging her dirty clothing to be washed. The servants left in a hurry, wearier of their mistress’ bad temper than the beasts howling outside.
With care she undid the straps holding her bodice in place, undid the lacings of her trousers she had hurriedly tied only moments before. She could still feel the calloused fingers pushing the fabric down. Oh God, how could she ever give the trousers to the washer woman? She had been the villagers’ favourite topic for idle gossip for a long time, but she was reluctant to give them scandals that were true.
Underwater the world was silent and dark. Most of the time she would prefer to stay there, body forever hidden beneath the waves. Some days it took over her, the forbidden desire to leave, not to exist. The true horror of their curse was that they were forever bound to the land, centuries passed and nothing could change, would change. She was fourteen when her mother walked into the sea. She had been sickly since Velkan’s birth, and finally that year her father had decided to send her to Prague, to enjoy the final years, to finally see the changing of the seasons. Anna was not allowed to go with her. She had felt her mother’s weariness, her mind; where the memory of children long past resided, taken away by their endless quest. Sometimes she envied her mother in the embrace of the sea. She wanted to see the sea, wanted to walk into it. Maybe she would find herself there. Her lungs began to burn and she was forced to surface once more.
She had to be strong now; to be brave and fulfil her family’s pledge. She had to face the disapproval of her ancestors and her subjects. She had to kill Dracula. Maybe then she could walk into the sea and find peace. She felt the pull in her stomach; it was not the pull of the sea. Anna feared that she had now anchored herself into the world with stronger ties that their calling ever could.
* * * * * * * *
He was pacing the length of his room. It must have once been a family member’s room, the huge windows and massive wood furnishing told a story of ancient wealth, but it had been ripped bare of all details of its former occupant, impersonal enough to serve as a guest room. He should not have done what he did; no, he should not have enjoyed it. It was an unfortunate turn of events which forced them, no forced her, to make that choice.
With reproach he recalled the thoughts that had baited him uninvited during their ride from Castle Frankenstein. He had seen her eyes travelling around the village, lingering on the smithy’s door. A jealousy, of anyone close to this woman to whom he had no claim, rose in the back of his throat. She is mine, his body had screamed and he had detested himself for it. There was something in the vivacious smile that called out to him. From the start she had made herself his equal, made herself felt. Unlike the hundreds of tarts in street corners or high born ladies feeding off on his adventures had. She carried the same baggage of pain and uncertainty and did not shy away from it. She was ready to die and he feared he would not be able to let her.
He wondered if this longing for her came from his past, those forgotten hours and days that he sometimes caught glimpses of in the corner of his eye, only to feel them disappearing on closer study.
* * * * * * * *
Next morning rain pelted down in violent sheets, making it impossible to see further than a few yards from the castle windows. Anna watched the rain, the dark clouds moving over the mountain pass in endless groups. Even vampires disliked the rain and flew in it rarely. She should have been glad of the momentary truce brought by the weather, but she felt restless. They had won the battle, yes, but she wanted to finish the war, tonight. It was as if on her call that a young maid escorted a wet, scruffy man into the library.
He spoke hesitantly, stuttering over words as he told that one of his sons had disappeared. This was no means an unusual event in the village. Vampires, or werewolves, were known to snatch pray even outside of the usual feeding times. The farmer’s sons had been playing outside the old mill half a mile outside the village. Anna knew that the site had gathered an ominous reputation after the death Dr. Frankenstein and his alleged creation. The younger of the boys had come home screaming of a monster he had seen through the broken floor boards of the mill while hiding out from Dracula’s brides. His brother had not been so lucky. With a now broken voice the farmer told how his youngest had hidden in the ruins, listening to his brother’s screams while the brides had flown with him into the distance.
The farmer left, not much consoled by Anna’s promise to seek out this new monster, and why should he be she wondered. New terrors sprang up every year and there seemed to be no end to Dracula’s rule, no magic weapon to bring about his downfall. She knew, as did the old farmer, that it was too late for the elder boy. After Velkan’s death Dracula needed a new hound. The boy would be turned within days. Many times had she damned her ancestors for this curse, for the generations before her who had died fighting a battle already lost. This was not a time for desperation. With a stony face she turned to look for Van Helsing. They had a new monster to find.
* * * * * * * *
Anna contented herself into watching as Van Helsing fought the monster into chains and into the plush Valerious coach, now worn with age. Carl was standing a little way off, petrified into fearful silence by the rattling coach. Anna tried to give the friar an encouraging smile. The horses were getting restless; they were still young, eager for a run. He banged the small door closed making the horses throw their heads in discontentment. She walked to the agitated horses, slowly stroking each one.
“Nothing is faster than Transylvanian horses.”
He made a non-committal grunt, wearily eyeing the restless beasts, black hide gleaming in the morning light.
“On everything else, you are on your own.”
He grinned at her, and it finally felt like a real smile. She watched him make his way to another, identical, coach and make his way through the village, barely controlling the wilful horses. She walked to her coach. Almost lost in thought, she grabbed the reins and guided the horses to a smaller pass obscured from view by the bulk of the castle. The hoof beats gave an almost musical rhythm as they trotted through the forest.
She had not yet time to contemplate the implications of her arrival to Rome. No Valerious had entered the Holy City since Valerious the Elder had vowed his oath in 1462. She had her qualms about entering the real world, the world where vampires or un-dead creatures did not walk the earth, where the nightly sleep was only disturbed by man-made terrors. A world where noble born Ladies did not wield a sword. Rome had a large court of gypsy nobility, and she would be expected to make an appearance.
Velkan had once been taken to a gypsy court in Prague to be recognised as the heir to the throne, but now it was only her. She was reluctant to bring news of her brother’s death, to see her father’s legacy be torn to pieces in bitter rivalries between the clans, to be questioned and robbed of her land. The quest had protected women heirs in the past, but unmarried and childless she had no chance of securing her position in the ruling line.
