Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Stray Dog ❯ Bloodletting ( Chapter 7 )

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: Many thanks to those few who read and review. Your support is everything. Things get a mite gory in this chapter, and I warn you again that I am not awesome at action scenes. Enjoy.

 

Chapter 7: Bloodletting

The fight was not going well. Seras was full of holes, slowly knitting themselves back together while she continued hacking away at her enemies. Anderson's left eye was missing, a bloody, gaping hole in its place. Up until a moment ago, the eye had merely been popped out, and had been dangling precariously from its socket, but then the ghoul on top of him had eaten it…and…well, now it was gone. Barf.

Seras was firing wildly into the pile of reanimated corpses, pulling bodies off as they died and tossing them off to the side without a thought. In her fury and haste, she was no longer paying any heed to the fact that she might be scoring a few shots on the priest himself; she just needed to get him out of there. Behind her, a freak was laughing, his mouth open so wide that she could see that all of his teeth had been filed to points. Fucking loser.

She breathed a sigh of relief to finally see Anderson again, as he grabbed hold of a ghoul's jaws and pulled as hard as he could, ripping the thing's head in half in a spray of blood. Its hands continued to claw at him, but at least it wasn't gnawing at him anymore. She fired a bullet at its back, through the heart, which unfortunately went on to bury itself in the priest's stomach. He didn't even seem to notice it. She popped off a few more rounds from her handgun at the surrounding ghouls, delighting in their death screams. “Fucking bastards. Didn't your mothers ever teach you not to eat people's eyeballs?” She ran into the melee, grabbed Anderson's hand and hauled him to his feet with a grunt. They planted their feet, back to back, and prepared for another onslaught.

Seras reloaded her gun and squeezed off the rounds, killing with every shot, her stomach growling as blood spattered. She could feel Anderson's coat fluttering against her bare legs, tossed about by a sudden wind. A flurry of bible pages obscured her view for a split second; not long, but long enough. A cold hand clamped around her ankle and she was pulled off her feet, dragged away from her protective alliance with the Judas Priest. More joined in, and soon she was being engulfed by fetid, rotting corpses. She shrieked and fired her gun, blasting the brains out of the ghoul who was dragging her. His headless body dropped to the ground, but his fingers remained clamped round her leg, and though she struggled, she could not break free. She managed to kick her captor's arm clean off, his fingers still clinging to her ankle, but another took up the task, and another and another, until she was being carried away in the writhing mass. She smelled death and blood all around her, and her stomach rolled with the contending sensations of hunger and sickness. She lashed out in fury, viciously tearing at the ghouls nearest her, but there were too many. How she wished for her Harkonnen. She could blast the whole lot away at once, with her precious gun!

“I hope you forgive me for prolonging your suffering,” a voice said, and she looked up to see the Freak, the master of this gong-show, glaring distastefully down at her. “But when I realized what you were, I had to see for myself, what kind of a little bitch would team up with the Vatican against her own kind.”

“You could never hope to be my kind,” she hissed, “fucking Freak.” She grunted as his boot made contact with her face, and she spat out a mouthful of blood, tongue probing her mouth to ensure that her teeth were all still intact.

“Shut your mouth!”

“You're pathetic.” It hurt to talk. Was her jaw broken? “You play vampire like kids play house. You're a sad little excuse for a nightwalker, feeding senselessly, making this army of ghouls to hide behind. When you killed these people, were you even thirsty?” She demanded, jerking furiously as she felt teeth biting at her leg, hands pulling, trying to rip her arms from their sockets. The Freak above her began to laugh as she struggled at his feet.

“What does it matter?” He crowed, incredulously. “These creatures were beneath me, beneath us! They are weak and pathetic, like cattle to be fattened up and fed upon! Look, see how they obey me now! Even in their misery and pain, they crawl back from Hell to serve me.”

“You're pathetic!” Seras shrieked, desperately struggling to get free, so she could tear this motherfucker limb from limb.

“And yet you're the one at death's door. Not me.” He cocked his head and grinned down at her.

