A/N: I feel like an ass for posting this one, surely I am cockblocking, but this slow-burning is here for a reason! Enjoy regardless! Mentions of anatomy and some language, Y/N gets drunk and nearly blurts all.
Summary: To be loved is to be changed.
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Chapter 7
In the day, Adrian was as glorious as the sun. At night, as beautiful and haunting as the moon and its glow.
In the month you had been in the castle, you had turned the once secluded castle into a living, existing place, for you and Adrian to simply ignore the rest of the world in. It had grown not to resemble a tattered and destroyed ruin, but instead, a place Adrian could call home once again.
Adrian himself had flourished in his skin once more: where you found him to take up hobbies when you were not with him. Before was once a man, lonely beyond an age before the age of twenty, losing his parents and closest allies, now, a man you could look upon with admiration and pride. He had grown out from his enclosed shell, opening his heart to a stranger, trusting you with his life unlike those who betrayed him.
It hurt more to know that this was your final day.
You feared for Adrian’s wellbeing, whether he would grow reclused after you left him, or would he rather thrive with your farewell?
You had grown recluse yourself from the Dhampir, finding closure in the fact that you would never look upon the face of Adrian ever again. Where could you go apart from as far out from Wallachia? Nowhere was safe for a girl like me. You told yourself when you wished you could explain to Adrian—though the words would always freeze on your tongue any time you tried bringing it up.
It seemed that Adrian had almost forgotten about the promise too, and you couldn’t help but feel guilt when he spoke of promises he wanted to do for you.
“I’ll show you one day the town nearby,” he said one night, curled up by the fire as he stared into its flames. “I know you’d like it. We could buy anything you’d like: spices, dresses, jewellery.”
He spoke of a future not just with him alone, but with you co-existing beside him, and it thrilled and destroyed you to know that this promise would crumple like sand.
The day came for you to leave, silently waking with dried tears still stinging your red eyes. You had spent all that night crying before you fell to sleep, dreaming of being with Adrian, laughter shared and memories to be made. You had even kissed him, your heart fluttering as he muttered words softly in your words that gave away he did not want you to go.
'Always and forever.' His words were soft and dying in the air when you faced the morning, and your lips could still feel his against yours, a dying dream never to be lived.
You tip-toed around to not wake Adrian, gathering anything you could and folding neatly the dresses you had been given to him. They were too lovely to be ruined and deserved to be in a place that could keep its beauty.
The only things you carried on you were the same dress you came to the castle in, rags that had been sitting in the corner of the room, waiting for the day you would have to wear them. The air grew heavy with a feeling of forlorn as you walked to find the kitchen, setting yourself by the counter and waiting for the person you dreaded to upset.
It was not long until you heard familiar footsteps drawing closer, familiar honey-blond locks coming into view as the man appeared. It snapped your heart in two to see the softness in his golden eyes as if you were better than the sun itself and you were his star. That all fell apart when his smile dropped, the uncertainty washing over his face when he saw the glumness on your face.
“Has something happened?” He did not waste two seconds stepping closer towards you, giving a small gap between the two but enough that you could be up close to him. In the four weeks, it had taken some time for Adrian to grow used to touch once again, always coiling away from your closeness, before he had taken the time to build trust and reciprocate first. "Y/N?"
He was quick to reach out to you first, extending for your arm as he pulled it towards him. He was warm to the touch, and you dared not want to look upon his concerned gaze without knowing you would blubber into a mess once again.
“You remember the promise, correct?” You lamented, watching for a moment as he took in your words carefully. It was as if everything poured through just from the question, and you could just about read every emotion visible in his eyes; melancholy, regret, grief.
“Where will you go?” His voice was quiet. Don’t go, it read in his eyes.
It didn’t dawn on you, no matter how many times you came to think of it. “Some place where it is warmer, perhaps east. But that means…” your voice cracked momentarily, “Wallachia will not be a home for me.”
“But how do you know?” His calmness cracked, and beneath you could see the grief-stricken man appear, though you did not think he would be holding concern for you of all people.
You didn’t want to answer his question, despite the unknowing questions that boiled, the silence was deafening, and it hammered in your chest like the chiming of a hammer.
“I will have to leave whilst there is still light,” you squeezed Adrian’s hand before it slipped from his, “Thank you for allowing me to use your library, and… to call you a dear friend.”
You didn’t know if that pained you more to call him a friend when your feelings had bloomed for him during your time there. A friend was the only thing you could call him: why would he want anything else with you? He’s immortal, he will have lovers come and go, but none will ever be you.
“Don’t,” he called to you when he stepped out of his reach, not expecting him to call you. Your name was a whisper on his tongue, hanging in the air as if he wished to say something more to you, “I don’t want you to leave.”
“I would be overstaying here, Adrian.” You could feel tears slip from your face, but you braved not to look at him, even when you knew he was staring at you. “You said a month-”
“Please,” there it was. Pain in his voice in the way he pleaded, desperate and gentle that you didn’t think you’d see this side of him, “I don’t think… living within these walls would ever feel the same with you gone.”
He stepped out to you again.
Closer.
His hand gingerly found your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze, delicately wiping the tear collecting at the corner of your right eye. You were both silent, only staring at one another, and never did you think anyone would stare at you the way he did with you.
“You wish for me to stay?” Forever?
Your mother had told you what that feeling would be like, though she had been young and never knew the experience herself. Did Alucard’s parents experience the same when they first met?
That feeling grew within your chest, butterflies you couldn’t stop from feeling: the great emotion that one day would bless you in having. Why was it that the moment you had to leave was when it came?
‘People come and go,’ your mother told you one day when you asked about it, naïve and full of hope. ‘It hurts when it grows for those you care for.’
Yes, you understand now why it came at this moment and all the times before.
It hurt.
Love hurt when it was about to leave for the first and final time.
It was his smile, so gentle and warm, so inviting and bright – full like the sun and the beginning of spring – that you could not decline his offer.
“I would very much like that.”
-
Telling yourself you had gotten used to the castle was an understatement.
The rooms you were more familiar with were the ones you kept to, never straying that much to explore. You knew that there were many rooms even Adrian never went into, telling you that they held too many memories, either good or bad.
You were understanding, knowing how much the castle – his childhood home – could hold a lot of disturbance to what he went through. He told you one day that his childhood bedroom was off limits: it was after all, where he had killed his father. He mentioned it was a place too “dampened with gloom” that you knew something else had happened for him to keep that part of the castle off-limits.
It had only gotten the best of you when you told Adrian you were going to do some cleaning, leaving him as he cooked in the kitchen.
You sprinted with much glee and inquisitiveness: the endless hallways could lead you anywhere!
Roaming the halls, you remembered to stay away from the rooms you were not allowed to go to, including his old and current bedroom. It was quite easy to get lost, taking to the upper floors, where the light grew dimmer, more eerie.
The rooms as you found them didn’t hold much for you to be intrigued until you passed what was another room in another endless hallway, you spotted that this room had its door ajar.
This was certainly a room you had not been told of by Adrian.
Bravely, the room seemed to be more of an intrigue to you than any other room. Slowly peeling the door back, you stepped through.
The room is dimly lit, with a sense of sweet orange that lingers in the air. It’s his scent, sweet, alluring, inviting; just like what surrounds you. There are books of all assortments: astronomy, philosophy, ecology, history – to name a few. Knowledge spanning from decades to thousands of years back, of all cultures and dynasties long gone and remaining. Maps hung around the room, some of the entirety of Europe, the world and one finally above his desk of Wallachia.
It took longer to find literature, where you find poetry, prose, children’s stories and old fables. You’re shocked when you stumble across some romance novels, not expecting that to come from Adrian.
His desk is a display of many things: papers, books, and journals. You dare not look in his journals knowing his work is private, but something catches your gaze. Since when was Adrian into drawing?
You find one first that makes you pick it up, a sketch of his mother, only a fine-line sketch that is only shaded and not with much detail, but you recognise her from the portraits that decorate the castle.
Will you be needing a muse anytime soon? You think to yourself, jokingly. You knew it was rude to snoop, and knowing you had come across Adrian’s study, you knew you had the best chance to look around when he wasn’t there.
But when you find his sketchbook, all nosiness takes over.
The leather-bound book is beautifully decorated, with its pages filled to the brim from use. The beginning of the pages were those you recognised simply by objects that Adrian used for inspiration: a stag beetle shell, many plotted plants and flowers some you recognised from your mother’s herbs. You read the dates that dated back to almost a decade ago, impressed by his skill at such a young age.
The more you draw the pages further into the book, the older the dates get, and his practice grows. His inspirations change from objects to anatomy. You’re impressed by the way Adrian draws the human body so well. Some sketches of hands in different positions and poses, full body sketches of a mixture of men and women, some clothed and others nude.
You could feel your cheeks darken, and though it was surprising to see the natural state of the human body, art was still captivating in showing it, Adrian drew with a way of conveying vulnerability. His mother was a doctor after all.
Other pages were of human faces: more drawings of his mother and father. Another was of a different man and woman: the woman had short hair whilst the man had a scar over his right eye and a shadow of a wispy beard on his face. You now had a reference to Adrian’s friends and allies: Sypha and Trevor.
A Belmont, scholar and sleeping soldier, Adrian told you, all out for different clauses and paths but joined to meet on one path; to kill Dracula.
You had forgotten to make sure you were still alone and not spotted looking through his things when you reached the last few of the pages, recently used. Wait a minute. You had to do a double take, imagining you were seeing double. This isn’t… who I think it is.
Those eyes, were similar to you, not that you could remember where you had seen them last. It dawned on you quickly why they were a distant memory: they looked like your mother's eyes—but that was impossible if Adrian had never met or seen an image of her.
But, as if looking back through a mirror, a glimpse through time, those eyes weren’t just hers, but yours as well.
Oh. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you dared not drop the book to draw attention to where you were. You didn’t close it, despite feeling that this was intruding—it was too late for that now.
He had gotten your likeness in a way you didn’t think he could: as if you had been captured in a moment, ready to come back to life on the page. Another sketch of you, reclined with your nose in a book and laying in a way that could’ve been uncomfortable to anyone else. Another of you tying your hair back, the ribbon dangling in your mouth, eyes in heavy concentration. The final one took you by surprise: a moment where you were snuggled into the armchair, a blanket wrapped protectively around you to keep you warm.
Have I been so blinded this entire time? It seemed like this wasn’t right: did Alucard… fancy you? You scoffed, absolutely not, there was no way—though you the more you spiralled, the more it had you questioning everything.
You had been so preoccupied with what you had discovered, that you failed to suspect the presence behind you, someone standing just on the edge of the doorframe.
An awkward cough brought you back to your senses.
“Forgive me!” You stumbled, throwing the papers behind you to hide them behind your back, in hopes you were quick on your feet. You were clumsy, ineptly whipping back to look at the blond Dhampir standing just a few metres in the doorframe. “I did not hear you come in.”
Adrian was dressed simply in his shirt, trousers and boots as he did if the weather was not too cold. It was only a small subtle detail that his dark trousers were coated and dusted with a light cast of flour, as if he had nothing else to wipe but on them. His hair was also tied up, revealing his slender neck, wisps of blond tresses falling to frame his handsome angular features.
How long had he been waiting there for? You panicked, knowing that he could’ve used his speed to reach you, using his inhuman scent of smell or to pick up your heart rate to find you.
“Yes, well, you did seem rather… occupied.” Adrian teased, though his face was incomprehensible, his movements leisurely as he ambled into the room, inspecting if anything looked out of place.
Was he just as embarrassed as how you were feeling? Regardless if he was or not, he was very good at hiding it from you.
He stopped just to the side of his desk, eyes quickly scanning as he spotted the disarray of papers, his sketchbook ‘neatly’ placed back where it looked to have been before. He did not say anything about it, instead, resuming conversation as if nothing was out of place.
“I was asking if you were free to help me downstairs. I needed assistance in deciding which spices to add to the cakes.” He continued, watching the way you shuffled to block what you were putting back on the desk.
You were not subtle in the slightest but Adrian did not make any remark for you to be snooping, rather, he watched on in visible amusement. The refined look when he raised an eyebrow, the small smirk that made you even more flustered when you were caught.
“Okay, ready.” You gestured for him to walk in front, hanging back as you took a final glance back, wondering when Adrian started drawing you.
