#antegra

Thursday, 21 September 2000

“A visitor for you, Sir Hellsing.”

Integra glanced up as a distant cathedral bell marked the five o’ clock hour; it was a solemn sound that did little to break the endless, muted hush of life beyond the bulletproof plexiglass of her cell window. Her fork, poised above her evening meal, lingered only a moment before dipping into the stewed potatoes currently oozing across the left side of her plate.

“Very well,” she replied, taking a bite of the admittedly bland food as she waited for the cell door to open. Sir Irons had undoubtedly pulled some strings in order to afford her a room with a view, as well as the small creature comforts she’d been afforded during her stay as a prisoner of the Crown. She did not even have to wear restraints, so long as she behaved herself. And—in return for these oh-so-small kindnesses— she had behaved herself, for eleven long months.

However, her patience was quickly drawing to an end with this string of weekly visits from dear old Italia. Now that they were in possession of a royal stamp of approval for “peaceful questioning”, Bishop Maxwell and his cronies had taken full advantage of the fact that she was sequestered to a single room with no means of escape. Unfortunately for her, they didn’t seem to believe that she had no information regarding the Tower incident beyond what little Walter had gleaned from the aftermath.

Week after week, agents of Iscariot made regular visits to her cell; these visits ranged from borderline cordial to downright embarrassing. Repeating her answers had quickly grown both tedious and tiresome, so she instead took to seeing how quickly she could make them retreat. Often she was able to undo them with a single harsh glare, the sort she usually reserved for Alucard alone. Within two months she had managed to deplete their ranks, leaving Maxwell with no choice but to call in the reserve guard: Paladin Anderson.

Very quickly, Integra had surmised that the monstrous Regenerator was not one to flee with his tail between his legs. The man seemed unflappable, taking both stony silences and scathing insults in their stride. He even managed to amuse her, when he was feeling gregarious enough to match wits. Although it was entirely possible that the lack of society had left her touched in the head, at times she almost found herself enjoying his company… almost. Then again, perhaps it was a Pavlovian response, as through quid pro quo measures she’d bullied him into bringing something that Sir Irons’ concessions had neglected to provide: the paper. 

“Hellsing.” The Thursday edition of the Times landed beside her water glass.

“Anderson.” She watched as he took his usual seat across the table, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight grimace at the sight of her meal. She could see the thoughts running through his mind as easily as if they’d been written on his forehead: Bloody Protestants can’t even get a meal right. To his credit, the food was undeniably atrocious: the steak was an overcooked peace of dry meat, the stewed potatoes were nearly soup, and the carrots suffered from a lack of salt… or any spice, for that matter.

“So.” She speared a carrot, her free hand flipping the Times over to find the daily quiz. “Anything new to add? Or shall we begin with the usual questions?”

“Neither, for once.” His thick accent pulled at the words, adding a rougher edge to what was an otherwise polite sentence.

“Neither? I’m surprised. After all, if you’ve taken the time for an unsolicited visit—?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He shifted comfortably in the flimsy chair, fingers laced together on his crossed knees. “I just thought I’d drop by to share the good news: I leave England at the end o’ the week.”

“Good news indeed.” She turned the Times back to the front column, scanning it without really seeing the words. In her current situation, each paper was a jewel waiting to be admired in its own time; she had no intentions of ruining the experience by reading everything at once, especially if this was to be the last. “I take it my answers have finally had time to sink into Maxwell’s thick skull?”

“Hmph. Not exactly.” He smiled, catching her curious glance. “He still believes you to be hiding something, but there’s more pressing matters to attend to right now, and not nearly enough Iscariots to go around. It’s unfortunate,” he sighed, “but the job does come with a shortened lifespan.” The thought was enough to tear her eyes from her paper.

“Dead?” In her mind, she held the memory of every Iscariot face she’d seen during the past few months. Their shapes and features were different, but behind the dark lenses of their spectacles their eyes held the same sense of grim determination. Were some of those people gone now? Their soul’s flame snuffed out in its prime?

Such things happened all the time, of course. In any case, this was the enemy. Whether one or one hundred, the thought of dead Iscariots should not have bothered her in the slightest. Why, then, did she feel a sense of regret? Was it because she had seen them, heard their voices? Like Anderson, they had all made their disdain for her clear from the first. But if they had not spoken to her with kindness, some of them had at least attempted to treat her with barest civility.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The only thing more surprising than the words was the honesty that accompanied them. If Alucard had been here, he would have probably dismissed her emotion as human weakness. Anderson didn’t seem to hold the same view; he nodded, accepting her sentiment without comment. Sensing an opening, she added, “You said Maxwell still believes I’m hiding something. You don’t?”

“Aye. You’re not lying. I can tell.”

“It’s certainly news to me.” He arched his brows, the expression twisting the scar on his cheek.

“That you’re not lying?”

“That you can tell.” She put the fork down, crossing her legs beneath the table as she sat back to regard him. “How, exactly, do you take such measure? After all, a dedicated liar could easily repeat the same story time and time again.”

“True. But everyone has their own tells. Watch someone enough, and you’ll learn them.”

“Is that so?” she scoffed. “Well, then. You’ve managed to pique my curiosity. What are mine?”

“I’m in no mood to give away my secrets.” He chuckled. “No, lass: you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”

“Lass?” A smirk tilted one corner of her mouth. “Is that where we’re at? Terms of endearment? You must admit, it’s a far cry from an English sow.”

“Maxwell called you that, not me.” Anderson shifted in his seat, head tilting thoughtfully. “Don’t mistake me. I don’t like you any more than I like your thrice-damned vampires. If I had the chance, I’d raze your Organization to the ground and scatters the ashes to the four winds. That being said,” he admitted, “that’s not to say that I don’t respect you. It’s not easy, accomplishing what you have at your age.”

“At my age?” she parroted, pushing her plate to the side with a snide laugh. “As compared to— who, exactly? You’re not exactly ancient yourself.” This earned her a sidelong glance.

“Just how old do you think I am, Hellsing?” Anderson removed his spectacles, rubbing the bridge of his nose before leveling her with a solemn gaze. She searched his features for the telltale signs of aging, finding nothing that suggested he had passed beyond his forties—if that. The stubble on his jaws made him looked ragged, unkempt even, and the gash on his cheek didn’t help matters. But aside from a few faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, he looked as hale and hearty as any other man approaching middle-age. She shook her head after a moment, tossing out what she thought might be a close approximation.

“Forty-four.” He grimaced, brows gathering over his nose. “Too old?”

“Too young.” He slid the spectacles back up his nose. “Believe it or no: I’ll turn ninety-three years old April next.”

What?! Integra barely managed to stop her jaw from dropping. That’s… that’s impossible, he couldn’t have—

“It’s because I’m a Regenerator,” he explained, seeing the incredulity written in her expression. “The nature of the process slows ageing. Physically, I look as though I’ve only aged five or six years since joining the Vatican Special Forces. In reality, it’s been nearly sixty.”

