Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Stray Dog ❯ Bedtime stories ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: Hellsing and all of its characters belong to Kouta Hirano, not to me. I am not making any money off of this piece of fanfiction.

 

Author's notes: Sorry this chapter is kind of a short one. Originally it was meant to be longer, but I cut some stuff out of my outline, and I want the next chapter to start where it does, rather than smooshing it into this one. As always, thank you for the continued support, DWE, Genso Hikki, Meg, and Paladin's Secret Love

 

Chapter 4: Bedtime stories

 

Anderson glanced at the small form in his bed, absently stroking one of his many blades. She was quite pretty, laying there all soaked in blood like some sort of morbid Sleeping Beauty…in a mini skirt. Sleeping Beauty in a mini skirt that had ridden so far up her creamy, white thighs that he could see her panties. And him a priest.

 

They had polka dots on them. Pink ones.

 

He reached over, tentatively grabbing a pinch of fabric between his thumb and forefinger, intending to tug her skirt down to a decent level. She stirred as his fingers brushed her leg, and he reacted in a flash, blade at her throat before her eyes even opened, panties forgotten.

 

Seras awoke with a gasp, confused to find a cold, sharp edge against her throat. And then her eyes focused on the man holding it, and everything fell into place…well, almost everything.

 

“What's going on?” she croaked trying not to move too much, lest he slice her clean through. She didn't know if she'd be able to survive decapitation like Alucard could. “Why haven't you killed me?”

 

“Och, the wee girl made me promise,” he said, flippantly, like she'd just asked him what he'd had for lunch, all the while pushing a little harder against her throat, just enough to make her squirm. He was fighting hard with himself, ruthlessly trying to quash the urge to slice her to bits. “I suppose it's for the best. I didn'a want tae have tae kill ye that way, with ye layin' there unconscious.” He grinned down at her, running the blade ever so gently over her throat, drawing the faintest line of blood. He breathed in, enjoying the sharp tang of those ruby drops. “No, when I send ye tae Hell, I plan on havin' a bit o' fun with ye first, aye?”

 

Seras shivered under his blazing emerald gaze, wishing desperately that she knew how to melt into the shadows like her master. She had to settle for pushing her head a little deeper into the pillow. Highly ineffective in comparison.

 

“Oh, are ye chilly?” Anderson asked, watching her shake. “Perhaps ye should invest in a nice pair of trousers.” He reached over once more and yanked her skirt down as far as it would go. Her eyes flashed with mortified rage and she hissed at him, rising slightly off the bed. “Now, now,” he pushed the blade against her throat again, forcing her to lie back down. “Be a good lass, won't ye? I've questions to ask.”

 

“And what if I don't want to answer?” she asked through clenched teeth, though she forced herself to relax against the pillows.

 

“Well, then I'll slice ye up tae bits.” He said, with a friendly smile on his face and a jovial voice, as though he'd just invited her to tea. His eyes spoke a different madness. “Now then, tell me why ye're here.” The pressure of the knife increased, ever so slightly; a testament to his fine control and the thin line she walked.

 

“Oh, I'm on a vacation. You know, seeing the sights, desecrating the holy grounds with my presence. The usual.” She batted her eyelashes up at him, sweetly. Bad idea. Seras had never seen anyone grow so angry, so quickly. Okay, don't joke with the Judas Priest…lesson learned.

 

“Dinna mock me, girl.” Anderson roared, rearing back with the bayonet and plunging it deep into her left shoulder, just below her collarbone. Seras cried out in pain, arching upward on the bed as the holy blade burned her flesh right through. Blood poured out, the reek of it heavy in the humid air. It soaked into the bedclothes, slick and cold as her body came back down to rest. How many times was that in one night?

 

“Jesus CHRIST!” She hissed, “Do you always have to stab me there?”

 

“Aye, there are many places I'd like tae stab ye, wee Draculina.” His right hand was still fisted tightly around the hilt of the bayonet, thumb absently stroking the rounded tip, and his eyes bore into hers with an intensity that knew no rival. In another situation, she might have felt flattered. In this one, she was just fucking terrified. “Now are ye going tae play nice” he drawled, drawing so close that she could feel his breath hot on her face, “or do I have tae drive another o' these through yer pretty little neck?” His left hand wrapped itself around the pale column of flesh, and she swallowed nervously as his warm, rough fingers caressed her cold skin, almost tenderly.

 

“Sir Hellsing heard you're no longer with Iscariot.” Seras admitted, trying to remain calm as tender strokes grew more forceful.

