A collection of stories in which Fem!Tyrell!Reader is wed to a Targaryen Prince.
Otherwise known as a Vampire!Targaryen AU!
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g.w; No usage of "y/n," reader is a woman but physical descriptors are left completely ambiguous and up to interpretation. Reader is from House Tyrell in Highgarden, and is a noble Lady.
s.w (will be updated as stories are added) ; canon typical violence, misogyny, planned and arranged marriages, age gaps (reader's age isn't specified, but early 20's is implied). Vampire AU! Blood, Gore, biting, drinking-of-blood, descriptions of dying in childbirth, descriptions of wounds, slight!cannibal!sm, predator/prey!kink, blood kink!, etc.
Links will be updated and added as fics are written and published.
This work was created without the usage of AI. I (limeranceincarnate), the Author, do not permit the usage of this work in creating any AI software or bots, nor in being shared or re-uploaded to any other websites.
In which a letter arrives from King's Landing, for your hand.
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Everyone oft’ spoke of the Targaryen Dynasty and their queer customs; their traditions still tethered to Valyria of Old, and the mysterious nature that shrouded the culture.
Records of Old Valyria were not made public to anyone outside the bloodline, not even for the nobility of Westeros. Every text, script, and story was either repossessed by the Kingsguard at the behest of one King after the other, or burned in the foreign libraries that held them— expunging the information before it could ever reach any outsiders; reach a non-Targaryen.
It propagated the distrust that the smallfolk and nobility alike held for the fearsome former Dragon riders, creating a large disconnect that even the deepest of pockets through trade or most comely of faces through marriage alliances could not bridge.
And it was oft’ spoken of their even stranger appearance, with almost every Targaryen deathly pale of skin and lightly-colored in features— as well as their physiology being held in regard of being beyond the mortal norm:
All Targaryens seemed to hold an undeniable strength. Even now, without their dragons to dominate a battlefield on their behalf; all those of the blood of Valyria who fight, seem to do so with an undeniable power; an ability to avoid hit after hit with an extreme agility, while simultaneously delivering the most fatal of strikes.
To follow their boundless strength and agility was their seemingly perfectly imperfect appearances; with their ages showing well on their faces — too well, some would even say; with signs of old age or of a life half-spent not visible on their skin.
And the even more strange and hushedly spoken about facet was the fate of women and men who married into the Targaryen family.
Men of separate bloodline would bewed Targaryen women — who were ethereal and alluring in both appearance and behavior — and be found dead from drowning in cups after cup of wine, driven to the drink, or disappeared entirely in some unnamed ‘battle’, never to be seen again.
Women of separate bloodline would bewed Targaryen men — strong, capable, and ferocious, nearly beastly, in nature — and die horrifically birthing Targaryen heirs, with rumors spreading from midwives and maids alike of noble Ladies dying; ripped open from the inside out— or dying stricken, gaunt, and shells of their former figure and comeliness.
Like their very souls had been drained from their bodies, sucked clean by some vicious Beast or The Stranger alike.
Some women persisted, however, like the Lady Myriah Martell of Dorne; who had wed her husband King Daeron II and proceeded to birth for him four, healthy, strong sons. And the Queen Myriah, whom the last time she had been seen in public, seemed otherworldly, her brown eyes of Dornish blood holding almost a red undertone, much like the red-based purple of all Targaryens.
Otherworldly was the perfect word to use to describe the Targaryen bloodline.
When you’d come of age, and it was time for you to wed, you’d been paraded around Highgarden, your mother and Septa keeping you dressed in your finest and prepared for all the suitors of other notable houses who arrived to deliberate potential offers of betrothal and marriage. Your father, the Lord of House Tyrell of Highgarden, met all potential suitors with politeness, courtesy, and great consideration of political alliance; trade, army, advantage, wealth, and benefit to Highgarden if their betrothal was in fact accepted. You were his only daughter, and therefore; an advantageous political pawn to garner more power for House Tyrell through whatever family he ultimately decided to wed you into.
You had been in one of the many gardens, shrubs and grass a lush green, flowers almost in bloom with the impending spring, and the sun not too striking. Your mother and Septa sat not too far off as you conversed over tea tightly, yet politely, with a prospective young Lordling that had travelled from a smaller known House to make an offer for your hand. Your father was in discussion with the little Lordling’s father, discussion of treasury, alliance, and other such things when a maid appeared in the aired archway of the Garden.
“My Lord,” she had called out to earn your fathers attention, dipping for respect, her eyes wide and alight with an unnamed emotion; excitement? Anticipation? She cast her glance to you quickly before stepping further into the garden and towards your father.
Clutched in her hand was a scroll.
The wax seal was a deep black, laced through with blood-red.
And there was no need to verbalize who the letter was from.
House Targaryen.
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This work was created without the usage of AI. I (limeranceincarnate), the Author, do not permit the usage of this work in creating any AI software or bots, nor in being shared or re-uploaded to any other websites.
Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x fem!wife!reader x Feyd's Harpies
WC : 7K
SW : No usage of "Y/N," reader is a woman but physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and left up to interpretation.
PWP, Soft!Feyd, Virgin!Wedding Night!Reader, Harpies are slightly ooc. Fingering, oral (f!receiving/partially m!receiving), squirting, handjob, cum-eating (kinda), unprotected PinV, groping, creampie. breeding kink, overstimulation, innocence kink, dumbification, tiddy sucking, nipple play? orgasm denial? (Feyd just accept my love) mentions of gore and Feyd's Harpies doing their thing, mention of cannibal!sm, wlw action (we're all fruity here), canon typical violence (including knives and blood), mentions of murder, mentions of Feyds' childhood (the Baron).
You stand there, hands clasped elegantly in front of you as the sound of the heavy door closing resonates across the barren room. Still in your wedding dress, watching as the three women sitting on the bed in front of you brush their hands across one another in barely-there feather-like movements; eyes like black bottomless pools, teeth to match those of your newly-wed husband.
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You’d been watching Feyd’s harpies ever since you arrived on Giedi Prime a few moons ago. At first it was out of fear; the feeling of eyes completely eclipsed by darkness constantly watching you, stalking your every move and digging into your soul. You were aware that when you and Feyd first began courting he used them for his pleasure - the entirety of the planet knew what he did with the cannibalistic women - however as your relationship grew through soft touches and hesitant words it seemed as if his activities with them came to a grinding halt, a fear growing in you that they would attack out of jealousy; ripping your flesh apart and hiding the remains.
Feyd had quelled your worries, “They obey their master,” hands cupping your face to bring your gaze to his own, a smirk on his face, “My harpies would never hurt you, at least, not in the way you think they would, my little darling.” Face moving towards yours, his eyes darken as his mouth becomes a hair’s-breadth away from your own, black eclipsed ice-blue darting down to your lips, parted open in soft breaths that hit against his own; the temptation to connect his mouth to yours and claim you before your wedding is blinding, a primal urge building within him as he looks across your innocent and delicate features. He quickly moves his lips to brush against the shell of your ear, voice dropping down to a whisper, “My darlings would be, pleased, to tend to their little Na-Baroness,” fingers dancing tantalizingly down your arm causing a full-bodied shiver to slide down your spine, eyes slipping closed, “if you would ever like them to.” He quickly pulls away, sending a final glance down to your lips, his thumb coming up to gently drag across the bottom one, letting out a low hum from the back of his throat, then leaving the room.
After that moment you were more observant of their gazes on you.
They still looked upon you in hunger but Feyd’s words ring in your mind, and then you begin to notice the dragging looks up and down your body, their eyes focusing on your hands, your mouth, and other areas based on the revealingness of whatever outfit you were wearing that day. A deep warmth overtaking your face, ducking down to let your hair crowd around to veil your features. This sudden shyness not out of fear, but out of… something else entirely captured Feyd’s attention. He started noticing the way that you no longer cowered like a cornered animal when you were in their presence, and how you even let out a light giggle when one of his harpies cast you a hungry smile.
That’s when the thoughts started forming, daydreams of you and his darlings entwined with one another; moaning, groping, a mixture of limbs upon silk black sheets - thoughts leaving a tent in his pants, hard and throbbing in anticipation of you wedding night that grew closer and closer, a plan forming in his head to fully introduce you into his world.
“Don’t wear anything underneath it.” He had approached you the morning of your wedding, watching you through the mirror as you did your own hair, a hand gesturing towards your wedding dress that was delicately laid upon the bed under a thin sheet, blocking the fabric from his view - a belief that you had carried over from your planet, insisting that he shouldn’t see you in it until the wedding actually began - “It’ll make it easier for you to receive your wedding gift.” a smug smirk on his face as he promptly walks out of the room, leaving no time for you to say anything in return, a twinge of heat in your lower stomach as you clench in anticipation for your wedding night, returning back to finishing your hair, a heat overtaking your features.
~
Trembling lightly, either out of anticipation or fear it can’t be said, you feel two warm hands place themselves on your shoulders, his breath casting gently across your ear before his lips reach your temple, placing themselves in a chaste kiss upon your skin. His hands rub up and down in gentle movements - much gentler than one would believe he’s capable of - words spoken to you in a soft, yet raspy whisper;
“What’s mine is yours, little wife.” He pauses to place kisses down the side of your face to your neck while his hands move from your shoulders to the lacing on your back that holds your dress together, rough yet lithe fingers move to slowly undo the strings eyelet by eyelet. “My power… my room… my pets.” All it takes is for Feyd to cast a singular glance upwards as he continues his kisses to his harpies waiting across the room for them to come moving towards you. Their movements are light as air - for such scary looking women they have an extremely ethereal aura surrounding them - forming a half circle around you, their hands begin to flit across your body, claws gently drag across your skin, not slicing or scratching, but barely-there touches that make your entire body shiver and send a foreign wave of heat through your veins, letting out a light moan.
It’s as Feyd opens his mouth to bite hard on the crook of your neck as one of his pets simultaneously grabs your now untied dress by the neckline and pulls it down do you then let out a sharp gasp, the cold air hitting your sensitive skin. Goosebumps prickle your torso as your nipples pebble, made so more apparent by your back arching at the feeling of your husband's teeth sinking into your skin, pushing your chest outward.
You feel the vibration from Feyd’s laughter move across your skin, his hands holding you tightly by the waist as one of his pets pushes your dress all the way down, leaving you completely nude before them all. The harpies let out coos and giggles as they become more transparent with their touches, one pair of hands coming up to cup your breasts, petting, before getting too zealous and harshly pinching at your nipples causing you to jolt away, letting out a wince of pain.
One of Feyd’s hands leaves your waist and a split second later his blade is poised at her neck, causing all the harpies to drop their hands away from you, their noises of excitement ceasing.
“What did I tell you about being gentle?” his voice low and murderous, a white-knuckle grip on the hilt of the knife. “Didn’t I tell you my little wife is delicate?” You feel a heat run through your veins all the way up to your face, Feyd’s defensiveness over you filling your body with an unknown warmth that pools in your lower stomach. His pressure against his pet's neck grows stronger, a singular rivulet of blood seeping out from underneath the knife, causing the other two to immediately lock eyes upon it. They practically vibrate with anticipation as Feyd removes his blade, waiting for his command before they pounce. He throws the knife off to the side, one hand remaining on your waist as the other goes under your knees to scoop you up in a bridal carry.
“Get it.”
That was all he needed to say before his harpies jumped one another, the sounds of moans and licks filling the desolate room as Feyd carried you towards his bed, dropping you down delicately, hair fanning around your head like a halo. My own personal angel, he thinks as he looks at you, your eyes blown wide, lips parted in heavy breaths, and the way that the slick seeping out of your lower lips glisten under the harsh lighting of his room. He joins you on the bed, sitting back on his haunches as he pulls your legs over both of his hips, spreading your legs open so he can see his long-awaited prize in full glory. You look towards him as a smirk overtakes his face, his eyes rising to meet yours, the smirk growing even wider. He skims his fingertips across the thin skin of the dips of your hip bones, causing another shiver to course through your body.
“Are you ready, little wife?” his hands brushing up and down your sides, warmth seeping deep into your bones from his rough, training-calloused fingers. You give him a hesitant look, hands resting on your stomach as you play with your fingers, suddenly overtaken by the fear of failing at your marital duties. You look off to the side at the harpies, still entwined with one another in a flutter of black clothing and stark-white skin, then up towards the ceiling.
Feyd’s hands move from your hip bones to cover your own on your stomach, ceasing the anxious picking at your skin, a soft look overtaking his face, voice a soft whisper, “We’ll start off easy, my darling.”
He grabs your forearms, gently pulling you up into a sitting position before he makes his way behind you, still fully clothed, leaning against the black-covered pillows and headboard of his expansive bed. Feyd pulls you into his lap bracing each of your legs across his own, slick stringing as he holds you spread open for the whole room. He brushes his hands up and down your arms, warming you up as he peppers kisses on your temple, down your jaw, to your neck, and to your shoulder where his bite mark is now taking on a deep red hue, bruising beginning to leave it’s mark on you just as he wanted it to - staking his claim, mine.
His hands ghost across your breasts, fingers pinching at pebbled nipples, groping at the plush skin. A sturdy arm wraps it way around your midriff holding you tight against him, the other works its way down to your pussy, a singular finger drags at a torturously slow pace back towards your center, pushing your folds apart and sliding through them collecting all your slick before bringing his finger back up, watching the string that connects your core to his finger pull and then break. You watch as the hand moves back up to his face, head resting against his shoulder, gazing up at him as he sticks the finger in his mouth, eyes rolling back slightly into his skull as he lets out a deep, ragged moan.
The noise attracts the attention of his harpies, who break away from each other and make their way towards you, hovering at the foot of the bed as Feyd brings his hand back down, collecting more slick before beginning slow circles on your clit. There’s an overwhelming surge of pleasure that overtakes your body, an unfamiliar feeling that courses through every nerve ending in your body. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as your thighs slightly cave in, your muscles twitching at the unfamiliar experience. Feyd lets out a chuckle before his legs inch out even more, pulling your own along with them, rendering you completely void of any movement, fully spread before the harpies who gaze at your center with a predatory focus.
Feyd continues the circles on your clit, increasing the pressure but not the pace, leaving you with a deep yet slow build up. Fingers twitching, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, deep panting breaths painting his skin, sending a shiver up his spine at the warm feeling. Your hands coming up to grip what normal people would find painful at his arm that’s wrapped around your chest, nails digging into his skin, the sharp sensation only spurring him on. He keeps on with his pace until your little moans and soft noises become louder and more prevalent, watching your facial features as your brows draw up, lips quivering as a blind heat overtakes you; muscles lock up, fingers clench into his arm so hard you’re afraid you’ll break your nails off into his skin - not that he would mind - eyes clamped shut, stomach tensing as you arch upwards and off of Feyd’s chest, butt pressing into him, into what lays aching and straining in his pants, causing Feyd to let out a moan of his own. Pleasure courses through your whole body, sending shockwaves everywhere, cresting before it tapers off, Feyd’s movements slowing as you come down from your peak; shaking and shivering with aftershocks of your first orgasm.