“I wouldn'a count on it, bloodsucker.” The heavy sound of Anderson's boots drew his voice closer. The Freak hissed, but was not fast enough to dodge the barrage of bayonets that came hurling out of the darkness. “Without yer ghouls, ye're nothing. Look a' that. Ye can't even defend yerself!” The Freak fell to the ground beside Seras, eyes wide with panic. There was a bayonet lodged, dead center, in his neck, and she cringed at the sight. Two more blades pierced his torso, one mere centimetres from his heart. She knew that had been deliberate.

“You're going to let him kill me, sister?” the freak vampire looked to her, his expression begging. Bible pages whirled through in a blast of wind, slicing them both, but ridding Seras of several of her captors. She kicked free, knocking heads and limbs off, and was finally able to reach her gun, which made short work of the rest. She spat a mouthful of blood on the ground, and was happy to see it contained no teeth.

“You were going to let them eat me! Of course I'm going to let him kill you. And I'm not your bloody sister.” She crawled over, for she didn't think she could even stand, much less walk, and patted the freak on the head. “Don't worry,” she said, smiling with bloody fangs, “I'm sure he won't prolong your suffering. He likes to make his kills quickly.”

*

“Oof,” Seras grunted, coughing up a bit of blood onto Anderson's coat, “be careful, will you?”

“If ye'd quit wiggling, I could.” Anderson readjusted his hold on the little vampire, who was currently slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, shapely rump in the air. He'd have carried her more gently if he could have, but several bones in his right arm and hand were still broken from the fight, and he couldn't support any weight with them. “Besides, it's no' my fault ye can't walk.” She'd suffered serious damage to one knee while being dragged around like a sack of meat, not to mention severe blood loss from several cuts and wounds. Toss in a few cracked ribs and you had one beat-up vampire. She was barely conscious as it was, and her stomach was gurgling like a feral animal. She needed blood. Soon. She'd begun to feel light-headed, and predatory thoughts were entering her mind, unbidden. She wondered if Anderson's blood would taste as good as it smelled, and if his ass was as deliciously biteable as it looked from her dangling vantage point.

“Your shoulder is digging into my stomach,” she said, inanely, trying to keep her mouth occupied so that she wouldn't begin to test her theories. Her head was fuzzy and she felt weak.

“Deal with it.” He retorted, “Besides, we'll be back at the orphanage soon.”

“The orphanage? Why are we going there?” To eat the kids? She hoped so…no she didn't. Bad thoughts. Bad, hungry thoughts.

“Because I've no idea where ye stay, Draculina, and ye're in no fit state tae get us there. So ye'll rest up an hour or so with me, and then ye'll be well enough tae get yerself home before sunrise.”

“Oh.” Seras said, her poor, fuzzy brain working out the details. She knew he was right; she could barely remember where she was staying, and they hadn't time for a jaunt through city streets, injured and on foot. Sunrise was only a few hours away, and in this state, she'd never be able to handle it.

*

Anderson lowered his burden down onto the bed, trying his best not to disturb her. His own body was nearly good as new, though a few superficial scratches still remained, but he could not say the same for his companion. She'd passed in and out of consciousness during the rest of the trip, but she hadn't made much sense while awake. She didn't look much better than she had when he'd picked her up before starting the hour-long walk home. She was even paler than usual, and her breaths came shallow and ragged. She didn't seem to be healing properly.

Shit.

“Anderson,” she muttered from the bed, startling him. Her eyes were dull and cloudy. “Need to feed…don't…kids.” She curled into herself, hugging her stomach and squeezing her eyes tightly shut. “Smell so fresh…can't bite them. Starving. So hungry.” Anderson watched the little vampire writhe and listened to her mutterings with growing horror. He'd put the orphans in a great deal of danger, bringing home a starving vampire. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. He'd been a fool not to realize how badly in need of blood she was, but he'd never considered her a danger before, not while she was safely supplied with blood bags. And of course she didn't have any! Where the hell would she hide them, in that skimpy uniform?

Shit!

He jumped up, pacing the small room with long strides. No time to find her place and bring back blood bags, even if she were coherent enough to give him directions. Besides that, he couldn't risk leaving her alone, in case the hunger overcame her, but where could he bring her? His eyes fell on the storage bench, full of occult books, at the end of his bed, and he thought of shoving her in there for the daylight hours. Put a blanket over it, and she'd be fine, right? Just like a coffin. Maybe chain it shut, just to be safe? Did he even have a chain?