“If that’s true… if you’re ninety-three years old….” Integra frowned, doing the math in her head. “You were born in 1907?”

“I suppose you might say I’ve seen more than my fair share o’ life.” He sighed.

“Two world wars, if nothing else.”

“Aye. Fought in one o’ them,” he mentioned offhandedly. “In a roundabout way, it’s what landed me here in the first place.” She knew better than to pry any deeper, despite wanting to know more. Anderson was the Vatican’s best kept secret; nearly everything about him was a mystery. Even Walter, with the help of the government’s finest informants, weren’t able to ascertain the man’s age. Now, she’d just been handed it on a silver platter. What else might she learn, if she only had the time and patience to draw it out?

“Is that where the scar comes from?” she asked, tapping her cheek for emphasis. “Going toe-to-toe with a German soldier?”

“No. That….” His fingers brushed absently along the edge of the raised skin. “That was the mistake of a much younger man. A fool. In any case,” he said quickly, “I’ve been hunting heathens and heretics longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve seen more faces come and go than I care to admit—raised over half o’ them myself.”

“And what sort of life is that, Paladin Anderson?” she countered easily. “Would you deem it a worthy existence? Living outside of time sounds rather lonesome.”

“It can be. But I’ve had ample time to prepare for it. The world passeth away, and the lust thereof—”

“—but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever,” Integra finished for him. “John 2:17.”

“Amen.” He crossed his arms. “But it’s only to be expected. The Devil quotes his Scripture as glibly as any mortal man.”

“Do you consider me the Devil now? I suppose I should be flattered.” Anderson made to reply, stopping himself at the last moment with a scowl.

“Your pet vampire is better deserving of the name. Even so, he’s not half as fearsome as the agent of darkness. He’s a man, naught more, and I aim to prove as much when I drive my blade through his black heart.” He paused, eyes lighting as if something had just occurred to him. “I’ve lived nigh on a century now, and even that is only one sixth of his unholy existence.”

“You’d do well to pity him for it,” Integra pointed out. “He abhors pity of any sort, so that would rankle him enough to make the next battle more interesting.”

“Hmph. I’d hope so. I enjoy a good hunt.” Anderson stood, cracking his neck before glancing down with a sort of cautious optimism. “This is goodbye, then. I don’t plan on meeting you again in this life, Hellsing, unless it’s on orders to end it. We’ll have all eternity to battle it out in Hell.”

“The feeling is mutual, I grant you.” She stood as well, offering her hand across the table. “Farewell, Paladin Anderson. If you wash up on English soil again, I’ll be sure you never make it back to sea.”

“Aye. I’ll show the same courtesy, should you find yourself on Catholic grounds.” He took her hand, his large fingers enveloping hers easily. She could sense power in the touch, the knowledge that he could easily grind her bones to dust if he so chose. He shook it once, professionally. “God keep you, Hellsing, even if you are a damned soul.”

“Give Maxwell my best,” she replied blithely, smirking as he left the room. Her last view of him was through the narrow threshold; he turned back, green eyes scanning over the room as though committing it to memory. Then the door closed without another word, leaving her alone with her cold food.

Integra sighed as she scooped up another forkful of congealed potatoes, resigned to the loss of her newspaper. Everything said, Anderson was not the worst conversational partner—if there was none other to be had. A thought occurred to her, amusing enough that it quirked the corner of her mouth in an involuntary smile. 

In another life, we might have been allies.

“It’s impossible.” Anderson took a voracious bite of his sandwich, breath steaming in the cool night air. Years of practice had helped him to perfect the art of blending in with a crowd; even with his stature and the outward signs of his profession, no one seemed to notice him as he leaned against a large wall skirting the edge of a park. “There’s no way—” He paused long enough to swallow, cradling the phone against his ear with one shoulder. “No way a siren could be in Białystok. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You think you’re the first to say that?” Maxwell sounded far away. Anderson could imagine him leaning back in his chair, twirling the phone’s cord in his fingers as he spoke. “I didn’t believe the reports at first, either. There weren’t enough pieces left of the bodies to get a clear reading, so it wasn’t immediately clear what was tearing the victims apart. However….”  

“Go on.” Static erupted along the line as Maxwell shuffled through the paperwork.

“Two days ago, a group of agents from Section XII stumbled across the Siren. Due to its nature, they mistook it for a wayward member of the terrorist organization they’ve been tracking. Luckily, one of their bullets managed to pierce the creature’s heart before anyone was harmed. Of course, once they had dispatched of it—”

“—its true form became visible.” Anderson nodded. “I’m sure the Simons were thrilled.” Maxwell made an exasperated sound in his throat.

“In any case,” he continued pointedly, “once they realized they were beyond their jurisdiction, they immediately turned full custody of the body over to Section XIII. An hour ago we received video evidence of the preliminary autopsy from Sister Górczyńska at the Archdiocese. There’s no denying it. It’s a Siren.”

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Anderson took another bite, chewing thoughtfully as he spoke. “Sirens need a warm climate to breed in. They rarely travel north, and certainly not across land. Not unless they were being driven by something.”

“We’re looking into it now. The Archdiocese has mentioned that a string of similar crimes have been breaking out in unprecedented numbers across the countryside. Too much to be the work of any one Siren. To make matters worse, in the same areas there have been countless reports of missing persons. All women.”

“Sirens don’t take hostages, and they can’t increase their ranks in that way. Do you think something’s traveling alongside them?”

“I think it’s worth keeping an eye on. These creatures may be compelled by something else, or they may be working on their own. There’s always the possibility that they’ve evolved past what we know.”

“Aye.” Anderson crumpled the sandwich paper in his hands. Looking around for a bin and finding none, he shoved the paper deep into his coat pocket. “What would you have me do? Join them in Białystok?”

“No. Stay where you are.” He felt his heart sink, a grim smile on his face as he consigned himself to more weeks of bleak autumn. “Judging by the information we’re gathering, these creatures—if they are indeed all Sirens—are headed north. I want you on standby in case we start to hear of attacks on Vatican controlled soil. I don’t want another Badrick on our hands.”

Friday, 29 September 2000

“And then I said, “That makes two of us!” which—in all fairness—I don’t think he particularly enjoyed hearing.” Seras lifted the clasps on the case that housed her Harkonnen canon, hissing under her breath when her nail caught the edge of the metal. “Damn,” she whispered, biting at the jagged edge with a grimace.

“Dunno why you’re surprised.” Captain Corey Barkley, her second-in-command, knelt beside her as he affixed the scope to his own firearm. Seras enjoyed his company, and ultimately preferred it to most of the soldiers in the Organization’s employ. He had been transferred from the Johannesburg auxiliary following the Valentine Incident, and the two of them had grown close while bringing the new recruits up to speed. Barkley was one of the rare few who didn’t seem to mind that Seras was a vampire, nor did he resent being in the command of someone at least ten years his junior.