Feyd holds you for a few moments, hand leaving your core and bringing it up in the air, beckoning forth one of his harpies, her mouth wrapping around his fingers before she lets out a moan that borders on a voracious growl, eyes snapping towards you with a hazy look. She licks his fingers completely clean, sucking every last drop of your release off of his digits. The others look on in jealousy as she finishes up and retreats back to the end of the bed, the one who Feyd nicked with his knife grabs her viciously by the back of her neck and pulls her forwards, tongue pushing its way down her throat to taste the remnants of your release from her mouth, letting out a growl of her own. The last harpy pulls her away before going in for her own kiss, the three of them becoming a tangle of teeth and claws at the foot of the bed.
Feyd shifts you off his lap, swapping places and lays you gently down on the bed, the sheets warm underneath you from where he sat. He hovers above you, eyes staring deeply into your own as you gasp for air. Feyd drops his head down to connect your lips in a passionate kiss, he braces himself on one elbow as the other hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb pulling your bottom lip down so he can push his tongue into your mouth, pressing against your own and mapping out every single nook and cranny. His kiss is dominant, possessive, he aims to claim and swallow you whole, teeth clashing against your own as he snags your lip between his teeth, biting down and dragging it out only to watch it snap back into place.
You claw at the fabric on his shoulders dragging down your nails, digging into the clasps in the front that hold his ceremonial shirt together, lithe fingers undo them, sticking your hands into the now-opened shirt, fingers dragging across sturdy skin and muscle, feeling them twitch under your hands, Feyd’s body unused to a tender touch. You keep this in mind as you delicately slide the shirt down his shoulders, keeping the kiss in-tact, rendering his upper-half bare as your skirt your fingers across him. Moving down his arms, touching his sides, dragging forward to his tense stomach, the wrapping around his neck to hold the top of his back, fingers touching the beginnings of what you’re sure are nasty looking scars, no doubt left on his marble skin by his uncle.
He revels in the gentle touch, Feyd basks in the moment of weakness he can allow himself with you, grabbing one of your hands and moving it down to lay over his heart which furiously pounds in his chest. While he might not yet have the courage to verbally tell you how nervous you make him, to tell you that your gentleness will take some time to get used to, he can physically show it, and by the way that your fingers gently caress the skin where his heart lies, he can tell you understand his hesitancy.
He shifts himself, placing aggressive kisses down your jaw, between your breasts, across your navel, and down to where you need him the most. He uses his thumbs to pull your lips apart, watching your hole clench around nothing, a new gush of slick slipping out, coating everything in a shine, you hold your head up in a haze, watching him gaze at your core within such an intense look, pupils completely swallowing the blue of his eyes whole and with a newfound fervor he grabs your legs and moves them to his shoulders and diving into your heat. He laps at you like a man starved, a crazed look in his eyes before they slip shut, tongue dipping in and out of you to collect all the slick that you’re producing. You let out a loud moan as his nose presses against your swollen bud, the noise prolonging itself as he vigorously shakes his head from side to side.
The heat builds in your groin, fire spreading through your veins at a rapid pace from the sheer intensity of another orgasm approaching so soon after the first one. Your hands move from his shoulders, to the sheets beside your head, to your chest; desperately trying to find something to hold onto. When you go to move your hands again you’re intercepted by two different yet equally frigid hands - one for each of your own - the other chilled fingers of their other hands making their way to your breasts, where the pinching and teasing of your sensitive buds is much more delicate than was previously shown when you first entered the room.
Perhaps over time, you’ll develop more of a tolerance to their harsh touches, embracing the pain that comes with any pleasure given by Feyd’s darlings; sharp nails digging into delicate skin, perhaps one day harsh enough to draw blood. You’re pulled out of your yearning thoughts as your head is lifted up and placed in a bare lap - at some point the harpies had undressed one another and were now naked upon the bed - angling you just perfectly so you can see your husband eating you out like you’re his last meal.
Nails drag across your scalp, hard enough to sting a little, but gentle enough for your eyes to roll back at the mixture of sensations flowing through your body. You can feel the coil in your stomach tightening, warmth spreading through you as your toes clench and you white-knuckle grip the hands of the pets holding your own, as Feyd moves his mouth up from your entrance to your clit, two thick fingers more than twice the width of yours taking its place, pushing in and curling up to press against a spot inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. You gasp, hips bucking up and away from Feyd’s searching mouth, which earns you a displeased growl, sharp, animalistic eyes snapping up towards your own, before he pulls his mouth away, commanding only three words to his harpies;
“Hold her down.”
And with that he dives right back in as agile, yet strong, arms place themselves across your pelvis and stomach, holding you down with an extreme force as you begin to squirm all over the place as Feyd doubles down on his ministrations. The harpy whom’s lap your head lays in reaches down to pinch and fondle at your breasts, a vulpine smile overtaking her face as she molds and kneads the skin, leaning down to encapsulate one in her mouth, and with the combination of Feyd’s fingers moving deep in you to touch your innermost sensitive spots, his mouth fervently suckling away at your clit, and her sharp teeth dragging across such tender skin; your body explodes in pleasure.
Your vision goes stark-white, limbs twitching and shaking, everything is suddenly muffled like you’re underwater, all your senses have sharpened yet dulled at the same time. Time has slowed down and all you can feel is white-hot pleasure engulfing your whole body from your head to your toes. Tidal wave after tidal wave overtakes you, letting out loud and breathy moans that echo through the whole room, unintelligible words slip through your spit-slicked and flushed lips, pleas and gasps of Feyd’s name, reverential, like he was a God. You feel your lower abdomen spasm out of control as you come back down to your body and your aftershocks begin to quell.
The bed underneath you is saturated and when you finally have the strength to open your eyes back up the lower half of Feyd’s face is covered in slick, a smirk on his face as he sits up, pants bulging to what must be an uncomfortable level, a wet patch only slightly visible where his tip sits straining against the fabric. He pulls his fingers out of you with a lewdly audible squelch, snapping his fingers on his other hand for the harpy closest to him to move forward, undoing his pants for him while he all-the-while holds burning eye contact with you. He moves his fingers up to his mouth, slowly sticking his tongue out before dragging it upwards at a torturous pace across his slick-pruned fingers, spit stringing to the digits.
“You taste divine, little wife,” Hand pulling away from his mouth and making its way down to his now opened pants, “It’s very rare that a man comes across a pussy as sweet as yours, how about our darlings have a taste, hmm?” A deep hum in the back of his throat, as his harpies tense themselves in a pounce position, the muscles in the thighs underneath your head quivering with anticipation.
No one moves, Feyd still holding eye-contact with you, waiting for your signal. You take a deep breath before giving the smallest of nods, the movement barely over with before the harpy who has you in her lap flips you around so your head is now down towards the bottom of the bed, your waist resting on her legs now as she holds your hips in the air, mouth diving into your sensitive area. The other two begin to lick clean your thighs from where your release gushed down your legs, and once that’s all cleaned up, the three of them begin taking turns placing alternative kitten licks across your clenching hole and clit, slowly building you up to a third orgasm.
A loud and rough groan brings your attention to Feyd just in time to watch him stick the hand that was previously knuckle-deep in your pussy into his opened pants, pulling out his cock; the skin red and swollen, an angry vein pulsing with need on the bottom leading from base to tip where there was the shine of smeared pre-cum. He throws his head back, hairless eyebrows furrowing as he holds himself at the base, cock twitching as pre-cum strings out of his tip. You marvel at the sight and size of him, letting out a moan of your own, not only from the ministrations of the three women lapping at you, but from the sight of Feyd fighting his own needs.
You reach a hand out, index finger catching the glob of cum, catching Feyd’s eyes as they widen, watching in anticipation to see what you do. You bring your finger to your mouth slowly, letting out a cheeky smile as you attempt to tease your husband. Holding your finger out in front of your mouth, slowly sticking your tongue out, copying his movements from earlier, flattening it against your finger before pulling it into your mouth. The taste of him is tangy and slightly metallic, but nonetheless has you moaning aloud.
Feyd shuffles forwards on his knees, bringing himself closer as he hovers above your head, grabbing your hand from your mouth, and pulling it to wrap around his base. At the feeling of your delicate hand wrapping around him he lets out a strained “oh fuck,” he tightens his fingers around your own before dragging your hand up his length, circling your fingers around his tip, a shiver running down his spin. He lets go of your hand and you continue the strokes on your own, Feyd’s hips rocking into your fingers with every downward stroke. His eyes slip closed as you decide to pick up the pace, throwing in a twist of your wrist as you reach the tip. You watch his sac draw upwards, muscle tensing as his jaw clenches. You decide to lift yourself up on one elbow, placing a kiss on the underside of his tip, letting out a little kitten lick.
He pulls himself back, letting out a strained noise and with a gesture of his hand his harpies back away from you, leaving you stranded on the precipice of an orgasm. You let out a frustrated groan as Feyd makes his way back to the headboard, leaning back in his original spot where the night started off, cock straining against his stomach. He gestures a hand towards you, holding it out for you to take. You shake off the displeasure at the loss of your orgasm and move to crawl towards him, taking the hand he was holding out to you and crawling onto his lap. Both of Feyd’s hands come down to your hips, pulling you down and rocking you across his cock, spreading your lips across his girth, covering himself in your slick. You gasp, staring into his eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him.
With each rock forward his tip presses deliciously against your clit, each little jolt sending shockwaves through your body. A sheen of sweat covers you, hairs sticking to your forehead, and you feel - you’re so warm. It fills every nook and cranny of your system, down to the marrow of your bones. You pull yourself even closer, your body positioned slightly higher than his and with every rock forward it brings your breasts to his face. On one forward rock he lunges his head forward grasping one of your nipples in his mouth and you gasp, head thrown back to arch your chest forward into his warm mouth. He groans as he suckles, lips forming a suction ring around your breast, pulling your perked nipple into his mouth with an aggressive fervor.
One of your hands comes up to grip the back of his head, a part of you instinctually reaching for hair that isn’t there but making due with the skin instead, nails digging into the surface, eliciting a sharp noise from Feyd, who grips you by the back of your own head, lithe fingers tangling into your hair and pulling your forehead down to his own, maintaining eye contact with you as he drags his teeth across your nipple, pulling off with a pop. Stopping your hips from their gentle rocking movement with his other hand, moving it down to cradle you by the back of your thigh right underneath your butt applying a gentle pressure to urge you upwards.
You extend backwards, pulling yourself away from Feyd’s chest so you can watch what happens next. His hand follows you, still tangled in your hair, before bringing it down to grasp your chin, controlling the movements of your head.
“Are you ready, little wife?” His hand positioning your head downward at your eager nod, posing your vision down. His voice drops down to a sultry and raspy whisper, “Watch what I do to you.”
And with that the head that was holding your chin moves down to grasp himself, fingers wrapping around his thick middle to bring the tip up to your opening, notching once, twice, then pushing in with the most painful, yet delicious burn you’ve ever felt. The unused muscles tense at the pressure of being stretched open beyond the two fingers that Feyd had used on you earlier. Your mouth gapes open at the feeling, watching as you sink down on him inch by inch, the slick coating him from where you grinded on him mere moments ago easing his entrance into you.
At the sound of the groan your husband lets out, you cast a glance upwards to look at him; watching his brow bone furrow in, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your warm, wet, heat enveloping him so snuggly. It’s perfect, Feyd thinks, you’re perfect, the sound of your breathy little panting gasps filling his ears, noises that he’s not even sure you’re aware you’re making. It’s a heavenly feeling, you sucking him in so tightly yet somehow still so soft and gentle.
Quite possibly one of the first gentle touches he’s felt in a while. You’re so soft, and warm, and comforting, and every single touch sends his nervous system reeling. Even back when he was still just a little boy on Lankiveil; huddling into his mother for warmth from the frigid planet, her body warm and comforting before turning just as frigid as the planet when Feyd killed her; all warmth leaving her body, leaving him in the hands of his uncle, never to feel a kind touch again.
Until this moment.
When you’ve sunk all the way down on him both of your hands come to lay upon his chest, thumbs lightly stroking the alabaster skin, touching the silvery scars that lie there. He waits a moment for you to adjust, noticing the slight grimace overtaking your features as your body tries to adhere to the intrusion. His harpies have taken themselves to the end of the bed, playing and petting and stroking at one another, but he pays them no mind. He looks into your eyes, trying to display what he hopes is a warm smile at you, lips still together so as to not scare you with his pitch black teeth. You give him a small smile of your own as Feyd wraps both of his arms around your back tightly pulling you against him, trapping your arms between his body and your own.
Warm lips graze your ear, “Ready?” a soft kiss pressed to your temple, head tucked completely into the crook of Feyd’s neck, eyes closed as you breath in his scent; something warm and musky, yet metallic in undertones. You can only muster a nod against his neck, body giving way as painful pressure turns into pulsing pleasure. Feyd places both feet flat on the bed, knees spreading to brace himself, pulling your own legs more open to sink just the smallest bit more down onto him - you didn’t even know there was more of him to fit in you.
He pulls his hips back, slipping out to just the tip, giving a few shallow thrusts, working you open a bit more. It’s within a single breath that Feyd suddenly plunges into you, thrusting into you at a rapid fire pace that causes you to practically scream into the crook of his neck in wholly-consuming pleasure. One hand moves down to rest around your ass, a finger feeling the stretched skin of your hole around his cock, heavy balls slapping against the skin there with each hard thrust. He can hear your whimpers and pleas being breathlessly whispered in his ear, ‘Oh Feyd - feels so-o good, you’re so…’
You lick and suck at the skin of his neck, mouthing over his vein thrumming under his skin. You can feel your orgasm building up, half-delirious and vision blurry with the overwhelming need to cum again. Your nails dig into the skin of his abs from where your arms are crushed between you two.
“Feyd I’m so close,” words drawn out into a long moan, “please, please, please, oh-” hips beginning a stunted rocking motion to try and meet his movements. You can feel Feyd’s cock throbbing inside you, thick veins and fat head catching on your gummy walls, his pelvis is wet from your slick, balls sticking slightly as they hit the skin of your ass.
“That’s it little wife,” heavy grunts rumbling from his chest, “cum for me, show me how much you love being my bride, show me how much you want it.” He moves both hands down to your hips and arches you outward slightly, allowing him to pummel into you at a deeper angle. “Your pussy is so tight -” he grunts, “practically sucking me in there. Are you trying to keep me here forever, little wife? Keep me buried inside your. warm. wet. cunt.” Words punctuated by harsh thrusts that teeter you over the edge. Your orgasm is so overwhelming as Feyd continues to fuck you through it, not even aware of your own actions when your teeth bury down deep into the crook of his neck, a slightly metallic taste filling your mouth as Feyd lets out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard.
He uses his strength to push you over onto your back with him hovering above you. Feyd pulls away from your mouth, cold air of the room hitting the raw spit-soaked skin, a dribble of blood on your bottom lip. He moves your legs from his hips to up by your shoulders, making eye contact with his harpies who lie contentedly at the end of the bed, covered in a sheen of sweat, vulpine grins of satisfaction upon their faces. He gestures towards you, “hold her,” passing your legs to them before dropping almost his full weight down on you into a mating press.
Feyd continues his hard and fast-paced thrusts, your orgasm having no time to subside, keeping your mind fuzzy and your body compliant as Feyd’s Harpie’s have no qualms with pinning you down for their master. He looks down into your glassy eyes, your mind completely blank. You look so cute cock-drunk.