-
It’s his idea when he decides the two of you should share a bottle of wine.
Though you think it’s not good to have the entire bottle, Adrian agrees upon a glass or two, sharing thoughts as the night grows dark with the creatures of the forest outside, and your worries melt for a moment on your tongue.
The wine is sweet, not though you like it, and it's hard to consume something that feels so foreign. Adrian drinks it as if it's water, and you struggle to keep up. You’re a lightweight after all, and though you’re slower, you can feel the haziness that crawls in your vision, and you swear you’re almost seeing double.
Your laughter is warmer, chatter easier, and you notice he’s closer beside you by the table when he first brings the bottle and glasses.
“This is nice,” his voice does not slur as he speaks, and you’re shocked just by how content he is in drinking glass after glass if he could. If perhaps you didn’t say anything, perhaps he would, “It’s been some time since I stopped drinking.”
“When did you stop?” You can feel a headache begin to dull your senses, and you’re feeling bolder.
Adrian seems hesitant when he looks back at you before he answers. “I stopped after a couple of days after your arrival.” He’s nervously swirling the glass in small circles on the table, a distraction. “I’m sure the smell of piss and blood wasn’t helping.”
You chortle, “No, it didn’t, but I don’t suppose I was any different. A girl smelling of chickens.”
“I did wonder why.” He says in a dry tone, but his eyes are sincere, and you find yourself staring periodically down at his lips, the glint of his sharp teeth some distraction from the wine.
“It seems funny when I say it now, but I used to have two, and they had names.”
Adrian seems surprised by this, that of all things to have named were chickens, but he coaxes you with a raised brow, intrigued, to say the least. “Tell me they had normal names.”
“Henrietta and Duchess.”
“Oh, my God,” Adrian laughs quietly, “Next you’ll say you had a pig called Duke and a horse called Lieutenant.”
“Well, the pig was called Truffle.”
“Seems almost cruel,” Adrian laughs at the idea, “I don’t think I was any different. I did have a stuffed wolf called Fluffy.”
“Hey, that’s cute though.”
You laugh at the idea, but you’re carrying a sad smile as you continue to sip slowly at your drink. “I loved those chickens. It was weird, but I treated them like humans rather than animals—livestock. They were much nicer than-” You stop yourself mid-sentence, unsure if you’re ready to continue.
Your stomach coils as if ready to lurch, for you to leap from your chair and leave to your room, but Adrian is calm and patient, running a soothing hand over yours to console you.
“Take your time,” he says with quiet empathy, and it’s enough to pull you back to reality. “I’m here.”
“After my mama’s death, I fled to the nearby town—I was on the streets for some time, hiding behind buildings and sometimes getting shelter from a sweet old lady, before I was old enough to sell myself as a servant to any passing man who needed my service.”
You felt sick to your stomach, and the wine was not helping. “I stayed in his service for almost a decade, serving his son and wife who was no older than me.” You confessed. “It all boiled down one day when I was fed up with the fucking treatment. I was beaten if I did something incorrect, slapped if I spoke when not spoken to, and something… snapped in me. I… hurt him when he hurt me.” You pushed the wine away from you, eyes welling with tears. “I wish I did more.”
“You survived,” Adrian said with a sad grimace, “You’re much braver than most I know.”
“I didn’t feel brave then,” you admitted. “I felt like a stupid little girl, not capable of anything.”
“Hey,” Adrian seems clumsy in giving close comfort, but he tried nonetheless, leaning closer to finally embrace you. He smelt of oranges and lavender, and you nearly broke down into his shoulder, “you’re the strongest person I know. The bravest witch.”
He seemed tongue-tied with his next words, eyes moving across your face as if he wished to say something that you yearned to hear. “I’m proud of you.” He finally said, but in your mind, it didn’t seem like it was what he wanted to say as if there was something he was holding back.
Was I overthinking? You thought as you pulled away from his embrace, so tempted to lean across the table and kiss him there and then, but you pulled enough restraint to not horrify the man. “Thank you, Adrian. I’m thankful I have you.” You finally said.
“I’m thankful too.” He confesses, quickly realising what he’s just said and the blush on his face is obvious as he tries to change the subject. “I will leave you to catch some sleep. I thought it would be a good idea to head into town tomorrow morning. Gather some more supplies. What do you say?”
You smile sadly, “That’s a good idea.” You’re on your feet fast enough as you say goodnight to one another before you’re speeding down the hallway to your room, wiping the tears that have not dried from your face.
When you reach your room, you slink against the inside of the door. Your head is hammering, vision is hazy. Damn for drinking so much. You groan, only listening to the crackling of the fire lit in your room, the soft luring sound of crisp pages of a book being shut as a lovely interference.
“Ah, there you are.” the voice that pulled you from your thoughts was the one thing you needed to hear, sweet as honey as the figure emerged to stand close by from where you stood. His soft locks are pulled back from his face, and he’s practically glowing in the soft ambers of your room, the fire gently burning to keep the warmth.
Your lips are pulled into a tired smile, which the Dhampir notices quickly enough to soothe you for a night of sleep. “You’re exhausted, my little witch.” He’s yanking you by your hand, directing you to your bed. “You need sleep before it comes for you first.”
“Was it so obvious?” You laugh dryly, and the lack of sleep is fast indeed; your eyes are heavy, limbs sluggish as your mind slows from the alcohol. “I can get myself to bed by myself, you know?”
“I don’t doubt you,” he scolds lightly, the way he moves you is more persistent. “Dreams help everything go away, isn’t that what your mother said?”
“Yes.” You drawl quietly, silent in watching Adrian move around you, sitting you delicately on the edge of the side of the bed. He is gentle in getting you settled for the night, removing your outer layers of clothing until you’re left in your chemise. There is nothing overtly sexual in the way he undresses you, more so there’s such a tenderness to his touches that it almost leaves you weeping.
When you’re ready, he follows, undressing until he stands in his nightgown. You watch as he goes to as he crawls onto the other side to lay there. Shutting his eyes, his light blond hair cascades around the pillow like a halo, his body silent and still as stone.
You’re staring for some time before he speaks up, aware even without having to open your eyes. “Are you going to watch me sleep or are you going to join me?” He cracks one eye open, full of mirth as he catches the exact moment your face brightens.
“Right.” You scootch over closer, lying stiffly beside him on your back, not daring to get any cosier before he stretches like a cat, catching you by surprise as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in close.
“You’re shaking like a leaf, little witch.” He jokes, humming as he rests his head into the crook of your neck. This is all so real, and you dare fear if you fall asleep, it’ll all be gone, a fading memory to die in the back of your mind. “Am I that cold?”
“No,” you finally relax in his hold, having turned to face him, a feeling you wish not to ever forget. “It feels nice.”
“I’m sure one thing could make you feel better,” his eyes are open, watching you almost hawkishly, scooting himself closer. “Though, I’d have to know what you think.”
“What is it?”
He doesn’t answer you directly, but his eyes tell you what you’ve been waiting for. It’s the way his gold eyes glance from your eyes down to your lips, way too slowly before coming back up to meet your flustered state.
Neither of you make the first move, your heart is hammering too fast that you can barely keep up with your racing thoughts. You know he can hear how fast it's pumping, thunderous and dreadful against your ribs. It feels like it could explode any second.
Should I wait for him to lean in? Or would it be better for me to meet him halfway? To see how he reacts.
With your mind racing, your body moves on its own, ignoring your many questions and moving with little patience. A hand finds his cheek, stroking his cheekbone in contemplation, soft to the touch that you gasp from just the exhilaration alone.
You’re not waiting for him when you’re leaning close to him, closer and closer until his face is inches from yours. Your noses bump as you catch the final moment where his eyes flutter shut as you’re copying, stretching over until your lips meet his.
You didn’t know how long you had been counting for this moment to happen. Drinking him in, he is the sun, and you are a secluded plant, waiting for his rays to keep you from shrivelling. His lips are soft, neither warm nor cool as your contact is chaste and quick, and all that is gone when you’re not chasing for more-
“No,” you rasp as you pull yourself from him, leaping up to sit on the edge of the bed. “This is wrong.”
“Oh?” He doesn’t seem dissatisfied or enraged, rather it seems more like a question. He is calm when he asks, voice a soft rumble. “Is it wrong because you wish to continue? Or because you wish to experience this with him?”
You slump in your spot, guilt overflowing your body like a wave, ready to drown. “It’s wrong because… I’m using him.” You hug yourself, ready to weep aloud from it all. “I’m using him for this twisted fantasy, just to feel happy.”
This fake version of Adrian is collected, reaching your side of the bed as he places a consoling hand on your shoulder. “Happy… that you want to imagine a future with him?”
“Yes. Is that so wrong to have?” You sigh exasperated. “I want him to be happy, but I fear… I will never give him that happiness.”
“He’s been through so much already.” You continue. “I think of him all the time: like how the sun can’t live without the moon.”
You’re completely consumed by Adrian: mind, body and soul and it aches that this crush will continue to remain as one. His acts of kindness have completely floored you, confusing you to the point that you were left over questioning every small act he did for you.
The night is long and you’re left distraught, conjuring a version of him that you hope can give you comfort. “What do I do?”
“Tell him the truth.”
Your head snaps almost drastically to glare at the fake version, who simply looks just as perplexed as you. “I’m just a manifested form you created of him in your head whilst inebriated. I’m the wrong person you should be talking to.”
Sighing defeatedly, you look to him for security. “I’m… confused.”
“How so?”
“Well, I know he sees me as a friend, but he’s just so thoughtful. He carries me back to bed, and we spend all day together. I mean, he drew sketches of me for fuck’s sake—that’s saying something, isn’t it?”
“He seems lonely too.” ‘Adrian’ answers, but it’s a reasonable answer that could be what you’re looking for, regardless of how you’re feeling.
“I know, I know. He’s awkward, but it can’t just be out of friendship.”
“Tell him in the morning,” he says, “you can’t see for yourself if he’s quick to reciprocate your feelings for him. Perhaps then you’ll be able to cuddle something that’s flesh and bone.”
You chortle at his words, knowing how uncanny and realistic he is sitting beside you. “Can we just- can we just cuddle for the rest of the night? Just so I don’t feel so lonely.”
Alucard gives you a sorrowful smile, pulling you into a side embrace. “You realise I won’t be there by morning?”
It’s a sad realisation, but you come to accept it. “I know. I just… want to imagine feeling something for once.”
“Of course, my little witch,” he kisses your forehead lovingly, leading you both back down to lie on the bed. The bed doesn’t feel as big when you share it with another, now in the fond embrace of the Dhampir you conjured in your mind.
“Sleep well, Y/N.” He tells you all the right things you want to hear, the lull of sleep pulls you in deeper and deeper, his voice growing quieter. “I’m still here with you, no matter what.”
“I love you,” you slur as darkness consumes you, the heaviness of your body pulling you into a sleep you need. You don’t feel upset when you don’t hear a response, just the arms of his embrace.
By the time early morning comes, the other side of the bed is cold, and the ghost of Adrian’s arms remains.
It’s not just knowing that the person on the other side of the hallway would never know how you felt, but the sense that you could never go back to seeing him just as a dear friend.
-
A/N:
This was a long one to write, but I hope you enjoyed it!
A/N: God, I just replayed Måneskin The Loneliest on a 10-hour repeat while writing this. Some warning of language and hinted sexual wording, but more of the case it's just Alucard being mentally a teenager.
Summary: Teasing ensues, history is unlocked, and questions begin to be asked and answered.
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Chapter 6
“Let me help you with that.”
The vegetables from Alucard’s garden had flourished and it brought in bountiful meals for the both of you to share. The pantry had grown with a wide array of vegetables, fish and sometimes certain meats Alucard had gathered whilst hunting. It had become a routine for him to hunt and you to help when you could, and share mealtimes and cook with one another.
“Thank you.” He murmured, his fingers were in the dirt when he scooped out another carrot, gathering it into his basket whilst you helped pull another potato. Your hands would occasionally touch accidentally, mistaking one another for the root vegetable, laughing it awkwardly off.
Your days in the castle were dwindling, and you could not forget the promise Alucard had given to you. Sanctuary from the outside world would soon meet you, and you would have to find your way away from Wallachia. You didn’t want to think much of it, despite it being on your mind daily and when you went to sleep. Where would you go anyways? One that looked like you was very hard to find, especially with the rise of witches being burnt by the Catholic church.