She had, at a point, considered not travelling, but the destruction of Dracula was no longer only her quest. If his vile progeny were to come alive, the threat of his evil could no longer be contained by her pledge. She had demanded Van Helsing’s respect and trust in the beginning, now she could no longer deny the same rights from him. The monster needed to go to Rome, and she would take him there.
The hazy light of morning began to dawn on the forest, the difference between night and day was nonexistent, but through living her whole life in these woods she had began to recognise the dawn. A daybreak meant hope, it meant a few moments of sunlight. This morning they were not so lucky. A heavy all consuming mist still lingered between the trees, hindering all sight. She heard him long before she caught sight of them. Barely hanging between the ties of the horses, carriage long disintegrated. He made the jump to her carriage look so effortless, giving her a slight smile. It was only a small relief, for in a few moments Dracula’s newest werewolf was upon them.
* * * * * * * *
Anna could not help but to admire the forest, so many healthy strong trees, with greenery reaching up to the skies. She could feel Dracula’s presence, but not nearly as strongly as in her own woods. She had lost all sense of direction when she jumped off the flaming carriage, and was now trying to find her way back to the road. She saw Van Helsing crouching against a tree, as if injured. He smiled at her, opened his mouth to welcome her back, but she would not let him, tearing his coat open.
“You’ve been bitten.”
There was a finality to her words; a cold chilling prospect of having to kill an innocent man again. Slowly she walked back, hand already searching for her gun. She should have felt Aleera in the woods, but Van Helsing’s injury preoccupied her too much for caution. The blow came out of nowhere, and in an instant she was in the air. She fought, fought to her last breath, until she could not hold herself conscious anymore, the pressure of blood in her head peaked. The oblivion felt more welcome than she was willing to admit.
She felt the familiar coldness in her bones. She felt the cool floor beneath her palms and the wind in her hair. Her mind fought its way to consciousness.
“So we meet again, my beauty.”
She was in a dressing room, lined with mirrors and lush, thick fabrics, dresses thrown carelessly on slight wooden chairs. She pushed herself up. Why was everything so cold? She felt weak, all the walls of her mind torn down during her sleep, giving him a free reign.
“He plucked you.”
His voice was scathing, a jealous lover.
“How was it my Princess? How was it to be a whore?”
She felt Dracula in her head, in her body, mind seeking answers. She felt the brand of Van Helsing inside of her, burning since that fateful day. You will not have this. Will not. It was a losing battle, she knew, her mind and body already worn beyond tolerance, but somehow he did not see, could not take away her breathless moments in the dark. That feeling of triumph kept her sane as his lackeys dressed her, moulded her naked body in front of him, pushing her lungs and bones into submission. Dracula made her into a Lady he could seduce; he could take. Once more he forced Anna’s body to become her enemy; took away her choice. Now part of her understood a woman’s place in the world that resided outside her village; outside of her quest. The freedom; the choice; the pleasure were now gone. As the bones of the corset dug into her skin she swore; I will have you again, I will feel you again; there lies my strength; my will to keep Dracula’s mind at bay.
He walked to her. Admiring the red silk, the finest of gold; this is how the Princess of gypsies should bee seen; as a queen, not a hunter.
“Now come my beauty. We have a ball to attend to.”
* * * * * * * *
Her lugs were burning, lack of oxygen made her legs unsteady, steps unfocused, but she kept running, the needle firmly clutched in her hand. She could hear the roars of the beasts and breaking of metal. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name….Let her not be late.
The last few days had been a blur; the vivid colours of the ball changing fast back into the grey woods of her homeland. Van Helsing’s rage had been like a physical presence that hung around them as Carl had raced to find access to Dracula’s world. Even though she would never have admitted it; Anna bathed in his rage. The growing force of the wolf had calmed her nerves, had stilled her racing heart. And now it was her turn to race; to attempt to stop his rage from becoming eternal.
As she finally reached the room, a foul beast which had once been Van Helsing, was howling over a burn mark on the stone, where she assumed Dracula had once been.
Within an instant the beast’s head turned to her. Its yellow eyes were tiny slits in its head. She backed away, slowly, so as not to alarm it further, until she could no more. A stone wall colder that ice pushed into her back. The beast moved ever closer, its snout pushing into her chest. Anna could see its nostrils flaring, smelling the blood on her …Thy kingdom come, thy will be done… Her hand squeezed the needle; she needed to get the antidote into him before she would die. The beast did not attack, it growled at her, deep sound, purring from its chest. She acted, sinking the needle into the beast’s neck. Its howl was ear shattering, but still it refused to attack. The beast whimpered and limped away from her, then fell onto its side breathing laboriously.
She could hear Carl’s hurried steps echoing in the hall. He rushed in, bearing the silver stake, ready to strike. The sight of the beast on the ground made him stop short. He turned to look at her, still leaning against the stone, unable to move. Slowly the beast started to change. It was not violent as before. The brown hair withered and fell away, body, muscles, slowly taking shape, until they were both looking at an unconscious man. Finally her limbs regained their ability to move and she stumbled to his body, shaking his shoulders. An irrational fear gripped her chest; he seemed dead, like her brother. His limbs began to move, uncontrolled, not yet used to the form of his body. Groaning, he opened his eyes, only to find her worried gaze. For a moment he seemed bewildered, then reached up twining his hand into her hair, and pulled her down for a kiss. His mouth tasted musky; earthy, an animal taste. She could not pull herself away.
Carl’s slightly alarmed cough pulled her out of the pure feeling of him and instinctively made her pull away. He looked at her first in confusion and then with growing apprehension. She rose swiftly and made a show of looking for his clothing in the rubble. Heavy steps began to echo from the hallway, tall shadows danced in the walls. Instinctively Anna pulled out her long sword; the hiss of the blade loud in the hall. Frankenstein limbed into the circle of firelight. His face was badly torn and dark fluid was seeping from his left arm; leaving slight puddles onto the stone floor.