“Does it feel good, little wife? Does my cock feel good pressing against all the spots inside you?” You mumble incoherently, nodding mindlessly for him. “Want you so-so bad Feyd, need it…” “You want me?” another nod, fingers flexing in the hold that one of the Harpies has you in. “You can have me, little wife - all of me.” His thrusts grow sloppier, cock getting bigger by a subtle, yet noticeable, amount as the pressure of his impending orgasm builds up. “I think I’ll cum deep inside your little cunt, keep myself inside of you, hmm? I think I’ll have you again, and again, and again until my seed takes place in this warm pussy of yours - until you give me my heirs.”
The steady crest of the orgasm you had been riding peaks full force once more, pussy clenching so hard around Feyd’s cock it almost pushes him out. He fights against it, letting out a series of borderline whimpery-moans, pushing in deep once more before cumming; hot, thick, ropes of cum filling you to the brim, cock throbbing inside of you as he cums and cums, a neverending heat warming you from the inside out. He grabs at your legs, taking them back from his Harpies and wrapping them snuggly around his waist, hips still letting out little grinds of his pelvis against yours. One arm wrapping around your back while he rests on his other elbow as he holds his weight up from crushing you, pressing you right up against him. Feyd pushes his face into your neck, pressing little kisses against the warm skin, content hums coming from the back of his throat as he finishes riding out the last dregs of his orgasm. Your arms are let go of and you immediately bring them down to wrap one around his heaving shoulders, fingers stroking against his shoulder blade, as the other cradles the back of his head, thumb stroking the crease where his skull meets his neck.
When your vision finally clears back up the Harpies are gone, you hadn’t even heard them get up, leaving you and Feyd lying alone with one another as you try to steady your equally pounding heartbeats. After you’ve both had time to calm down, you place a gentle kiss against the shell of Feyd’s ear, gently urging him to get up as you feel his back muscles beginning to quiver. He does so begrudgingly, letting out a noise of discontentment. He pulls out sluggishly, not wanting to leave your heat, thumbs pushing your lips apart to watch your hole gape and clench around nothing, a glob of his cum working its way out before he scoops it up and pushes it back into you with his index and middle fingers.
You jolt at the feeling, letting out a whine of overstimulation and discontent. “Feyd,” hand coming up to smack lightly at his chest which he quickly catches and holds against his heart, pressing a kiss to the tips of your fingers before getting off the bed. You tilt your head, watching upside down as he walks towards the bathroom, pale skin glinting in the light, muscles rippling throughout his whole body, your gaze coming down to rest on his ass. He leaves the door open, and you can faintly hear the sound of water running. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, immediately noticing where your gaze is zeroed in on, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips and he feels himself twitch at the intensity of your look.
“Are you admiring me, little wife?” The rhetorically playful question snapping you out of your reverie as you blush and look away, aware of the sound of his feet padding back towards you. Feyd drags a warm washcloth down one of your arms, across your neck and chest, then down the other one. He wipes down the insides of your thighs then very carefully across your puffy folds, earning a few winces and twitches from you as overstimulation and exhaustion fully take over. He wipes himself off as he walks back to the bathroom, slinging the washcloth off somewhere for the maids to get later.
When he makes his way back to the bed your eyes are sluggishly slipping closed, breaths growing a little shallow. He grabs you underneath your shoulders and spins you around so your head is back towards the pillows, moving down to clasp at the sheets that had at some point through the night fallen off the bed and brings them up to cover you. He climbs into bed next to you, pulling you in to lay on his chest as you make grabbing hands at him, hand coming to lay on his chest feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest, throwing a leg over one of his own.
He kisses you gently on the crown of your head, taking in a deep breath. “Goodnight, little wife.” You mumble back your own sentiment, words muffled slightly. He can’t make out most of the words, but what Feyd does pick up is the soft ‘I love you,’ that you let out. Feyd stops breathing for a second, a momentary gloss of weakness and emotion flashes across his eyes that he immediately hides as if someone’s watching him waiting for the perfect moment to attack. His fingers twitch where they lay gently on your arm, not quite sure what to do. He settles on taking a deep breath and allowing himself to close his eyes to sleep, a sense of peace coursing through his veins.
SW : No usage of "Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Mentions of violence, canon-typical, this fic follows the chronological events of Van Helsing (2004). Everybody lives AU! because I am first and foremost fruity, and want to slum it with Dracula and his wives.
If there are any more warnings to be added let me know!
Story Notes :
For reader's bride dress, I imagine the "Melora White Maxi Dress And Collar" but with a very light blue gradient.
All sentences in this formatting are flashbacks from part one.
This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.
‘He was truly my dearest friend, albeit a little strange, I owed everything to him.’
You wait on the steps of the Monastery, seeing the horse approach from across the courtyard, your dearest friend, Gabriel - The Great Van Helsing - was returning from France today. He had been sent on a mission to capture and bring back Dr. Jekyll, alive. But word sent the day before his return showed that he would be returning empty handed. You walk down the stairs to greet him as he slows the horse and dismounts, “Gabriel!” arms tossed around his stiff body squeezing until he moves to return the sentiment. After you deem the hug long enough you let go, quirking an eyebrow at him, a slight frown overtakes your features, “You know how much trouble you’re in right?” You’re immediately met with a sigh and an eyeroll, Gabriel beginning to walk away.
“I don’t understand how you managed to mess this up, the Cardinal is extremely angry.” furiously pacing yourself to keep up with his long strides, the brim of his hat pulled low to hide any sort of expression upon his face. “Van Helsing are you even listening to me? The Cardinal is going to throw a-”
''I don’t give a damn what Jinette thinks, I got the job done didn’t I?” his tone unwavering and final, holding the door to the monastery open for you, following after. You decide not to answer as you walk through the glittering hall, making your way down to the confessional, standing in front of it as he enters.
You waited outside the door, the conversation between Gabriel and Cardinal Jinette fading in and out with the fluctuation of their volume, the Cardinal remaining the loudest. You hated the way that Jinette spoke to him sometimes, Gabriel never failed to provide results, and had done everything in his power to fulfil every deed given to him by the church. He was good at what he did, that was undeniable, but he was truly a good man at heart.
He was the only reason you were allowed to stay within Vatican City, having shown up on the Ministry doorsteps only a few years after he did, you however were significantly younger when you did arrive. You’d been abandoned, living in the streets, when a rowdy group of men chased you all the way to the doors of the church. He had immediately come to your aid and ever since then he had somewhat taken on the role of the older sibling you never had, convincing his superiors to allow you to stay within the ancient building. He always had this air of guilt surrounding him whenever interacting with you, claiming that you reminded him of someone he once knew, but never explaining further than that.
He taught you how to fight, how to defend yourself if the situation ever arose, he made you carry a small vial of holy water and a collapsible stake on your person at all times, telling you that you never know when you may need it. He was your only companion besides a friar named Carl, who was somewhat closer to your age, a madman when it came to inventing.
Hearing the scrape of the sconce as the Cardinal opens the secret door, you slide into the booth next to Gabriel right before the metal gate slams into place, quietly taking your spot behind your friend as you begin the descent down into the order. You listen as the Cardinal gives the same spiel about being the last defence against evil, zoning out as you watch the monks move about the place. You snap back into focus at the sound of the projector whirring alive, Jinette giving Gabriel his newest assignment. “We need you to go to the east, to the far side of Romania. An accursed land, terrorised by all sorts of nightmarish creatures.” You watch Van Helsing's face go slightly pale as the image changes, an even more grim look taking over the one that usually resides upon his features, “Lorded over by a certain Count Dracula.”
You slightly zone out once more as you study the painting, you can hear Gabriel speaking but are unaware of what it is he’s saying. You can’t help but feel a strange mixture of happiness and sadness take over your body as you look upon the man - The Count - in the image, you could swear to all that was holy that he looked familiar. Like you’d met him before.
You’ve decided by what little of him you could see, that he was still undoubtedly handsome. Slightly taller than you, possibly 6-foot, dark hair, and shockingly blue eyes.
You don’t notice the looks Gabriel throws your way, the realisation hitting him that you're lost at the sight of the photo.
When the Cardinal changes the image projected, you rejoin the conversation, looking up to lock eyes with your friend, giving him a wary smile as you fight off the sudden emotional pit forming in your stomach. Listening as Jinette lists off members of this royal family, watching as Gabriel becomes starstruck at the sight of Princess Anna, giving him a smirk and a hard elbow to the ribs, him responding with a slight stomp onto your foot.
You stop listening again when the insignia of his ring is mentioned, the pit returning to your stomach as you walk away to find Carl. You find the aforementioned man yelling at someone in a pedalling machine, gasping slightly as the person on said machine is electrocuted. “Carl what are you doing?” you’re met with a few mumbles of “Almost had it,” and “Maybe next time,” as Carl shuffles towards you, giving you a small pat on the arm and a crooked smile. He turns his attention to Gabriel as he approaches, automatically beginning his line of chastising and questioning. You follow as Carl begins putting things into a bag for him, Garlic, Holy Water, amongst some weapons. After he causes a viscous fluid to erupt into sparks upon the ground, you giggle as he turns with his inventors' goggles down, magnifying his eyes to a ridiculous level. He gives you a sour look, “the air is thick with envy” he says, rolling his eyes and walking away as you continue to giggle.
He shuffles around to grab more weapons, going on about some substances that can emit light equivalent to the sun, telling Gabriel to use his imagination with it. “No Carl, I’m gonna use yours that’s why you’re coming with me.” “Oh hell be damned I am!” letting out a dramatic gasp as you clutch your chest, “Carl! You Cursed! Monks aren’t supposed to curse.” You watch as a smug grin takes over his face, leaning in close to you as if to tell a secret, “Well actually I’m still a friar, I can curse all I want. Damn it!” giving you a wink as he shuffles back to his original spot.
“The Cardinal has ordered you to keep me alive as long as possible.” he continues, about to walk away before you grab his sleeve, “Wait, what about me? I want to come along as well.” You’re met with a stern look, the both of you completely ignoring Carl's mumbles about not being a field man as you follow Gabriel out of the Laboratory, “No, that’s entirely out of the question.” “Why not? I want to come to Transylvania, I’m always left behind when you go on missions. You know I get bored easily!” “You’re always left behind because you don’t have the training to go on missions, it’s highly dangerous-” You stop him once more, “You trained me Gabriel, remember?” cutting him off as he goes to respond, “You’d rather let a friar, who has no fighting experience what-so-ever join you versus someone who can actually hold their own?” Giving him the best pout you can, “Please Van Helsing, let me come with you.” applying a slight shake to the arm still in your grip.
He doesn’t know what comes over him, whether it be the determined look in your eye or the idea that maybe he could use you as help if all went south, but with a strong reluctance coating his words, he agrees to let you come along.
‘It was the longest trip of my life, a battle through storms and cold only to be put right in the face of death.’
You were tired, aching, surrounded by an angry mob when the first one swooped in from the sky.
The woman, Princess Anna, yelled for everyone to run inside, to find shelter, as Van Helsing shot at the circling Vampires, while Carl was leaning against the wells’ edge, whimpering. You follow the woman as she takes off running - right after landing rather promiscuously on top of Gabriel - eventually shoving her down a cart as two out of the three vampires reach for you.
You pant for breath as the sun comes out, everyone in the town coming out with it. You walk towards your friends, reaching for the stake sheathed at your side as a noise emits from the well. You scream as the sun goes back behind the clouds and the orange haired vampire bursts up, grabbing Anna by the shoulders. The black haired one not far behind her, not even looking at you as she grabs you and tosses you through the roof of one of the houses.
You lay there for a moment, paralysed with pain and fear that overtakes your whole body. You snap to attention as the door in front of you bolts shut, muscle memory leads your hand down to your stake sheath, only to find your weapon missing, cursing as you realise you must have dropped it somewhere along being thrown into a building. You let out a sigh of relief when you see Anna, the woman dropping to your side to check on you. You’re about to let her know you’re okay when all of a sudden the orange-haired vampire lowers herself from the rafters of the house.
You point up weakly, eyes going wide and letting out a yelp as Anna immediately stands and turns to come face to face with her. “Hello Anna” she hisses out, completely dropping and transforming into her regular facade. You do have to admit, she is rather pretty. “Nice to see you too Aleera,” words doused with Venom. You make a move to help her, but when a sharp pain shoots throughout your whole body as you lean forward, you have no choice but to flop back down to the ground. “Did I do something to you in a past life?” Anna backs up slowly, the Vampire, Aleera, following her every move. “Don’t play coy with me, princess,” somehow teleporting to be in front of Anna, “I know what lurks in your lusting heart.” “I hope you have a heart Aleera, because someday I’m going to drive a stake through it.” You watch with bated breath as Aleera literally smacks Anna out of the window, then turns to gaze down upon you.
She tilts her head at you, studying for a moment. A look that almost resembles recognition passes her features before she dives out the window after Anna. “Fuck.” you murmur, beginning to wiggle your limbs as you try to fight off the searing pain travelling through your body. When you’re able to move once more, you make your way out of the house, down the stairs and through the door, like a perfectly sane person, grabbing a large shard of glass from outside, watching as Anna bursts into another home.
You weakly run, limping every step, attempting to follow her in case she needed what little assistance you could provide in your current state. Bursting into the house to see the two Vampires over her, mouths gaping open, fangs sharp and extended, their faces taking on slightly demonic forms. You watch as they suddenly scream, twisting and writhing as they turn back into their winged counterparts, flying out of the house.
You offer her a hand, no words passed between the two of you, only pained smiles and grateful expressions, lifting her up as the adrenaline leaves your body, limping out into the street with her. Walking towards the church where your friends sit on its steps, you pass by Gabriels’ hat, turning and grabbing it for him, gently brushing some of the dirt and snow off of it. Bringing it to him and sitting down, you’re met with concerning remarks from both him and Carl, hell, you’d be concerned too if you also saw your friend be thrown into a roof from 40 feet in the air, but you were just too tired to form any words. Letting your head thump back against one of the top steps as an angry crowd of Translyvanians forms around you.
You’re thankful when Anna jumps to your defence, the revealing of Van Helsings’ identity forces the crowd to back off. You raise your head at the mention of a drink and somewhere to stay, muttering a ‘yes please’ before you slump back against the stairs. Feeling arms come around both your sides, both Carl and Gabriel help hoist you up, supporting your weight as you begin your trek to where Anna was staying, at the old Governors’ house.
You can’t help the strange sense that washes over you at the sight of the building.
“But soon, the final battle will begin, I must go and find out who our new visitor is.”
‘It was a restless night, full of aches. Visions of you and a man dancing through your head, along with visions of great pain and sorrow.’
‘Don’t do this Gabriel… Please let go of my wife.’
You could hear screaming, a woman falling through a window. Great agonising pain filling your senses ; grief, sadness, anger, all equally coursing through your veins.
‘I’m sorry… But you broke the oath.’
Flashes of a happy couple pass through your mind, ending as you turn to be stabbed through the heart by Gabriel-
Shooting up with a gasp, feeling every bone in your body protest at such movement. You take heaving, gulping breaths, the fear seizing your muscles making it hard to intake oxygen. You can feel sweat running off you in rivulets as you try to equal out your heartbeat. What did you just see? This hadn’t been the first dream you’d had of this scenario, with Gabriel killing you, you’d had a dream eerily similar to this one when you first met him all those years ago, except in that one you were the woman falling through the window.