“From the way you talk about him, the man’s one loose screw away from going completely mental.” Barkley scratched the day-old stubble on his jaw, lifting the rifle to his shoulder and adjusting the focus with a pensive hum. “You’re probably better off avoiding him.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” Seras rolled her eyes, lifting the cannon to her shoulder. “I just don’t see—” She paused as, with a deafening roar, the first volley burst through the target at the other end of the firing range. “—what the bloody problem is!” Barkley watched in silence as she reloaded her next round. Her hands worked on autopilot as she continued her tirade.

“He complains that I don’t drink enough blood, that refraining makes me less of a vampire or something. Fine: I drink the damn blood. But that’s not good enough either! Now he’s complaining that I don’t drink his blood specifically. And then, when I finally stand my ground and argue my point—a very logical point, mind you—he gives me this… this look and vanishes without another word!”

“Like I said: one loose screw away.” Barkley fired his own round, growling under his breath when the bullet missed the center of the target. “Maybe he needs a good wank.”

“Oh, grow up.” She glared at him over her shoulder. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah? And?” He adjusted his scope before trying again, only to curse aloud when the bullet neatly severed the line between the first and middle rings. “I bet he hasn’t had a good stroke in over a century. Go ask him, I bet he’d tell you.”

“You go ask, if you’re so curious.”

“What, and get a bullet in my head for the trouble? No thank you! Besides, I’m not the one he’s jealous over.”

“Alucard is not jealous.” Seras sat the butt of the canon on the ground, one hand on her hip.

“Isn’t he, though?”

“Definitely not.” She stretched her neck, looking up to where the clouds floated lazily overhead. It was almost too nice of a night to be stuck with target practice. She wanted nothing more than to take a long walk in the moonlight, counting the fluffy clouds as they sailed towards the distant horizon. “And anyway, he’s not trying to get me into a new relationship. He’s too busy ruining the ones I already have.”

“All the more reason for me to avoid him like the plague. Otherwise it’ll be my head on the chopping block next.” Barkley looked over at her, wagging his brows with an ostentatious flair. “Then who would you wile away the midnight hours with?” He let out a sigh when she didn’t respond. “You’re really taking this to heart, aren’t you?” Scratching the back of his head, he looked around the firing range as if searching for inspiration. “Listen, if he didn’t make me want to go n’ piss myself, I’d march right down to the basement and give him what-for. I mean, why invite you down there just to turn around and assault you?”

“That wasn’t an assault.”

“So putting his hands on you without your consent no longer qualifies?”

“That’s—! Okay, maybe it was assault.” Seras frowned. “I just wish I knew what his deal was. It’s like he’s never heard of communication.”

“Has anyone in this place heard of a healthy relationship dynamic?” he chuckled. “Besides you and me, of course.”

“Walter… maybe.”

“Maybe.” Barkley mirrored her stance, loosely gripping the rifle as he turned to face her. “Here, why don’t you tell me again what you said before he went all berserk? I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with something.”

“Well…” Seras closed her eyes, letting the memory of the night play out in the forefront of her mind. “He was asking about Walter, mostly. If I spent a lot of time with him, I think? And I do, to be quite honest. It’s just that he was injured after the whole Tower thing, and I felt bad for him, so I offered to do whatever I could to help. After that, things just sort of… transpired, I guess. Is it so wrong of me to enjoy spending time with an old man?” 

“Not necessarily, but do you remember how you said it? Ignore my saying so, ma’am, but you’re not exactly glib.” He averted his eyes as she leveled him with a death glare. “Even you have to admit that sometimes you say things in a way that’s rather… easy to misinterpret.”

“I said—” Her nose wrinkled as she screwed her face in thought, ruffling her fluffy bangs with her fingertips. “I said that I only spent one night a week with Walter, since I didn’t think he could handle more than that. And then he made this off-color joke about testing Walter’s stamina, and I said that I—”

“Tch… hahaha!” Her frown became more pronounced as Barkley burst into peals of helpless laughter. “You did not!”

“What!? I don’t see what’s so funny! It wasn’t even that good a joke,” she added sullenly. “You’re not taking his side now, are you?” Barkley saw the flash in her eyes and immediately sobered, jaw shutting with an audible snap of teeth. He swallowed heavily, looking away as his innate human senses went into high alert mode. Seras took a deep breath, willing herself to calm as her undead heart began to ache with the urge to race in anger.

“It’s just that, well: when you put it that way, it seems like you and Walter are, erm…”

“What is it?”

“No offense, but you act so damn innocent! No, you are innocent,” he amended. “Do you not even realize what it sounds like you’re implying?”

“No? Clearly not. Why don’t you spell it out for me?” she ground out between clenched teeth. “Since you’re so worldly and wise.”

“If you insist.” Barkley heaved a breath. “Frankly, when you say it like that, it sounds like you and Walter are fucking.”

“Fucking—what?”

“One another?” He shrugged. “He’s old, but he’s not that old. He can probably still get it up, and no one would bat their eyes at the idea of a friends with benefits—”

“Come off it!” Seras fumbled the canon, her cheeks stained a deep red. “That’s disgusting! Walter is like a grandfather to me!”

“Hey, hey! Don’t bite my head off! You’re the one who told me to set it straight for you! Besides, shouldn’t you be more worried about that weird master of yours? He’s the one that decided that’s what you meant.”

“Oh… fucking hell!” Seras wasn’t often one to swear, but it seemed to be happening more and more the longer she stayed in the manor. “That annoying, infuriating old… bat!” She turned on her heel, sprinting towards the manor with a speed that nearly blew Barkley sideways. He staggered, regaining his balance and still somehow managing to keep a tight hold on the loaded rifle in his hands.

“You really are something else, ma’am.” He watched her leave, a pained smile on his face as he shook his head. Turning back to the firing range, he blanched at the sight of the Harkonnen and its equally heavy ammunition lying where she had dropped it. Both would need to be back inside the armory before the dew fell. “Oh, fuck it all.”

 “Master Alucard!”

If Alucard had been the sort of man to startle easily, he would have jolted at the sound of his chamber door crashing against the stone wall in an echoing symphony of rotting wood and hammered metal. Somehow it miraculously held, wobbling precariously on rusted hinges before being blown back once more as Seras charged in with the righteous fury of a Valkyrie and the unparalleled bloodlust of—well, of a vampire.

“Wake up, you miserable, motheaten pile of—!” Any further insults to his person were left smothered in her throat, drowned by the grinding of her jaw and forgotten entirely when he caught sight of the hellfire blazing in her eyes. The presentation did not alarm him; it was not the first time a fuming blonde had roused him from dozing dreams of days long gone, and it was certainly not the last. Intrigued, he straightened up in his chair to face this would-be adversary head on.