Your spell studies came with ease the more you practised, tending to forget about sleep in the early hours of the night when Alucard came and reminded you that it was better to rest with a clear mind. But you knew it was for the best: whatever was out there, you had to be ready, no matter what.
“Spring will surely come.” You spoke after some time, gathering what was necessary and slowly making your way back inside the castle. The days had still been short, nights long and air chilled that you had to wrap closely with the necessary clothes Alucard had been nice to give you. “I look forward to the warmer weather.”
“I hope it brings new beginnings,” says Alucard, “Spring represents rebirth after all.”
You can tell he’s speaking about himself in some way, that there’s some part of him that wants to move past whatever had occurred with the twins, but you know there is something that slumbers deep within, dormant and not ready to resurface.
You also wish to tell him that your time with him is dwindling, to remind him that you will not be able to stay much longer due to your promise and that one hurts within you. No matter how rocky your beginnings were, you have grown fond of the Dhampir, and you’re worried there is something within Alucard that will be thankful to see you gone, to grow recluse once more.
“Perhaps you’ll be able to bring in new stock from nearby towns,” you suggest, but your words do not include you within them. Alucard seems quiet, though you notice that something lurks within his honey-coloured eyes. “I suppose bringing in new stock would help liven our food when we can stray away from soups.”
“Soups are very nutritious! It’s the perfect time to have them this time of year.”
“They are,” he chuckles softly, “only if you’re elderly or lacking teeth. Or both.”
You hear his playful tone, though you’re quick to tease him back, “Not something you can sink your teeth into?”
“I’m in no need to feed on blood,” he specifies, and you catch the glint of his sharp fangs when he speaks that keep you hypnotised to them. “It is not something that I need to give me constant substance.”
It makes sense why you haven’t seen him have a glass of red for dinner, more so just the regular kind or white that you both share. It does bring questions to flood your mind: if he doesn’t need blood and can eat regular food, does he still need it as if it’s a last-minute option?
Would you bite into my neck, or have you ever thought about doing so? You want to ask him, but the question remains glued in the back of your mind, forever locked there in case you offend him. You do not doubt that he would’ve ripped your throat out at your first encounter, though is it an occurring thought to him? Does he catch looking at your pulse from time to time? Does he look at your neck, hear your heartbeat and ponder the thought?
“It’s a good thing you’re only half then,” you grinned sheepishly, following into the kitchen to prep the vegetables for dinner. “Like how I am only part witch, not even one who found her true potential.”
“Half is better than nothing at all,” he adds, handing you the knife as he saunters off to the sink, grinning back at you with the smallest of smirks, “You’re still fully human and those vegetables need chopping, little witch.”
You groan which only brings both of you to laugh at the expense, “Yes, chef.”
-
When you find time before dinner and after chopping veg, you spend time in the library, practising to perfect the craft of astral projection. You're rather proud of yourself and don’t freak out as much as you did the first few times. You find you happen to do it more often in your sleep, floating just above your sleeping form as you float around your room. The first time you realise you can still study whilst in an astral form is game-changing: you can study at the desk, whilst not even feeling one bit exhausted from an entire night of reading.
You also find a spell that brings you to contemplate what right you should use on someone. You think you would do it to yourself one day, but the thought brings you to feel guilt more than anything else, especially if Alucard finds out. Instead, you keep it hidden under your pillow, ready one day you decide out of morbid curiosity.
When you’re not reading into the late hours of the night, you’re floating through the castle, like a ghost haunting the halls. You find the castle at night, in the depths of utter darkness are the most haunting, and you’re frightened by the darkened portraits that stare back at you as you go by.
You stick to the rooms you know, opting to float in the hallway as you contemplate if Alucard is still awake at this hour. His room is not far from you, but you always promise yourself you keep to his words and not venture in there, regardless if he’s in a state of consciousness or not.
It’s after dinner when Alucard hands you a cloak, his words gentle as he holds out a guiding hand to you. “I’d like to show you something.”
“Outside?” You say aloud, and Alucard chuckles lightly at your disbelief. “We won’t be attacked by night creatures, will we?”
“Not with me around.” He says, and you watch his longsword fling itself from one part of the castle into his holster. You’re thankful he has it to protect himself and you from whatever is out there, and also more thankful you don’t see it so often when you’re with him.
You both step out and the chill greets you and travels down your dress, making you quietly gasp, clinging to Alucard as if he’s the shield to keep you protected from all. You awkwardly step a bit further from him, but he does not say anything.
“What is out here that is of interest to you?” You ask though you would rather be indoors by the fire, rather than shivering into the night’s air.
Alucard doesn’t say anything as he leads you just beyond his garden, close to the forest but not too far that you cannot see the castle. He stops by a river, letting go of your hand as he turns back to you. “Wait here, the surprise is here.”
“Wait, where are you going?” You ask, and the fear heightens within you, like a tendril that gasps and pulls at your heart, making its way like icy death. He can’t be serious, can he? But from having known Alucard for nearly three weeks, in such a short amount of time, anything he’s said and meant, he’s been serious in doing.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he reassures, and his golden eyes seem to be glowing in the darkness of the trees. They are the only things you can see when your eyes are failing to adjust to the darkness. “I promise it to you.”
You believe him, he’s your only protection after all, and you sit by the river when you hear his figure leave, but you cannot hear him. You’re shivering either from the cold or fear alone, and the seconds feel like minutes the more you wait.
Your fear has spiked when you’re listening closely to the noises of the outside: of the water trickling, the crickets chirping, the wind that howls and the snapping of a twig close by
You jolt up, survival instincts kick in and you feel like a deer almost caught in a trap, eyes looking everywhere and anywhere they can seen within ten feet of you.
“Alucard?” You rasp, and you hug yourself more when you hear no response.
Oh fuck.
You’re trying to listen closely, but all sounds blend as one as you debate whether running back to the castle is your safest option. If it’s a night creature, you’re dead and you don’t think running from one would be beneficial to you, knowing full well that it could outrun you.
Would Alucard be able to run to catch up with you?
Whilst you’re debating what to do, something else catches your attention, and from just across where the river bends, you see something that has emerged from the bushes. Your body freezes, and you traverse to that time in your youth when you’re staring down those eyes, fangs flashing as you run as fast as your legs can carry you.
Your breathing has hitched as you take in the figure, and realise… it’s massive.
Despite the darkness, you see that its fur is white, its legs are powerful and could easily outrun you. It’s majestic, powerful and evermore agile and dangerous than any creature you’ve encountered. Your eyes trail up from its legs, up past its huge torso and up to its head, eyes staring back at you with the same inquisitiveness you had staring back at it.
Golden eyes that had engulfed the sun.
“Easy.” You say aloud, and the wolf doesn’t do anything but stare back, watching with as much hesitation as you show in your body language. You’re certain it’s not going to attack you: just from how its ears are pinned back and it's not snarling at you as a threat.
It’s only with the minutes ticking by, that you realise, oh, God, it’s approaching.
“Whoa, erm… stay back.” You warn, but it falls on deaf ears when it crosses the small path in the river, coming as close as it can towards you. Even whilst you sit on a slope, it’s towering over you, and you can only do is stare back into its eyes, soulful, wise eyes.
It takes two and two to be put together, and then you’re saying aloud, “Alucard?”
The wolf huffs as if to respond ‘finally’, slouching next to you, his large body slumping to rest against you, sniffing your hand before resuming to rest his head on your lap. You freeze, before your hands come up to experimentally run through his fur. You gasp in surprise, giggling to yourself as you gain the Dhampir’s attention.
“You never told me how soft you were.” You ran your hands just over his snout, above his brow line and in between his ears, which earns him to snort before he relaxes more into you. Your other hand is stroking down his back and across his broad chest, cooing to tease him further.
“Aww, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”
Alucard – if at this moment was human – huffed in a moment to stop your antics, and you could only laugh knowing you had embarrassed him with your words. It wasn’t long before the Dhampir you knew was back in front of you, glaring at you with those familiar golden eyes.
“Very funny,” his cheeks are a pink hue but he’s thankful you can’t notice within the twilight. “You enjoyed that too much.”
“You’re cute as a wolf.” You add, and you erupt into laughter as Alucard covers his face, groaning from further humiliation.
“Oh, my God.” Alucard is rasping between laughs, his eyes glossy compared to the moonlight that shines above, “I’ll never hear the end of this.”
“Nope, you will now be called ‘little wolf’.”
“Oh, god, no.”
“Ooh, or how about ‘little pup’?”
“That’s even worse,” you’re laughing with one another and the atmosphere is lively and warm despite the chill that surrounds you. It feels as if you’ve known Alucard your entire life, and it’s just you two in the universe.
“How did you know you could do that?” You ask when you can finally speak again.
“It just happened one day,” he hummed. “My father has always been a powerful man, and the gifts he carried over his lifetime he shared through to me naturally. I think that day it happened, I gave my mother quite the fright.”
“I can imagine.” You laugh sadly. “It’s still amazing that The Dracula fell in love with a human woman. Dhampirs are a rare occurrence, some not living as long as you into adulthood.”
“It amazes me too,” Alucard agreed with the words as if it had been in his mind the moment he came into the world. “I suppose I was just lucky.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here though,” you add, trying to hide the way you blush from your compliment, though it hangs in indignity by your words. “I mean—here in this moment, not you know—"
“You’re lucky my parents… copulated?” He teases.
“Oh, God, Alucard, you’re not an eighty-year-old man. You can say use a more natural term for it.” You’re next to copy him by burying your face into your hands. You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with him in the first place!
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this tongue-tied,” he eases, nudging your shoulder to look back at him. “It’s amusing.”
Your heart hammers in your chest and you shamelessly make out the shape of his lips in the twilight, the way they’re curved in a soft smile. Looking away before you’re caught, you’re certain he’s noticed but does not say anything.
He’s quick to change the subject, directing it to you this time. “Tell me more about your mother, what was her origin?”
You’re surprised, he’s never been one to ask about your origin, for you didn’t think it mattered. “Well, my mama was fairly young when she had me, I think around the age of sixteen. I didn’t know much about my father or who he was. Mama told me our people came from Cabo Branco in Africa. They were taken by the Portuguese and shipped to their land, where I assume some managed to find their way east, as far as Wallachia. My father, I assume, was fully Wallachian, though I don’t know what his relation was to my mother.”
Alucard listens attentively to your words, only asking questions when necessary. “Do you think… he kept her as his property?” He asks quietly.
“Perhaps,” you hug yourself, “she was young after all, relying on him for shelter and food, and I have no doubt he was the reason she fled with her life away from him.”
Alucard hums in thought. “You sisters… tell me about them.”
“Oh, they came from everywhere.” You seem a bit more comforted to talk about them, though you mourn them just as much as your mother. “Some were slaves, fleeing with their mothers, sisters and daughters. They established themselves in Wallachia a few centuries back, a powerful coven that had spread across Europe. But their numbers dwindled over time. Vampires and witches have never liked one another, and one day, one vampire decided he was to lead an army to dimmish their power, and their numbers. They were halved to what they were originally, further hiding themselves and isolating from the land in fears of being caught.”
Alucard’s words aren’t that smooth and soft, rather raspy and hoarse. “This vampire, was he-”
“Yes, your father, Dracula.”
“I… apologise,” he consoles, and it takes you by surprise. “I apologise on his behalf for what he did to your people. Many have suffered from my father’s hands, and yet, it feels odd to call him my father.”
“He was regardless of everything, Alucard, was your father.” You comforted, reaching to take his hand into yours. “Mourn the father he was, not the man he was known for.”
Alucard is taken aback by your words, and for a moment, you believe you will see him cry just from the softness of his eyes. “Thank you, it has taken some time to remember my father as what my mother saw him as. A scientist, a traveller, a loyal husband and father.”
The two of you sat in content for a moment, staring out at the river, listening to the calmness of the night. You could feel Alucard’s gaze fixated on you from the corner of your peripheral as if he wanted to confess something to you.
“My mother named me Adrian, for she did not like the name of Alucard used to compare me to Dracula.” He mused, squeezing your hand gently. “I’d very much like you to call me that too.”
Rouge reached your face as you nodded, knowing that you would keep your promise, despite the despair in your heart growing, knowing one day, you would never see him again.