Bringing up a hand to wipe absentmindedly at your forehead, trying to cease what you assume is a river of sweat. It’s only when your hand comes back covered in a fluid that’s smelling and stringing to your skin, it’s within that moment when you’re able to register the low growling do you look up, and come eye to eye with a werewolf.
It pounces the second you look at it, giving you only a moment to roll out of the bed and scream as loud as you can. Dodging as best you can as the creature lays havoc to the room you’re in, ducking for cover as leaps for you, watching it crash through the window. You turn as your room door is opened, Gabriel looking in with features clouded by fear. He calls your name, coming around to rest his hands upon your shoulders, “What happened?” “Werewolf,” a shaky hand coming to point towards the shattered window, “Went that way.” Grabbing you by the shoulders he directs you to a ripped up armchair sitting in the corner of the room, sitting you down and handing you your stake, huh, where did he find that? “Stay here, I’ll be back soon.”
You don’t stay, waiting a few moments after he’s left to get up. It’s only when yelling and crashing resonates from downstairs do you hurry your pace. You arrive at the sight of Gabriel running out of the estate and Anna standing in a catatonic state, staring off in his direction. Disregarding the broken window, you already have a feeling of what broke it to begin with, you turn to Anna, gently grasping her elbows and directing her attention to you.
“Anna? What happened?” lifting one hand up to her neck, gently tilting her head from side to side, looking for any signs of pain or damage. “Are you alright? Did it hurt you?” That seems to do the trick as her glossy eyes fill with more tears, finally spilling over as she looks at you, “My brother. It’s my brother.” You say nothing, cooing slightly as her tears fall faster, pulling her into a hug. “He’s going to kill him.” Words murmured into your shoulder. “Who’s going to kill who, Anna?” “Van Helsings’ going to try and kill my brother.'' And with those words she takes off out the door.
You grab a pile of fabric off the back of a nearby chair, knowing that the cold would be too severe for what Anna, and yourself, were currently wearing. You saddle up the horse you came into town on, going off in the direction of several sets of footprints. When you approach where Anna and Van Helsing stand in the graveyard you catch the remnants of what was undoubtedly a heated conversation. “He has taken everything from me. Leaving me alone in this world.” You quietly dismount, grabbing the blanket you brought and throwing part of it over Annas’ shoulders, slightly startling her with your sudden presence. You say nothing as you resume your previous embrace with her, watching as Anna all but crumbles into the affection.
“To have the memories of those you have loved and lost is perhaps harder than to have no memories at all.” his words spoken with a guilty glance towards you, an unexplainable rage filling you at the idea of whatever he could possibly be implying. “Alright, we’ll look for your brother.”
“It was obvious that Van Helsing was wary of this man, but when he turned to me I felt no fear. He looked at me in what could only be sheer reverence, and I felt my mind settle.’
The Castle was looming, with electricity zapping to and fro from the top tower. Hanging behind as to give Anna and Gabriel some time to talk. If the fate of Anna's family wasn’t at stake you would take the time to poke at his lovesick behaviour, but until everything was over you held your remarks at bay.
Entering the dusty manor, pushing cobwebs out of your way, the three of you make your way into a room filled to the brim with sacks hanging from the ceiling, reminding you of very slimy chrysalides. “Have you ever seen these things before?” you aim your question towards either of your company. “No. What do you think they are?” Both of you turn to Gabriel, “Offspring.” “What?” spoken at the same time. “A man with three gorgeous women for 400 years-” “Yes, vampires are the walking dead, it only makes sense their children are born dead.”
Pushing your way through to reveal a grand hall filled with even more of the pods, electricity crackling down the hall and into the room you are in. Watching as the pods begin to pulse and wiggle. “Van Helsing don’t-” exclaiming in exaggerated disgust as he sticks his hand into the sack, throwing the slime substance out of his way.
“So this is what you get when Vampires mate-” not given the time to finish his sentence as it comes to life, both you and Anna screaming out in disgust. Another blast of electricity barrels through the room, bringing with it a shiver up your spin and the jolt of a static shock. The three of you run as they begin to drop from the ceiling, faintly aware of voices coming from somewhere above you.
Despite Annas’ pleas, you watch as Gabriel exits out of your covered spot, entering the desolate hall once again to begin shooting at the vampiric offspring still flying around the room. He looks up somewhere in the room, a slightly smug look upon his face, “Now that I have your attention.” A giant winged creature falls from the sky and begins to pursue your friend. The gust of air it brings knocks over decorations, items falling all around you. You don’t even register Anna rushing up the stairs behind you, nor the beam and chandelier falling after her, blocking anyone from following. You do, however, register the doors at the end of the hall slamming closed, locking you in here with Van Helsing and the creature.
Crouching down next to some crates, watching as the creature swoops down, turning into a man. Turning into the Count from the Cardinals’ slideshow. “I can tell the character of a man by the sound of his heartbeat.” A deep accented voice lilting, “Usually when I approach,” clapping his hands together in a slightly off-rhythm staccato, “I can almost dance to the beat. Strange that yours is so steady.” Hands ending their sporadic clap as he continues to walk forward, all noise ceasing except for crackling of electricity.
When Gabriel drops down and stabs the man you can’t help the sadness that fills you. A strange sense taking over you, making you want to walk over and kill your best friend where he stands. “Requistat in pace” words uttered with an arrogance. You stand up, beginning to make your way towards them, “Hello Gabriel,” freezing in your steps. Did he know this man?
“Is this your silver stake?” pulling it out of his chest and tossing it over his shoulder. “How long has it been, 3- 400 years? You don’t remember, do you?” “What exactly is it I should be remembering?” The two of them begin to slowly circle around one another, “You are the Great Van Helsing! Trained by monks and mullahs from Tibet to Istanbul, protected by Rome herself! But like me, hunted by all others.”
“The Knights of the Holy Order know all about you, It’s no surprise you would know about me.” “Yes but it’s much more than this” the man laughs as he takes a step towards Van Helsing, the two coming full circle. “We have such history, You and I, Gabriel. Have you ever wondered why you have such horrible nightmares, horrific scenes of ancient battles past. Horrific scenes of betrayal? Would you like for me to refresh your memory a little, a few details from your sordid past?” You shuffle slightly, the heel of your boot scraping across a loose tile in the floor, drawing the attention of both Gabriel and the Count.
He gazes in disbelief. Freezing for a few moments before taking delicate, hesitant, steps towards you. You knew that you should probably flee, run for cover or to your friend, but instead you stayed put, Standing your ground as he approached you. He walks until the two of you almost stand toe-to-toe. An ungloved hand reaches out towards you and you can’t help the flinch that runs through your body, heart rate picking up in fear. He looks pained at your cower, hand still moving to brush lightly against your jaw, freezing cold fingers solidify his true nature to you.
“Do not fear me.”
‘I hope you’ve learned by now that I mean you no harm.’
Words spoken in such a hushed whisper that only you could hear with your proximity. And for some strange reason, you find yourself calming at his words, the fear leaving your still shellshocked system, heart rate slowing. You pay no attention to your friend who’s currently sneaking up behind the man, completely enraptured by the Count.
He mutters something that you can't quite catch, his hand beginning to drift down your neck, brushing against the necklace round your neck. He picks up the chain and lets it run through his fingers, getting steadily closer to the ring that resides on the end of it. A small silver wedding band that never seemed to tarnish rested along the chain, you had no idea where you had gotten it, it had been in your possession for what seemed forever. It was obviously valuable and you could never seem to part with it, in fear of it one day sliding off your finger during your work you ran it onto a bare chain, deciding to wear it as a necklace.
Before he can reach the ring at the end of the chain the sound of something clicking into place takes the attention of both of you, him whipping around to grab the silver crucifix Gabriel thrusts into his face, screaming in pain as he makes contact with the holy item. Jumping away as the crucifix bursts into flames within his hand, beginning to melt. He tosses the remains of it away, regaining his composure at a lightning rate.
“Perhaps that is a conversation for another time.” He takes a few steps back, walking a few feet past you. “Allow me to reintroduce myself, I am Count Vladislaus Dragulia. Born 1422, Murdered 1462.”
‘Vlad’ rings through your head, the memory of glass shattering and screaming echoing through your mind. You don’t realise that the screaming has become real, Van Helsing grabs your hand and pulls you away with him, still in a dissociative state you don’t realise what’s happened until you both make your escape through a dumbwaiter.
The two of you make your way to the roof, running into a frantic Anna. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.” Words rushed to you and her, Gabriel grabbing one arm each and launching off a line, extending all the way over the rushing river below, to the nearby mountain. The three of you speed off, almost making it halfway across before the line suddenly shakes. The werewolf from the house, Anna’s brother, suddenly hitches a ride on the back, sliding a bit before one of its claws slices the line in half, taking you and the half closest to the Castle, down.
You can’t help the deja vu that washes over you as you fall, the freezing cold river below you. The sound of Van Helsing and Anna screaming for you is drowned out by your own.
You can faintly see the outline of someone looking over the edge of the castle railing, a yell of ‘no’ reaching your ears. The person disappears from the edge, only for a winged beast to take their place and jump from the roof. ‘It’s the Count’ you realise somewhere in your mind, closing your eyes in what could only be described as… relief? Even though your heart was beating out of your chest, deep down you knew you’d be alright. The wind is bitterly cold, nipping at your back, whistling in your ears.
Until suddenly it’s not.
Your body smacks into the water, cold overtaking all your senses as your body freezes. You can faintly feel yourself moving, arms weakly flailing to break the surface of the water to no avail. The current of the roaring river continuously pulls you under, giving you no chance to save yourself.
Right before you pass out from either shock or adrenaline you’re faintly aware of being pulled from the water and into the air. You’re held against something much larger than you are. One minute you’re plummeting, falling down and then sinking to your untimely demise and then the next you’re going up, soaring through the air.
And with that, you pass out.
~~~
You drift in and out of consciousness. You can remember being placed in front of a hearth, someone’s lap laid under your head, rough fingers running through your hair. Then three sets of hands and whispering voices, belonging to whom you believe were women, placing and pulling different layers of clothes upon you. You heard conversations about a creature and tracking it down, followed by being picked up by something much larger than you, a hood being pulled over your head, and the flap of great wings.
When you fully wake, it’s to the feeling of flying. Slowly blinking your eyes you try to adjust to the darkness. You realise you’re being carried by a large creature. Pointed ears, flat-bridged nose, and a maw that contained razor sharp teeth. Its wingspan had to spread to at least 15 feet or greater, and had to be at least 12 feet tall. And you realise that it oddly resembles a bat.
You hadn’t realised it was looking at you. Too busy in your observative reverie to notice the slitted dark grey eyes that had snapped your way. The large bat lets out a strange rumble when you make eye contact with it, beginning its descent. You’re laid down on what you assume is grass, watching as the creature soars back into the sky, transforming midair. That’s when you remember the last few hours of your life; officially meeting The Count, and all the strange emotions that came with the introduction, all of the rage, anguish, and nostalgia. And the fact that he had saved you, throwing himself off the top of the castle to rescue you from the river.
He drops back down to the ground with a certain grace and elegance to his actions, slightly bowing with a hand outstretched for theatrics. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was doing it to lighten the air, immediately throwing you a smile and small chuckle as he does it. You can’t help the smile that overtakes your face as well, accepting the hand he offers you, pulling you off the ground. Finally taking in your surroundings, you realise you’re standing in front of a semi-dilapidated building. It looks to be a small fortress of sorts, surrounded by mountains on either side, along with the faint sound of a rushing river a great distance below you.
“Where are we?” words muttered, turning to gaze at him.
“Poenari.”
‘He can lie and claim to be a hollow man all he wants. But when I finally realised who he was and what he meant to me, I could see the pure emotion overtake his face, and for once I swore I could hear a heartbeat that wasn’t my own.’
The two of you walked silently through the building.
The dank remnants of the castle smelled foul; stagnant. The place reeked of death and sorrow, everything was covered in thick layers of dust. The Count walked quietly behind you, offering no explanation as to why you were here. Walking aimlessly through the corridors, footsteps echoing all around as you turn a corner, a loud gasp ripping its way out of the back of your throat.
The hallway leading to a set of winding stairs was the embodiment of death. Dried blood and half decomposed skeletons line the path, the stale smell of decomposition lingering in the air. You hadn’t realised you’d stopped until a hand placed itself upon the small of your back, gently pushing you forward. You observe the destruction around you, noticing baskets of mouldy, moth-eaten linens, and cleaning supplies next to some of the skeletons. “Servants.” rings out Dracula’s voice behind you, his hand still upon your back. Coming towards the end of the hall, right before the stairwell, you notice a bare spot. There was dried blood in an outline that shows it obviously pooled from someone’s body, but there was a lack of a skeleton, or any sign that one had been there, at least. “What happened to that one?” pointing down at the spot on the floor. “Agnes was buried.” is all he offers.
You kept Agnes with you, after all she’d been one of your closest confidants since your mother had died.
He nudges you up the stairs, guiding you through the dark. At the very top of the stairs was a thick wooden door in the middle of a small hallway. At the end of a hallway was a painting. Unlike everything else in this place the painting was spotless. It looked brand new, not a speck of dust on it, like it had been visited often.
That’s not what captured your attention though. What captured it was that the painting was a portrait of a man and woman. Happy, smiling, loving,
And they looked just like the two of you.
You step forward, shoes lining up in the dust-free imprint of feet much larger than yours; a well-worn spot. Reaching a hand out, fingers gliding across the woman in the painting, your other hand coming up to brush against your own features. Same hair colour, texture, same eyes, same birthmarks and scars. Her hands crossed gently across her lap, upon her ring finger lay the ring you wear around your neck.
Gasping, taking a stumbling step back, you whip around to face him. You can feel your heartbeat pick up, confusion and fear starting to take over. “Why-” breath uneven, “Why did you bring me here? What is this place?”
He brings a hand up to the door, pushing it open and stepping back, a slight sweeping gesture to show you go in first.
“Our home.”
Entering the room, you’re met with what you assume was once a very luxurious room. A dilapidated four-poster bed sits in the middle of the wall that the door is on. The room is stagnant like the rest of the place, but like the painting, free of dust. There’s a dresser, a writing desk, and a gap, from floor to ceiling, jagged shards of glass still remaining around the frame of what was once a window. Torn, mouldy, moth-ridden curtains billow in the light breeze, the stone floor is covered in moss and mould, years of rain pouring in through the opening had made it so.
In the middle of the room is a dark stain on the floor, a trail trickling from the window to it. You don’t want to believe it’s blood, the colour of it is black, too dark to resemble that which was under the skeletons in the hall, but you know. You know that it’s blood and whatever left the puddle wasn’t human. At the thought you cast a glance over your shoulder to the man who brought you here to begin with, he stands in the doorway, and goes no further than that. You take a step towards the gaping hole in the wall, mindful of any shards of glass on the floor.
You can hear the churning of fast moving water, you can hear the wind whipping in the wind, and as you bend slightly to look out, you can hear screaming.
“Who are you?”
“Who I am is of no importance at the moment,”
“Well everything was lined up perfectly, but now, the Voivode has added a new term to the treaty. Your hand in marriage.”