“Is there something you need, Police Girl?” he inquired with all the blithe disregard he could muster, looking his little protégé up and down with a sneer. Seras was practically frothing at the mouth, hands fisted and ample bosom heaving with each unnecessary breath. She let out a new barrage of muttered curses at his smug dismissal, nostrils flaring as she advanced even closer to where he sat.

“Let’s get one thing straight right now,” she hissed, leaning in so that they were nearly nose-to-nose. “I. Am. Not. Fucking. Walter.”  

“Is that so?” How… interesting. Only a week or so prior, Seras had been nervous at the thought of entering his room, much less remaining there for any amount of time. At the time, she’d managed to hide her emotions well. But now it seemed that anger was more than enough of a catalyst to push aside her wariness, and belay any qualms she had about not only entering into his space uninvited, but facing him on her own terms.

A part of him did wonder if he ought to be more incensed that she’d given up the subservient attitude. On the whole, however, he found himself rather… pleased.

“Is there any particular reason for this little outburst?” he asked, further drawing out the amusing diversion. “Or should I brace myself for more mundane facts about your night?”    

“What—that—you know bloody well the reason why!” she screeched, throwing up her hands. “Ugh! Honestly, I don’t even know why you’d come to that sort of conclusion in the first place! Walter is probably five times my age, and that’s including the vampire bits! He’s certainly old enough to be my grandfather at best, and anything we have is strictly platonic! Furthermore:  and I don’t say this lightly, mind you—”

Alucard watched as she paced the length of his chamber, boots echoing off the stone tile and hands gesticulating wildly to punctuate her breathless tirade. Her cheeks were flushed, rosy with agitation, her brows wrinkled thin lips twisted in a grimace. It was a far cry from his master’s lectures, which were often rife with threats of punishment and calls to action in the face of backlash from her own superiors. Seras had a certain energy in her anger that directly mirrored her usual cheer. It lent a spark of honesty to her emotions that was… striking, though he felt that humans might have called it endearing.

“Earth to Alucard? Are you even listening?”

“Believe me, my dear: the sound of your voice could wake the dead.”

“That’s not an answer!” She was standing before him again, vexation melting into a wounded expression. Her brows furrowed so that a small wrinkle appeared above the bridge of her nose, chin ducking into the collar of her uniform as the corners of her mouth dropped in her distress. “Master Alucard, do… do you hate me?”

“What?” He was not quick enough to hide his surprise, eyes widening behind the round lenses. Nor was he able to completely mask his displeasure at such a question, lips pursed in a small frown that was somewhat different from his normal scowl.

“I meant what I said, you know. I don’t regret choosing any of this.” Seras waved her hand at the room, as though the shadowy corners and dusty furniture could somehow encapsulate her experience as a vampire. “It’s just that sometimes I think maybe you regret choosing me. And maybe… maybe that’s why you’re in such a hurry to be rid of me.”  The same hand fell to her side, fingers flexing nervously against her stockings.

“And how, pray tell, did you manage to arrive at such a ridiculous conclusion?”

“Ridiculous!?” Her mouth dropped open, shoulders sagging. “What’s so ridiculous about it? According to you, I’m a terrible vampire. I don’t make you proud; I don’t give you anything to boast about. I don’t even make decent company.” Her eyes darted to the chest nearby his chair, where it had remained following her impromptu escape.

“You’ve taught me so much already, and in such a short amount of time,” she admitted. “But you also seem to think that it’s improper to want any sort of companionship at all. Don’t you get lonely sometimes?” Seras tilted her head, gazing imploringly at him through her bangs. “I know I do.”

Why should I be lonely? The thought occurred to him before he had time to process her question. I have you. His frown deepened as he met her gaze, bitterness eating a hole in the place where his heart used to beat. How on earth had she managed to convince herself of such a bizarre, human notion? Seras was a fast learner, true, and in her time at the organization she had already learned a great deal. But there was so much more still to cover; they had barely scratched the surface of what it meant to be a vampire! Did the teacher naturally resent the pupil for their ignorance?

“Suffice to say, you’re once again wrong on all accounts.” He shifted in his chair, lacing his fingers and squeezing until he felt his knuckles start to buckle beneath the pressure. It served to regulate his temper, keeping his voice calm as he spoke. “The act of turning you into a vampire is one of the few choices I have no reason to regret.” A strange lump arose in the base of his throat at the admission, the familiar echo of some past emotion. It was not regret, not anger. Soft, poignant… fondness, perhaps? Affection? He brushed the thought away for another time.

“You are more than my student. You are an apprentice, a disciple that I have chosen to take under my wing. You may live in my master’s home and work beneath her watchful eye, but until you partake of my blood, you remain under my jurisdiction. As for your failings, many as they are… why should I resent you for them? They are steppingstones, a broken path that can only lead you to your true calling as a sovereign of the night.”

“Stumble though you will, you only fail me the moment you cease to try, Seras Victoria. Thankfully for us both, you are obstinate to a fault.”

“Master, I don’t know whether I should be insulted or not.” Her brow wrinkled again, this time in mirth. “I think that’s actually the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. It’s honest, at least.”

“A simple observation, nothing more. Make of it what you will.”

“Well… maybe I am obstinate. Because I’m not going to avoid Walter,” she declared with an expression that dared him to protest. “We listen to the radio together, he and I, and it’s the most entertainment I have around this dusty old manor. You can spare me that much.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s so. What’s more: the next time you get the bright idea that I’m fooling around with someone behind the scenes, just ask me.” She winked. “Unless you want to try changing my mind.” Something in his expression must have spooked her; she took a step back, laughing nervously.

“It’s just a joke! You don’t have to glare at me like that…. L-Look, I’ll just see myself out. Sorry about your door, by the way. I can fix it.” She awkwardly tried to bend the hammered metal frame back into place, blanching when it broke apart in her hand. “Erm… okay, I’ll get Walter to fix it,” she muttered, tossing the ancient chunk of splintered wood aside. “Either way, it’ll be fixed by morning, I promise!”

“Police Girl….”

“Right! Sorry! I’m going, bye!” He listened to her scurrying footfalls, mapping her course through the manor as she went in search of the man he’d told her to avoid. Insubordinate… churlish, defiant little thing, isn’t she? He tipped his head, eyeing the partially full bottle of wine at his side.

Wednesday, 20 September 2000

I reached for the cigarettes. There was only one left in the packet. I threw it on the empty fire… and watched it burn. 

Seras stared into the fireplace, watching the orange flames dance over the crackling wood. Its rosy warmth brought a flush to her cheeks; if not for her scarlet irises, she might have been human. A vibrant voice pierced the comfortable silence. 