“They are all dead flesh now.”
Anna sheathed her sword and nodded once. She picked up Van Helsing coat that had fallen onto the floor and surprisingly remained unscattered during the battle. She threw it at the man without looking at him and began walking towards the passageway.
“We need to return to the entrance.”
Angrily Van Helsing pulled the coat over his torn clothing and the three men moved to follow her. The walk to the icy mirror was a silent one.
* * * * * * * *
She had felt the change immediately after their return. There were no more attacks or disappearing children. For a while the village quieted down, a calm before the storm. But life began to return into its familiar route and the village began to fill with new vigour. The villagers, who had lived generations under the threat of vampires, did not quite know how to act. Anna watched from the castle’s window as they enthusiastically prepared the first open market in decades. Horses and cattle were let out to herd in the little grass that actually grew in the village. Five wedding ceremonies were performed in a week; faith was restored.
Frankenstein had not felt comfortable enough to remain with them in the Valerious manor. He had insisting on departing the very same morning. Anna had instructed the servants to prepare some food for his journey, and Carl had given him some religious texts as well as maps of southern and eastern Russia to guide his journey. They had watched his departure silently in the misty morning hours. He had agreed to take one horse to carry his small baggage, but nothing else. Anna felt empty. All that had even haunted this land was now gone. There was nothing left to commemorate her family’s efforts, nothing to make it real.
She had felt the villagers’ pressuring gazes the few times she had ventured outside. They had no longer any need of her. She stood among them, reminding of the bad times that were now passed. Like all small communities, her village was fast to move on and forget the old heroes. She wandered in her empty castle, the overbearing gazes of her ancestors following her silent vigil from the safety of their portraits.
Van Helsing had become cold and withdrawn almost immediately after their return. His passion and morbid attitude towards his profession had disappeared. Anna wondered if it was normal, if he always turned sour after a kill. Maybe it was a safety mechanism. She was envious. Only if she could build a wall around her heart and could stop wailing into her pillow night after night, nightmarish visions of Velkan and her father haunting her dreams.
It was Carl who approached her on the matter of her idle wonderings. She was in the library looking at the mass of books it had accumulated over the centuries, books that she had never had time to read. For a moment Carl watched her from the distance of the doorway. Van Helsing would never be humbled enough to do this. Carl had observed him in these last few days, the fugitive glances he sent her way. There was also something else, a lurking fear. He would not approach her, preferring to send Carl instead. Something had irrevocably changed in the monster hunter.
“Umm…. Princess Anna…”
She turned with a very small book cupped in her hands. She smiled at his tumbling words, but now there was a new, painful quality to her once mischievous smiles.
“It is merely that… would you be interested in accompanying us… Meaning would, you be interested in travelling to Rome, and as we are going there anyway… or to another city that we might take you… not that you need taking just… for company.”
He finished lamely.
“Yes. I would like that.”
She slid the small volume back into its shelve.
“My village has very little use for me anymore.”
* * * * * * * *
It was the day of their leaving. The sky for once was clear, but snow seemed to be looming in the horizon. They would have to ride fast to make it to the pass before the storm. Van Helsing had been silent over their travel plans, sending wary glances her way when ever their paths crossed in the castle.
Now she stood outside the main gates of her castle, well, not her castle anymore. The priests of the village were performing a blessing in the graveyard. There had been many dead and missing who had been denied a proper burial; bodies never found or the village under such terror that the dead were merely dumped to the ground without a goodbye. When the old priest stepped to Velkan’s grave, soil still black from the shovels, her fingers instinctively rose to the sign of the cross. Goodbye, my dear, for we are not to meet again.
* * * * * * * *
The first days of the ride were gruelling. Snow pelted down, just as Anna had feared. She had not ridden long distances in years and her legs were sore and tense. Most evenings when they stopped to rest she had no strength left to eat. For her relief she could see the same signs of exhaustion on Carl’s face. Van Helsing drove the party forwards with a deadly pace, and only the lack of spare horses made him rest the nights. Even then he was restless, walking around the camp all nigh, taking most of the watches.
The mornings were the worst. The coldness had settled into her sore muscles during the night, and getting up from her bedroll took a long time. Carl, bless his heart, had stocked his saddle bag with tea. Where he had managed to find the leaves she did not know. Maybe the priests of her village had considered a fellow clergy man worthy of such a gift. Anna enjoyed it none the less.
It was the seventh morning of their journey. Anna woke with the first light, still tired, to find that the ache in her thighs had changed into slicing pain. She forced her shaking legs to move, pushing herself off the ground. She limped to the mountain stream behind the trees that covered their camp. There was some ice and snow lingering on the banks but she could clearly see the spring coming to the mountains. She spread her thick coat on the bank and dug a large handkerchief from the pocket. Removal of her boots was painful, the fabric and leather had pressed angry welts to her skin.
With care she peeled her trousers off. The fabric had attached itself to her skin; the pain of the pulling made her eyes water. The heavy ride, combined with sweat and grime that had gathered to her skin during the days, had caused abrasions to form in her inner thighs. The continuous confinement of the irritated skin inside the fabric and constant chafing of her saddle had caused them to infect. Puss and blood was oozing from the small cuts lining her legs. She soaked the handkerchief in the stream and started cleaning the wounds. She bit her teeth together to stop herself from gasping, tears were now freely leaking from her eyes.
“Anna…. We are leaving.”
Van Helsing’s voice called for her from the nearby trees, she heard his steps approach. Swiftly she pulled her coat to cover herself.
“We must go now.”
“I have a small cut in my leg; I shall be with you in a moment.”
Her voice was calmer than she felt. He kneeled next to her.
“Anything bad?”
“Nothing. I said I’ll be with…”
She could not finish, the sentence turning into a painful hiss. His hand had come to squeeze her knee, fingers pushing straight into one of the sores through her coat; violently she swatted his hand away. His eyes immediately gained a concerned look, searching her face. She refused to look at him.