“I hope you’ve learned by now that I mean you no harm.”
‘He always treated you with a gentle hand, was never harsh, never cruel, and he never-ever raised his voice. You were his wife, and you should never need to fear him’
You failed to notice the dark figure in the corner of your room.
“Don’t do this Gabriel,” “Please let go of my wife.”
And with that, he pushes you out the window.
And then everything went dark.
You stumble violently away from the window, knees collapsing under your own weight. A firm presence makes itself known behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist, holding you up. Your vision is spotty, head pounding with this newfound knowledge of a past life and your eyes well with tears. You tilt your head up, making immediate eye contact with the man holding you. Your voice comes out scratchy and choked, “Vlad?” as the tears begin to spill out of your eyes. Vlad gives a pained smile as he turns you around and pulls your body towards his.
The embrace is emotional as you reduce down to nothing but shaky limbs and heart-wrenching sobs. He holds you strongly, there’s not an inch of his body that doesn’t touch yours, and you could swear that in that moment, you could feel another heartbeat alongside yours.
The sound of sizzling breaks you away from the hug, looking up in time to see a singular tear make its trek down his cheek, burning the skin it slides down. You quickly bring up your hand, sleeve pulled around your fist to dry it before it causes anymore damage. As you make a move to bring your hand back down he moves quick as lightning to hold it to his face, head tilting to place a delicate kiss upon the skin of your palm. “I missed you,” the words are soft, your throat still scratchy. “Not as much as I missed you, my darling” and with that, he kisses you.
The kiss is soft, yet powerful. With the force of almost 200 years worth of lost time fueling it. Vlad pulls you even closer, if it were possible. You can still hear the light sizzling where tears are undoubtedly still falling from his eyes. His lips are as soft as you remember, his movements still the same as well. The only difference was his temperature, a constant reminder that you were no longer the same.
A reminder of the reason you were in Transylvania to begin with.
Before you can say anything, Vlad pulls away from you. His left hand continues to hold you firm at the waist while his right moves from your cheek to smooth over the top of your hair, coming to a stop at the nape of your neck, cradling your head. There’s a furrow in his brows as his eyes flit across your face, “What is wrong my darling? Why does your heart panic so?” you close your eyes and gently shake your head.
“What about Gabriel, Vlad?”
“What about him?”
“The only reason we’ve come to Transylvania is so he can kill you, Vlad. He’s vindictive and will not stop until he sees you turn to ash before his feet. Oh this is all my fault,-”
“Do not say these things.” His right hand tilting your head to look at him, “How is any of it your fault, my darling? Fate is not your fault. You were meant to come back to me one day, and now you have.” A delicate kiss placed upon your forehead, “And as for Gabriel. I will handle him myself. Now come, we have somewhere to be.” Taking your hand and gently pulling you back the way you came.
When you make it outside, there's three women dressed in lavish silks, gossamer, and fine jewellery. You find yourself subconsciously clutching his hand harder when the three women outstretch their arms and move towards you. There’s almost an ethereal echoing coming from somewhere as the women surround you, cooing their praises. Delicate hands with thin, claw-like fingers move across you. One hand pats your hair, another down your arm, with a ghosting touch on your back. The women skit around, their movements are graceful, like a dance of sorts, and you find yourself in a trance like state.
“Oh Master,” says the red-headed one, who you recognize as the one Anna called Aleera, “She’s just as perfect as you said.” You find yourself blushing at the statement and the attention that’s being showered upon you. Two cold hands scoop up your face to bring you directly in front of the long black haired one, “You are absolutely stunning, my dear.” “Thank you” whispered quietly, your face practically engulfed in flames.
Casting a glance towards Vlad only to find he’s already looking at you, a gentle smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. The women stop their parade of affection with a singular lift of Vlad’s hand. “Have you taken care of what you needed to?” His voice echoing out with a seriousness to it as he reaches his hand out towards you. “They tricked us with the carriages, master, and escaped with the monster.” You can see the second that the anger forms in his eyes so you pull yourself away from the women to walk towards him, taking his hand and rubbing your thumb upon the back of his knuckles in hopes to sooth him. Your efforts work as he tilts to look down at you, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“No matter. Van Helsing is heading straight for Budapest anyways. Aleera I want you to go and follow them, Verona you go with her.” and with a gesture of his hand the two turn into their other forms and fly off into the night, leaving just Vlad, yourself, and the black-haired woman. “Marishka, take my darling and get her ready for tomorrow evening.” You hear a quiet ‘yes master’ as Vlad places a small kiss in the middle of your forehead, before releasing you to a now winged Marishka. “Don’t worry my darling, Marishka is a gentle flyer.” And with that you’re lifted into the air.
~~~
You’re at a glorious castle in Budapest, a summer home, you remember Verona briefly telling you when her and Aleera finally catch back up. She works quietly and carefully to do your hair while you sit in front of the vanity, slightly nerved by the fact that you wouldn’t even be able to tell she was there if it wasn’t for her brushing and pinning your hair, the lack of a reflection startling. She makes small and polite conversation with you, including an apology for throwing you earlier in the town, as she admitted to not looking to see whom she had grabbed before she picked you up.
“We are truly very excited to have you within our presence, for many years we have all heard stories of you, the heartbreak Dracula felt at the loss of you and your child never truly went away, no matter how we tried to quell it.” Her accented voice lulls quietly through the dim candle-lit room, and you're briefly hit with a burst of guilt and sadness at the idea of them trying to do everything they could to make Vlad feel better, only for him to rebuff their attempts. You can’t help but offer her an apology.
“What for, my dear? You are here now and that’s all that matters, everything is as it should be.” and with that she finishes your hair, which has been gently pinned to your head, curls looking defined. Before you could say anything else she walks away as the two other brides enter the room. Aleera is the first to reach you, lithe fingers gliding down both sides of your neck as her cold hands come to lay delicately upon your shoulders. “You look magnificent,” words cooed to you, “truly stunning.” Finishes off Marishka, taking a seat next to you on the bench as she leans forward to reach for the jewellery.
You hear the shuffling of feet, what you assume to be Verona returning from wherever she had gone. When Marishka is finished clipping in earrings for you, you turn your head to find Verona holding a light blue dress in a style much like that of her and the others dresses. It’s complete with gossamer sleeving that opens up around your wrist and trails all the way down to the floor, a form-fitting partially transparent torso and a loose skirt made of a layered sheer chiffon material. “And now for the final touch.”
~~~
You look and feel like a true goddess as the girls lead you down a hall, you’re conscientiously aware of the ethereal echoing that has returned as they giggle while taking you down to the ballroom. The music grows louder and louder as you approach a large set of double doors, half of a masquerade mask is quickly slipped onto your face as the doors are open and you’re thrust into the room.
There’s hundreds of people in the room, ranging of all ages as you spot children up in the rafters. There’s people dancing, people performing on silks and with fire, and so many other things that it makes it hard to take in the grandeur of the room all at once. You’re aware of how you must look to all the others, jaw dropped and head constantly turning to take in your surroundings. When you turn your head to look back in front of you, you’re met with the sight of Vlad. He’s in his usual clothing, just with a gold cloak tied around his neck, a mask the same chromatic colour to match, with his hand outstretched towards you.
You wordlessly take his hand and allow him to pull you closer, his hands gently begin roaming, one hand quickly lifting the mask to take in your features before dropping it back down to rest on your face. “You look absolutely stunning, my darling.” A cold kiss pressed upon your lips, “May I have the privilege of dancing with you?” Eyes boring into your own, he quirks up the corner of his lips into an ever arrogant smirk. “Why yes you may.” Words whispered towards him quietly, acutely aware of all the eyes that are upon the two of you.
Vlad takes your hand and leads you to the spot directly in front of the platform in which a veiled woman stands upon. The rest of the guests clap as whatever piece of music is being played comes to an end, partners taking their places on the dancefloor. You quickly grab Vlad’s arm as a sudden realisation hits you, “Wait, Vlad, I can’t dance.” eyes wide with fear at the notion of making yourself look like a fool in front of all these refined people. He turns to you with a somewhat reassuring smile on his face, “Don’t worry my darling, you’ve danced this dance many times before. You know what to do.” A look of sheer disbelief covers your features, you open your mouth to throw a sly retort back to him but are promptly cut off as the woman on the stage begins a beautiful aria. He lifts your hand up delicately before softly spinning you outwards. All of a sudden you throw your arm out in a slow and graceful manner, the steps of the dance flooding back into your mind. When you spin back towards him there’s a certain look of, I told you so, overtaking his face, as he grabs your waist and pulls you towards him firmly.
He takes off his mask, then your own, before placing a kiss upon your lips. “I told you that you knew it.” as you both fall back into step with the others, “Of course,” smiling at him softly, “How could I ever forget the steps to the music of our first dance as husband and wife?” A puzzled look quickly takes place upon your face, “Is that the same singer?” question asked as you look back and forth between the veiled woman and Vlad. “You’ll find that many of the faces in this room, once unmasked, will appear very familiar to you.” He spins you until your back is to his front, subconsciously tilting your head to the side, exposing your neck for Vlad to place a cold kiss directly over your pulse point.
The tempo of the music picks up and you, on instinct, fall into a faster spin with Vlad. He dips you in front of a mirror, eyes snapping over to look at your reflection, the way it appears that you’re floating, Vlad nowhere to be found, none of the other guests can be seen either. You come to the sudden realisation that you’re a mere mortal in a room with hundreds of vampires, your mind begins slipping, remembering the fact that you’ve been choosing to ignore to instead relish in your past; Vlad is dead.
An undead creature who never grows old, who feeds on other humans, you realise how temporary your situation with him is in comparison to the rest of his life. This one minute moment in a sea of others that are sure to come, and all of a sudden, your life pales in comparison. You can feel your stomach turning with the sudden acknowledgement, a wave of nausea hitting you. As if he can sense where your thoughts are going he quickly scoops you back up, continuing the dance. “It’s alright my darling,” the hand upon your back quickly sweeping up and down in a soothing gesture. “There’s no need to fear, nothing is going to happen to you, everything is going to be alright.” He stares into your eyes, his own translating the sincerity of his words.
You feel yourself relax with the reassurance, head coming to rest just under his own, your eyes closing as you gently press your face into his chest. “What’s going to happen to me?” you don’t feel the need to elaborate, as you’re sure Vlad already knows what you’re asking. “Nothing that you don’t want. If you choose, it will be one brief moment of pain, and we can be together forever.” You pull your head away from him, your eyes still closed as he dips you once more, his hand skating up the front of your dress to rest upon your neck. “What if I choose yes?” “Then it would be my honour, my love.” A deep breath taken in, then he screams, dropping you in a blaze of fire as the cape he’s wearing begins to burn.
You stand up quickly, worriedly making your way towards him before you’re swept off the ground. All the air is knocked out of your lungs as you tumble onto a balcony, slamming straight into a door. Disoriented, you can make out someone saying your name and shaking your shoulders. “Wake up!” You gaze confused into the eyes of Gabriel, as you hear a voice from down below.
“Gabriel…” his voice is even, words spoken slowly. “Oh Gabriel…” you stagger towards the bannister in time to see Vlad step into the middle of the room, the cloak that he was previously wearing off to the side in a smouldering pile. All the guests have cleared a wide berth for Vlad as he stops and gazes upwards, a certain fear emanating from them. “Oh Gabriel, welcome to my summer palace.” A smirk thrown up towards him before he turns his eyes towards you, giving you a subtle nod as Igor bursts into the room with the Frankenstein monster in tow, screaming his revenge.
“Now that everything… is as it should be… Ladies and Gentlemen, I give to you; Van Helsing!” The hundreds of vampires in the room unmask themselves, faces morphing into their sinister counterparts. The sound of screaming and screeching fills the room as you cover your ears, eyes cinching shut. Gabriel takes this as his moment to wrap an arm around you, pulling you away. You protest, squirming in an attempt to get out of his grip, which only causes him to hold you tighter and lift you off your feet.
He burst through the door that you ran into, where you’re met with Anna right next to the door and Carl at the end of the hall next to a stained glass window. Passing Anna she grabs your arm, beginning to pick up speed with Van Helsing, causing you to squirm more, “Gabriel put me down!” But the protests fall on deaf ears. He strides with purpose towards Carl, a walk turning into a run. “O-Oh where are we going?” Carl stutters, dropping a device onto the floor, “Out the window!” and before either you nor Carl can protest, you shatter the probably thousand year old stained glass as you jump through.
As you drop towards yet another river, a light equivalent to the sun fills up the entire palace, shattering all the other windows. The only thing you can think to do as you hurl through the air is to scream for Vlad, worried that he was caught in the blast of light, and then you once more drop into water.
As you resurface you can hear the echoing of screams in the aether, your head continuously goes up and down as you struggle to get your bearings and to reorient yourself. Once you come up for good you take gasping breaths. Gabriel floats next to you, panting for breath with a certain ecstatic look upon his face, “Carl, you're a genius!” “Yes, a genius with access to unstable chemicals.”
You watch as a boat with Igor, the Frankenstein Monster, and a few other strange looking creatures depart from the port, Van Helsing furiously swimming towards him, Carl and Anna following after. But you remain still. You can’t help but allow yourself to be consumed by the water for a moment, dropping back beneath the rippling current. The water is cold, all consuming, sending a shiver down your spine. You open your eyes, gazing up to see the moonlight cutting through the water and shining down to where you float. You watch the bones and remains of the vampires sink down to the bottom of the moat, the realisation that Vlad or any of the brides could be amongst them fill you with such an overpowering sense of loss. You clench your eyes shut and with the last little bits of breath in your lungs you scream. The air bubbles out of your mouth, floating upwards, you follow them, still screaming when you break the surface.
The scream gains the attention of Gabriel, Anna, and Carl, who now hold onto a portcullis that had come down from the castle. Your voice gives out, eyes going blurry with tears, choked sobs making their way past your lips. You hear Anna call your name in a worried tone, beginning to make her way over to you. “Stay away,” voice so quiet that no one should have heard it, but Gabriel gives a sharp “Why?” You lift your head up to look at him, trying to blink the rain and tears out of your eyes. You’re about to say something but you see the half-circular red mark that had welted and scabbed over peeking out of his partially unbuttoned shirt. You’d recognize that mark anywhere. Years of pouring over all the books on the supernatural that you could find in the Abbey, hearing stories from Carl about the creation of monsters.
Van Helsing had been bitten by a werewolf.
Sensing your gaze upon the mark he places his hand over it. You continue to stare at him, not saying a word as Anna reaches you to place a comforting hand upon your shoulder. You hear her quietly ask what's wrong, turning to look at her, you see an abundance of understanding and hesitancy in her eyes. Could she know? Know that you felt your allegiances slipping to the other side? It was certain that Van Helsing knew, given by the anger in his eyes.
You open your mouth to say something when the echoing sound of laughter comes through the air. You’d recognize that laugh anywhere. Three light shadows move through the sky, followed by one large dark shadow. You gasp as all 4 come swooping down towards the water, edges of wings slicing across the surface sending sprays arcing into the air. You watch as Carl and Van Helsing duck, Anna following their actions as well, her hand that was still on your arm tries to pull you down with her but before she can Vlad follows behind his brides, swooping down towards the water and plucking you from the surface.