“Under the direction of Norman MacDonnell, ESCAPE has brought you “The Birds” by Daphne du Maurier, specially adapted for radio by Robert Ryf, starring Ben Wright with Virginia Gregg. Featured in the cast were John Deh—”

Walter turned the radio’s antique knob, cutting the credits mid-sentence. Seras stretched her arms high over her head, spine cracking as she moved for the first time in a half hour. It had become a tradition of hers to join Walter in the sitting room on Wednesday nights, listening attentively to the weekly ESCAPE thriller on the oldies station. The butler enjoyed being reminded of his far-off youth and while the programs were admittedly outdated, it was the closest thing to television that Seras could find in Hellsing manor. 

More importantly, it was a time specially dedicated to set aside the rigors of daily life. Seras could enjoy a scant thirty minutes curled before a warm fire, with Walter at her side in his favorite upholstered chair. Together they lamented Madeline’s fate in “The Fall of the House of Usher”, and bit their nails while listening to Rainsford’s adventures in “The Most Dangerous Game”. It didn’t matter that they’d both heard the stories at least a thousand times before. The radio program was something she shared with Walter, and only Walter; it was their time, and no one else was allowed to intrude upon it.

If she was entirely honest, Wednesday nights were what she looked forward to most each week. Night after night she worked relentlessly, either on missions with her troop or suffering under her master’s disciplinarian tutelage. She earned this reprieve. Furthermore, she enjoyed the quality time she spent with Walter, who took care of her without asking for anything in return. Maybe everyone else in the manor thought a spare glance and the occasional word of thanks was enough, but not her! Without his kindness and patience, there was no way she’d have survived the first week at Hellsing, much less the first year.

Between her newly acquired vampirism, the Valentine Brother’s invasion, the perils of Paladin Anderson, and the whole Incognito disaster… well, her head was swimming enough without worrying about who was doing her laundry and bringing her fresh blood each night. And with Sir Integra imprisoned through the new year, there was no one around to stop Alucard from training her to within an inch of her unlife. She was grateful to have one friend, even if that friend was a butler more than twice her age.

“No mission tonight, Walter?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” Walter tilted his head thoughtfully. “All quiet on the home front,” he mused. “Perhaps we’re finally seeing the end of these manufactured vampires.”

“Maybe.” Seras frowned as she pulled herself from the rug. “Even so….” Tonight marked the second week in a row without a mission. She’d never been this inactive before, even during those first tumultuous days as a newbie vampire. While a drop in civilian attacks was most certainly welcome, she was starting to get a little antsy—never a good sign. If she was growing bored, that meant her master was definitely bored. She didn’t need to be told that a stir-crazy Alucard wasn’t good for anyone.

Seras absently bid Walter a pleasant evening, chewing on a thumbnail through her glove as she wandered through the main foyer. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to another night thirty metres below ground level, but neither was she planning to find trouble on what was an otherwise peaceful night.

The end of manufactured vampires… It was a hard concept to wrap her mind around. The chipped hellions had been a constant thorn in the Hellsing organizations side for much of the past year; they cropped up in bunches here and there, much to the annoyance of everyone involved. While they had the power to cause major destruction, their inexperience and foolhardy nature often proved to be their own undoing. Usually they were only able to cause one, maybe two deaths before being found and dispatched. Alucard was right in dubbing them the “teenage punks” of the vampire world.  

As she passed the ten metre mark, the hair on her neck rose in warning. Think of the devil and he will appear, I suppose. Seras didn’t falter, continuing past the laboratories and breaking a quick left before heading down the next flight of stairs. Now was as good a time as any to work on some hands-on training.

Her eyes stayed locked on her boots, even as her sixth sense branched into the air around her. It was only in the last month or so that she’d perfected the ability to feel her surroundings. Before, she had to actively think about what she was doing; now, it came as easily and naturally as breathing. After a long, pensive moment, she stopped dead in her tracks and turned to look at the cement wall to her right.

“I see you,” she gloated, pointing at the third brick from the ceiling. Alucard emerged from the spot, lips quirked with a rare expression of satisfaction.

“Very good,” he nodded. “Much faster than before. But,” he added smoothly, “you’re still too slow. I could have easily killed you, if I’d wanted to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Seras set her jaw, determined to take the comment in stride. With a man like Alucard as her teacher, it was almost expected that every ounce of praise came gift-wrapped in his disapproval.

“Will you?” He didn’t seem to expect an answer. After a moment of terse silence, she offered a polite, deferential nod before continuing on her way. Fully expecting him to melt back into the brickwork, she nearly jumped in shock when he fell into step beside her. Oh no, she silently cursed. He’s bored.

“Where were you, anyway?” he asked. To the untrained ear, his tone could have easily been mistaken for conversational. Seras bristled, eyes locked on the far wall as she fought to keep a steady, even pace. If she showed that she was at all startled or confused, it would only serve to amuse him. “Your mind was elsewhere this evening, Police Girl.”

“I was… with Walter,” she replied, tipping one shoulder in a halfway shrug. Her voice wavered slightly and she cleared her throat, sniffing once for good measure. The best option was to feign indifference, with the hopes that he would leave sooner rather than later. Alucard was a hard one to read, even on the best of nights; it was nearly impossible to know whether or not he was in jest or earnest. Seras hated being his center of attention, especially when it came with the risk of being mocked.

“Hmm.” They reached the door to her bedroom, where she once again tried to dismiss herself with a nod and somewhat nervous chuckle. Alucard never broke stride, waving her along with one flick of a gloved wrist. Stunned, she crept alongside him as they descended even further. The buzz of human activity from the upper floors was muffled, then eventually silenced by the thick concrete. Ancient flickering bulbs were the sole source of light, strung too far apart on either side of the hallway to be comfortable.

No one knows I’m down here…. Her dead heart became a thick lump at the base of her throat.

“Scared?” Seras shook her head quickly, taking two steps for every one of his own. She didn’t need to look at him to feel the sharp, wet smile being directed at her. 

It was true that the lower basement was eerie; the dim lighting and dancing shadows did little to help. The air was musty with dust, decay and something she couldn’t put a name to. She knew the winding, labyrinthine corridors that made up the bowels of the manor were full of the Hellsing family’s secrets, but not once had she ever thought to venture down and uncover them. For all she cared, whatever resided down here in the musty dark could bloody well stay secret.

But Seras also knew that wasn’t what he meant. The real question behind the singular word had been scared… of me? She wasn’t, although that in itself was a stupid decision. That particular lapse of judgment would most likely be her death someday—she was sure of it. Even so, she couldn’t help it. He was many things: powerful, dangerous, even deadly. He was a hard taskmaster, especially when it came to training. But something tempered his ruthlessness, at least where she was concerned.

“Hm.” Seras jolted, wondering if he was keeping a watchful eye on her thoughts. That was just another one of the many reasons she didn’t like being alone with him for more than a passing moment. With no one around to distract him, he was apt to find some fault in her that might have otherwise been overlooked.