He knew he had behaved badly. But every time he even glanced at her the overwhelming desire seized his body. He could still feel the smell of her in his nostrils. The wolf had not disappeared from within him with the antidote. The primal part of his brain that had recognised her, even trough all that rage, was still present, still knew her. It felt like he had wanted her forever, always carrying the want inside his chest, but never before realising who it was for.
“Please… I can help.”
Maybe it was the tone of his voice that gave her reassurance, as she moved the leather and fur of her coat to reveal the angry welt in the side of her knee. He pulled his gloves off and pushed the angry red skin around the sore. She said nothing, but he heard her intake of breath. How she could have ridden with these he did not know.
He got up and went to his horse. Carl was standing beside his horse looking confused.
“We will be a while.”
Carl only nodded as he disappeared into the forest with a small glass bottle. She had not moved from the riverside. Once again he kneeled next to her, opening the bottle. A scent of herbs and alcohol filled the air and made Anna screw her face.
“You better let me do this. This will hurt.”
She looked scandalised pulling the coat tighter around her legs.
“If you think you are getting a free show here…”
Her voice was icy, eyes flashing. He lowered the bottle carefully to the ground and took off his coat, laying it on top of her legs. She looked at the makeshift cover, and slowly nodded. He poured the ointment on his hand and pushed in between the fabrics, knuckles brushing her heated skin.
“Relax…”
The ointment burned beyond belief and after a while she gave up and grabbed his other hand, bruising it in her grip. She made no sound throughout and still refused to meet his eyes. He could feel her muscles quaking under his fingers. In the end she was laying in the snow, her legs spread as wide as the coverage of his coat allowed. She had covered her face with her hands, shallow breaths escaping through her clenched fingers.
He knew what the ointment felt on raw skin. It was very effective on open wounds and numbed the skin for hours, but applying it was torture. He washed his hands in the cold river and filled his water container.
She had accepted his offer for his loose trousers. That day their pace was slow. Anna was forced to ride side saddle, which she had never done before. Only few words were spoken within the party, but it was a welcomed silence. Carl felt that a truce had been reached on the riverside. He watched from a small distance as they rode side by side.
Carl was hiding behind a large stack of old tomes, dragged from the ancient Valerious library, when he walked in. He had never understood Carl’s desire for the clergy. He was a scholar and a scientist, in these times that was a merit in itself.
“The doors and windows must all be barricaded.”
“She consented, did she?”
His glare was icy, and Carl swiftly ducked behind another stack of books.
“Barricaded, yes, will do.”
She had risen from the altar with such a hurry, which left him reeling. Her brusque manner and tone had almost managed to hide the fear lurking in the corners of her body. He knew the castle must be made as secure as possible. Dracula did not take failures lightly and would be soon attempting to take her again. Dracula was not stupid; he knew that Van Helsing, even though his mission was a holy one, would not hesitate to take Anna’s honour in his effort to defeat the Count. Until then they would be vulnerable. They would have to be well prepared; most of the defences would be in Carl’s hands. He needed time, no, he wanted time; Anna needed time.
The huge windows of the study were already equipped with heavy iron shutters. The castle had been built and re-built to last aerial attacks over the centuries. Thick iron rods were driven into the stone work at every opening and most of the courtyard was surrounded with an iron grating.
He heard the screeches of Dracula’s brides as they entered the castle; they reverberated in every goblet and window. He was on his feet immediately running towards the winding staircases that lead up to the towers. Carl dove to the desk to save what documents he could. The screeching was moving down the staircase, and now it was mingled with Anna’s shouts and curses. She stormed out of the small doorway, her bare feet slapping loudly against the stone works of the floor. She was carrying a long sword, already tainted with vampire blood.
The creatures were not far behind. They instantly flew to the ceiling, yelling foul things. Anna rushed to the weapons chest, and he rushed to her. One of the creatures descended swiftly, its claws grabbing her hair, attempting to pull her into the air. They were already halfway up the room, and Anna’s screams of rage began to change into panic, when he finally found the silver stakes strapped onto the woodwork of the chest. A fast throw with his steady hand and the stake met its target. The beast’s claws instinctively released their captive. She stumbled to the floor, but immediately rose, expecting another attack. The force of the blow had sent the vampire flying against one of the seven huge windows of the hall. The weight of the beast managed to break the class and the shutters, before it disintegrated into the cold air. The other beast flew after its sister, wailing horribly.
Snow was blowing in through the broken window. If the remaining bride would capture Anna, it would be all over. Dracula would delay no more with idle chatter. He dashed to the sword cabinet where she was fighting with the centuries-old lock.
“You need to get away!”
“There is nowhere for me to go!”
Her voice was frantic over the howling wind that had increased in strength, as if hailing for Dracula himself. There was no time. Fast she pulled him to the corner of the room, where an old and smelly tapestry covered a wooden door that lead into the family chapel. The door was thick oak and had a heavy bolt on the other side. It would hold.
Their breathing was harsh in the darkness. Torches lit in the chapel gave eerie light to the hallway. The frustrated howls of the remaining bride made the stonework vibrate.
“Are you hurt?”
Slowly she shook her head, her fingers buried in her thick hair massaging the skin where it had been pulled.
“Anna, we don’t have any time… If they attack again…”
“I know”
She took a hold of his hands and guided them to the fastenings of her trousers on the side of her hip. Resting his hands against the lacings, feeling her hot skin through the fabric, he bent down to kiss her.
“Please don’t…”
Her voice was barely more than a breath against him, a nameless request, a fear; he did not know how to answer. Instead he concentrated on the intertwining strings binding the cloth. Laces undone, she helped him to push the fabric down her legs, kicking it away. His belt, worn with years of use into soft and yielding, came loose easily in her hands. She was not heavy, lifting her was easy, her legs snatched around his middle, and an apprehensive grunt escaped her throat. Her feet were trembling against his legs; her fingers clutched painfully his shoulders as he pushed against her.
