Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Forsaken ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

AN: Just a random little AxI fic that crossed my brain. I haven't seen many fics from Alucard's POV so I thought I would give it a shot. This story will eventually end up a lemon (adult situations), so please be aware of the R-rating and avoid reading if you are under age or offended by that type of thing. Oh, and Hellsing doesn't belong to me. We know this *sobs*

FORSAKEN

(Prologue)

By Stella


I sit in the darkness of this room and watch my master sleep. The steady rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic, almost soothing to me, and I begin to feel like a snake being charmed by an exotic Indian fakir - I cannot look away; I'm held captive and docile; I have no inclination to bare my fangs and strike, but prefer to stay in this passive state of limbo, entranced.

By a human.

If I ever had the inclination, I might decide to be ashamed of myself. Even some of my recent foes, unworthy as they were, would bark at me and call me a 'plaything of the humans,' and a 'traitor to my kind.' That is, when I allowed them to get a few words in before I silenced their insolent mouths forever. Those kinds of scum would never understand. Nor would I wish them to.

Some distance away, by the glow of the fire, I take notice of how the light flickers against Integra's now unkempt hair. It's still damp from the bath she took an hour ago before she collapsed, exhausted, on her massive bed. Light moves in deeper shades of oranges and golds across her skin, which is warm and clean and mostly hidden under the sheets. She stirs and turns her head, exposing her naked throat to the dark air. She raises her hand to the small set of wounds that adorn it. I can't suppress a smile. The slow grin spreads over my face with a will of its own. Those marks: my marks.

As if offended by my expression, the flames behind my chair snuff themselves out and leave the room in shadows, but I keep my eyes on the figure across the room. I don't need the fire's light to see her. I never needed light to see her. The Sir Hellsing before her, I know he wasn't a fool. It had to have occurred to him that when he gave me to his daughter, he gave her to me as well.

I have always wanted my master, even when she was a child. Though what they call children now were considered women in my mortal time, ready to be married and bear children at thirteen or fourteen years of age. And when she woke me, I had had little use for the word 'lust' in reference to anything but blood in centuries, but she stirred something inside of me that I had long forgotten. If I ever knew it was there when I was 'alive.' But it was more than simple lust.

As a mortal I wasn't much of a human. I was born to be a vampire. I knew it on the night I was transformed. In life, I did not possess the capacity to care for anyone or anything other than myself, nor did I have any regard for my immortal soul - no awe of heaven or fear of hell. Let me be forsaken in the next life, but I would be God-like on my own in this one. I saw only power and a birthright and gave not a second thought as to how many people had to die for me to claim it. In the end, though, it claimed me.

On the night I met Integra, she was fighting for her birthright also - and fighting so completely, with every inch of her being. How I wanted more of her delicious blood, to take the soft young body possess every part of it. I wanted her strength to flow through me; the taste of her blood had been like a holy communion. I was saved, resurrected. But in that sacred moment she wouldn't have me.

It was just as well, I decided in the end. It would have been like trampling on a rose before it had the chance to grow and bloom. And bloom she has.

Fabric rustles from across the room. Integra thrashes in her sleep, kicking away covers in the fervor of her dreams, baring herself to me. She looks almost like an offering served up to placate some ancient pagan deity. Or a monster.

Her slender limbs lay outstretched, giving no protection to her vulnerable body. My eyes rove over the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the way her chin tilts back as if to tempt me with her tender neck. The faint scent of blood meanders up from pinpricks I left there. But I can take no liberties. So I will remain at bay and wait at the side of my Master's bed until she wakes and asks for me to join her… again.

I keep my gaze locked on her face and notice the tiny creases forming on her brow. Suddenly the air around us becomes heavy, like the thick gray air before a summer storm. A muffled sound escapes her throat and I know she's dreaming… not a pleasant dream, another nightmare. At the very least I am free to ease Integra's troubled mind. I know that I can find something far more pleasant to overtake her unconscious wanderings…