Hellsing 1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were.  
A/N: Yet another something I found on my comp. Likely a one-shot. We'll see. ; )

  


I was a burden. I was lonely. I was a servant.

  


I was "police girl", and nothing more.

  


There's no denying Master's very nature is hypnotic, unrelenting. My own choice? Never. From the very moment I first heard his voice in my head, my words, my thoughts, my existence has been the Master's will. I fancy that even my futile endeavors to resist embracing my new life was some form of entertainment concocted to appease his macabre fascinations, an attempt to alleviate boredom.

  


The truth is I held his attention for the time it took to drain the blood from my dying body. More recently, I doubt even that assumption. My misfortunate lies in the fact that I can think of nothing else. No one else. Only Master.

  


In the end, my supposed release came, not by my "will", but by his command. I began my journey as a No Life King not long after the downfall of the Hellsing Institute. My world had turned on its axis, and my Master was content to abandon me to the Underground that I'd come to know as my home, if a being such as I could lay claim to such domesticities. I was still steeped with my human routines and rituals then. So completely naïve, so painfully unaware.

  


_There is nothing left for you here, police girl…_

  


He offered his blood to me for a second time with those words, and, in spite of my ignorance I knew…It was no act of kindness on my part. He wanted to sever the tie that held me to him, to release himself of responsibility.

  


And I only wanted to please him. So I drank.

  


Over fifty years have passed since I left London. I am aimless, wandering, often wondering why I was offered this power when I feel I can never fully explore its potential. I am all questions and no answers, having lost the want to ask long ago. Though I have done my best to obey my Master's words.

  


_Do it more and more…follow the darkness with all your strength…_

  


And now I find myself, after all this time--which is really inconsequential if I am to live forever—back in the same place it all began. For just one week prior, the last of the Hellsing line died.

  


And in spite of what I knew, feeble hope remained. Selfish motivations, yes, but, if I were to follow my Master's example, those were the only kind worthwhile. Would I be "police girl" always, or, just once, would I be Seras? One question that I dared to explore.

  


One question that I hoped he would answer.

  
  


****

  
  


It was a nice night.

  


She stood with her face tilted up toward the moon, her eyes closed so as to more fully appreciate the myriad of smells that plagued the evening air. The sky had offered a brief reprieve to the rain that had been falling all day, pleasuring her adept vision with a glorious view of the moors, blanketed with a fog that would have been a pristine white in the light of day. Silhouetted against the grayscale backdrop were headstones, enclosed by wrought iron. She hadn't the luxury of a closer view, though the fence was the least of her worries. It still troubled her, at times, to know that restrictions existed against her that, in effect, labeled her an abomination. Proof every day that she grew ever farther from having been human.

  


A soft breeze stirred the errant titian strands that framed her pale face, and she couldn't help the smile that tilted the corners of her mouth, the scent of rain and fresh earth almost as satisfying as…

  


A sudden shift in the wind broke her reverie; her wide, crimson eyes glowed eerily in the darkness as she focused her senses, her awareness heightened. It had been a long time since she'd felt anything other than an empty ambivalence…the anticipation that unfurled within her gut, though disconcerting, was a welcome change.

  


That…and for the first time in half a century, she could sense his presence. Her voice, a whisper as reverent and tremulous as prayer, pierced the silence around her as efficiently as a scream.

  


"Master."

  


She saw the shadows ripple, yet forced herself to stare straight ahead, feeling the mist gathering around her feet, her spine tingling with the knowledge of his eyes upon her. It seemed as though he was appraising her, most likely studying the effect of her descent into the darkness in which he'd dwelt longer than even he could remember. It was a path he'd often times ordered her to follow, and a path from which she'd turned time and again, in spite of her desire to do as he wished. It was only when she no longer had to obey him, when she'd nothing left and nowhere to go, that she finally ventured into the abyss, letting go of all that had kept her human.

  


She could sense that he was pleased with what he saw.

  


"Master," she whispered again, her voice merely a sigh as she bowed her head beneath the weight of his scrutiny, closing her eyes in an effort to enhance her other senses, so that she might revel in the gravity of his presence all the more.

  


His voice seemed one with the sounds of the night, blending well with the crickets and owls, carried to her upon a cold wind that forced an involuntary shudder. "I am no longer your master, police girl."

  


She opened her eyes, tilting her head up to stare at the moon, bloated and full and low on the horizon. Taking a deep breath, she turned, leveling her gaze on the figure cloaked in darkness mere feet away. His countenance was bathed in shadow, the only visible feature being his crimson eyes, heavily hooded and fixed intently on her.