He makes a sharp turn upwards almost grazing the portcullis before flying higher and higher into the sky. He then straightens back out as you hang below him, Vlad holding onto you under your armpits as Aleera slows down to allow him to pass her before she places herself directly in front of you. You turn your head to look at her, noticing the ball of dark fabric within her arms. Watching as she unfurls it to reveal a cloak, placing the hood on top of your head before fastening it in place just below your collarbones. When it’s on you she gives a sharp grin before letting out another laugh and speeding up to resume her spot with Verona and Marishka. The wind whips at your back, causing the cloak to wrap around your front, you feel yourself being pulled up and jostled around until you’re almost in a position that resembles a bridal carry. Vlad uses one hand to pull the cloak all the way around your body, nestling you against him. You pull the hood further over your head before wrapping your arms into the cloak, balling it into your fists to hold onto the fabric, you turn your head until the wind is at the back of it, and at no risk of blowing the hood off.
You shiver from the cold of your wet clothes, from the cold of the rain that is still falling, and from the wind that gets stronger from how fast you’re going through the air, the shivering leads to you being pulled impossibly closer to the creature that carries you, looking up to find sharp eyes already upon you, bat ears swivelling back and forth, listening for any signs of danger or discomfort. You can’t really read his expression, not in this form anyways.
“How is it that I always end up falling from dangerous heights into water?” giving a half-hearted smile to convey that you’re telling a joke, and that you’ll be okay. You’re not given a verbal response, just a deep chuckle and the slight digging of sharp claws into your back, almost like his little way of jokingly warning you to ‘knock it off’. You let out a small giggle, laying your head against him once more, before closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.
~~~
‘The peace that I felt, the sense of homeliness within the presence of Vlad and his Brides. The comfort of having these people who loved and cared for one another begin to love and care for me was something that I cannot describe in its entirety to you.’
There was no telling how long you were into the flight or where exactly you were going when you woke up. Your clothes were dry and the rain had stopped, although the clouds wherever you were out hovered ominously in the air with the promise of more. You let out a yawn, trying your best to stretch out your limbs while not trying to move so much that you felt like you’d fall. You feel a large hand about three times the size of your own smooth itself over the top of your hooded head before a deep rumbling voice lets out a curt remark of “Almost there.”
It’s then that you see a large castle, much bigger than Castle Frankenstein or the one in Budapest. It has a bridge that leads nowhere, broken off not even one-fourth of the way across, surrounded by a deep abysmal ravine and peaks of snowy mountains for as far as the eyes can see, offering no way in, and no way out.
Unless you had wings of course.
The wives drop down around the halfway mark of the crumbled bridge and Vlad follows suit, dropping down effortlessly, transforming mid-descent, all with you still in his arms. He sets you on your feet slowly as the other three come towards you, their steps almost floating, the ethereal echoing filling the air around you once more. Hands come out to pat your hair and your clothes, various questions being thrown about; Are you alright? Are you cold? Do you need anything? You can’t help but fluster under all the attention, feeling your face grow warm. You go to answer their question before you’re caught off guard by a sneeze, which makes you shiver and bundle back into the cloak. They’re immediately sent into a panicked frenzy, going on about you falling ill from all the rain and cold, mumbles about a warm bath are the last thing you hear as they all disappear towards the castle doors, leaving you and Vlad standing there by yourselves.
You turn to look at him, only to find him already staring at you, not that you’re surprised. He has this soft look in his eyes, one that you saw many times throughout your marriage in your previous life, there’s a smile on his face and you could swear that there was colour in his cheeks.
You gaze around at your surroundings and are met with the sight of skeletons impaled on posts lining the bridge, giving Vlad an incredulous look you’re met with a look of sheer innocence. “Well I’ve seen this decor before.” laughing as you speak, “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Vlad instantly responds without pause, wrapping his right arm around your shoulders, walking you towards the castle doors. “Oh really? So you’d have me believe that this is the doing of your brides?” feigning ignorance as you gently hit your forehead, “Oh silly me I had almost forgotten that you were married to Verona the Impaler.” sarcasm drips from your every word as he turns his head to look at you from under his brow.
The walk remains silent for the next few minutes as you make your way inside the castle and begin traversing up the stairs. “Vlad,” met with a small hum, “How did you find this place?” You’re met with silence, watching as various emotions subtly twinge his features. “I didn’t find this place. I was banished here.” He doesn’t elaborate as you come to a set of doors, arm leaving your shoulders to hold it open for you. It opens to an expansive room, with another door in the room that is currently open with gentle wafts of steam billowing out of it. You’re met with the brides, who are finishing up drawing you a bath. You thank them repeatedly, stating that they didn’t need to do that for you, but are quickly silenced as they leave the room, except for Verona.
“I’ll take your dress for you so it may be cleaned. The water has muddied it.” Giving a nod, you take off the cloak and move to drop it next to you before a hand swoops out and grabs it, throwing it over his forearm. Vlad then moves behind you to untie the laces of your dress, loosening it enough for you to drop it down your shoulders, where it is then promptly taken by Verona who leaves the room soon after.
You make your way to the tub, trying to throw a leg over the edge in a very ungraceful manner before a hand is quickly placed on the small of your back, stabilising you as you lower yourself into the water that was at a perfect temperature. You move to take off all your jewellery, realising that you’re still wearing your wedding ring on a chain. Taking off the chain you remove the ring, acutely aware of Vlad’s eyes on you, sliding it onto your finger where it rightly belongs.
“Are we still technically married?” question thrown thoughtlessly, “If I… you know, died.” growing quiet at the acknowledgement of your death, looking down and frowning to yourself. “Oh of course we are, my darling.” A cool hand tilting your chin back up to deliver you a kiss before pulling your head back some more to wet your hair. “Do not think otherwise.”
You sit in a calm silence as he gently washes your hair before you decide to address what was really bothering you. “So, you were banished? By who?” He’s quiet for a few moments, the only sound in the room being the gently scraping of his claws as he swirls your hair around. “My father.” he says, voice nothing but a whisper, “after you and I died, I had a vision. The Devil had come to visit me to offer me eternal life, on the one condition that I would have to feast upon the living. I didn’t want it at first, I knew you were already gone, and the thought of living eternally without you was too much to bear, but the Devil told me that I’d be able to get you back if I agreed, so without thinking I made a pact with him.”
Listening quietly as he rinses your hair and moves onto your body.
“When I awoke, I was in our home, in a pool of my own dried up blood. I saw the wreckage of the room and the rest of the estate and had no other option but to travel back to town. I walked on foot until I reached the Village where I was then met with the frightened looks of all the townspeople. When I arrived at the home of my father he was so disgusted by me and the demon that I had become that he had his men clap me in irons and walk me to a door of which there was no return, banishing me to this castle. I laid weak at the very edge of that bridge for many weeks, hoping that someone would come to let me back through, but when it was obvious that no one was coming, and that I was growing hungrier and weaker, I called upon the Devil once more, and he gave me wings.”
You turn to look at him when the sound of light sizzling reaches your ears. “Oh, Vlad.” Reaching forward, the water of the tub gently sloshing with your movements, you place your hands on both sides of his face, fingers swiping carefully under his eyes to stop the tears before they can cause anymore damage. You pull his face towards you, placing your forehead against his own, closing your eyes and basking in the comfort of his presence. “I’m so sorry.” “You have nothing to be sorry for, my darling.” Leaning forward to kiss him, you move one hand upwards to push the wayward strand of hair out of his face. His own hands come up to cradle your head, smoothing down over the back of your neck. “You would not imagine how torturous of an existence it was without you.” Voice hoarse and deep, his eyes darting back and forth across your face. “I think I could.” Leaning back up to kiss him once more, this one lasting longer than the previous one. You press your lips impossibly closer against his own, letting a soft noise of content escape your throat, that draws a hum from Vlad in return.
“You don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to.” Pulling away and giving him the most sincere look you possibly could. The droplets of water on your back had dried and left you chilled, quickly dunking your body back underneath the surface of the warm water while Vlad reached for a very soft linen, gathering up all your hair and gently patting it dry. “No, no, it’s alright, my darling. After the Devil gave me wings I travelled to feast and rebuild my strength, then I went looking for you. Your body had washed up on a bit of shore quite far down the river, the shore was connected to a small alcove of trees and flowers. I buried you there, along with Agnes, where no one would ever be able to bother you.” He finishes with your hair, moving to grab another linen which he holds out across both arms. You take the initiative and lift yourself up and out of the tub, grabbing onto his shoulder for support as he wraps the soft and plush fabric around you, before helping you out.
When you reenter the grand bedroom you find that a fire has been lit in the fireplace across from the bed, the flames roaring and flickering, filling the space with a comfortable warmth. You also find, to your shock, that your dress is sitting dry on the edge of the bed, cleaned and looking brand new. “Help me with it?” gesturing your hand to the dress, moving towards it as Vlad does the same, continuing with his story as he laces it up for you.
“My existence trudged by slowly and painfully for many years after that. Even though I no longer feel emotion the way I once did, I can still feel hints of it, little tuggings of yearning or sorrow. I needed something to fill the loss, and that’s when I found Verona. She was a princess, if you couldn’t tell, she had regality and poise and she was stubborn in a way that reminded me of you. Then Marishka, who was a dancer in a travelling show, and then Aleera, who lived in the Village with Anna.” You raise your eyebrows, even though he can’t see it. “I didn’t realise that Aleera was that young.” a taunting lilt in your voice, remembering that you were only twenty years old when Vlad married you in 1460.
He pulls a little tighter on the strings, causing you to gasp and whip your head around to give him a look that simply says ‘Seriously?’ You open your mouth to say something when your stomach lets out a sound that rivals that of the fire blazing in the room, a heat filling your face as you slightly pucker your lips out of embarrassment. He laughs at this, tying off your dress. “Come, let’s get you something to eat.”
~~~
You spend the next two days relaxing in the company of the Brides, the more time you spend with them the more you come to love them. Marishka is witty, Aleera is a gossip, and Verona is a scholar, and their varying personalities make for a refreshing change throughout the day. You had, however, indulged all the girls in stories of what Vlad was like when he was still alive, the wistful look in all their eyes making it hard to deny them anything. You didn’t leave out a single detail, telling stories that made the girls cry, giggle, and blush, saying things that Vlad would surely deny if he was ever asked about them.
Vlad had disappeared, to where exactly in the castle, you weren’t sure, but you were fairly certain it had something to do with the Frankenstein Monster and reviving the undead children. Even though the girls could keep you distracted you couldn’t help but have that nagging fear at the back of your mind; Van Helsing was still out there, and he wouldn’t stop until Vlad and the Brides were dead. Gabriel is vindictive and persistent, and you’ve seen what happens to those who test him. You’d expressed these feelings to the Brides, who had immediately began comforting you, the ethereal echoing and cooing bouncing off the stone walls as you were hugged and held while you spilled your every thought to them.
When you’d told them that Gabriel had been bitten by a werewolf, they all grew deadly quiet. The cooing had quickly turned into scared whispers that sent a chill down your spine before Verona quickly jumped up, changed, then flew off, presumably to pass this new information along to Vlad.
“Vlad can control the wolves though, right?” A look passes between Marishka and Aleera, before the latter turns to you, “Only after their first full moon, before that they pose so much trouble.” “We can be killed by stakes, holy water, and other things, but Vlad is the first of us, our master, and he cannot be killed so easily.” chimes in Marishka before also leaving, quickly following after Verona. “There is only one thing in this world that can kill Dracula.” words spoken softly, timidly, Aleera sliding a hand down your arm before she moves to leave. “Can you guess what it is?”
Yes, you could guess. A werewolf.
~~~
‘The final battle was beginning. I could feel myself being split in two, the half that was loyal to Anna, Carl, Van Helsing and the Vatican was fighting the half that was loyal to my husband, Verona, Marishka, and Aleera.
You had spent the rest of the night alone, sleep not finding you as you retired back to the bedroom, only to pace back and forth, nerves and nausea tearing at your stomach. It was later on during the witching hour when the door quietly opened, a dark figure making its way inside. “Vlad!” Crying out his name breathlessly, rushing to him to throw your head into his chest and your arms around his waist. His arms immediately find their way around you, pulling you so tight against him that there is no way to move, a gentle kiss pressed against the top of your head.
He bends his knees, one arm lowering to rest right beneath your butt, hoisting you up effortlessly into his arms before walking over to the bed and laying down with you atop him. Your head lays on his chest, yet the room is absolutely silent. There is no noise beneath your ear, no gentle pulsing of a heartbeat, just hollow silence. The two of you say no words, and truth be told you don’t really think any need be spoken. You both understand what is to come, the battle that is no doubt making its way towards you. Vlad just holds you, a hand atop your head, lithe fingers running through your hair in a soothing manner. You feel yourself drifting to sleep, eyes growing heavy. You can hear him mummering to you in a language long forgotten in your dreary haze, making out a few words here and there.
Another kiss is placed gently upon your forehead as the heavy covers of the bed are pulled up and over you, protecting you from the bitter cold of the castle. And with that, you sleep.
~~~
When you awake it is to the sound of thunder, and the view of lightning and pouring rain. There’s just the tiniest hint of light filtering through the rain, but the ever-prevalent darkness tells you that it’s almost nighttime, meaning that you’ve woken up just before everyone else. You step out of bed, stretching, before making your way over to the door. As you step out you’re met with the sight of the Dwergi roaming through the halls carrying various tools and papers. They don’t speak to you, they don’t even look at you, they just continue bustling down the hall as if you weren’t even there. You go the opposite direction of the Dwergi and make your way down the flight of stairs that leads to the connecting hall of the castle that will lead you to the wing where Vlad and the girls sleep.
It’s then that you can hear the frantic blubbering of Igor from the main entrance. “How did you- how did you find… it’s impossible!” Quickly peeking out from around the corner of the door, you’re met with the sight of Igor hanging from the wall, blubbering some more as the person in front of him throws a hand around his neck.
Van Helsing was here.
You quickly try to think of a way to get around them so you can warn Vlad that they’re here when a loud shriek fills the entire castle, reverberating off the walls so loudly that you have to cover your ears for a split moment. You can faintly hear Igor, “my master has awakened,” and you take that as your moment to quickly sprint across the hall when the attention of everyone is taken by the Frankenstein Monster.
You run up the stairs, following your instinct of where Vlad would be. You know that usually when he awakes he goes to the overseeing of the Dwergi working on bringing the children back to life, so you run as fast as you can to the Laboratory. Making your way up the spiral staircase that leads to the top of the tower you’re hit with the strangest sense of Deja Vu, ignoring the pit in your stomach that tells you the last time you went up a staircase like this you died.
The doors open as you approach them, the Dwergi ever diligent in their appeasement of the masters of this home. You quickly stride across the room, dodging sparks and Dwergi before making your way to Vlad in the middle of the room. “Vlad! Vlad he’s here, Van Helsing is here.” words spoken in a panic, eyes wide open as you gasp for breath. You’re sure he can feel your fear, your heartbeat pounding wildly out of control, the whooshing of blood in your ears making it hard to hear anything else.