“Easy…easy…”
But she could not settle down; her thighs were rigid against his hipbones, knuckles white against his dark coat. He lifted her body higher, her hips resting against his stomach, bearing all of her weight onto him. Slowly she lowered her mouth to meet his. She was still reserved, holding back, hands clutching onto his coat. Slowly she unwound, her lips parting to let him in, her legs twining around his back. Carefully he held her hips and pushed in. She tore her mouth from his drawing a whining breath; his left hand supported her back letting her accommodate him. His other hand pushed between them, slowly circling his thumb between her legs. Her breath caught, and low whine escaped through her parted lips.
Her eyes were huge in the low light, looking straight at him. She parted her legs slightly, trusting him to hold her up, moving onto him, her lips parted to exhale. It sounded loud as the wind in the silence of the passage. She rested her forehead against his, breathing against his lips.
“Move. I shall fall apart if you don’t.”
He pushed, keeping his hand against her back, protecting her skin against the harsh stone. Slowly they found a mutual rhythm. Her head was thrown back, hair spread against the stone wall; he buried his face against her neck muffling his signs into her body. He felt wetness against the side of his face, tears. She was crying, silently mouth gasping for breath. He stilled, still half buried in her body.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head, lifter her hand from the fold of his coat to caress his cheek.
“No.”
She kissed him, lips open and hungry, tears merging into the kiss. He felt the change in her body, she pushed back to meet him, allowed him to set the pace. Her heels pushed tighter against his back, leaving bruises behind.
“Anna…”
His voice broke half through the word. He was shaking, his stomach was cramping with the force of holding back. Her legs, twined around him, pulled him even closer. An angry sob escaped through his lips.
“Don’t hold back.”
Release felt like a kick in the stomach. He buried his head against her, trying to muffle the deep moan that tore itself from him. She wrapped herself around him, riding the tremors of his body.
Slowly his knees gave away underneath their combined weight, and he settled onto the floor letting his legs rest, but still holding her against his chest. Her breath began to slow down, as the adrenalin ebbed away. She started to shiver, from the exhaustion, from the cold air of the chapel. He grabbed the edge of his coat and engulfed her in the fabric. Later on she would remember the smell and texture of him against her, the smell of sweat, leather, garlic. She was so tired, her body and limbs felt stretched. But somehow, she felt content, content in a way endless hours of prayer or gruelling fights would never result in. She wanted to burrow herself into him; she pushed her face beneath his chin, hiding. For a moment he had stilled the rage in her.
A loud banging on the door made her wake from her daze. Carl’s voice, in frantic screams, was calling for them. From the warmth of his coat she started looking for her trousers. They dressed with speed, unable to look one another in the eye. Carl was still yelling, for them, and for God, as Van Helsing wrenched the door open. The friar’s hands were overflowing with parchment and books, his face was distraught. He brightened up immediately as they stepped from behind the tapestry.
“Dear God… The beasts just flew in… They broke the windows…. And the howling…. Where did you go?”
Carl’s prattle washed over them, he seemingly had forgotten that they had been present in the fight. Before Van Helsing could answer
“We were in the chapel.”
Her tone did not give any opening for questions. She turned on her heel and marched into the stairs disappearing onto the lower floors. He watched her go dejectedly.
“What happened?”
His glare was even frostier than before.
* * * * * * * *
The washroom of the castle was on the lowest floor above ground. The servants, still petrified by the earlier attack, were preparing her bath with trembling hands. She stood in the shadowy corner of the room watching them at work, and refusing to change into her bath robe or divulging her dirty clothing to be washed. The servants left in a hurry, wearier of their mistress’ bad temper than the beasts howling outside.
With care she undid the straps holding her bodice in place, undid the lacings of her trousers she had hurriedly tied only moments before. She could still feel the calloused fingers pushing the fabric down. Oh God, how could she ever give the trousers to the washer woman? She had been the villagers’ favourite topic for idle gossip for a long time, but she was reluctant to give them scandals that were true.
Underwater the world was silent and dark. Most of the time she would prefer to stay there, body forever hidden beneath the waves. Some days it took over her, the forbidden desire to leave, not to exist. The true horror of their curse was that they were forever bound to the land, centuries passed and nothing could change, would change. She was fourteen when her mother walked into the sea. She had been sickly since Velkan’s birth, and finally that year her father had decided to send her to Prague, to enjoy the final years, to finally see the changing of the seasons. Anna was not allowed to go with her. She had felt her mother’s weariness, her mind; where the memory of children long past resided, taken away by their endless quest. Sometimes she envied her mother in the embrace of the sea. She wanted to see the sea, wanted to walk into it. Maybe she would find herself there. Her lungs began to burn and she was forced to surface once more.
She had to be strong now; to be brave and fulfil her family’s pledge. She had to face the disapproval of her ancestors and her subjects. She had to kill Dracula. Maybe then she could walk into the sea and find peace. She felt the pull in her stomach; it was not the pull of the sea. Anna feared that she had now anchored herself into the world with stronger ties that their calling ever could.
* * * * * * * *
He was pacing the length of his room. It must have once been a family member’s room, the huge windows and massive wood furnishing told a story of ancient wealth, but it had been ripped bare of all details of its former occupant, impersonal enough to serve as a guest room. He should not have done what he did; no, he should not have enjoyed it. It was an unfortunate turn of events which forced them, no forced her, to make that choice.
With reproach he recalled the thoughts that had baited him uninvited during their ride from Castle Frankenstein. He had seen her eyes travelling around the village, lingering on the smithy’s door. A jealousy, of anyone close to this woman to whom he had no claim, rose in the back of his throat. She is mine, his body had screamed and he had detested himself for it. There was something in the vivacious smile that called out to him. From the start she had made herself his equal, made herself felt. Unlike the hundreds of tarts in street corners or high born ladies feeding off on his adventures had. She carried the same baggage of pain and uncertainty and did not shy away from it. She was ready to die and he feared he would not be able to let her.