“You’ve not yet visited my chambers, have you?” The question, spoken in a pensive drawl, took her by surprise. She wasn’t sure how to respond—or even what he meant by it. Was he unable to remember who he invited to his room? He can’t have that many visitors, can he? Or worse: did he suspect her of being invasive, sneaking around behind his back? I’d never!

“No-o-o….” Seras trailed off uncertainly, keeping a wary gaze on him through her bangs as they rounded a corner. The shorter adjacent corridor ended at a solid metal door. She could see faded streaks along several parts of the corrugated metal; it looked as though someone had taken great pains to scour the metal, but was unable to remove the entire stain. She suppressed a shudder, hoping it was nothing more than old paint.

“Well.” He leveled another sharp grin at her, this one no less cryptic than the last. With a snap of his fingers, the door swung inward with a rusty creak. “Come in,” he offered, gesturing cordially for her to proceed him into the room. Seras squinted, trying to pick out anything familiar in the darkness; even with her vampiric vision, the shadows were too thick to see much beyond the door’s narrow rectangle of light.

“Um….” She blanched, the edges of her anxious smile wavering. “I’m not… that is, I—!” Her halfhearted attempts at an excuse sputtered into shocked silence when his palm found a resting place between her shoulder blades.  

It was the warmth that startled her. Not many in the manor found a ready excuse to touch her; those that dared found her to be quite literally as cold as the grave. Never before had it occurred to her that Alucard would be the same in that regard, that his touch would feel normal when compared to the living’s feverish heat. The weight of his hand was—not intimate, strictly speaking. But there was a quality, a feeling to it that she had no real name for.

Unperturbed, he lightly pushed her ahead of him as he walked through the door. Seras stumbled over the threshold, once again caught unawares; had she not known better, she might have mistaken the gesture for something teasing. There were many adjectives she used to describe Alucard: cruel, mocking, cocksure. Playful didn’t make the top fifty. And yet… what else could she call it?

I’m awake right now, aren’t I? There was no better explanation for this bewildering change of attitude, so completely out of character from her mental picture of Alucard. Then again, she admitted to herself, I’ve barely known him a year. That was nowhere near enough time to form a fair summation of his character, especially when she took pains to avoid him and his relentless censure.  

Blinking rapidly, she tried in vain to adjust her to the room’s preternatural darkness. Another snap of Alucard’s fingers brought a pale flood of moonlight; craning her neck, she saw the basement’s dusty rafters and, high above them, the dim outline of several small windows. With the addition of light, her vision quickly adjusted. The room was surprisingly well lit, for being so far belowground. On a clear night, it would have been as bright as midday sunshine.   

She could see the milky glass of unused lightbulbs, strung in twin pairs along the rafters in a similar way to the those in the corridor. Seras stared at them thoughtfully. She’d assumed that Alucard kept his rooms dark on purpose, either to frighten off any would-be visitors or to fit his own twisted sense of design. But could the reality be something far simpler? Was it that he merely disliked electricity? 

That answer wouldn’t have surprised her in the slightest. Since becoming a vampire, she had noticed that the glare of manufactured light was often harsh on her sensitive eyes. Upstairs, the incessant buzz of countless filaments was a near-constant drone in the back of her ears. Down here, far from the lights and activity, all was blissful silence. When compared to the fizzling whine of old bulbs, there was no doubt in her mind as to why moonlight would be the preferred option. 

Now that she could see, Seras peered about the room as subtly as possible. There was a natural curiosity to see how he lived; perhaps studying the room and furniture could give her a better glimpse of the man himself? Unfortunately for her it was sparsely furnished, with no clutter to be had. It seemed that Alucard was uninterested in interior design, keeping only what he needed for daily use.

In the room’s direct center was a single highbacked armchair, its gilded edges tarnished with age. At the chair’s left side sat a matching piece of furniture. It appeared at first glance to be a stool, but a second look proved it to be a very small side table. A bottle of wine sat upon its faded red surface alongside two glasses, one upturned. A battered trunk sat forgotten in the corner, covered in at least two inches of dust. His coffin seemed to be the only thing in the room that was properly maintained, its ebony lid polished to a midnight sheen.

Alucard passed her without a word, shrugging off his long coat and removing his hat. They melted into shadows before reaching the floor, puddling in an oozing pool before fading from sight. They weren’t gone, however; she could see more of his shadows out of the corner of her eye, creeping up the walls towards the rafters. 

What do I do? Seras stood awkwardly, trying her hardest not to fidget. Alucard wouldn’t have brought her down here for nothing. There had to be an ulterior motive, but… what? She couldn’t think of anything she’d done to merit a punishment, or even a scolding. And it was hard to believe that he’d choose her for company over Walter or Sir Integra—although incarceration made the latter more difficult to reach. 

Alucard sat in the chair with a sigh, removing his glasses and tossing them carelessly onto the table. He ran one weary hand through his bangs, pushing them out of his eyes before pinning her with a sharp stare, mouth drawn in a pensive frown. She stared back, eyes wide and hands locked behind her back as she waited for him to make a move. 

Without warning, he waved his hand and the room fairly shook. Shadows swirled and a resounding thud rattled her teeth as the old trunk leapt from the corner. It came to a skidding halt a few feet from the chair, its contents rattling in protest before all was quiet once more. Seras coughed, waving decades of dust away from her face. 

“Sit.” 

“O-oh.” She gingerly dusted off the trunk lid, wincing as her glove turned black with dirt. Perching on the edge of the lid, she clasped her hands in her lap and waited for any further instruction. Alucard continued his silent scrutiny, his hand rubbing idly over his jaw as he leaned on his left arm. Is he left-handed? She’d never noticed it before, but the table was to his left and he did appear to be favoring that side of his body. 

In fact… there were a lot of things she’d never noticed about him. Seras realized quite suddenly that she’d never seen him without the bulky outwear; now that it was gone, she could really take a good look at him. He was trim, lean but not thin, and surprisingly well-kempt for a man who let his hair hang in his eyes—not that she was any better. His waistcoat was neatly tucked into his pants, and the sleeves of his white shirt looked crisp and ironed. Were they shadows too? Did his clothing look presentable only because he willed it to be so?

Alucard noticed her unabashed gawking and arched a brow, drawing her attention to his face. He’d become a vampire in middle age; there was no doubting that, even when his eyes were hidden behind the intricate glasses. Now that they were gone, she realized that he wasn’t as old as she’d first thought. He couldn’t have been over fifty-five, if not younger. But it seemed rude to ask his age, and she was sure she wouldn’t get a straightforward answer.   

Their eyes met and she wondered at the intensity of his gaze. What on earth was he looking at? Surely her face wasn’t that interesting! She blinked first, offering a tiny grin that showed the corner of one dainty fang. Beyond his earlier order, neither of them had said a word. Was he waiting on her to speak first? After all, she was a guest in his… home? Dungeon? Nevertheless, the polite thing would be to make conversation. But what was she supposed to say? It was beyond her means to find a suitable compliment for his ancient, dusty furniture. 