  


"You will always be my master," she murmured, fighting the urge to lower her eyes from his penetrating stare. A heavy silence settled between the two vampires, pregnant with thoughts left unspoken. A throaty chuckle broke the spell, as Arucard finally emerged from his ebony shroud, adorned in his characteristic red overcoat and charcoal suit, although he was without his hat. He stopped his approach when no than a few inches separated them, an ever-present smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.

  


"You've grown strong, Seras."

  


Her response to his saying her name was immediate, her lips parting in mild surprise as she blinked. His smiled widened slightly, his gaze flickering down over her body and back to her face before he moved to step around her. She kept her eyes upon him, turning as he passed, her feet planted to the ground as she watched him walk several paces ahead of her, then pause with his back to her.

  


"You're proud of me."

  


It was more of a statement than a question, though she'd initially meant it to be an inquiry. When he gave no reply, she moved to stand beside him, craving his nearness, and despising herself for it. They stood, immersed in the solitude and solemnity of the graveyard, staring out over the moonlit plots, their combined presence a throbbing hum that underscored the night air, tainting the crickets' midnight symphony. The moon had disappeared from the sky, the dawn no more than an hour away, before she finally gathered the courage to speak again.

  


"Does this mean you're free?"

  


She could feel his eyes upon her, studying her profile, but she refused to face him, suddenly ashamed to have broached the subject. She knew that, as demeaning his service to the Hellsing Institute was, he'd held a inexplicable fondness for Sir Integra, a fondness of which she'd, at times, been quite jealous. She kept perfectly still beneath the gravity of his stare, wishing she could take the words back, and entirely expecting him to forego an answer and leave her wondering in the light of the dawn. It was with that in mind that he spoke, his voice silky smooth as a lover's caress, a lingering sadness in his words that forced her to turn to gaze upon him.

  


"I will never be free. Not like you."


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: I'm back. ;) For disclaimer, see first chapter._

In spite of fifty years' worth of letting go, of doing her best to rid herself of her human tendencies, her weaker vanities—bonds that would only restrict her freedom and deny her the fullest potential as a vampire, as her master insisted—old habits still died hard. Older masters, minions from centuries past, often clung to that which remained most unchanged, that which was least fickle, that which remained familiar in spite of the lightning speed with which the cultures and the peoples changed, and that was the Earth itself. The moon, the night, the hunger, the hunt, and the blood.

Seras moved as if in a trance, although it might do well to say she herself wove a trance on those around her. There was an altogether ethereal quality to the sway of her hips, the shift of corded muscle beneath flawless porcelain skin, the way her blood red mouth parted in an inaudible sigh as she tilted her head back, her own hands exploring the voluptuous curves of her body as if discovering new territory, her pulse a steady, slow beat beneath the taut, smooth expanse of flesh that contoured her neck. She felt a mass of bodies undulating around her, pressing in and piercing through, feeling the lust, the drunkenness, and the high as if it were her own. A wash of hot breath on her neck pulled her back to her body, her lids barely parting to register a face before opening her mouth against the swollen, tender, sweet flesh of a man, no more than 20 or 21, her warm hands cupping his face and chasing away any recourse. She felt his moan against her mouth, swallowed it and and the several intoxicating breaths that followed, ending the kiss with a quick nip on his lower lip and a smooth suckle. He followed her and their eyes met, his dark brown transfixed by swirling garnet. She felt the pleasure-pain of her fangs lengthening against her slightly parted lips, deepening the stare but keeping out of range of his searching mouth, feeling the corners of her own lift in a seemingly coy but altogether mischievous smile. She blinked slowly against the eerie scarlet glow of the club, the weight of the air, the energy of the inhabitants pulsing much like her still-beating heart.

Something this raw, this primal, this predatory…Seras considered it unthinkable to deny herself the endless possibilities.

She let her mind wander as she lured her latest catch to the end of the dance floor, her feet carrying her in such a way that to the casual observer it seemed she floated, never breaking eye contact, her deceptively delicate-appearing fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt in her fist as she backed them into an unoccupied corner. It was almost too easy, the so-called evolution of the hunt. The prey no longer evaded the hunter, instead seemingly hoping to spring the trap and bring their demise in a rush of lust, sweat, and blood.

She fancied the satisfaction to be no less were she to chase her quarry over the moors beneath the chilling glow of a full moon to rip out his throat and drain him dry, with the scavengers of the night her only witnesses. She was certain neither method was entirely civilized, but every creature does what it's meant to do, and she was, for the most part, a hunter.

She made no sound as his body collapsed against hers in the rush to close the meager distance that separated them, the painted brick digging into the exposed flesh of her back as the captured imagined himself the captor in this dance. His mouth founds hers again, briefly but bruisingly, before her hand snaked up around his nape, nimble fingers cupping the back of his skull before fisting to clutch a handful of thick, black hair. The action forced his head back long enough for her to strike, fangs buried to the hilt as one creamy thigh locked around his hips, rocking his pelvis into hers.