A/N: Gosh, this chapter was enjoyable to write. Feelings are beginning to brew and I can't wait to see where it goes!
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Chapter 5
Days pass with the rising and falling of the sun, and soon you find that your stay at the castle has reached a fortnight.
They blended into one whilst you were there, and you sadly had to admit, you had grown used to living there.
It was the fact that your time was coming up (that was one of your many worries), but the fact that you’ve grown rather accustomed to being in Alucard’s presence.
You wonder if he’s the same: having seen him more often and gotten the chance to speak with him on the daily.
You wake to the calling of your name from him outside your bedroom door, sharing meals and helping to the garden outside. When the evenings come, you help one another cook dinner, before you either find yourself buried in the books in the library or sharing the fire in the reception. It took some convincing but he also took the time to take down those corpses, giving them a proper burial and to ‘put that moment in the past and look forward.’
You did not judge or ask further questions, only if he wanted to talk more about it.
You didn’t know those people, but he told you their names: Taka and Sumi. They hailed from Japan, an island country far from here that you had heard of but had never seen their people before. You could say the same about yourself, for you don’t think you had seen someone with as dark a skin complexion as your mother for a while.
No, you had gone for some time not seeing someone like you, being a witch and woman of colour. But you couldn’t help but feel that it didn’t matter when you spent your days with Alucard.
He was very mature for his age due to the lack of children his age. You had come to be told that his body had matured quicker than his age, so in tell, he was mentally younger than you at 18. It made sense for his boyish humour and rather immature toilet jokes. He told you he got them from Trevor, a Belmont through and through.
It was the little things about him that you had grown so used to, that you didn’t realise how much you would miss them when you had to go.
It was a yearning in your chest, one that grew with each day, and the more you spent your days with Alucard, laughing, it felt like you had known him for an entire lifetime. He will want you gone, you told yourself when you remembered; He will grow bored of you. It hurt, but the more you pushed yourself away or tried to, the more you found yourself coming back for more.
Instead, you stuck to your spells, learning by the hour until your back was sore from hunching over them.
Alucard had found you once, way into the night, surrounded by books once more, fast asleep with your hand still over the words you were reading. He could not help the small smile to grace his features, muttering to himself softly, ‘This is where I always find you now. Nose deep in some book.’
He leant over you, careful not to disturb you, listening to the rhythmic beat of your heart, your skin flush from the warmth in the room. Your face was half-smushed into the pages, but Alucard found it more amusing than scolding you for ruining his father’s books. He had been the same, pouring into his books as his mother had done when she carried him. His father spoke about how Lisa must’ve swallowed a candlestick and book to get him started, but Alucard found he enjoyed sharing the two gifts his parents loved.
And now he got to share it with someone else.
No, Alucard had found it rather endearing to see you like this most nights, enveloping you into his arms as he carried you to bed like a child, watchful in making sure the book in your hand stayed by your grip.
He found your room and set you on the bed, gathering the sheets to pull around you, as a protection from the outside wonders and dreads of the castle.‘Sleep well, little witch,’ he had come to use that nickname on you often. ‘Dream of the broomsticks and caldrons you can use to conjure great spells.’
When you would wake from a sleep of comfort, you would find yourself in your bed, a warmth spreading over you and into your chest and the day would repeat again.
It was this morning when as the two of you sat over breakfast you asked Alucard an important question.
“The hold—the Belmont hold – you told me about it once– is it okay if I can go down there?”
“It is yours,” Alucard is quick to answer, almost too quick to your liking for someone he’s grown used to sharing the same four walls with. “No one has used it for some hundred years. It may be a requirement for me to help you reach it though.”
“Oh, why is that?”
He seems almost bashful with his answer, a crooked smile gracing his handsome features. “The stairs down were destroyed, due to… an unfortunate encounter with some creatures of the night.”
“Ah, makes sense, how would we get down then?” You crunched into your stale bread.
“We’ll jump.”
“Jump?” You nearly choked on the food in your throat, staring at him as if he had grown ten heads. “Can I remind you I’m fully human? I don’t think I’d survive a fall that high.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he says, and the look in his eyes is serious, and you half dread, half inquisitive about what he has installed for you.
-
“I don’t know about this, Alucard.”
“I have you,” Alucard stares down the abyss as if it's nothing as if he’s dropped from heights like that a thousand times before. “I will not be letting go of you.”
“You say that,” you don’t want to match him and lean over the broken bannister, staring down before you chicken out, “but I’ll be the one screaming all the way down.”
He gives a gentle smile and a reassuring hand, “Would I ever let you fall?”
Never.
“No.” You blush easily now when he’s charming, his voice soft and soothing.
“Good,” he’s ready, but you’re not. “I’ll carry you if it makes things easier.”
“O-Okay,” you shakily perch one hand onto his shoulder, squeaking as he scoops you up with ease into his arms. He doesn’t even break a sweat, holding you bridal style. His chest is warm when you thump against it, inches from his face and very aware that you’re staring dead on at him.
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he laughs to make you feel at ease, but you’re more shaking as to what is to happen next. “It’ll be over in eight seconds.”
“Eight seconds is a long time to fall,” your voice rises the closer he inches, and your holding onto him is not very ladylike. To Hell with the ladylikeness, I’m dangling off the edge, ready to fall. “Oh, why didn’t you install new stairs?”
“That would’ve been easier.” Alucard muses, and he stares down at you momentarily. “I’m here, I’ll never let you go, remember?”
“I know-” you squeeze your eyes tight as before you can even finish your sentence, the ground leaves you both as Alucard steps off, and the air holds you momentarily still. You await for gravity to meet and plunge you down, your stomach somersaulting, but instead, you open one eye to stare at the Dhampir owlishly.
“You can-”
“Fly? Yes, well, I wanted to keep some of the thrills.” He ponders good-humouredly, and you’re almost gaping like a fish when he begins to slowly descend with you in his arms down into the hold.
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t screaming.” Your skin is alight with a furious blush, aware now that your nerves were basically for nothing, but you still felt at ease thanks to Alucard’s words. You don’t miss the way his face blooms into a pale pink hue that spreads across his face.
The two of you reached the bottom and gingerly, Alucard let you back to the ground, your legs shaking when they met the floor. When you look up, you see how much of everything is in disarray. The staircase leading up is completely destroyed, its remaining stones a heap just inches from where you both stand. The many paintings on the walls are slanted from being knocked, and others are smashed to the floor and ripped to shreds. Only one hangs in perfect shape: a man in opulent and gleaming gold and white armour, a fur-white trimmed cloak hanging off him and a longsword he holds. He has the same hair colour as Alucard, though he is shorter in length and his eyes seem blue.
You squint at the portrait closer, “Is that-”
“The one who started it all, Leon Belmont. Unfortunately, his one living descendant runs amok Wallachia.” Alucard frowns, “God forbid having more Belmonts running around.”
He does like to talk highly of his friend and fellow vampire hunter. You think, before the two of you continue onwards.
Alucard opens the door, slamming it open as if something blocks the way, and you’re welcomed into what could only be described as a large pit, filled with wonder and knowledge.
Though some of the books are thrown about, shelves destroyed and much of the content that has been stored is ruined, you very much feel in awe, standing in what is years of history.
“This place is amazing! The years it must’ve taken to gather so much knowledge- so much history!” You beam, not knowing where to start. Alucard doesn’t share your excitement and you’re quick to look back on him, staring back at him with fondness. “What is the matter?”
He does not speak but only directs your attention to what stands on a shelf close by, and you look in horror and realisation at the shelf with skulls, all similar sizes with teeth not similar to that of a human. The shelf is a decorative collection of vampire skulls, and you understand quickly.
“Oh.”
“You can imagine why I have little warmth for a place like this.” Alucard grimaces, his face a wall of acceptance. “It was the place of knowledge in destroying what was known of vampires.”
I have upset him. You realise. “Forgive me, I overstepped with my excitement. I’m a fool for not realising.” Though the Dhampir is quick to forgive. He steps close, and the proximity makes you feel lightheaded from the sudden closeness.
“You need not apologise, little witch,” he soothes with his dulcet tones, “I’m not one to be offended quick… not by you.”
You relax to hear your words, and a bit happier to know that. “Okay… well, I won’t keep you too long. Just wanted to gather some more books.”
Alucard is happy to help, gathering the necessary ones you need that can be helpful. Who would’ve thought that the Belmont clan had so much information about so many monsters, including witches?
Your happiness with your selection brings you to take everything back up, as you track back through and up to the world of the living. Though it is a great place, you can’t help but feel how there was a sense of doom that lurked in a lonely place like that. It is a surviving gravesite. You tell yourself as you’re carried back up by Alucard.
The rest of the night, you find yourself in the reception, reading quietly with Alucard elsewhere in the castle. The crackle of the fire is the only thing that resounds in the room, all whilst you lay there, a sense of tiredness lurks in your bones. You’ve not had time to yourself, and though your mind screams to remain awake, your body is slower, and you find your mouth slurring with the words that grow quieter.
“Requiesco. Requiesco… Requiesco.”
.
.
.
You don’t know how long you’re asleep for, for your body floats in a state of limbo, rolling the way you move to get comfortable, like waves undulating in the ocean. You groan though you do not feel the softness of the Corinthia beneath you until you groggily open your eyes.
You find your body lying rigidly, hovering just inches from hitting the ceiling, see-through and translucent enough to see the wall next to you. Bubbling to your throat, you scream, scrabbling as you adjust to the situation, before looking down. “Am I… dead?”
You look down below you, to see… you. You’re laying as if asleep, the book lying within your lap, eyelashes curled with no knowing if your body is conscious to be breathing.
“No, no, no, no. I can’t be dead.” You gasp, screaming out to call for Alucard, knowing you would not be able to be heard. You were an apparition it seemed, though you did not die, you think—no, tell yourself.
You float down closer to your body, clawing at the air as you swim closer. Your body was indeed alive, though it was as if you were staring back at yourself as a spectator rather than a participant.
Curiously, you tentatively reach out to yourself, watching in horror as your hand moves right through you, going right through your body.
“How did this happen?” You kept telling yourself over and over, not aware that the door had opened, and in came a figure.
“There you are.”
“Alucard, I can explain-” You reached for him, but the Dhampir walked right past you, walking towards your sleeping form. “Alucard?” You reached to him, touching his shoulder and expecting to go through him as you did with yourself, except your touch recoiled the moment you touched him as if you had been electrocuted.
He was cold, ice cold like a corpse.
“What are you reading this time, little witch?” His voice is a soft lull, pulling your attention when he tenderly pulls the book off your lap, taking in the pages you were reading. “Astral projection? This one is new. Though, I do hope you don’t take to acting as a ghost within these walls.” He chuckles wryly to himself. “This castle holds too many already.”
You watch the act, the way he is tender to you, and you never realise just how he was when you were asleep. Your heart leaps when you watch him collect a blanket from a nearby chaise, pulling it over you as he makes sure you’re comfortable and cosy.
“Sleep well, little witch.” He whispers, a hand gingerly coming to coil around one of your curls experimentally, retracting quickly as if he was scared to be caught.
Alucard stands and steps past you again, walking out of the room to leave you alone and you can only watch at the tenderness you just witnessed. If you had not believed it had been you he was making sure was comfortable, you believed you could’ve grown almost… jealous.
That could wait, you needed to get back into your body. The only thing you could remember from the pages was to place your astral form back into your host form. You crawled back onto the seat, laying just as the way you were sleeping, feeling the tugs that came when you tried fitting your legs and fingers into place.
When you laid your head after feeling comfortable, you screwed your eyes shut, and suddenly were flooded with light and hazy surroundings that came from your body jolting mid-sleep. Your lungs burned with air, your eyes watering from the sight of the fire, sensitive to the brightness, before you looked down at yourself.
When your hands came up to your face, aware that you were back, the grin that reached your face was bright and gleaming.
A/N: Thank you for your patience! This chapter will be to begin the brewing tension! Hope you enjoy it!
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Chapter 4
Three days pass after you come into Alucard’s castle, and you realise just how secluded the Dhampir liked to be.
Alucard kept to himself most times: tending to his garden, gathering food for when the days would get shorter, nights longer. You would also occasionally see him train with his sword in the front. He was one with the sword, and it acted almost as its being, moving on a whim without him telling him where to go next.