Alucard roused himself with a little shake, making a sound in his throat as though he’d forgotten something. Before she could ask, he took the downturned glass from the table; after looking it over appraisingly, he filled it halfway with wine. He offered it to her without a word, waiting until she’d hesitantly accepted before pouring himself a glass as well. 

Is he… is he trying to be a host? Seras was torn between incredulous confusion and something more akin to concern; the first was for the circumstances she found herself in, the latter for her own sanity. Surely… surely this couldn’t be happening?! Why me?! The upstairs, normal version of Alucard was already enough to make her tense. This new side of him frankly baffled her. 

It didn’t help that she felt different somehow, as though she now had more power—no, more authority. By allowing her to be his guest, to sit in his room and share a glass of wine as if… as if they were old friends or something…. It felt as though he was closing the gap between the rank of master and… and whatever it was he considered her. Pupil? Progeny? Nuisance, more like. 

Then again, who was she to refuse? She couldn’t afford to let her guard down—there had to be some extrinsic reason for all this fuss—but it was nice to be treated as a person, rather than a servant or a soldier. And it’s not like I hate him, she added to herself, taking a sip of the wine. Its rich flavor spread over her tongue, warm and spiced with something like cinnamon. After a year of drinking blood à la carte, it was a nice change of pace. I just don’t understand him. 

“My master,” Alucard said abruptly. Seras jumped, nearly spilling the wine from her glass. Had he been reading her thoughts again?! The least he could do was knock before barging into her head! If her thoughts had angered him, he made no mention of it. Still, she dared not mentally scold him for too long, just in case he was still listening—if he’d indeed been listening at all. 

“My master,” he said again, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a leisurely sip, “inquires about you. It seems that my progress reports aren’t thorough enough for her liking. She wants to know if you’re… happy.” 

“Hap—is that all?!” She couldn’t stop the laugh that tumbled out with the words. “You could’ve asked me that earlier, you know. It would have saved me the trouble of coming down here.” 

“I could have,” he agreed coldly. “But I did not.” She snapped her lips together, blushing under the full force of his glare. Good going, Seras—of all the people to laugh at! It’s always out of the frying pan and into the fire with you.  

How was she supposed to answer a question like that? She was comfortable here, and even content at times. She was grateful of the freedom Sir Integra supplied her with, allowing her to go to town whenever she needed without special permission. The soldiers trusted her, and her troop held her in high esteem. But did that equal happiness? 

“You haven’t answered, Police Girl.” 

“Well—” She sighed, sensing his growing impatience. “I’m no worse off than anyone else here, if that counts for something.” This earned her the ghost of a smile. She tried to think of a more concrete answer for him and, finding none, took another drink of wine. Maybe it’ll loosen me up. 

“Do you often eat up Walter’s free time?” he asked, crossing his legs. “He doesn’t have much of it left.” She couldn’t tell if he was referring to Walter’s age, or the fact that Sir Integra was due to be released from her cell in a matter of months. 

“I try not to.” She swallowed too hard and choked, smothering a cough behind clenched lips. Not wanting to appear dodgy, she added, “It’s only one night a week, after all. I don’t think he could handle much more than that!”  

“One night a week, is it?” His voice dropped to a smooth drawl. For anyone else, the shift in tone would have been welcome; with him, it raised the hair on her arms. She shivered, clutching the stem of her glass tightly. “Testing his stamina, are we?” What’s that supposed to mean? She felt the awkward tension return, but this time there was something darker crackling in the empty space between them. Oh, hell—what did I do now? 

“I guess?” she tried, hoping that a neutral answer would pacify him. “I don’t—” Without warning, her vision seared white. A sharp pain bored a hole into the side of her skull, pressing down as though claws were trying to dig into her brain. It was all she could do to remain upright on the trunk. Seras clapped a hand to her head, teeth clenched against the feeling until it passed. 

When she was able to think properly again, she found Alucard sitting upright in his chair. His fingers clutched the ends of the chair arms, tight enough that his knuckles were outlined through the fabric of his gloves. Self-preservation had never been her strong suit, but in the span of a single moment it was thrown aside in favor of anger. It no longer mattered that he was her master, a vampire who could snap any bone in her body faster than she could blink. 

“What the hell was that for?! I was just answering your question—augh….” She rubbed her poor aching head, still blinking stars from her eyes. 

“…again.” It seemed her ears hadn’t stopped ringing, either. She shook her head, scrunching her nose against the wave of dizziness that immediately followed. 

“What?” 

“You are not to see Walter again.” 

“And just how am I supposed to do that? We all live in the same house, you know.” Alucard growled, the sound deathly quiet in the room. Her motionless heart managed to skip a beat at the sound, eyes widening as she remembered a little too late just who she was dealing with. You just had to have a clever response, didn’t you! She braced herself, knowing that it was too late to go back now. She’d been at Hellsing long enough to know that showing weakness would only make things worse for her in the end.

“A-anyway,” she added, trying to keep her voice from shaking, “Walter’s my friend.” 

“So you care for him.” 

“Of course? What kind… of….” Seras faltered, gulping as his eyes narrowed. Even if she didn’t understand the reason why, it was clear she’d given a wrong answer. He stood, looming over her with a menacing snarl. It was all she could do not to cower in the face of his inexplicable fury.  “Master Alucard?” she asked, hopeful that the added formality would calm him.

“You agreed to come with me.”

“Huh? What?” What was he talking about? Agreed? When? Seras stood as well, blindly groping behind her for the trunk lid so that she could put down her wineglass. Would it be possible to maneuver the trunk between them before he struck? Not that it would do much to stop him, she sighed mentally. She looked for another, more plausible escape route, wondering if it was even worth the effort to try.

“Police Girl!”

“What!?” She snapped her attention back to him, bristling slightly as her own anger sparked to life. “I’m sorry, but you’re not making any sense! What are you talking about?” Sarcasm put a sharp edge to her words. Everyone had a vice; hers, unfortunately, happened to be impudence.

“One year ago,” he spat. “You agreed to come with me.”

“I—what are you—wait.” She paused, trying to place his words in a proper context. “Do you mean… in the cathedral?” It was hard to remember exactly what was said on that fateful night; her memories, already fuzzy with adrenaline, had been tainted further by the mind-numbing experience that was her death. 

“What else would I mean?”

“How should I—” She stopped again, not willing to press too much of her luck at once. His patience wasn’t endless—she wasn’t delusional enough to believe anything else. “Alright, yes. I did agree… to let you drink my blood.”

“You remember this, and yet you still choose—” He broke off, his mood darkening further. The shadows along the walls wriggled to life, eager for the promise of bloodshed. Before she could react, he lunged for her.