In spite of outward appearances, beneath always lay the cold calculation of a monster under cover, a wolf in sheep's clothing not about to lose its skin. Out of habit and necessity, she counted each lengthy swallow, knowing less than three would be too few to keep her through to the next encounter, and more than seven usually rendered her victim unconscious, sometimes even dead, if her hunger was too strong. Her goal was often the appearance of one too many drinks, perhaps an accompanying headache.

She never planned to kill, and, thankfully hadn't needed to in many years. There had been a period during her immortal infancy in which she'd suffered a periodic loss of sanity, the aftershocks of too much blood in too short a time, and the rush that followed the taking of a life reminded her entirely too much of that era in her evolution. She didn't mind occasionally letting her control slip, but she never, ever wanted to lose it completely.

And because of this she knew that she would never become as powerful as her master.

**----**

Three partners later she emerged from the club, enjoying the feel of the night air passing into her lungs and the ambiance of freedom the open, cloudless sky offered. She made walking in 6-inch stilettos appear effortless, as though her feet never quite touched the ground, the footfalls muted against the backdrop of the nearly empty London alley. She'd found more recently that she had to consciously make an effort to be noisy, to be certain her movements weren't completely stealthy, her human inadequacies and clumsiness yielding to the instincts that blossomed with the awakening of her blood. She drew the sash of her silk-lined black overcoat almost painfully tight about her middle, an efficiency and grace evident in even the mundane action of tying a knot.

Slipping ruby-tipped fingers deep into her pockets, she pressed her elbows into her ribs, mouth curved upward in the smallest of smiles, the only evidence of the rolling high that coursed and thrummed within her veins. Shadows lengthened and swarmed in her vision, the dark and dingy byways and cold, black buildings coming to life in a collection of colors invisible to any human eye. She opened her senses to the early morning city, inviting the scents, sounds and sights with a deep rumble within her chest that one might liken to a cat's purr.

So lost in the glory of the trees that she almost missed the forest.

In an instant, her world collapsed to a narrow collection of distinct foci: the almost imperceptible eddy of shadows to her right, now just behind; the unmistakable weight of another presence, ancient, dark, and more hungry than she; the almost complete absence of sound, the dimming of what little light reflected off the concrete from the city streets less than a block away; and then, an almost painful pressure building without, against her gut, and then suddenly pulling from within…

The altercation was over in mere seconds, and a human passer-by might have overlooked it completely, for lack of sound or disruption in the surroundings. In one moment, she was standing in a random alley, and in the next, she was slammed against an unyielding expanse of moldy brick and mortar. The attack failed to stun her, and almost immediately she reacted, using the strength provided by the newly acquired blood to push back with her own invisible arm, apparently surprising her opponent in the time it took for her to lash out at the source. Formerly dainty hands now curved into claws, slashing at a shadow to her right, only to change direction within a millisecond, spinning round in a blur of black and red, her forearm pressing against something solid, not unlike flesh encasing a broad, muscular chest, before it evaporated into nothingness. She could sense the metamorphosis, the sudden shift in gravity that was antecedent to the change in form, and she probed with her heightened senses, anticipating her opponent's next point of coalescence, at times coming so close as to be rewarded with the yield of flesh parting beneath her well-manicured nails. She was in the midst of her fourth swing when she realized the presence had a familiar signature, and determination melted into outright shock as her clawed hand made purchase, fingers plunging deep into abdomen of her foe, just as a bemused chuckle erupted and echoed in the empty alley above her head.

It was enough to throw her off, her attacker finally earning a short, high-pitched cry of alarm as he encircled her wrist with his hand, his grip eliciting a series of cracks and pops and never loosening as his body vanished into the ether, reappearing behind her, her arm swung round to the small of her back as he grabbed the other wrist and pitched her body forward, her cheek and splayed hand meeting slick, wet brick with a sickening slap. Her body soon followed, forced from behind by a wall of flesh and bone. She couldn't help the wave of pleasure that threatened as she felt a long, lean, muscular form press in from behind, her body at war with her mind, drunk from her most recent meal and the physicality of hand-to-hand combat, coupled with the simple fact that it had been a long time since she'd been this close to another vampire, or at least one that could best her.

Most of all, this wasn't just any vampire.