He wondered if this longing for her came from his past, those forgotten hours and days that he sometimes caught glimpses of in the corner of his eye, only to feel them disappearing on closer study.
* * * * * * * *
Next morning rain pelted down in violent sheets, making it impossible to see further than a few yards from the castle windows. Anna watched the rain, the dark clouds moving over the mountain pass in endless groups. Even vampires disliked the rain and flew in it rarely. She should have been glad of the momentary truce brought by the weather, but she felt restless. They had won the battle, yes, but she wanted to finish the war, tonight. It was as if on her call that a young maid escorted a wet, scruffy man into the library.
He spoke hesitantly, stuttering over words as he told that one of his sons had disappeared. This was no means an unusual event in the village. Vampires, or werewolves, were known to snatch pray even outside of the usual feeding times. The farmer’s sons had been playing outside the old mill half a mile outside the village. Anna knew that the site had gathered an ominous reputation after the death Dr. Frankenstein and his alleged creation. The younger of the boys had come home screaming of a monster he had seen through the broken floor boards of the mill while hiding out from Dracula’s brides. His brother had not been so lucky. With a now broken voice the farmer told how his youngest had hidden in the ruins, listening to his brother’s screams while the brides had flown with him into the distance.
The farmer left, not much consoled by Anna’s promise to seek out this new monster, and why should he be she wondered. New terrors sprang up every year and there seemed to be no end to Dracula’s rule, no magic weapon to bring about his downfall. She knew, as did the old farmer, that it was too late for the elder boy. After Velkan’s death Dracula needed a new hound. The boy would be turned within days. Many times had she damned her ancestors for this curse, for the generations before her who had died fighting a battle already lost. This was not a time for desperation. With a stony face she turned to look for Van Helsing. They had a new monster to find.
* * * * * * * *
Anna contented herself into watching as Van Helsing fought the monster into chains and into the plush Valerious coach, now worn with age. Carl was standing a little way off, petrified into fearful silence by the rattling coach. Anna tried to give the friar an encouraging smile. The horses were getting restless; they were still young, eager for a run. He banged the small door closed making the horses throw their heads in discontentment. She walked to the agitated horses, slowly stroking each one.
“Nothing is faster than Transylvanian horses.”
He made a non-committal grunt, wearily eyeing the restless beasts, black hide gleaming in the morning light.
“On everything else, you are on your own.”
He grinned at her, and it finally felt like a real smile. She watched him make his way to another, identical, coach and make his way through the village, barely controlling the wilful horses. She walked to her coach. Almost lost in thought, she grabbed the reins and guided the horses to a smaller pass obscured from view by the bulk of the castle. The hoof beats gave an almost musical rhythm as they trotted through the forest.
She had not yet time to contemplate the implications of her arrival to Rome. No Valerious had entered the Holy City since Valerious the Elder had vowed his oath in 1462. She had her qualms about entering the real world, the world where vampires or un-dead creatures did not walk the earth, where the nightly sleep was only disturbed by man-made terrors. A world where noble born Ladies did not wield a sword. Rome had a large court of gypsy nobility, and she would be expected to make an appearance.
Velkan had once been taken to a gypsy court in Prague to be recognised as the heir to the throne, but now it was only her. She was reluctant to bring news of her brother’s death, to see her father’s legacy be torn to pieces in bitter rivalries between the clans, to be questioned and robbed of her land. The quest had protected women heirs in the past, but unmarried and childless she had no chance of securing her position in the ruling line.
She had, at a point, considered not travelling, but the destruction of Dracula was no longer only her quest. If his vile progeny were to come alive, the threat of his evil could no longer be contained by her pledge. She had demanded Van Helsing’s respect and trust in the beginning, now she could no longer deny the same rights from him. The monster needed to go to Rome, and she would take him there.
The hazy light of morning began to dawn on the forest, the difference between night and day was nonexistent, but through living her whole life in these woods she had began to recognise the dawn. A daybreak meant hope, it meant a few moments of sunlight. This morning they were not so lucky. A heavy all consuming mist still lingered between the trees, hindering all sight. She heard him long before she caught sight of them. Barely hanging between the ties of the horses, carriage long disintegrated. He made the jump to her carriage look so effortless, giving her a slight smile. It was only a small relief, for in a few moments Dracula’s newest werewolf was upon them.
* * * * * * * *
Anna could not help but to admire the forest, so many healthy strong trees, with greenery reaching up to the skies. She could feel Dracula’s presence, but not nearly as strongly as in her own woods. She had lost all sense of direction when she jumped off the flaming carriage, and was now trying to find her way back to the road. She saw Van Helsing crouching against a tree, as if injured. He smiled at her, opened his mouth to welcome her back, but she would not let him, tearing his coat open.
“You’ve been bitten.”
There was a finality to her words; a cold chilling prospect of having to kill an innocent man again. Slowly she walked back, hand already searching for her gun. She should have felt Aleera in the woods, but Van Helsing’s injury preoccupied her too much for caution. The blow came out of nowhere, and in an instant she was in the air. She fought, fought to her last breath, until she could not hold herself conscious anymore, the pressure of blood in her head peaked. The oblivion felt more welcome than she was willing to admit.
She felt the familiar coldness in her bones. She felt the cool floor beneath her palms and the wind in her hair. Her mind fought its way to consciousness.
“So we meet again, my beauty.”
She was in a dressing room, lined with mirrors and lush, thick fabrics, dresses thrown carelessly on slight wooden chairs. She pushed herself up. Why was everything so cold? She felt weak, all the walls of her mind torn down during her sleep, giving him a free reign.
“He plucked you.”
His voice was scathing, a jealous lover.