Seras gasped, ducking as her boots slid across the stone floor. There was no way she could avoid him completely; her only objective was getting as much of her body out of his way as possible. She was more surprised that she’d seen the attack coming. Only a few months before, he would have had her before she could blink. Guess I really am improving. His long fingers wrapped around her wrist in a punishing grip that brought unwanted tears to her eyes.

“Let go!” The strength in her voice startled her. She’d never had much of a problem talking back to Alucard, but neither had she openly defied him. Then again, he’d never put his hands on her. Years of police self defense training had left her with the instincts needed to break out of any hold; he might have been a vampire, but his hands were human. Twisting her wrist, she made a fist and used a simple ju-jitsu move to slip free.

“What are you doing?!” she demanded, stumbling back until there was a good six feet of space between their bodies. Using distance to her advantage was one of the first things she’d learned on the force. To her astonishment, Alucard made no attempt to grab her again. He didn’t need to; his presence alone froze her to the spot, aura crackling with dark energy.

“You are a servant vampire.” He stood tall before her, a statue outlined in moonlight. “Don’t forget that you chose this. Twice.” The memory played back in her mind: the way he knelt before her after the fight with Paladin Anderson, blood dripping from the bayonet gash in his arm. Drink my blood. Only then will you be free of your servitude to me. She had refused him then, and no more had been said about it. Until now. 

“Yes.” Her vampiric side was desperate for her to yield. But that was only side of her. No matter what form she took—human, vampire, whatever—she was still Seras Victoria. The world saw a helpless kitten, but she’d proven time and time again that she could take care of herself. She was the orphan girl who’d fought through life with her head held high; she was the one who’d followed her father’s footsteps to the police force, who’d worked her way up the ranks to D-11 using wits and willpower.

“Yes,” she repeated, raising her eyes to his. She could feel the old stubborn streak hardening her eyes, determination squaring her shoulders against inevitable defeat. “I am a servant… not a slave. You said that I chose this—you’re right. I have the ability to choose for myself, and no one will steal that from me.” Not even you, Master Alucard.

“Is that so?” he drawled, clearly unamused with her little display of courage. She was undeterred, taking a deep breath before nodding.

“It is. And—” She steeled her nerve before delivering the final blow. “And if you were expecting something different, then… then… then you should have twice before biting me!” With that, she fled the room. There was, of course, a difference between running away and withdrawing from battle. A tactical retreat was nothing to be ashamed of, when it meant living to fight another day.

The dim lights in the corridor blurred as she sped past, sliding around the corner on the heel of her boot and racing towards the stairs that led to the upper basement levels. It was entirely possible that he would hunt her down, or have his hellhounds do so for him. If she was dragged back to the dungeons and left to the mercy of an infuriated master, well… so be it. But until then, she would go to the only place she deemed appropriate.

Seras reached her bedroom and threw open the door. The force of her arm nearly knocked it from the reinforced hinges; it let out a painful metallic screech, the bolts rattling as it slammed hard enough against the wall to crack the stone. She paused long enough to shut it more gently, making sure the lock was in place before sinking to the cool floor beneath her shaking knees.

It was hard to be pumped full of adrenaline without a heart to race, or blood to sing in her ears. She took pains to calm herself, pressing her forehead against the heels of her palms until her panting slowed and her limbs settled. Then, removing her boots, she crawled onto the bed and lay upside down, her stockinged feet resting on the pillow.

“That could have went better,” she muttered to herself, staring at the coffin lid high above her. “Then again, I guess it could have went worse. Stupid… vampire.” She wasn’t entirely sure if she meant Alucard, or herself, or perhaps a little of both.

Despite the fact that they could spell her doom, she felt no regret for her words. Her fear in the moment was only that—momentary. What she said had been spoken from the heart, and the thought of pain wasn’t enough to want to take them back. If he’d wanted a perfectly pliant slave, he should have taken the time to know her before draining her blood.

“And anyway,” she grumbled, running a hand through her sweaty bangs, “I shot you, didn’t I?” That was one thing she remembered with startling clarity. In the woods surrounding Cheddar, beneath the merciless full moon, she’d shot him without hesitation. He had laughed when she called him inhuman; he’d even teased her about it. Why? Would you have shot me if I was? How could he ever expect her to bow in perfect obedience, when their first meeting had been an act of defiance?  

“I don’t recall saying you could leave.” Alucard’s voice rang out in her bedroom, the candles on her table flickering in a burst of wind. She watched, upside down, as he stepped through the wall. His hat had been left behind, but he once again wore the coat and glasses. Hands in his pockets, he stood idly before her bed with a perplexed frown.

“I thought vampires couldn’t enter a room unless they were invited. You could at least knock,” she pointed out, not bothering to hide her frustration. She sat up when he moved closer, drawing her knees protectively to her chest. “What is it now?”

“We weren’t finished.” He cocked his head at her. “If you regret the decision you made on that night—”

“I never said I regretted it.” It was hard to read his expression when he hid behind polarized lenses. Was that why he wore them? To give himself an advantage?

“You said that I should have thought twice before turning you.”

“Yes… if you wanted a slave. I’m sorry,” she said flippantly, “but I’m a vampire with free will.”

“Then why refuse to drink?” He shook back his sleeve, looking down at his arm. It was, of course, smooth and spotless, an expanse of creamy skin between the white of his glove and the crimson of his sleeve. “It was yours for the taking, and you refused.”

“Because it was too early! I’d been a vampire for—what, three months? Four? I had no idea what I was doing, I didn’t know the first thing about what I’d become, and you were acting as though I could just—” She broke off, shaking her head. For a man who’d lived countless lifetimes, how could he be so… so dense?! “It doesn’t matter now, what I did back then. And before you say anything: I don’t regret that, either.”

“If I offered again, tonight—would you?” Seras leveled her brows, gracing him with her best scathing glare.

“If you’re in that much of a hurry to be rid of me, it shouldn’t matter what I do in my spare time.”

“Do you want to be free or not?!” When she made no answer, his mask slipped; his lips twitched, parting just enough to show a glint of teeth. He looked… lost, if such a word could be used to describe someone like him. “I don’t understand you, Police Girl.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You—” He gave her a strange look. “Hmm.” Without another word, he melted into the air and disappeared.

“That’s it, then?” There was no answer, physical or telepathic, to her question. “Ugh!” Stomping her heel against the mattress in annoyance, Seras flung herself facedown onto her pillow. “Christ.” She surfaced long enough to find the remote to her lid, slapping her palm against the button and burrowing down into the pleasant dark. Walter would be in to collect her dinner pail before the candles could burn down.

“Bonehead,” she mumbled into the pillows soft fabric, plucking at a stray thread as she thought. She was no closer to figuring her master out than when she’d started. “What was that even about, then?” As she drifted into a doze, her last coherent thought was mystifying. Thinking it was her desire, he’d offered her a way out of the bond they shared. In his mind, she must have regretted her choice to stay at his side.