You could only imagine how much he had seen to fight so well, or how or who taught him to fight like such. A true warrior with a gentle heart.
It was a lonely occurrence, living with someone you barely saw, so you tended to find your nose stuck in a book rather than be truly alone within the tall walls.
You stuck to Dracula’s library, pouring over and collecting as many books as you could. You were surprised just by how many spells you could learn: astral projection, levitation, puppetry, the list was endless! It truly brought hope that you could pour as much learning in before you would be sent away from the one place full of knowledge.
Who knew Dracula had a fascination with witches?
It was only for breakfast or dinner you would have the blessing of sharing with him, and your conversations were to a minimum. Not much was spoken apart from going over your days, and then one or both of you would help tidy and clear the dishes, before going off to different parts of the castle for the rest of the evening.
Aside from the books, you craved a chance for normalcy, a chance to connect with someone who never wanted to open up to you. There were times he spoke about the things of his life, his mother and what his father did. It was a rare time when he spoke of the two friends he gained, Sypha and Trevor.
You couldn’t stand to be like this for the rest of the month, stuck between walls with no one to chat to, no one to feel human with. It was only fair you tried making it up to Alucard: to thank him for all he had done so far. After all, he could’ve killed you the first chance he had, instead, he had fed you, given you clean clothes, hot water to bathe and the library with books on vampires.
The morning started like any other day, except you had awoken to the bright light pouring through the thin curtains to your room. You would find yourself waking in time to go down to the library before remembering to eat something, but you knew it was now or never to do what you had to do.
You didn’t know if Alucard was awake before you (his room was luckily two rooms down from you) and he warned you from the beginning to not disturb or come to his room. Odd as it was, you obeyed his one rule, hoping that you wouldn’t need aid before he was out in time for breakfast.
You gathered your curls into a bun, tying a ribbon through to keep it up as you grabbed the closest dress to your dresser. Alucard offered more dresses to you, and the more he did, the more you came to realise that these dresses he did not buy. You did feel guilt wearing his mother’s clothes, but he did not complain.
Slipping out of your room once dressed, you hurried through the endless, winding corridors, trying to remember your way back to the ground floor, and once you found that, you could find the kitchen.
You passed through the doors, entering the rather chilly room before you decided quickly to get to work. You knew you’d get scolded by Alucard for making a mess, but raiding the cupboards and shelves for spices and items made your workspace rather dirty very quickly.
Alucard cooked everything: from breakfast to dinner, he fed and fuelled your mind to keep reading into the many books, rather than be exhausted by the time breakfast had finished.
If he can cook, I can too. You had prepared meals for Bogdan and his family previously, but they had been picky with their meals, keeping to basic porridge and a slither of goat, ham or bacon if lucky.
You gathered eggs, dried meats, bread that had gone a day stale and a whole cupboard full of spices, setting up as you thought the best thing to make was everything there was. You tried to keep it quiet for some time, carefully recreating the meal you had eaten made by Alucard. It didn’t look perfect, but it could taste just as good if you tried.
You got influence from your mama to include different herbs, ones from spices in the southeast, others from across the entire globe, past Wallachia. It amazed you how much of the world there was to explore, rather than being stuck here, surrounded by vampires and demons.
Maybe I could go travelling. You thought, and the very idea brought a chill to run down you. Part of you thought it could be a thrill-seeking adventure to travel halfway across the world, whilst the other part of you warned that you were not suited to a sailor’s life.
Breakfast came hot and ready in the end, and whilst you prepped the plates with the food, you failed to hear the door creak open, a pale figure walk through, half dishevelled and unexpectantly looking to what you were doing.
“Oh,” you jumped back, holding two warmed plates in each hand, surprised to see him standing there so quickly. Perhaps the smells had brought him to come down earlier. You weren’t expecting him so soon. “Good morning. I hope you don’t mind I made myself useful in cooking us something?”
“Why is that?” Alucard rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his blond locks were frizzy and tousled, and you watched as he sat at the table, his plate being handed to him. “I did not know you could cook.”
“Well, I thought you cook so often for me, I’d cook something for you,” you shrugged, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible, but you knew your heart was racing. Racing for his validation? A compliment for your cooking?
Alucard nodded, scooping some of the egg onto a fork and taking a long chew at the stale bread, but he still gave a look that read he was considerate for your time. “It is most thoughtful of you. Thank you, Y/N.”
Your shoulders had been so tensed you realised, after relaxing them from awaiting for so long his verdict. He said your name, you realised, and you couldn’t help that feeling in your chest, swelling with an unknown emotion. As if you had been waiting all your life to hear it from someone again. You smiled nonetheless, taking a bite of your food and being overwhelmed by the spices you remembered your mama cooking into meals.
You spoke about your plans for the day, and how you were close to beginning your training, and it even seemed to pique some of Alucard’s interest. “I will stand by today,” he announced, gathering your plates when they were finished. “Just in case something happens.”
“I should be fine, really.” you didn’t want to pressure him into being with you if he had other things to do, and you certainly didn’t want to make him feel uneasy about your spells- or lack thereof.
“I insist,” he says, his voice a hue of melancholy, “when it comes to witchcraft, there is a chance something can misfire. I’m only making sure you don’t set the books on fire.”
You blush easily but find his joke to make you laugh. “Very funny. Even if I did try to burn it down, I would certainly not start in there. There are too many good things in there. It would be a waste of knowledge, turned to ash within the blink of an eye.”
Alucard hums in agreement, though he does not speak further on the matter, instead, only awaiting for you. “Shall we then?”
-
“I heard it is hard to put a Vampire into a trance?”
You concentrate, staring from the pages up to where the Dhampir stands, tracing a finger over the aged pages. The two of you have spent many hours going through abilities that would be of use to you, and though you try to conjure them through word, nothing comes of it.
“It is true,” he answers earnestly, “the stronger the mind, the harder is it to break- so to say.”
“Vampires have a mental block or something?”
“Some do, it makes it harder to read their minds, to know their auras or get information out from one.”
It gets you thinking, and your curiosity gets the better of you, and you’re asking him the question you’re dying to know. “What about half vampires?”
Alucard quirks an eyebrow, “Half vampires?”
“Yeah, does it work on you? You’re half vampire, half human, after all.”
“You want to give it a go?” There is something that flickers in his tone when he asks you that, one that plays into amusement, and it makes your heart flutter in a way that has you half-guessing yourself and stumbling over the right words. “I can tell you one thing, I’m quite hard to read.”
You’re already stepping up close to him, “I do quite like a challenge.” It’s only when you realise up close, how tall he is. You’ve never been this close up to him, and from here, you can see the smallest of subtly in his movements, the way his eyes flicker around the room quickly, as if always on high alert for trouble.
Alucard takes in your smug stance as he stares you down, a neutral expression falling over his, before he leans in ever so closely, his fangs poking out from his lips. “Boo.”
“Haha.” You rolled your eyes, knowing full well he was trying to make you lose concentration. It’s hard, not just to crack through to him, but to look at him this up close. He’s handsome, you admit it, and there’s that ethereal beauty to him that makes him look eerie compared to other humans.
You try to ignore it as you stare into his comely face, rather than concentrating on just his eyes and eyes alone. Were his eyes always this bright? A golden contrast, like golden leaves of autumn, or smooth honey. Eyes are the windows to the soul, right? So why did you find it intimidating to look through his gaze and look through him as a person?
It feels like the smallest of cracks to a mirror at first before you can even reach the first layer, and you’re met with a heavy, hard-hitting wall.
What on earth? You tug and pull within your mind, amazed at just how mentally strong Alucard is.
You can picture it as standing in front of a locked door, needing a key to pass through. You were so close, yet so far, and when you blinked out from your trance, Alucard chortles in what sounded like victory to winning. “Quite the challenge, isn’t it?”
“Just what exactly were you thinking of?” You tilt your head, “That witches have pointy hats, or fly on broomsticks?”
His laugh is airy and it fills you with hope that maybe, you will be able to crack at him one way or another. “You could say so.”
The two of you continued your readings, and you noticed that he was a bit closer to you, sharing a short space with you as the two of you looked at the same shelf. Though Alucard was always the gentleman and remained a lengthy distance away from you, he seemed at ease.
“This may be of interest to you,” Alucard pulled forth a book from the shelf, handing it over to you. You grabbed, accidentally reaching, your fingers touching. He was oddly warm for a half-vampire, not like a stone-cold, cold-blooded creature. “Maybe we could start here.”
“This could work,” you prop the book up as you go to the right page: the act of telekinesis. “Though, I don’t think I’ve used it before.”
“I’m here in support,” Alucard takes a cautionary step to the side, pointing to the stack of books in the middle of the room, some that had been read through. “Start with one of them.”
You looked between him and the pile, and a feeling of instant negativity washed over you. “I don’t know—”
“I believe in you.” Alucard praises you gently, and for a moment, you can’t concentrate on anything else but the way he supports you. You feel your cheeks flush, and you suddenly want to hear more of his approval.
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and shutting the world around you out. You’re in a dark room, with no air or light, just you focusing and holding out your arms. Concentrating on your breathing, you focused on nothing but what was in the room. When you finally opened your eyes, you spoke the word clearly. “Prodire.”
The stack didn’t move at first, and before you were to even complain to Alucard for your lack of power, you heard the sound of books flipping through to shut, and a lone, heavy-leather bound book lifted clumsily into the air, hanging a few inches off the air but floating.
Your excitement is loud when you gasp in amazement, looking to the Dhampir for approval, whose eyes are already on you, impressed. You look back to the floating book, motioning with your hand in a “come hither”, watching as the book – as if had been picked up by someone – slowly took in your words, approaching sluggishly.
Nice and steady, like water. You told yourself, focusing on bringing the book towards you. It was not even halfway towards its previous spot and when it stopped you sighed intensely, overwhelmed as your face burst into awkwardness.
“I didn’t think this would happen,” you offer an awkward laugh to ease the air, watching with a glance to Alucard, who didn’t seem so embarrassed by this little mishap. He was one to encourage you more. “You’ve got this,” he spoke, “pretend I’m not here if it helps put your mind at ease.”
That’s easier said than done. You thought, and you spoke again, “Prodire.”
Nothing came from the book as you sighed in defeat, your frustration rising with the way your tone did as well. Alucard was quick to try and step in. “I think you should—”
He didn’t get the rest of his sentence out when something surged forward towards you. Not just the one book that had been already floating, but the many others that had been still on the floor. They flew at you with such speed that you didn’t have time to react to even what was coming at you.
Bracing to be hit was your only way to react in time, but something grabbed you around the waist, pulling you backwards against a hard surface, before seconds later the sound of books colliding into the nearby shelf shattered your ears.
Your heart was racing, and it resonated against the surface your back was pushed against. You didn’t realise you were holding your breath, your adrenaline was slowly settling.
“Are you alright? The voice of Alucard was oddly close to your ear, and within seconds, you realised he was the one who pulled you out of the way from the flying books. You turned to look back at him, very much aware your body was burning from his touch, very aware of how close he was, the way he smelled so sweetly—
“Yes, I’m okay,” you managed to pull away, still feeling the warmth of his hands around your waist, trying to regain a level of composure. Your hands are sweaty and you’re wiping them across your dress urgently. “Thank you, Alucard.”
“What happened there?” He asked, and despite the softness in his dulcet voice, there was still concern in his words. “Your mind was elsewhere.”
“Yes, I think so. You were correct though,” you confirmed. “Magic can misfire.”
“It will come back to you with some time,” you watch the way Alucard’s throat bobs nervously, “I believe you can do so.”
His kind words are a shock to you, and you’re not so certain why he is so suddenly praising you constantly. Part of you thinks it’s out of kindness, whilst the other part of you tells you he just wants you to be out of his castle quicker, and in hopes you’d learn in time before your month ends.
I will learn, no matter how long it takes. You tell yourself, and you tell Alucard that perhaps you will stay in the library for a bit longer to improve.
Alucard does not seem exasperated at your choice, though you may mistaken the look of disappointment that floods his eyes. “Very well,” he drawls, and he’s slow to leave the library, leaving you to yourself.
Sighing heavily in defeat, you pull the books you had failed to bring towards you, pulling up the correct page as you went to try again.
A/N: Thanks for the wait! The last two weeks have been a rollercoaster for me, and this is the only place I can go to escape. This POV will mainly be from Alucard's perspective.