 

“If she's lookin' ta have me removed, she sent the wrong bloodsucker.” He almost smiled at the idea of this little child ringing his death knell. Preposterous.

 

“No…I was sent to offer you a job.” She winced and shrunk back as she watched his expression change.

 

“A job, pah! Then why were ye stalkin' me?” He shifted his hold on the blade and twisted it, just a fraction, until he saw her jaw clench with the pain. “And dinna be lying ta me.”

 

“I had to make certain…observations.” Make sure he hasn't gone too crazy, Integra's words rang through her head. “We had to make sure you're Hellsing material.” Good, well, that sounds pretty official she thought, hoping there were no more questions. Not so lucky.

 

“Och, and what's the verdict on that?” He mocked her, and Seras cringed, waiting for whatever punishment he would deliver next. “Well, answer me.”

 

Seras took a breath and opened her mouth to speak, when a knock sounded at the door. Anderson gave her a silencing look, clearly communicating that one peep would mean her immediate death, and whirled away, long coat swirling about his knees. He crossed the room in two long steps. Seras heard the door creak open. “Iain,” the priest exclaimed, shifting his lanky form to mask her from the boy's view, “what are ye doing out of bed so late?”

 

Seras turned her head toward the conversation, baffled by the Mad Paladin's sudden tenderness. “I had a bad dream,” said a small boy's voice. Crimson eyes widened, and she was sure she'd never been so genuinely surprised in her life. He took care of children?

 

“Oh, nasty wee things, those nightmares are!” His voice was the epitome of kindness and understanding as he reached out to ruffle the boy's sleep-mussed hair. “Let's go on back to bed then, and I'll tell ye a story.” He stepped out and the door closed behind him without so much as a backward look, leaving the puzzled young vampire alone. Well, she wasn't one to waste opportunities.

 

Gathering up all her strength, Seras grasped the hilt of the bayonet and pulled, yanking it roughly out of her body. It burned as it slid through her flesh all over again, and she let out a little hiss. Looking around the room, she caught sight of her bag, lying casually against a jam-packed bookshelf. She snatched it up and rummaged quickly through it, coming up with a precious bag of medical blood. She tore viciously into the packet, greedily slurping up the tangy liquid within.

 

She crumpled the empty bag and tossed it into an overflowing wire wastebasket, sighing in satisfaction as she felt the new blood coursing through her veins, knitting her wounds and filling her strength reserves. “Well Andy,” she said to the closed door, pulling the backpack over her shoulders, “It's been fun, but I think I'll let you have a night to mull this all over.” She sketched a quick salute, mocking the man who wasn't there to see her antics. “I'll have my people call your people.” Turning on her heel, she jumped nimbly out of the open window and set off for the safe-house she had lately been calling home.

 

An hour and three stories later, Anderson returned to find his room empty. Not at all surprised, he stripped the bed of its bloody sheets, needn't give the laundry room cause for gossip, and was about to place them in the garbage basket when he noticed something strange.

 

Gingerly, he plucked the empty bag from the top of the trash pile, holding it close to his nose with thumb and forefinger. He sniffed, grimacing as the metallic tang of blood invaded his nostrils. “Wha's that? The vampire girl drinks from a baggie?” he asked the empty room, incredulously. This was something he would have to look into.

 

***

 

“I need a status report, Alucard.” Integra was pacing impatiently round her cell, as had become her habit of late. “Where are we on the Anderson situation?”

 

“It seems she is making progress, Master.” Alucard seated himself and motioned for Integra to take her place. She did so, but not before glaring at him. Bastard was growing cocky, taking liberties with her that he would never dare, were she not imprisoned and in handcuffs. “She has made contact, and she is still alive, which is as well as could be hoped.”

 

“Well, I suppose that is the first step.” Integra snorted. “Any word on his reaction?”

 

“Aside from stabbing her several times, apparently he's been quite reasonable.” Alucard paused to sip blood from his goblet, swirling it around in his mouth like fine wine. “Which, when one considers the Judas Priest, is quite an accomplishment.”

 

“Is that a hint of pride I detect in your voice, Alucard? Your daughter is all grown up and facing down murderous zealots.”

 

“Yes, yes, they grow so fast. Why, I remember when you were just a girl, come to keep me company in my imprisonment.” He grinned at her, eyeing the handcuffs on her wrists, “Funny how things always come full circle.”

 

Integra could do nothing but snarl and curse at her wayward servant, as his laughter rang around her cell like the peals of a bell.