SHIT!

What if she died in there? He'd made a promise to kill her, himself, but he didn't want to, not yet, not while she was writhing in pain, begging him not to let her feed on the orphans. That didn't seem right. She hadn't repented to God yet either, hadn't come to see the error of her ways. This wasn't how she was supposed to die.

Before he even realized what he was doing, a bayonet slid from nothingness into his hand, and his fingers curled comfortably around the smooth, polished handle. “God, forgive me,” he muttered, shaking his head at his own foolishness. He crossed the floor in three long strides to lock the bedroom door, the bolt turning with a heavy clunk. “She's no' really so bad,” he said, almost timidly, as he pulled off his gloves and rolled up one sleeve, “even though she's a filthy nightwalker an' all. So I'm going tae save her, Lord…and if ye dinna wish it, give me a sign, aye?” He waited, peering wide eyed around the room, holding his breath. Nothing. Not even a flutter of the curtains on the breeze. “Aye. Okay then. Here goes.” He closed his eyes and crossed himself, then took a deep breath and drew the blade cleanly across his forearm. His blood welled up, quick and hot, and he felt a little sick to think of what he was about to do.

Seras stirred, her nose tingling as the scent of fresh blood filled the room, and she crawled weakly across the bed. He tried not to look at her, bruised and bleeding and half naked, for all the rents and tears in her uniform, as he sat next to her. “What are you doing?” She asked, drawing toward his bloodied arm, even as she spoke. She stopped, so close he could feel the brush of her skin on the hairs of his arm, and shivered.

“I'm going tae let ye drink of me,” he said, calmly, meeting her eyes. The look in them embarrassed him. “But ye have tae understand that I'm only doing it so ye don't eat the kids, aye? Normally I'd let ye suffer.” She nodded dumbly, as though that was the most sensible thing anyone had ever said to her, the tip of her tongue visible between parted lips. His words were a distant jumble of sound, lost as she was in the heady scent of his blood. Cold silver touched her neck; the familiar feel of a sharp blade on her skin. “And I'm warnin' ye now, Draculina, if ye even think about biting me, I'll slit yer throat and toss ye out intae the dawn. I'm no' joking.”

Her tongue touched him then, and he watched, half horrified, half he-didn't-know-what, to see its length snaking out of her mouth, to coat itself in his blood. She moaned aloud, a deep, dirty sound in her throat, and she clutched at his arm with both hands. Every muscle in Anderson's body tightened, and he had to concentrate very hard to hold the blade steady against her neck, as that long tongue flicked and slithered over his skin.

“More.” She demanded, raising her head to meet his eyes. Her husky voice startled him, and he looked down to realize that the wound had closed. She looked dangerously close to ripping open a new one, herself. He brought the blade down again, scored his wrist, and she was on him before the blood began to flow. Her lips settled on his flesh this time, and the bayonet clattered to the floor, dropped in shock. The hand that had been holding it moved up of its own accord, fisting in her hair, and it was Anderson's turn to moan this time. He felt dizzy and drunk with the sensation of her lips, kissing away his lifeblood, and all fear of her bite flew from his mind. Who would have thought it would feel so good to be fed from?

When his healing mechanisms kicked in and the second wound closed, Seras did not hesitate to dig her nails into his arm, tearing open his skin to let hot blood bubble up, and Anderson did not protest, only grunted with the pain. It made his heart beat faster, made his life spurt, in rhythm, into her waiting mouth.

She dug deeper next time, ignoring the strangled gasp that escaped his throat. She was intoxicated with the heady taste of him, and the way his regenerator's blood washed through her veins, knitting together torn flesh, mending broken bone with a speed even she was unaccustomed to. His blood warmed her body, and for the first time in a long time, her skin was not cold like the grave. She revelled in it, demanding and drinking more and more, until her body mended and she was full.