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Chapter 3
He's glad you don't see his face when he leaves - rushing out with any excuse under the sun.
In his mind, it's a mess, his senses frantic, elevated to a pulsing rush that he can't tell if the rush of a heartbeat is his or hers.
His skin feels alight in almost agony, every step he takes gives him more reason to be rid of the witch he’s allowed into his father’s castle—no, his castle now. He can be quicker than her to get rid of her before she finds any weapon to use against him.
He could make it fleeting the pain- he was not cruel like his father - he was always quick with giving death to those, it was maybe the human part of him who saw it the same way as giving an animal mercy.
She will find some way to boil my blood, he told himself, crush my bones to make powder. He could not stop the frantic part of his mind screaming not to be so kind to her, not to provide her the things any host should.
He couldn't trust humans again - he told that to himself over and over again - not those whom he allowed to understand the knowledge of his castle, even those who had killed his mother had become a bitter memory. Alucard was no fool, it was the same pain his father felt the day his mother left them, but even his pain, grief and rage burnt him into the man Dracula was always meant to be. Alucard was not as certain if he could possess such vengeance on humanity so soon, but he had tried being sympathetic and it had gotten him scored and beaten. It burnt him all the same, and the betrayals would keep coming to him, over and over again.
Maybe it was his human side, the side of his mother, that was telling him to be a good host, to tend to her injuries and give her refuge. She would've done the same if she was here. Though he was not just part human, and if his father had still been living or had she stumbled into any other vampire's home, it would’ve been in the blink of an eye before his father had her innards spilt and hung as decoration, her throat slashed before her fist could make contact with the doors.
It had worked with his mother though, would it be a coincidence if it could happen again?
Human or not, Alucard knew she had been a witch the second she entered his father’s castle. The stench of witches was ancient and as old as the earth itself. It was one of old power, dormant yet ready to strike. It was stronger on her compared to other creatures he had come across.
Alucard was knowledgeable about witches' hatred for most creatures: humans, creatures of the night, and vampires.
They were familiar with their kind, keeping to themselves, sometimes nomadic and travelling until they could find a place they called their own.
But this girl was far from her coven, muddied and riddled in cuts, she looked half from dead by the time she arrived at the doors of the castle. Alucard did not doubt that if she had not been any sooner, night creatures would've found quick work of her body, he would've been little to no help at all at this point.
Running a hand through his golden locks, Alucard sighed heavily, defeatedly, staring off to the side at the portrait, half-covered and drawn from the sight of his mother. Her lovely, kind smile brought him to feel the guilt first, then the resolution. "You will call me harsh," he said aloud, in acceptance of the unfortunate situation, "but giving her one month of refuge was enough-- even Father would have called me brash for such a thing. No doubt agreeing her body would be spiked alongside the others."
He does not dare look at her in the painted gaze, knowing that despite it being a painting, her knowing gaze is enough to make him feel further shame. He does not regret his choice of words or his apathy. It's rough work to trust again, and he thinks he will never open his heart to a stranger again. He will keep her at arm's length before her final day comes, and then he'll send her on her merry way, never to be seen here again.
He could imagine his friends, even hearing their precise words in the back of his mind, nagging him. "You should be kinder, Alucard." Sypha is first to console with gentle words, but hers are just like his mother's. "You do not know how far she has come."
He thinks and he agrees before he thinks to his other friend's opinion. What do you think, Trevor? He regrets asking in his head, to the exact reasoning, he knows how the Belmont would answer, "I'm not sober enough to be having this fucking conversation."
The Dhampir sighs dejectedly, finding reason to begin with slowly finding parts of the castle to keep to, in hopes of avoiding her.
-
The awkward exchange was enough to make you feel even more threatened than before. Just as you thought you had been able to see the smallest of cracks in Alucard's personality, he shut you out. You didn't feel angered by that though, you knew killing your father was enough to make anyone feel a sense of sorrow to hang for the rest of one's days.
You decided to clear up the plates and then find where Alucard spoke of the guest bedroom, where, to your delight was a better place to stay than anywhere you had stayed for all your days of living. The room was far too spacious to be one that belonged to perhaps a member of staff, with silken sheets and dropped curtains, the bed looked lavish enough that you feared you would never be able to rise from again if you dared lay on it.
Thanking yourself for being clean before you threw yourself onto the bed, your body screamed in joy when the softness of the sheets hit you, and you were overcome with a smell of light lavender, soothing and sweet. You could almost imagine hitting the pillows right away and having the best sleep of your entire life, but you knew that that had to wait. Exploring awaited.
It was perhaps a blessing that you didn’t run into Alucard as you wandered the long halls, taking in the aged beauty of the castle. You took in the paintings, the décor, the statues that made you know that life once hung in the halls. It hung like doom how the drab ruin and cracks in the walls told you the castle would never be the same. You told yourself that if you were allowed, you could help tidy some of the rubble.
Your gaze caught a painting you hadn’t seen before: caught in secrecy with a red curtain, covering the majority of the oil painting. Taking glances behind you and in front, you drew in closer, pulling the curtain back to reveal the beauty of the canvas.
The two figures you didn’t recognise, but they looked like opposites. Light hair and dark hair. The sun and the Moon. Human and Vampire. You knew the vampire was Dracula: from his dark locks and wine-coloured eyes, he was drawn closely to his wife, whom you now knew was Alucard’s mother.
The woman was comely and time had not taken away her beauty. Her lips were curled in a sweet, soft smile, holding in her arms a buddle of blond curls similar to hers.
You stared as you looked at the babe, his innocent beaming smile had small fangs poking out, his golden eyes were joining his duel backgrounds, and though you feared the Dhampir, you could not help but find the baby version of him to be adorable.
What made you what you are now? You thought.
Continuing from the corridor, you entered the closest room with its door slightly ajar. It was dark when you entered, the tall curtains drawn. You didn’t wish to disturb the room as it already was by pulling back the curtains, you opted for a better solution.
Looking back through the door you came through, you cupped your hands in front of you, speaking a gentle tone, “Ardeo.”
Your flame came with better ease, yet it acted as the needed torch and light to help you see better. You can now take in the room better: amazed by the very sight in front of you.
You knew Dracula was a man of knowledge, but the room you stepped into was one of grandeur no living man would ever comprehend. Despite the mess of some bookshelves, its books scattered everywhere, the room was very much one that left you in awe.
Observing closer, your curiosity got the better of you (your mother always told you that), and walking over to the books you could see. Using one hand, you scanned the spines, taking in the words. Some were foreign to you, others in the language you knew, but were that not even the church could understand.
This… was far more than just common knowledge, and you were amazed by how much any subject could be used. You grew interested in Dracula, which had books on different species, one you had in particular.
In the face of being so absorbed in the books in front of you, you failed to hear the sound of a door creaking open, the fluttering of a cape, the sound of footsteps approaching with such haste, that you didn’t have time to look-
“What do you think you’re doing in here?” The voice barked, a hand pulled you away from them, and from the small flames in your hand, the face in front of you erupted from fury to fear.
Alucard had every right to be angry at you in this moment: you did after all cross into a room you were not supposed to go in. It was not that that made your heart rate spike, but the fact that his sword was once again by your throat, cold as a kiss of death against your flesh.
He did not speak, but even if you tried to, the blade made it difficult with how it dug into your skin. You cried out, both of you mirroring one another with expressions: horror written in your eyes.
How when you had seen his baby picture as adorable, you wanted to take it all back, now was replaced with the sight of his fangs flashing in front of you, hissing like a feral cat in distress.
You felt his hand leave your shoulder, and the strength alone was brutal in how tight his grip was. He was not as close to you now, only did you see those golden eyes staring directly into the flames you held as if it was a normal phenomenon.
“I’m sorry,” you rasped, shaking the fire away as the room was engulfed in darkness once again. Only, you were thankful that you could see the outline of his figure still there, watching you in dread and anticipation for what you would do next. “The door… was open—I’m sorry, I overstepped.”
Alucard did not speak, for it seemed he was struck with a fear you had felt many times before. Only did you direct his attention to the book in your other hand, did he seem not to be so rigid.
Witches: The Natural Guide to Magic, Witchcraft and the Occult
His next act startles you when you feel the blade of his sword loosen just enough to allow you to breathe, and he stares between the book and yourself. “Why would a witch need a book like that?”
You stared at him as if you had been slapped across the face. It seemed only a coincidence you couldn’t cast spells, and him being part vampire would’ve noticed too if you had intent on attacking him.
He speaks again, eyes squinted on you. “You could’ve killed me at this point, a hundred times over.”
“I could’ve, but I didn’t… even with the generosity, you offered me refuge,” you calmed yourself enough to speak the truth. “No, I’ve simply lost my skills.”
Alucard stares at you sceptically, “You’re a witch who can’t do spells?” He motions to your hands, “What were those flames then? Some Parlor trick? An illusion?” Regardless of how for a moment ago, threatened you, his voice is sardonic and light.
You could only laugh bitterly, “You’ll think I’m mad.” But the look he gave you told you he already thought so. He was still hesitant of you, you could tell, from the way he stood, and that he was not afraid to use that longsword, always by his side. Whatever he had faced, he still had the mental scars he could not heal.
If I want to get into his good graces, I need to prove I’m not the crones he’s heard of.
You collected yourself, to tell somewhat of the truth. “The coven I was brought into, they were powerful sisters. They welcomed my mama when she was at her worst, and when she had me, they spoke of my destiny, my worth. I was young when they were all slaughtered—slaughtered by”
“Vampires,” Alucard concluded, and his face did not read with the content of knowing that you may have disdain for him.
“I lost my abilities, my skill to heal, to bring back something from death, that was all gone that day, the day I found my mama’s body, drained of all blood.”
“I do not expect you to like me,” Alucard began, and you noticed the way his sword retracted from your neck, floating by his side. “I have certain books that could help you, to help you when you leave. It is one thing I can offer, the books.”
You remembered his deal, to be here for a month before you were sent on your way: one month to gain as much knowledge as you could, as many things you could remember to do or be taught. It was a chance you could only have once, and you were not wishing to reject it when it was being presented to you on a silver platter.
“You would help me?” You questioned.
“My mother would’ve helped you gain your strength, your confidence once again. She was a healer after all, and helping was her job.” There was that softness you noticed he had when he spoke about his mother, and it ripped your heart in two to think of your own.
“You’re not so cruel as I thought The Alucard would be.” You quipped, gathering the books that had dropped to the ground as you began to help tidy. Unbeknownst to you, the smallest of smiles graced the dhampir’s lips, his eyes glowing with a warming amiability.
A/N: Thank you for your patience! I've been very busy with Monstober and have taken time to focus more on this story. Hope you enjoy it!
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Chapter 2
In your dreams, you’re whole again, and the happiest you’ve ever been.
You jolt in a familiar bed, one cold and worn from the years melting away: a bed too small. Yet, it’s not the bed you had when you were under Bogdan’s roof, and it brought forth fond memories.
Your mother was situated by her workbench, humming a soft tune you remembered from your childhood. Standing behind her, you could only watch, observing how she had not aged since that day, and she looked as you remembered.
“You are very hard to communicate with, sweet girl,” your mother spoke, her dark dress swayed in the deadness of the air, keeping her back to you. “Your mind has been elsewhere.”
“I don’t understand how I’m speaking to you,” you wavered, holding a hand hesitantly but pulling away, afraid of touching her again, “you are not here anymore, mama.”
“I and my sisters are in the ancestral plane, my girl,” she continued. “I have always been with you, in mind and spirit.”
You could only choke on a laugh, bitterly replying, tears threatening to spill. “Then I must have failed myself for losing all my powers. I’m not the prophecy you spoke of.”
Your mother turned so you could see her face finally, and a veil covered her face, darkness shrouding her appearance. Despite not being able to see her face, you knew she was smiling.
“Why do you think that?”
“I cannot do anything,” you held your hands out in front of you, trying to concentrate on anything, flames or cold to reach your fingertips, yet nothing came, “I am hopeless.”
“You are speaking to me through a veil of limbo, are you not?” She questioned and there was sadness in her tone, as if you had disappointed her.
It made you question her words, thoughtfully reflecting on them. “You did not teach me about astral projection—or how to reach the veil of the ancestral plane. I… did not know it existed.”