His eyebrows furrow before his facial features morph into one of sheer rage, face partially transforming as he lets out an inhuman screech. Not even a split second later, Verona, Marishka, and Aleera appear before you, awaiting word from Vlad. “If Van Helsing has truly been bitten, they will go for the cure, I want you to go and stop them. Stop them and bring the cure to me.” They disappear as fast as they arrive, flying off in a mixture of shrieks and laughs.
“And as for you, my darling.” Turning to look at you before you promptly cut him off. “No, I’m staying right here.” He protests, but you shut those down as well. “No, Vlad. You remember what happened the last time Van Helsing broke into our home and we were both apart from one another.” The question was rhetorical, and it seemed to garner the reaction that you wanted, Vlad seeming to be in deep thought. He slowly nods his head, but points back over to the door. “Fine, but you stay over there. Out of the way, you forget that you are still human, my darling.”
You wait anxiously by the door like Vlad told you, watching as lightning strikes and fills the room with an eerie green glow. Throwing your arms over your head for some form of protection as you hear a shout of “Give me life!” echo through the room. “One more bolt and my young will live!” You watch as Vlad suddenly becomes enraged, flying through one of the glass windows of the room.
Moments later Van Helsing drops through the open tower that leads into the middle of the room, setting a few Dwergi on fire as he bursts through machinery. He stumbles as he stands back up, face twisted in confusion and pain, looking around the room. He spots you by the door, in your dress, covered in jewels with your hair done, looking every bit the part of one of Vlad’s brides. He looks betrayed, and for a moment you feel a sharp pain in your chest, wishing that you could say something to him, but before you could even think of what to say, Vlad drops back down, quietly behind Gabriel, sneaking up on him.
“You are too late, my friend! My children live!” Vlad exclaims, stalking towards Gabriel, “Then the only way to kill them, is to kill you.” Nodding his head with a loose hand gesture, “Correct.” This causes Gabriel to laugh as he moves in front of the window, “Then so be it!” dropping his coat off as the clock strikes midnight. He transforms into a wolf with each toll of the clock as Vlad gives you a quick look before feigning surprise, maniacally laughing.
“We are both part of the same great game, Gabriel! But we need not find ourselves on opposite sides of the board!” Quickly changing himself as he and Gabriel begin fighting one another. You duck down quickly next to a barrel as they traverse the whole room, explosions following their movements.
You watch as Vlad throws a board off of himself, walking towards the middle of the room. “You are being used, Gabriel, as was I, but I escaped, so can you!” Before quickly flying off as Van Helsing jumps for him. You gasp as Vlad is thrown to the ground in a sound of extreme pain, revealing a broken wing. Watching as he jumps up to a platform, before falling, rolling over to his side to reveal that he is covered in blood and scratches. Van Helsing extends his claws before dragging them down a pillar in a threatening manner, jumping up to Vlad.
“Don’t you understand?” Backing away from Van Helsing, there’s a very obvious limp in his gait, causing you to step out from your spot, moving closer to where the two are. “We could be… We could be friends! Partners! Brothers in arms!” trying in vain to get away as Van Helsing catches him by the neck. You scream out his name, moving towards him before an arm is quickly gestured in your way, a sign for you to stay away.
“Did I mention that it was you who murdered me? It must be such a burden, such a curse, to be the left hand of God.” Quickly appearing behind Van Helsing, “All I want is life, Gabriel. The continuation of my kind.” He throws a look towards you before holding up his hand, ring finger suddenly missing, “And perhaps the return of my ring! Don’t be afraid Gabriel, don’t be afraid. I shall give you back your life, your memory.”
You miss the rest of what happens as a vial is placed in your hand. Snapping your head around your met with Verona, her vampiric face covered in scratches and bloody marks. “Give it to him, we must finish holding off the monster and the girl.” Flying back off to wherever she came from, you turn around right as Van Helsing jumps across the room, pinning Vlad to a piece of machinery, catching him off guard.
He struggles to fight him off, Van Helsing's mouth getting closer and closer to Vlads neck. Vlad is using both hands to try and keep the werewolf as far away from him as possible, so giving him the cure is out of the option.
There’s only one thing that you can do.
Running across the room you’re able to make it to the pair right as Vlad’s arms give out from the effort of keeping Van Helsing away. He goes in for the finishing move but before he can your shoe scuffs against the floor, gaining his attention. He turns around, growling, pouncing on you without even a second look. You gasp as you’re hit, vaguely registering Vlad scream as you fly through the air with the wolf, quickly sticking the syringe into his side as you hit against a pillar, landing limply on the ground.
Eyes wide open, but not seeing, slowly clouding over as you breathe your last breath, leaving nothing but a corpse on the floor.
~~~
“No! What have you done!” words screamed throughout the room, Dracula making an ear-piercing shriek as he made his way across to you, pulling you into his arms, gently cradling your head. Cries of pain and shock are heard throughout the room as Gabriel turns back into himself, dropping to his knees before the dead body of his friend.
Dracula is muttering words to you that Gabriel can’t understand as the three brides come bursting in through a window, one of them grabbing him by his shoulders and throwing him out the window onto the bridge that connects to the mirror they came through. On the bridge he is met with the sight of Anna, Carl, and the Frankenstein Monster slumped against the reflective surface. He approaches, shaking the shoulders of Anna and Carl to wake them up. Anna awakens first, groggily, “What is it? What happened?” placing her hand atop of Gabriels, the fog of her mind clearing away as she realises that Gabriel is crying. “What is it, Van Helsing, what has happened? Is Dracula dead?” He shakes his head, mummering your name quietly. “What about her? Is she alright?” He makes eye contact with Carl who is now also awake, watching as the realisation hits Carl, lip quivering “She’s dead.” Carl says with a finality, hanging his head and also crying.
Van Helsing places his hand and quietly murmurs the word that will get the door to open before standing up and limping his way through.
Damn the Vatican, as far as they’ll know, Dracula was defeated.
~~~
“No! What have you done!” words choked out through his injured throat. He lets out a shriek that will summon his Brides to him, running towards you before swooping to his knees, grabbing you, watching as your limbs remain limp, head flopping on a broken neck. He can feel the tears come, feel them burning tracks through his skin but he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s vaguely aware of Verona riding the room of Van Helsing, before all three of his brides drop sadly next to him, all of them holding onto you. Cries echo throughout the room, his pain is their pain, but their pain is also their own, given all the bonding they had done with you over the past few days.
He places one hand upon your chest, right over your heart, and that’s when he feels one faint, barely-there swoosh of blood travelling through the organ.
It’s not too late.
Ducking his head down immediately to latch his teeth onto your neck, draining you of your blood. He holds his arm out, feeling a nail slice down his wrist, not sure who’s but it really doesn’t matter. He holds his hand to your face as he continues to drink your blood, watching his own trickle into your mouth. He pulls away from you, leaning his head towards his shoulder to wipe his mouth off, waiting for the cut on his wrist to heal itself, deeming that enough of his blood had been shared.
You remain eerily still. Not a twitch of the muscles, a blink of the eye, nothing. “Normally there would be a reaction by now.” words murmured to himself, but are met by the supportive whispers and touches of his Brides. “Oh, my Lord.” Verona speaks, running a gentle hand across his face, “It takes some time, you remember how long it was until it took with Marishka. We waited almost all night.” Marishka murmurs her agreement, remembering the words spoken to her when she had awoken to her new life, ‘We thought you weren’t going to make it.’ But she had made it, and surely you would too.
“Let's move her to her room, master.” Aleera standing up and moving towards the door, “She will be more comfortable there.” Vlad can’t help but agree, moving his arm that wasn’t cradling your head under your knees and scooping you up, making his way towards the door. He walks quietly through the halls, dropping you gently on the bed before making his way to the bathroom to retrieve a damp linen to wipe the blood off with. When he arrives back in the main suite he notices that his Brides have already removed all your jewels and undressed you, finding a soft shirt that Vlad briefly recognizes as one of his own to take the place of the dress you were wearing.
He quietly wipes down your shoulder where he bit you, small flakes of dry and crusted blood coming off with ease. He then tosses the linen off to the side and takes a gentle seat next to you on the bed so as to not jostle you around.
Vlad is a patient man, and vows to sit and wait for as long as you may need.
~~~
You wake up in the room that belongs to you and Vlad. Sunlight shining in through the large windows, filling the room with tiny fragments of rainbows. You turn your head to the side and gaze upon your husband sleeping peacefully beside you, not being able to help the soft smile that overtakes your face. Leaning back down to place a flurry of kisses along the warm skin of his face, giggling quietly to yourself.
The quiet romanian muttering as he stretches all his limbs at once alert you to the fact that you have succeeded in waking him up, watching as he cracks one eye open for only a split second before it closes again. “It is far too early, my darling.” His arm comes to pull you back down towards the plush surface of the bed, wrapping you up snug against himself. “Too early? Vlad, it's daytime.” “Still far too early for my taste, and besides, you should be getting all the rest you can.” A finger poking gently at your stomach. “It will be good for you both.”
You don’t argue, cuddling up to him and placing your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Wait, Vlad doesn’t have a heartbeat.
You snap open your eyes, the room is no longer sunny, it’s stormy and reeks of death. You’re covered head to toe in blood and Vlad’s dead body is laying in the centre of the room, hand clutching his chest, a pool of blood surrounding him.
You spin around, breathing, panicking, turning towards the doorway when a hand of claws snatches you up by the neck; Gabriel. He walks you to the window before throwing you out, you fall, plummeting towards your doom, when all of a sudden you stop.
You stop mid-air, something catching you. Turning your gaze upwards assuming you’d find something holding yourself, something that was preventing you from falling, only to find nothing but clear sky. You hear the gentle whooshing of wings, grey clipping through your line of sight out of your peripheral vision. Frantically looking around, slightly panicked you realise that the wings are yours. Looking down at the rest of you only to be faced with the sight of ashy grey skin, hands lifting up revealing lithe fingers with monstrous claws.
You don’t panic, no, instead you revel in it. Smiling to yourself as you launch yourself into the sky, wings working furiously to move you higher and higher, and you bask in the feeling of freedom that it brings you. You move up towards the clouds, white filling your vision.
And then you wake up.
~~~
You open your eyes, overwhelmed by everything you see.
It’s as if the whole world has changed, everything is so much more clear than it used to be. You can see everything; the intercrossing of the fabric of the sheets that lay overtop of you, the various colours of the flickering flames in the fireplace across the room, the detail of each individual snowflake that falls in front of the window. Turning your vision to the left, finding Vlad sitting on the edge of the bed facing the wall.
Moving a hand from where it lays across your chest to place it gently on his arm. He jumps in surprise as you snap him out of whatever melancholic reverie that he was in, head snapping around to gaze at you in pure disbelief and relief. He scoops you up into a sitting position as he pulls your torso against his own in what should have been, quite literally, a bone crushing hug. “I thought it hadn’t worked.” words muffled from where his head lays pressed against the crook of your neck. “You were so still for so long, I… Never, never leave me again, I couldn’t bear it.”
Pulling your head back slightly, Vlad doing the same, the two of you hold eye contact for a moment, opening your mouth to say something you instantly grimace, closing it back and reaching a hand up to grasp your throat, a searing pain now making itself known, a pain that you recognize as thirst. “Are you hungry?” Nodding your head to him at the same time the door to the room bursts open, Verona, Marishka, and Aleera pouring into the room in a symphony of ethereal echoings and giggles. Aleera is carrying a cup of a viscous red fluid which she then hands over to you. “Perfectly aged, to tide you over until we can get to the village.”
Taking the contents of the cup with greedy gulps, you find that it doesn’t taste as metallic as you would’ve thought, in fact it’s not metallic at all, it’s actually rather sweet. It helps the pain in your throat enough that you can pretend it’s not there, at least until you get some more. The other four people in the room watching your reaction, and as you tilt the cup all the way to the ceiling to try and get the last dregs from it there’s a deep chuckle from Vlad.
“Don’t worry, my darling, we’ll leave for the village and then you may sate your thirst.”
The girls grab you, pulling you up from the bed, once the sheet drops you realise that you’re back in your dress, fully looking the part of your new life. There’s giggling and excitement filling the air, and you can help but practically vibrate in place from the joy that’s coursing through your veins. Once you’re up you all prance out the door and into the hallway.
Vlad watches on in contentment at the billowing of green, yellow, pink, and blue fabrics through the hallway, the four of you radiating sheer joy and happiness.
You’re not exactly sure where you’re going, but you follow the girls willingly. They lead you to a large room with dramatic arches on the ceiling, and large, sheer drapes hanging down from various spots. There’s a thick stone coffin with no top lying in the dead centre of the room surrounded by tall candelabras and you assume that it’s Vlad’s, which leads you to wonder where the girls sleep. Across the room there’s a carved out arch that leads to nothing but a solid wall, and you wonder what it’s even there for. When Vlad finally does catch up to you he throws his arms out wide, welcoming all four of you to him. When you’re all together you begin to slide across the floor towards the wall, the second you come into contact with it, you seem to almost melt through it, coming out the other side to a room that you remember being in Castle Frankenstein.
It’s a portal.
There’s an open skylight in the room that it leads out into, and when the girls begin to transform you know that’s your exit to the village. They fly up, leaving you and Vlad alone in the room, but hovering over the Castle, flying around in circles until you’re ready to join them.
You stand awkwardly for a moment, turning to look at Vlad. “Um, how do I, you know,” arm coming up to gesture loosely towards the sky. “There’s really no way to explain it, you don’t think, my darling, you just do it.” Transforming himself, lapels melding into wings before he too, takes flight.
“Oh yes because that advice is so helpful.” mumbling under your breath even though you know that he can hear you still, nevertheless you try to take his advice, willing yourself to fly, closing your eyes tight and balling up your fists to focus. When you hear cackles of laughter close by you open your eyes back up, realising that you’ve lifted through the skylight and are in-fact flying. Your skin grey to match the wives, equipped with claws and teeth of your own.
You fly in a few test circles before giving a reassuring nod to them all. Then, you all take off towards the village. As you fly, you notice three horses racing through the mountains out of the corner of your eye, your newfound heightened senses allowing you to see miles ahead of where you used to be able to before.
Upon one of the horses, is someone in a shaggy brown cloak; Carl. On the second, someone with a head full of curls, bouncing behind them with the movement of the horse; Anna. And on the last, someone who wears a leather coat and a hat, someone who with all his training surely recognises the feeling of the eyes that lay upon him as his head turns to look back, someone who notices that there is one more bat in the air than there used to be, someone who ignores this fact as he turns back around and continues on his way.
SW : No usage of "Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Mentions of witchcraft, verbal abuse, murder, canon-typical violence and story-line, pregnancy, death, etc.
If there are any more warnings to be added let me know!
This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.
“Born: 1422… Murdered: 1462.”
‘I was born into a noble family, my father was the duke of Hungary.’
Slipping into the more tame selection of your clothing, muting the sound of ruffling cloth as much as possible to not wake you lady-in-waiting, Agnes, who had fallen asleep whilst handling your linens. Once dressed, you throw a shawl over your head in any attempt to hide your identity. You’d been hated by the townspeople ever since you and your father had travelled here for business, the small-minded people of Transylvania already despised the idea of foreigners, but the idea of you and the rumor of the practice you brought along? Most claimed you to be a witch. But alas, even their hatred couldn’t extinguish your spirit.