Finally, she released her death grip on his arm, dragged her reluctant lips from his warm skin, and looked up to meet Anderson's eyes. He sat slumped back against the headboard, long limbs sprawled out before him in seeming comfort and relaxation. But he was breathing hard, and his eyes met hers with the sort of dark intensity that normally meant he was about to slaughter something. She could hear his heartbeat, thumping hard and fast in his chest, as though it were ready to burst, and she began to worry that she'd taken too much. Without warning, his hand shot out and fisted in the front of her shirt, yanking her forward. He dragged her across the bed and up over his body, and crushed her mouth to his with a force that left her winded. She felt him quiver, hard against her belly, and she couldn't help the tremor of response that ran through her.

Seras moaned, opening her mouth to him as he pushed her down and crawled over her. He braced himself with one hand over her head, while the other touched her bare leg, almost tentatively, as though he were afraid to singe her with his heat. He pushed up her skirt and his fingers trailed between her legs, rubbing her through her panties. He groaned to feel the slick heat beneath his fingers, and wondered if she was always so warm there.

He kissed her harder, desperately, like a man in a storm clinging to salvation, and she bucked against his hand, hot blood singing in her ears. “Ah…Anderson,” she moaned when their lips finally parted, his trailing down her neck as his free hand came up to tug at her shirt. He shifted, balancing all his weight on his knees as his hands slipped under her shirt, running up her sides to cup her breasts. His fingers seemed to burn through the lace of her bra, and she arched against him, desperate for the heat of his living body.

The remaining buttons of her shirt were quickly undone, and he lifted her from the bed, hot, desperate mouth descending to kiss the tops of her breasts. He pushed her bra down, sucking one nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. She gasped, and fisted her hands in his close-cropped hair, as he bit down, tugging and scraping the sensitive little bud with his teeth. He was rough in his overwhelming want for her, and she was surprised to find her own fingers digging into him, hard enough to bruise.

Their eyes met, then, and for a moment, she felt as though she were looking at a wild animal. He was grinning at her, teeth bared with her rosy pink nipple trapped between, and his green eyes swam with lust and desire. He looked at her with wild eyes, the way he'd looked at her that first day in his bedroom, when he'd pinned her to the bed with a bayonet; like he wanted to fuck her and hurt her and kill her and love her and save her and damn her to Hell all at once, but he wasn't quite sure where to start. This, she realized, was Anderson, running on instinct. He terrified her, deep down, but deeper he excited her, made her quake with hot, wet greed for him.

Seras snarled, her nails tearing at his shirt, ripping it open so she could run her nails down his chest, scratch him till he bled. He responded in kind, fingers digging into her soft flesh, as he claimed her lips with his own once more. The bruising force of his kiss was matched by the desperate thrust of his hips against hers, and his groan of frustration at the layers of clothing still between them. He pressed himself down atop her, crushing her naked breasts against his bare chest, as she tried to get ever closer.

He made her want to burn in Hell, so long as she could drag him down too.

God, he was warm, her skin burned where he touched it, and it felt good, so good. And then, suddenly, it was too much. Right between her breasts, she felt as though she was on fire, and she shrieked in pain as her skin sizzled. Anderson shot up off her, shocked, and she noticed the cross, dangling like death from a chain around his neck. Holy silver.

Seras watched as horrified realization dawned on the warrior priest. She'd never seen eyes so wide as those emerald ones, fixed on the angry red burn between her breasts. “Holy God…” he muttered, stumbling backward into his desk in his haste to get away from her. “What have I done?” He turned away, bracing himself with one hand against the desk, as though he were about to be sick.

Seras felt her cheeks flame as she hastened to right her clothing. She pulled her bra back up, thankful that the awkward gesture was hidden from the paladin's view, and did up the remaining buttons on her shirt, for all the good that did. “I…” She trailed off, no idea what to say.

“Ye should go.” Anderson said stiffly, still facing the wall. Seras took a step toward him, saw his shoulders tense, and stopped. “Ye've got yer blood, Vampire, ye're well enough ta go. So leave me be.” He did not turn to look at her, and she suddenly felt very ashamed.

Anderson remained like that for ten more minutes, and when he finally dared to turn, he was alone. He had not heard her leave. He had not expected to. He crossed the room to the window, where he could see the sun beginning to rise in the distance. Of course, he could not see the little midian. Of course, he had not expected to.