“It belongs to us,” she sang sweetly, “it has always belonged to us, my Y/N.” She reached towards you and placed a hand on your shoulders, her grasp as cold as death.
“There is one thing that has always made me proud of you, what has made the sisters believe in you,” she spoke, and you felt the chill spread like wildfire through your chest. “You were everything they needed in a witch.”
-
The comfort of dreams and darkness spat you out until you felt exhausted, shuddering back life into you.
Your mind felt as if it was in the middle of a fog, slowly clearing up as your heavy eyes opened and shut with the contrasting brightness. The burning sensation seemed to dwindle from your chest, and you were replaced with the cold that came harshly.
You shivered, groggily taking in the sight of flames that brightened the already dark room. You seemed to be in a reception or lounge, the Corinthia you were laid on was a deep crimson colour, and gold leaf trim took part most of its decoration.
“I see you’re awake.” The same voice cut through the sharpness of the air, startling you to stare at the entrance. Oh, right, your saviour—if you could call him that. You could still remember the blade, as cold as ice, pressed against your neck before you passed out, and you were suddenly very aware that you were alone with this stranger; a stranger with a habit of murder.
“Where am I?” You groaned, clutching your head as you found beside you a glass of water already by the table, gingerly picking it up and debating whether to drink from it. If he wanted you dead, he would’ve killed you by now, and the liquid was already being chugged, cooling and crisp down your throat.
“I’m surprised you didn’t even think twice before you stepped a foot inside these halls,” the dulcet voice sounded both bored and irritated by your mere presence. His silhouette moved like a black cat, sticking closely to the doorway. You heard his voice closer to you this time. “I can’t tell if you’re brave or a fool for coming here.”
It dawned on you finally and slowly that you were still inside Dracula’s castle—that the Vampire king himself owned it. It brought a shudder down your spine, but the curiosity in wanting to know why he was there.
“You don’t seem afraid to be here.” You questioned vigilantly.
“No, I would be if this had not been my home.” The figure finally emerged from the shadows, and you almost squinted at his appearance. The first thing you noticed was his wavy long pale blond hair, reaching past his waist, skin pale as moonglow. It was his eyes that were the most beautiful and eerie: golden as honey or the same colour of leaves that fell in the autumntime.
There was something unnatural about him: not exactly human that you could place, a sombreness that hung over him. You did not know what he had seen in his lifetime, but you could see it in his eyes.
The handsome stranger was dressed in black leather trousers and boots, a simple shirt that showed some of his chest, and a long drawn scar was visible, grotesquely large and haunting.
It was only when you saw what was floating beside him, a long, thin sword, glinting brightly with silver and ornate beauty as it stood vigilantly by his side.
He seemed to notice quickly your eyes darting between him and the weapon beside him. “Will you put that thing away?”
He did not answer you but the sword pulled back from him to stand by the door as he inched closer towards you, watching you with suspicion. “Who are you?”
The stark contrast of his words was not as soft as they had been before, and with the sword standing in the background, you chose to answer him honestly rather than risk being another body staked outside. “My name is Y/N. I come from a village not far from here—”
“You do not speak the truth.” He snarls, and something glints as he opens his mouth wide enough, but is gone within seconds. The blond’s nose scrunches in almost disgust as if the most revolting stench fell over him “It reeks of sorcery,” there’s something feral in his demeanour and the way the sword flickers to move closer to his side, “witch.”
“Yes, I am a witch,” you reply honestly, eyes darting between the sword and him again, your life dangling on the edge. “Please, I don’t have anywhere else to go—I wouldn’t be here for long if you—”
“I do not have anything for you. Leave at once.” He interrupted tersely, circling you, posture tense as if he was either ready to lunge at you or flee. “I do not welcome strangers.”
No, if the bodies were not a warning already. You gulped. “I have no choice but to leave there. I had to for—” Your words stilled on your tongue, nervously tracing your fingers along your wrist in feeble comfort. “I cannot go back there. They… I fled for my life.”
The blond man doesn’t speak for a moment, instead, he watches in hawkish contemplation, studying you, examining if you are telling the truth. It felt as if you could be set on fire by his gaze alone, and finally, he looked away, eyes taking to the hearth.
“Very well,” he says after some time, “you have one month to stay here. One month, and then you can find your way somewhere new.”
Your heart leapt from your chest, ready to almost jump into his arms with gratitude. You watch as he turns, before saying over his shoulder. “There is a bathroom on the second floor, the last room to the left. You stink.”
There is no time to speak your thanks to him, as he’s gone in a hurry, away from the room you occupy. You don’t go looking for him, following up the winding hallways as you follow his instructions, finding the room after looking for some time.
The bathroom is as splendid as the rest of Dracula’s castle: all marble and gleaming white stones and a bath! You take your time to make sure you’re alone, before finding the way to get water through. It’s utterly incredible to witness true science, how hot water comes through without ever needing to gather it from a source. You laugh to yourself, believing how undeniably insane you look in front of his man, and how you too, would be wary of your presence.
It was obvious by your state when you looked in the mirror: your hair was tangled and difficult to even run your fingers through, with the odd chicken feather poking out. Your skin was riddled in mud and bruises covered your thighs and arms. Your cheek is still sore from when Bogdan smacked you, though it is not as red when you see splatters of red across your clothing.
My God, I look mad. You pluck the feathers as you try detangling your hair with your fingers, before stripping off your clothes as the water grows to a level that is good enough for you to get in. The water almost stings from how hot it is, your skin grows pinkish from the heat as you sigh in relief, submerging your body as the water grows clear to a greyish-brown hue.
Grimacing, you occupy yourself with the shelf of many bottles by your side, picking out shampoos and conditioners as you begin the long process of washing your hair. Your curls hid many secrets, as well as the knots that take forever to untangle until they’re smooth and soft to the touch. You dip your head to lean the suds, scrubbing your entire body with the bar of soap until it's red raw.
Not wishing to get out, the water grows cooler, and you grab a towel for your body and head, wrapping your hair up securely as you gather your dirty clothes. You debate on putting them back on or awkwardly trying to find the man of the castle, opening the door to feel something wedged in front.
You inspect the neatly folded clothes, a dress as seaweed green and looking a decade or two out of fashion, a clean chemise and stockings. You dress quickly in the bathroom, finding the kirtle fits you nicely, and you can feel that the material is good quality – as if it’s not been worn before.
Questions dance in your mind – why does he have dresses? Did they belong to a previous wife?
You kept them to the back of your mind as you let your hair air dry, keeping everything as neat as possible as you wandered back to where you could hope of finding the oddly handsome man.
You checked rooms on the second and ground floor: to no avail, was he around, until you found the kitchen on the ground floor, empty, except for the beautiful smells that wafted through the room. You didn’t realise how hungry you had been, not when the food smelt as amazing as it looked.
“You found the kitchen fine then.” A voice interrupted you.
You turned to find the culprit, the blond man was carrying a basket of apples, passing you as he placed them in the middle of the table. The apples were so large they didn’t look real!
He noticed you staring, looking at you for a moment up and down. “The dress you found I see?”
“Yes,” you gathered the material, feeling its softness, “it is very beautiful. Was it your wife’s?”
You see it for yourself, his pale cheeks erupt into a brightness you’ve never seen before, and he averts his gaze from you. “No, the dress is actually my mother’s.”
“Oh.” You say, awkwardness filling the room as he continues sorting out a meal. “Is fish okay for you?” He asks to break the ice.
You nod, watching as he preps two plates, filled with vegetables you’ve never seen before, as bright as anything that could be harvested. The two of you gather your plates as you go to sit at the table, and you fill your stomach with food before it reaches your eyes. The food is rich in flavour and you almost cry from having something so filling in your life.
Neither of you speak as you eat, and though you wish to keep asking him questions, he is quick to speak. “My name is Alucard.”
You choke almost on your fish, staring wide-eyed at him. “Like The Alucard? The one who defeated Dracula?”
“I do rather not like being used that title, but yes, I defeated Vlad Dracula… my father.”
It suddenly dawns on you: his pale skin and unnatural eye colour, how he moves on a whim and as fast as the wind. There was an ethereal beauty to him that you could not place at first, and you were now certain you weren’t losing your mind when you thought you saw fangs in his mouth.
“Oh.” That is all you can say, and Alucard is quick to scrunch his eyebrows at you incredulously, with a look that reads ‘Oh? Is that all you can say?’
“I’m sorry for your loss.” You finally manage to say, and you think you’ve said the wrong thing, but the look that flashes across Alucard’s face is one that you think he’s not felt before.
“No one has ever said that to me, that they were sorry,” his words are soft, tired from a life of grief. You can understand him, yet you wish for him to warm up to you. You notice his sword is still in the room, floating in the corner like a sleeping soldier, idly waiting for orders to strike. “It feels quite relieving.” It takes you a moment to realise that he’s trying to joke from the solemness of his tone.
The tension is still there, and quickly you notice that his softness is replaced by the cold exterior once again, as he stands from his spot, cleaning the dishes. “If you’re to be staying here as a temporary guest, you should find the bedroom on the first floor to the right is free to use.”
Watching him pass from the room and disappear is enough to make your heart sink, from the loneliness of the castle, and from the pain of having to share it with a living, broken ghost.
A/N: Thank you for everyone's patience after the first chapter, I hope to write more of this; this chapter will explain more and include appearance!
TW: Some mentions of harassment and violence depicted. Slight swearing is used too.
Summary: Born as a witch to a powerful coven, Y/N is destined for greatness. But she finds herself alone, forgotten and hated for being a witch later in life. It's only when she seeks shelter, that she finds herself running into help she least expected.
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Chapter 1
13 Years Later.
1476
The screeching of chickens sounded awfully similar to the sounds of human screams.
Jolting alive as if sparked by lightning, you almost smacked your head on the shelf ever so close above your once sleeping form, thudding to the ground the books and papers, scattering like leaves on the wind.
“Shit.” You groaned, grabbing your head, relieving the awful headache you were experiencing by clutching it. Gods, let this torture be over already. You cursed yourself, unfolding yourself from the tangled sheets of your uncomfortable bed.
Your bones groaned with the need to be stretched, popping in satisfaction as you dressed. The cool morning air brought the hairs on your skin to pebble, so you opted for warmer cotton to guard your skin throughout the day. Having already not had enough time to properly ready yourself for the day, your work clothes were already being thrown on you – much to your dismay.
Tying the apron around you and the head scarf to keep your short curls out your face, you braced yourself just at the front of your closed door, outweighing whether you should just roll back into the comfort of your itchy and narrow bed.
But that would mean no money, and no money meant not being able to pay for food, and no food would mean I would starve quicker than a stray dog and I would never have a way of getting out of this shit village-
Your door rattled jarringly with life on the other side, scaring your wits out as you braced for the austere voice behind it. “Are you decent?”
“Yes, sir.” You braced yourself for the worst.
Stepping back a few paces, the door swung open and it shuddered on its hinges, groaning as the thin walls vibrated terribly. The man in front of you was aged, blotchy skin and pot-bellied. His hair was mousey-brown with a terrible bald spot that he tried hiding with a combover. Bogdan was the standard of men in this village: all leery-eyed with fingers that liked touching, and mouths that liked the sound of their own voice. He was the very same as the rest of his gluttonous family.
Bogdan disregarded you even standing in front of him, eyeing your room scrutinisingly slowly. “It’s messy in here.”
“Yes, I know.” You coolly responded, trying your best to hold your tongue. If only I didn’t have someone burst into my room.
“Well, Andrei is hungry, he needs his breakfast.” Bogdan chortled, and it reminded you all the same as how the little piglets on the farm would squeal if they were picked up. “He wants four eggs this time.”
Biting the inside of your cheek, you kept your head low. “I’ll be sure to check the coop for more.”
“Be quick then, girl,” Bogdan stepped to the side to allow you to pass, and you made sure to walk a bit faster to avoid his hands reaching for the back of you. You knew if you weren’t quick enough, and you learnt the hard way the first time he did it.
“Yes, sir.” You skipped a step to leave your room, keeping a safe distance between him as you walked quickly through the back of the kitchen, outside to meet the harsh cold of the air.
The coop was small enough that it held the hens sweetly in their little hut, and you couldn’t help but hold a close bond with them. Call it loneliness, call it madness, but they slowly began your little friends you spoke to each morning, softly to yourself.