“How was it my Princess? How was it to be a whore?”
She felt Dracula in her head, in her body, mind seeking answers. She felt the brand of Van Helsing inside of her, burning since that fateful day. You will not have this. Will not. It was a losing battle, she knew, her mind and body already worn beyond tolerance, but somehow he did not see, could not take away her breathless moments in the dark. That feeling of triumph kept her sane as his lackeys dressed her, moulded her naked body in front of him, pushing her lungs and bones into submission. Dracula made her into a Lady he could seduce; he could take. Once more he forced Anna’s body to become her enemy; took away her choice. Now part of her understood a woman’s place in the world that resided outside her village; outside of her quest. The freedom; the choice; the pleasure were now gone. As the bones of the corset dug into her skin she swore; I will have you again, I will feel you again; there lies my strength; my will to keep Dracula’s mind at bay.
He walked to her. Admiring the red silk, the finest of gold; this is how the Princess of gypsies should bee seen; as a queen, not a hunter.
“Now come my beauty. We have a ball to attend to.”
* * * * * * * *
Her lugs were burning, lack of oxygen made her legs unsteady, steps unfocused, but she kept running, the needle firmly clutched in her hand. She could hear the roars of the beasts and breaking of metal. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name….Let her not be late.
The last few days had been a blur; the vivid colours of the ball changing fast back into the grey woods of her homeland. Van Helsing’s rage had been like a physical presence that hung around them as Carl had raced to find access to Dracula’s world. Even though she would never have admitted it; Anna bathed in his rage. The growing force of the wolf had calmed her nerves, had stilled her racing heart. And now it was her turn to race; to attempt to stop his rage from becoming eternal.
As she finally reached the room, a foul beast which had once been Van Helsing, was howling over a burn mark on the stone, where she assumed Dracula had once been.
Within an instant the beast’s head turned to her. Its yellow eyes were tiny slits in its head. She backed away, slowly, so as not to alarm it further, until she could no more. A stone wall colder that ice pushed into her back. The beast moved ever closer, its snout pushing into her chest. Anna could see its nostrils flaring, smelling the blood on her …Thy kingdom come, thy will be done… Her hand squeezed the needle; she needed to get the antidote into him before she would die. The beast did not attack, it growled at her, deep sound, purring from its chest. She acted, sinking the needle into the beast’s neck. Its howl was ear shattering, but still it refused to attack. The beast whimpered and limped away from her, then fell onto its side breathing laboriously.
She could hear Carl’s hurried steps echoing in the hall. He rushed in, bearing the silver stake, ready to strike. The sight of the beast on the ground made him stop short. He turned to look at her, still leaning against the stone, unable to move. Slowly the beast started to change. It was not violent as before. The brown hair withered and fell away, body, muscles, slowly taking shape, until they were both looking at an unconscious man. Finally her limbs regained their ability to move and she stumbled to his body, shaking his shoulders. An irrational fear gripped her chest; he seemed dead, like her brother. His limbs began to move, uncontrolled, not yet used to the form of his body. Groaning, he opened his eyes, only to find her worried gaze. For a moment he seemed bewildered, then reached up twining his hand into her hair, and pulled her down for a kiss. His mouth tasted musky; earthy, an animal taste. She could not pull herself away.
Carl’s slightly alarmed cough pulled her out of the pure feeling of him and instinctively made her pull away. He looked at her first in confusion and then with growing apprehension. She rose swiftly and made a show of looking for his clothing in the rubble. Heavy steps began to echo from the hallway, tall shadows danced in the walls. Instinctively Anna pulled out her long sword; the hiss of the blade loud in the hall. Frankenstein limbed into the circle of firelight. His face was badly torn and dark fluid was seeping from his left arm; leaving slight puddles onto the stone floor.
“They are all dead flesh now.”
Anna sheathed her sword and nodded once. She picked up Van Helsing coat that had fallen onto the floor and surprisingly remained unscattered during the battle. She threw it at the man without looking at him and began walking towards the passageway.
“We need to return to the entrance.”
Angrily Van Helsing pulled the coat over his torn clothing and the three men moved to follow her. The walk to the icy mirror was a silent one.
* * * * * * * *
She had felt the change immediately after their return. There were no more attacks or disappearing children. For a while the village quieted down, a calm before the storm. But life began to return into its familiar route and the village began to fill with new vigour. The villagers, who had lived generations under the threat of vampires, did not quite know how to act. Anna watched from the castle’s window as they enthusiastically prepared the first open market in decades. Horses and cattle were let out to herd in the little grass that actually grew in the village. Five wedding ceremonies were performed in a week; faith was restored.
Frankenstein had not felt comfortable enough to remain with them in the Valerious manor. He had insisting on departing the very same morning. Anna had instructed the servants to prepare some food for his journey, and Carl had given him some religious texts as well as maps of southern and eastern Russia to guide his journey. They had watched his departure silently in the misty morning hours. He had agreed to take one horse to carry his small baggage, but nothing else. Anna felt empty. All that had even haunted this land was now gone. There was nothing left to commemorate her family’s efforts, nothing to make it real.
She had felt the villagers’ pressuring gazes the few times she had ventured outside. They had no longer any need of her. She stood among them, reminding of the bad times that were now passed. Like all small communities, her village was fast to move on and forget the old heroes. She wandered in her empty castle, the overbearing gazes of her ancestors following her silent vigil from the safety of their portraits.
Van Helsing had become cold and withdrawn almost immediately after their return. His passion and morbid attitude towards his profession had disappeared. Anna wondered if it was normal, if he always turned sour after a kill. Maybe it was a safety mechanism. She was envious. Only if she could build a wall around her heart and could stop wailing into her pillow night after night, nightmarish visions of Velkan and her father haunting her dreams.