She was surprised to feel his breath, amazed at its heat, and knew that he had to have fed recently, or else the air that stirred the wisps of air near her jaw where it met her earlobe would have been cold as the collection of stone he'd pinned her against. She closed her eyes, feeling his amusement even now as his laughter died down, focusing on the pain in the arm at her back to regain her sensibilities, fighting the lure of him even as her back arched to meld herself more fully to him. She tried to tell herself in the seconds that passed before he spoke, feeling his appreciation and excitement rolling off him in waves, the burn of his appraisal as he inhaled her scent, that her reaction would have been the same with any other attacker, the blood and battle mingling to lessen her defenses and feed her passions. But as she detected the vibrations of his voice transmitted through the fabric at her back, heard its rapport within her mind, pooling in a welcome ache deep within her belly and at the apex of her thighs, she knew that no one else could ever make her feel this weak.

"Hmm, Seras, You smell…_delicious_." Arucard paused to nudge the side of her head with his cheek, bowing his head to press his lips against the pulse in her neck, her breath escaping in a hushed curse as she helplessly lolled her head to the side, allowing him better access. In spite of her desire a part of her remained terrified, always aware of how volatile he could be, eternally aware of just how dangerous he'd always been. Had she overstepped her bounds in staying there, in London? Was he angry that she'd fed from humans, or, at the other end of the spectrum, was he angry that she hadn't followed through and killed her prey? She'd planned on returning to America, eventually, or perhaps journey to the Old Country to take a tour of Europe, she just hadn't decided…would her indecisiveness now cost her the right to exist, in his eyes?

And despite being tied to him by the only bond that mattered, his blood an ancient thrum beneath her skin--and again she felt her back arch, spine curving, her buttocks cupped by his groin, layers of clothes preventing her from determining whether his level of arousal matched her own—she knew his mind no more, and perhaps far less, than any random vampire wandering the night.

A throaty chuckle warmed the skin of her neck, its condescending tone effectively silencing what her mind could not as her body tensed, her muscles finally responding to her commands, the flame of her desire reduced to cinder and ashes in the space of a breath. She felt her brow furrow, a glower replacing the grimace as she felt him loosen his hold slightly, only to have her basest feelings rekindled as she felt his pelvis rock into her bottom, her breasts bouncingly almost painfully against the wall in front of her, eyes widening in shock as he released her wrists, his strong hands suddenly at her hips, squeezing brusquely as he rocked again. She spread her hands against the wall in response, unable and quite unwilling to stop whatever it was that was happening.

It was the second time, in a moment of quiet despair and longing amidst the confusion, that she realized he felt nothing, save for the wry amusement evident in his voice. And although his actions--graphic and forward in their nature--insinuated a lust that she'd not known him to exhibit in the past, she knew as he finally drew his body completely away from her, her back aching for want of his warmth within seconds, that he'd once again proven his control over her.

"Ahhh, you're so young, Seras," he purred, and she knew he was toying with her still, his voice like molasses on the night air. "So reserved. So easy and weak." The last words were enough to draw her gaze to the side, red orbs glaring from beneath long lashes at his slowly retreating from, his back to her, hand resting comfortably in his pockets, his hair a wild dark mass that seemed to writhe around his crown in the waning darkness, his lanky form encased in black leather. He paused, turning to offer a view of his profile, the subtle glow of his irises barely visible beneath barely parted eyelids. His voice was reduced to a mocking whisper that only she could detect. "I expected as much from a leech."

Before she could register what she was doing, she'd flown from her stance, an angry roar building at the back of her throat, her rage driving her forward towards his cocky silhouette. Just as soon as it began, it was forcefully suppressed, a hand as strong and unyielding as marble at her throat, stealing the comfort of air from her lungs, her scarlet eyes swirling with emotion and bulging from her skull as her claws pried at the vice beneath her chin.

"In all seriousness, Seras, I'm surprised and ashamed," he crooned, tilting his head up to lock her gaze with his left eye, the other hidden in a raven-colored shock of hair. She felt his iron grip on her neck tighten even more, heard the animosity dripping from every spoken word. "I should just kill you and finish this. You didn't get so far by sampling and tasting. Have you not heard a thing I've said?"

Thoroughly caught off guard, she didn't anticipate his sudden departure, her legs collapsing beneath her as she tumbled to the ground, bracing herself on her palms, her arms trembling with her weight as well as emotional and physical exhaustion. His presence lingered, like incense on the wind, subtle but persistent, and she bowed beneath the gravity of his words and his scrutiny, unable to fight the sting of tears as she began to sob quietly, shoulders shaking as the echo of his laughter rang in the recesses of her mind. She allowed herself a few seconds of release, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth and angrily swiping at tears as she recovered, her actions much like that of a scolded child.

A toy. A pawn. A game. A joke. She knew what she was to him now, what she'd always been.

In the emptiness that surrounded her, she could detect a faint whisper, nearly indistinguishable from the myriad of night sounds now that the blanket of his presence had been lifted.

_More and more, police girl. More and more... _


End file.

Hellsing, Angst