“Morning, ladies,” the latch to their door opened, and a cluster of feathers was the first thing you saw before you heard the familiar noises of your girls—the two of them you had, with names you gave them to make you feel close.
Henrietta was your brown-mottled beauty, the largest of the two and sweetest in allowing you to hold her. She reminded you of a cat in telling you when and for how long she wished to be held. Your black mottled hen, Dutchess, was the younger, trilling in greeting when she sensed your presence.
“I know, I know. They haven’t gotten rid of me just yet.” You laughed, gently rummaging through to find the right amount of eggs. “Well, that’s if I get out first.”
Duchess is first to ‘respond’, pecking gently at your hand to guide you to some she was nesting on. “First chance I get, I’m leaving.” You tell yourself aloud, not loud enough to be heard. “I’ll make sure I take you both with me.”
Henrietta lets out a sound similar to a goose’s honk, a squeak some would say, and it brought a smile to your lips all the same as every other day. How you loved them more than you liked to tell yourself, regardless if others found it odd.
You fed them seeds from your palm, gathering the necessary amount of eggs and you stroked Duchess’ chest, thankful she was feeling very gentle. “Gotta go, ladies. But I’ll be sure to see you all tomorrow.”
You made sure they were shielded from the elements, shutting the coop door as you headed quickly inside. Andrei and his mother, Irina – a much younger woman to her aged husband – were sat stoically at the kitchen table, eyes a dull hazel hue, dull and dead inside.
“Morning to you both.” you greeted as politely as you could, stacking the eggs as you gathered a skillet and necessary ingredients of milk, pepper, ginger, saffron (which you had to pay for with your own wages) and cheese.
Bogdan stalked his way into the kitchen himself, the silence was piercing, and even as you cooked with your back towards the three, you could feel their angry, harsh gaze stabbing into you. Their words were mean, their patience thin regardless of what you did or the size of the mistake, and the scars on your skin as their ‘punishments’ still stung with their reminders on your body.
“Hurry with it, girl.” Bogdan barked, startling you to move faster, nearly splashing hot milk over your hand in a hurry. The meal was as simple as poached eggs topped with cheese and served with bread, but Bogdan’s eyes were cold when he stared at the meal presented to him.
“You call this breakfast?” He held his plate up for your inspection.
You eyed it carefully, nearly laughing at his squashed, pig-like face staring back at you. “Your son always asks for this meal, sir.”
“No, I don’t,” Andrei wheezes, red-faced and whiny, and his face was punchable at that very moment. “She can’t cook what I like.”
“No, I don’t think she fucking can,” Bogdan added. It was only Irina who was the quietest of the three, but her eyes read the most emotion. The way her body was tense, eyes not looking at either of them and staring with such concentration on her plate.
You dared not step away in fright when Bogdan stood and strode towards you, glaring you down.
“Go on bitch, do something.” He goaded, twisting his fat head as if asking for you to strike him first. Your fingers flexed at the image, seeing him down on the ground after years of his punishments, his shouting matches with his son as you could only watch, hear it through the walls when his wife cried out in the nights.
Unclenching your hands, you could only wish you could do so much more for him.
Taking it as a sign of weakness, Bogdan turned to glance at his son momentarily. “One thing to know when you get a wife, son, is never let them have a go at you first.”
The strike was so fierce that your body nearly doubled over from the force. You buckled temporarily, clutching your already bruising cheek, staring in both horror and fury, wishing only the harm you could give him that only he could be treated with.
“Run along, bitch. Before I strike you again.” He threatened, and you had to ignore best the way his son snickered in your misery.
“Very well, sir.” You coolly replied, already listing what ways would get him to squeal like a pig.
-
The nights were short when you fell back into your room after a long day out.
It was a temporary measure after what had happened in Targoviste. Dracula was a temporary distraction from the world ending, yet his army of vampires and night creatures stalked across Wallachia, killing all in sight.
‘All for love,’ some said, yet you didn’t think Dracula could even conjure love after his heart was stone cold for centuries.
You had seen the bodies that came through after nights of their hunts, the way a human body didn’t look like anything after it was shredded from head to toe. It brought you to think of what those creatures were made from, how they were made,
Dracula was gone, but his servants lurked, his creatures too.
You didn’t even bother stripping from your clothes from today, throwing yourself onto your bed with a groan leaving your lips.
There was an odd comfort that came from your small bed, cushioning your weary body. You coiled in a fetal position in the darkness of your own relief, tucked away with the need for peace.
Drifting in and out of sleep, the need to rest was wanting to take over, but your mind was always plagued by nightmares of that day. The screams, the vampire you saw on the other side of the river—your mother’s lifeless body.
Blinking through bleary eyes, you shook the sleep from you, sighing heavily out a large, weighted breath. Holding your hands in front of you, you stared at them carefully. Spells had come with ease to you when you were young, but since the day you lost your coven and home, all was gone including your identity.
A powerful witch, they said I’d be. You could almost laugh despite the pain in your chest. But what is so powerful of me now for allowing some lecherous old man to strike me?
The sisters of your coven told you of your potential and sought it in prosthetic dreams and living visions. They spoke about how you’d be too strong for the world, even stronger than them. But what was now left was a girl who could only bring the smallest of flames to hand.
I can still feel them. You thought, cupping your hands and picturing the way they felt. They were inviting, the hug you needed after a long day, the way they warmed you like your mama did so many years ago.
‘The flames aren’t there to hurt you, Y/N.’ You could hear her voice in your mind, gentle and reassuring.
Yes, they’ve never hurt me. You thought, concentrating on them, feeling them spread from a small spark, growing and growing, imaging their colours blossom like the petals of flowers in spring, until-
“Ardeo.” You called out to the darkness, the darkness answered you eagerly back.
Like the spark of life, it started small, small flickers grew as they caught to your hands, yet they did not burn as you were informed. You smiled, the more they glimmered, the brighter they roared with life. They twirled around your fingertips like dancers, coiling and twisting around your fingers as you watched in glee.
I shan’t be scared any more. You let them die in your palms, the room growing dim with the little light now illuminating. I’m done with hiding. I shall not be something they mock, but rather someone they’ll know.
-
There is a harsh smell of blood that floated through your room, heavy and overpowering.
You retch as you rise, certain that something had made a meal just outside your bedroom window before the realisation hits you of what it could be.
Bolting out of your room, you almost crash into Bogdan as you rush past him, and outside to the coop. Please be okay, please be okay, please-
The coop door is already ajar when you slam it open, the crime is gruesome as you almost gasp at the sight. A heap of bloodied feathers greets you, with no chickens in sight. You find yourself almost weeping, before a cruel voice japes behind you.
“The night creatures took them away because you were too weird. Who talks to animals anyway?” He mocks cruelly. “They were just chickens.” Andrei’s shrill voice breaks something in you, as you glare daggers that make his words die down on his tongue. He doesn’t say much as you look at him in satisfaction, knowing you are not to be reckoned with.
“Fuck you, fat boy.” You move past him, ignoring the way he cries out from not even a harsh shove, but you head back inside to face the man you dreaded since bumping into him this morning.
He eyes you as if he’s thinking of the best possible thing to jape you about before you say first.
“I quit, I leave by the end of today.”
“You’re not serious,” Bogdan looks as if he was the one slapped across the face, red-faced as a tomato as he eyes you with shock. “Do you think someone will be willing to whisk you up just because you think you have a pretty face and decent body? You’re nothing without me keeping you from those beasts outside. You’re nothing without being under my roof.”
“Maybe so,” you respond, fingers clenched as you wish to speak the one word, but the anger rolls off you as you finally say what you wish you could’ve said a long time ago, “But I’m not a fat fucking fuck like you.”
“You little bitch,” he lunges for you, but you’re quicker, your hands reaching for the chubbiness of his forearm. With the strength of your sisters in spirit, the strength to keep living, you spoke the one word with as much fury and venom as you could produce. “Ardeo.”
You felt the heat first, the way it burnt through from your palms into his flesh, igniting as if beginning a fire, catching part of his clothes as he recoiled in startling fright. His screams are just as frantic as you imagined, the smell of burning flesh ignites memories from years ago, but you keep latched onto him, trying to ignore everything surrounding you and him.
It’s uncertain if you let go or he has enough strength to pull his arm out, and the ring around his arm is blotchy and red-raw, blistering and bubbling.
Bogdan was cursing you, howling like a wounded animal as he clutched his arm, but you did not wish to hear him, concentrating on keeping the flames in your palms alive.
“I’ll kill you,” he gritted his teeth, lips bloody from biting through them so harshly, “I’ll fucking kill you.”
You braced for a slap or something worse, body tense as no pain came. All you could hear was the wheezing sound of laboured breathing, a grunt of pain that didn’t come from you.
When your eyes focused on the sight in front of you, you saw that Bogdan’s body was tense, shoulder raised as if he had been struck in the back of the head. His eyes were wide like dinner plates, before he slumped to the kitchen table, something digging into his back.
“Get out whilst you still can,” Irina warned, her body tensed, eyes dead but tears flowed from her face as she pulled the item out from her husband’s back, silver flashing caught the light of the sunlight coming through, blood spurting like a faucet as you could hear him continue to choke.
You dared not look back as you bolted like a hare, hearing the continuous sound of the blade going in and out of the flesh, over and over again.
-
The more you ran, the more you relived being chased, running for your life once again.
Your lungs were aching, legs begging to rest, but you did not turn back in fear you were being followed. You had heard horror stories of sisters from covens being chased and hunted by men of the holy church, with pitchforks and flamed torches. You knew what became of them if proven guilty of crimes they hadn’t committed, but you knew that what you had done -regardless of witchcraft – was still an act of murder.
You didn’t want to imagine what it would feel like to burn, burn with flames you couldn’t control. The flames wouldn’t come from within you, instead, flames are used to ‘cleanse’ your soul clean for heaven.
Don’t turn back, keep running. You told yourself, watching the sky turn from purples and oranges to growing darker and darker. Run before something much worse finds you.
You didn’t know where you were: this was as far past as you had gotten and the woods seemed unfamiliar to you just as they were thirteen years ago when you fled the scene. It felt as if you were good at that: running from your past, running for a future you craved.
The treeline grew narrower as the night began, and before you, you ran through a clearing, a stream gently flowing as you jumped over it, trying to make sure you didn’t fall over your feet.
Trees grew and became deader, and before you could turn to take a look behind you, you gasped at the sight in front of you.
It was hard not to spot it, compared to the trees that seemed to blend with its black tall walls. It was a ghastly, spindly mass, a mass of destruction that caused dread for all to feel upon seeing it.
Dracula’s castle.
No, he was surely dead, wasn’t he?
Your head was spinning, body yearning for rest, throat gasping for air and water, and you garbled, eyes growing hazy. If he was dead, his castle would still be unoccupied, right?
Not wanting to take any chances, two parts of you were uncertain about what to do. Part of you screamed, that primal ‘fight or flight’ mode kicked in once again, and you felt like a little girl all over again, staring at your mother’s corpse. But the other part of you told you it would be shelter needed to keep you safe from anything outside.
Racing up towards the large, intimidating stairs, you chose to ignore the corpses that littered the entrance. You spotted many that resembled the corpses of night creatures, and two that were humanoid, propped on spikes as they blew gently in the breeze.
The doors came into sight, hesitating for a pregnant pause before you braced, pounding on them with three heavy knocks with nothing more than the side of your clenched fist. The sound the door made resonated within you as the sound vibrated throughout the outer entrance.
Nothing came from the inside for a moment or two, and before you could knock again - more desperately, urgently - the doors groaned with life, slowly opening. Not wasting time, you slipped through before they could shut, eyes adjusting to the harsh contrast of dark then light, eyes blurry, stumbling momentarily.
You didn’t have time to call out, before you felt something cold press into the back of your neck, silent as an apparition.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat.” A soothing, soft voice sounded as if he was both behind you and watching from afar.
You wheezed, heart, thundering, the blade pressed closer into your skin and you cried out, trying to plead through your sputtering.
“Please—help me!” You called out, body about to give way as you swayed, blinking in and out of consciousness. Your body screamed to rest, but your mind was alive and burning with the need to explain yourself more.
With a final cry out, your body fell, but before your head could hit the ground, it was not met with the cold, hard flooring, but something holding you as you were settled to the ground gently, eyes giving out as darkness consumed you whole.