It was Carl who approached her on the matter of her idle wonderings. She was in the library looking at the mass of books it had accumulated over the centuries, books that she had never had time to read. For a moment Carl watched her from the distance of the doorway. Van Helsing would never be humbled enough to do this. Carl had observed him in these last few days, the fugitive glances he sent her way. There was also something else, a lurking fear. He would not approach her, preferring to send Carl instead. Something had irrevocably changed in the monster hunter.
“Umm…. Princess Anna…”
She turned with a very small book cupped in her hands. She smiled at his tumbling words, but now there was a new, painful quality to her once mischievous smiles.
“It is merely that… would you be interested in accompanying us… Meaning would, you be interested in travelling to Rome, and as we are going there anyway… or to another city that we might take you… not that you need taking just… for company.”
He finished lamely.
“Yes. I would like that.”
She slid the small volume back into its shelve.
“My village has very little use for me anymore.”
* * * * * * * *
It was the day of their leaving. The sky for once was clear, but snow seemed to be looming in the horizon. They would have to ride fast to make it to the pass before the storm. Van Helsing had been silent over their travel plans, sending wary glances her way when ever their paths crossed in the castle.
Now she stood outside the main gates of her castle, well, not her castle anymore. The priests of the village were performing a blessing in the graveyard. There had been many dead and missing who had been denied a proper burial; bodies never found or the village under such terror that the dead were merely dumped to the ground without a goodbye. When the old priest stepped to Velkan’s grave, soil still black from the shovels, her fingers instinctively rose to the sign of the cross. Goodbye, my dear, for we are not to meet again.
* * * * * * * *
The first days of the ride were gruelling. Snow pelted down, just as Anna had feared. She had not ridden long distances in years and her legs were sore and tense. Most evenings when they stopped to rest she had no strength left to eat. For her relief she could see the same signs of exhaustion on Carl’s face. Van Helsing drove the party forwards with a deadly pace, and only the lack of spare horses made him rest the nights. Even then he was restless, walking around the camp all nigh, taking most of the watches.
The mornings were the worst. The coldness had settled into her sore muscles during the night, and getting up from her bedroll took a long time. Carl, bless his heart, had stocked his saddle bag with tea. Where he had managed to find the leaves she did not know. Maybe the priests of her village had considered a fellow clergy man worthy of such a gift. Anna enjoyed it none the less.
It was the seventh morning of their journey. Anna woke with the first light, still tired, to find that the ache in her thighs had changed into slicing pain. She forced her shaking legs to move, pushing herself off the ground. She limped to the mountain stream behind the trees that covered their camp. There was some ice and snow lingering on the banks but she could clearly see the spring coming to the mountains. She spread her thick coat on the bank and dug a large handkerchief from the pocket. Removal of her boots was painful, the fabric and leather had pressed angry welts to her skin.
With care she peeled her trousers off. The fabric had attached itself to her skin; the pain of the pulling made her eyes water. The heavy ride, combined with sweat and grime that had gathered to her skin during the days, had caused abrasions to form in her inner thighs. The continuous confinement of the irritated skin inside the fabric and constant chafing of her saddle had caused them to infect. Puss and blood was oozing from the small cuts lining her legs. She soaked the handkerchief in the stream and started cleaning the wounds. She bit her teeth together to stop herself from gasping, tears were now freely leaking from her eyes.
“Anna…. We are leaving.”
Van Helsing’s voice called for her from the nearby trees, she heard his steps approach. Swiftly she pulled her coat to cover herself.
“We must go now.”
“I have a small cut in my leg; I shall be with you in a moment.”
Her voice was calmer than she felt. He kneeled next to her.
“Anything bad?”
“Nothing. I said I’ll be with…”
She could not finish, the sentence turning into a painful hiss. His hand had come to squeeze her knee, fingers pushing straight into one of the sores through her coat; violently she swatted his hand away. His eyes immediately gained a concerned look, searching her face. She refused to look at him.
He knew he had behaved badly. But every time he even glanced at her the overwhelming desire seized his body. He could still feel the smell of her in his nostrils. The wolf had not disappeared from within him with the antidote. The primal part of his brain that had recognised her, even trough all that rage, was still present, still knew her. It felt like he had wanted her forever, always carrying the want inside his chest, but never before realising who it was for.
“Please… I can help.”
Maybe it was the tone of his voice that gave her reassurance, as she moved the leather and fur of her coat to reveal the angry welt in the side of her knee. He pulled his gloves off and pushed the angry red skin around the sore. She said nothing, but he heard her intake of breath. How she could have ridden with these he did not know.
He got up and went to his horse. Carl was standing beside his horse looking confused.
“We will be a while.”
Carl only nodded as he disappeared into the forest with a small glass bottle. She had not moved from the riverside. Once again he kneeled next to her, opening the bottle. A scent of herbs and alcohol filled the air and made Anna screw her face.
“You better let me do this. This will hurt.”
She looked scandalised pulling the coat tighter around her legs.
“If you think you are getting a free show here…”
Her voice was icy, eyes flashing. He lowered the bottle carefully to the ground and took off his coat, laying it on top of her legs. She looked at the makeshift cover, and slowly nodded. He poured the ointment on his hand and pushed in between the fabrics, knuckles brushing her heated skin.
“Relax…”
The ointment burned beyond belief and after a while she gave up and grabbed his other hand, bruising it in her grip. She made no sound throughout and still refused to meet his eyes. He could feel her muscles quaking under his fingers. In the end she was laying in the snow, her legs spread as wide as the coverage of his coat allowed. She had covered her face with her hands, shallow breaths escaping through her clenched fingers.
He knew what the ointment felt on raw skin. It was very effective on open wounds and numbed the skin for hours, but applying it was torture. He washed his hands in the cold river and filled his water container.
She had accepted his offer for his loose trousers. That day their pace was slow. Anna was forced to ride side saddle, which she had never done before. Only few words were spoken within the party, but it was a welcomed silence. Carl felt that a truce had been reached on the riverside. He watched from a small distance as they rode side by side.