Sneaking out had never been easier.
You’d always been an adventurous person, something your father always chastised you for. He believed ladies should sit still, sit quietly, and sit pretty. He had an image to uphold, and he couldn’t have his only child galavanting around town, acting improper. He used to let you do as you please, but when the plague took your mother he became cold, harsh.
Feeling the cold air hit your skin as you shimmy out the window and down the trellis until your shoes hit the ground with a small thud, making a small promise to yourself to be back before dawn. The entire grounds of the house were fenced in, with guards stationed at the main gate. You couldn’t exit out that way as they would stop you the second they saw you. But unbeknownst to them, you’d discovered a break in a part of the fence. Shimmying out the back, you begin the trek down the hill the house sits on to the village.
~~~
‘It had been cold when I met him, when he saved me. If he hadn’t shown when he did, I fear I would have been no longer. ‘
“You can run but you can’t hide, witch!” You were growing tired, legs and feet burning with effort. When turning a corner in the marketplace you’d run into someone, knocking the shawl off your head, revealing your identity. You’d garnered the attention of a group of particularly cruel drunkards, who began to hurl obscenities towards you. And before you could even blink, they began chasing you. You tried to throw them off, hoping all your time exploring would have given you enough of a terrain advantage. But the feeling of someone grabbing the back of your shawl and pulling you to the ground steals all your hope of getting away.
Pain absorbs your back as you land hard and fast on the cold ground. The early morning dew seeps through your dress as the cold air fogs your breath as it leaves your lungs from the impact, the main perpetrator kneeling on your neck, cutting off your air supply. One of the other men wrapping your feet and hands with rope. Your ears rang as your head snapped back against a rock, vision going foggy. You couldn’t hear what the men were saying to you, only that they were taunting you. You were able to make out the blur of a mass of light coming towards you, and it was only when the heat brushed against your face could you tell it was fire.
You tried to fight back, to struggle. But with the mans’ knee against your throat, the lack of oxygen was making you weak. As the black spots were so close to entirely filling your vision, the man suddenly lets off of you, and the heat of the fire goes away. You cough, rolling over onto your elbows and knees as you try to regain your breath. You can hear the men pleading to a deep voice for mercy, and then your vision returns in time to watch as they run away.
“Are you alright?”
‘I didn’t even know his name, he wouldn’t give it to me. All I knew was that I was utterly captivated by him.’
The deep accented voice held your attention entirely, as the man attached to that voice crouched down next to you, a gentle hand placed on your back. “Madam? Are you alright?” Gasping out, feeling like your vocal chords are completely crushed, only able to choke out a small “yes.” The hand on the small of your back stays while one reaches to your left forearm, grabbing it to help you up. And when you stumble backwards, the firm body of the stranger is there to catch you.
When you’ve regained your breath, and were able to stand on your own, you stepped away from the stranger. “Who are you?” gazing at the man before you and trying to map his features by only what you could see in the barely-there moonlight. You’ve decided by what little of him you could see, that he was still undoubtedly handsome. Slightly taller than you, possibly 6-foot, dark hair, and shockingly blue eyes.
“Who I am is of no importance at the moment,” the deep voice jolting you out of your stupor, “But it is important to know why a group of beţivii (drunks) were attacking a young woman in the forest?” At the mention of your attack you feel the pain seep into your neck, adrenaline finally beginning to wear off. Letting out a cough as your hand comes to gently cup the base of your neck. “Well, Romanians tend to be quite wary of foreigners, and you’ve just bore witness to the fact that they don’t particularly like me.” your tone clipped, pulling a deep chuckle from the man.
You feel blush overtake your visage as you realize how rude that sounded, embarrassment filling you at your rudeness to the man who saved you. “I’m sorry, I’m usually not this rude I swear, I’m still just a little frightened. Thank you, by the way, for coming to my aid. I’ll ask my father to make sure you’re rewarded for your valiant efforts.” The stranger ignores your apology and thanks, “Your father?” his head tilted to the side, pieces of hair falling across his face, “Yes my father, He’s the Duke of Hungary, we’re here on diplomatic business.” “Hmm, for what?” You falter and cover your mouth, giving the man an apologetic look. You’re relieved when he seems to pick up on what you’re implying, even though he gives you a dark, brief, look of knowing, “I understand, trade secrets.” He says with a slight smile, holding out his arm. “Here, it’s almost dawn, let me accompany you back to wherever you’re staying.”
And with a small smile, you take his arm.
‘I didn’t anticipate what would happen when I took his arm. That my world was about to turn, that taking his arm on that cold, damp, morning, signed my death.’
It was a lovely walk back, filled with small talk and pleasantries. When you approached the doors to the Governor’s house, you could hear the commotion before you saw it. When the stranger accompanying you opened the door, his right elbow still linked with your left, all the commotion suddenly came to a screeching halt. Several pairs of eyes turned to you, including those of Agnes, then the faces attached to all those eyes paled when they saw the man whose arm you still held. When your father called you towards him, a dark look in his eye, you felt the pit of your stomach drop. “Step away from him. “ Your father beckoned, he hadn’t looked this grim since the doctor in Hungary told him of your mothers fate.
Swallowing in nervousness you look up to the man accompanying you only to find him already looking down at you, a rather downcast look in his eyes. Your father calls again, walking towards you. “Step away. Now.” You stare long and hard at the man by your side until he gently nudges you towards the others in the room. You failed to notice until you looked up that most of the guards in the room had their weapons aimed towards him. Stepping away from him you’re immediately met by your lady in waiting coming and sweeping you up the stairs. “Lock her in her room Agnes, until I call for her.” You throw one last glance towards the man to find him still staring at you. Turning the hall, Agnes gently pushes you into your room, and before she shuts the door behind you, the angry conversation from the foyer floods into the room. “What were you doing with my daughter, Impaler.”
‘I suppose it wasn’t a bad situation, after all I was quite taken with him, even if I didn’t know who he was at first. I didn’t fear him, even though everyone else did.’
It was what felt like hours before you heard a key being inserted in the lock of the door. Bounding up from the bed to be greeted by the sight of two guards when the door swung open. You weren’t able to utter a single word when you were grabbed by both arms and dragged away from your room, well actually the room belonged to your Stranger, in your time locked in you had discovered from Agnes that Vlad was the Military Governor of Romania, and that you and all the diplomats were currently residing in his house.
Ironic how things work out.
When you asked where you were being taken you were met with utter silence, the guards only tightening their grip after you tried to pull away. Only feeling ease when the door to what you recognize to be the master study of the house was yanked open and you were promptly thrown in.
Glancing up at the long table to see other diplomats lining the perimeter, your father and who you've come to know as Vlad the Impaler, gracing the far end of the table. “What’s going on?” questioned towards your father even though your eyes are locked with Vlads. Your father says nothing to you as he quietly sends off the others in the room, leaving only the three of you. You only move when he quirks a finger in a come-hither gesture, your eyes glued to your socked feet as you cross your hands in front of your legs. “You understand the reason for my business here,” your father says, “to create a treaty with him” word spoken with venom, “to prevent him from causing any more destruction and massacre off to the West” Saying nothing, only giving a slight nod, still looking down. “Well everything was lined up perfectly, but now, the Voivode (governor) has added a new term to the treaty. Your hand in marriage.”
Feeling your eyes bulge out of their sockets as your head flies up, immediately shouting out “What?” the glare your father sticks on you prevents you from saying anymore. “You heard me girl.” grabbing your arm as he drags you to the farthest corner of the room. “And as much as I hate to do this, you will marry him. You’re reaching your twentieth year and still haven’t married, and I will not jeopardize the well-state of Hungary just because you decide to be stupid and prance around in the town unsupervised.” Your jaw dropping in shock, eyes welling with tears. This man before you was not your father, in all fairness he hadn’t been much of a father after your mother died but his words still hurt nonetheless.
“Your grace, I would like a moment alone with your daughter.” your father turns red-faced, the beginnings of a protest forming in his mind, “It wasn’t a suggestion.” One elegant finger pointing towards the door, “Leave. Now.” huffing, your father pushes past you and storms towards the door, the loud sound of it banging closed behind you causes you to jump, a small cry of fear leaving your lips.
Now it was just you and him. With your head still down you didn’t notice his approach until perfectly polished shoes fell just within your line of sight. Your name being gently called as a rough hand softly finds itself upon the back of your elbow. “I hope you’ve learned by now that I mean you no harm.” His right hand coming to your chin and tipping your head up, Blue eyes coming into contact with yours once again. “I hope you know I do not wish to cause you distress with my proposal.” You nod profusely, muttering out a soft repeating of “I know.” The same hand on your chin moves up to wipe the tears you didn’t know had fallen. For a man who had killed thousands with those same hands, when he was near it was nothing but gentle touches. “Our marriage doesn’t have to be immediate, I’m not immune to the benefits of a little light courtship, however I am reaching an age no bachelor ever should.” Words spoken with a joking lilt, Vlad briefly hunching over. You can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his horrible interpretation of an old person.
The two of you are launched into a comfortable silence, and you realize that with all that you’ve learned about this man in the past however many hours didn’t scare you as much as it probably should’ve. And with this newfound bravery and lack of fear, you confidently reach and grab the hand that’s resting on your cheek and with as much courage as you could muster, and you accept his proposal.
‘Being with him wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. He was nothing but kind to me, nothing but gentle touches and words all throughout our marriage.’
With the treaty being settled and your newfound courtship with a certain military general, everyone left back to their home territories, including your father. Him practically trading you off to sell his own skin didn’t hurt as much as it used too. He left quickly and with promise that most of your possessions still in Hungary would be sent down to Romania. You kept Agnes with you, after all she’d been one of your closest confidants since your mother had died. When the spring of 1460 came along, it brought your twentieth birthday and marriage ceremony with it.
It was a truly gorgeous ceremony. While not filled with pomp and circumstance, it was graceful, elegant. Your pursuer wasn’t exactly poorer, and you were able to have the most gorgeous gown you’d thought you’d ever seen. You had Agnes of all people walk you down the aisle, seeing as your father hadn’t thought to show even though invitations had been sent weeks in advance. You had been introduced to an estranged number of people at your wedding. Your husbands’ father, Valerious, who served a group of Holy Knights. He proved to be a rather cynical man, yet seemed to be nice once you’d gotten to know him.
You couldn’t help but notice, however, a man who always hovered near the back. He was tall, dark hair, covered in black clothing, however you could never make out his face. You knew he was watching you, even when separated from Vlad you could feel the glare of someone constantly burning into the back of your neck. Everytime you garnered your husband's attention to question him about the man, he seemed to have disappeared, swallowed by the shadows he hid in.
Marriage to one of the most dangerous men on this side of the Balkans wasn’t bad. He always treated you with a gentle hand, was never harsh, never cruel, and he never-ever raised his voice. When questioned on his docile behavior his reasoning behind it being that you were his wife, and you should never need to fear him.
When you came to find out that he didn’t live in the palace-like house you were staying in when you first arrived in Romania you were slightly shocked. No, instead he lived in a citadel, a castle near the Arges River; Poenari. And what a beautiful place it was. You much preferred the secludism of this house than the one in the town. The view of the mountains and the fresh air they produced was always a reprieve. Your room was in the highest level of one of the castle spires, with a large window parallel to your bed, so you always woke to the stunning view of the sunrise.
You were however surprisingly lonely most of the time. As it would turn out, being someone of extreme military prowess took a lot of your husband's time away from you. If it weren’t for Agnes and the few estranged workers who milled around the estate you fear you’d have gone mad. When he wasn’t busy trying to take over most of Europe, he was a very caring man. Giving you luxurious gifts, taking you on trips. His love took you into the deepest throes of passion, both physically and metaphorically.
You truly couldn’t ask for a better husband.
‘It was raining that night, not quite cold enough for it to snow. I can’t remember that much, I just remember how scared I was.’
The rain crashed against your window, thunder and lightning taking the sky ever-so-often, Vlad wasn’t in bed even though it was quite late. He was having a very crucial meeting, about what you didn’t know, he’d only come to your room to tell you not to wait on him, to go on and sleep, and to bestow a small kiss to you and your rotund stomach.
After almost two years of marriage, the summer of 1462 blessed you with news of a child. With Poenari being so far from any doctors, your dear Agnes stepped in as a midwife of sorts, making sure you were healthy; sleeping and eating well. She said that springtime would be when your child would finally make their appearance into the world, and you were eaten alive with both anticipation and excitement.
But with your pregnancy came all sorts of changes. For example, it might have been the dead of winter, but you felt as if you were burning alive. Dressed in nothing but one of your husband's shirts and your undergarments you couldn’t find it in yourself to combat the heat. Grabbing the side of the mattress and your bedside-table, you heave yourself off the bed, reaching for your thin silk robe.
You failed to notice the dark figure in the corner of your room.
Shuffling over to the other side of the room you go to feel around the box of matches off one of the bookshelves, to relight the lamp on your side-table. Once you find what you’re looking for, you turn on your heel right as lightning strikes and lights up the room. It was for only a moment, but that split-second of light was all you needed to see the man standing in the corner of the room closest to your door. You almost think it’s your husband playing a trick on you, but the rational part of your brain understands that Vlad would never do that to you, especially in your current condition. With the man so close to the door you surely can’t run, so you do the only other thing you could think of.
Scream and hope your husband or a guard hears you in time.
You didn’t even register how loud your scream was, your body going into fight or flight mode the second the man lunges forwards. You bolt as quickly as you could to your Husbands’ side of the bed to grab a dagger he keeps next to him off his side-table. You turn to stab your assailant as he reaches to grab you. He clutches your wrist faster than you could keep up with, pushing it back and trying to twist your own wrist towards you. Crying out as it reaches an angle it shouldn’t, you propel your knee forward into his groin which gives you enough time to run around the other side of the bed and towards the door, reveling in his groan of pain.
As you work your way past the bed you feel the air around the back of your head shift and the next sound you hear is that of your window breaking. Ignoring the glass that flies all over the room, you crank open your bedroom door, screaming at the top of your lungs for help as you try to begin to make your way down the spiral staircase. It’s only when you hear voices shouting from below do you feel a hand wrap its way around the back of your neck, yanking you back up the stairs. You’re dragged through your room and brought to where your window once was, glass shards digging into your feet. Lightning strikes once more as you’re flipped around, back leaning out into the rainy abyss, and you’re able to get a better glimpse of your attacker.
It’s the man from your wedding.
Right as you reach this epiphany the door to your room slams open, your husband entering. He calls your name, hand lifting in the air and weakly falling back. “Don’t do this Gabriel,” he pleads, “Please let go of my wife.” The mystery man, Gabriel, pushes you further, your back bending at an awkward angle out and into the chilling rain. “I’m sorry,” your assailant murmurs, “But you broke the oath.”
And with that, he pushes you out the window.
You can’t tell if that sound is you screaming or if it’s the wind rushing past your head. Your hair whips around your face as rain projectiles onto you like tiny bullets. The last thing you see is your Husband leaning out the window, gazing at you in defeated sorrow, and a gloved hand coming around, plunging a dagger into his chest.
You’re not quite sure how you die. Whether your body slammed onto the hard ground hundreds of feet below your bedroom, or if you land in the Arges. All you remember is that brief bit of searing pain,
