“I don’t see why you are so upset,” Shanoa sighed. She hiked up her underwear without skipping a beat, temper as even as always. “You preformed adequately.”
The reporter’s neck was limper than his spent privates. “Just thought screwing a witch would be more magical than that.” He rolled onto his side, then tucked himself away. “Man, nothing gets to you at all, does it?”
The amazing part of lying with Dracula was how very, very fluid he was. He could be anything she desired, take any man’s face. All she wanted at that moment was to see the root of his magic, to lay eyes on him as he had once been. The good doctor had no idea whether or not the image he showed to her was the truth. It was good enough for her. Seeing him like this—raven-haired, smooth skinned, eyes as piercing as crystals in wild snowstorms—that beauty took her own.
A crunch made white hair pop up from the Toyota’s back seat.
Both Soma and Mina stared in horror at the statue smashed through the front of his vehicle. Old Jizo was just doing his duty, guarding youthful spirits. Apparently, he did not approve of the tomfoolery going on inside Soma’s car. The flush of joy on Mina’s face blanched as she realized what had happened. The pair scrambled to put their shirts back on before her father could come storming out of the shrine, panicked and upset for the destruction of one of their beloved icons.
Soma really should have set the safety brake before they started fooling around.
Trevor stared with wide eyes, amazed at the smooth, red curls following the tip of the Vampire Killer. “Your skin really is that sensitive.”
“If you would mind not using your weapon as a means of satisfying me, I would appreciate it,” Alucard growled.
Shanoa didn’t quite understand why the men were staring at her. Was this not how all women ate éclairs?
Charlotte smacked Jonathan’s hand. “Who said you could skip to second base?!”
His whip clattered to the floor, his hands bracing his chest. The fire in his heart went out. All that passion and energy in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a dull, smoky gaze. Obedient eyes looked upon his new master, his will gone. The beguiling temptress smiled. She had emptied the man, and she would fill him again.
A long finger drew him in. “Come hither.”
The hunter crawled to her. She scooped him up, held his head to her chest. His hair caught on the golden beading dangling over her. She picked the strands free, snickering at how smooth it was. He reached for her hand, her waist, pale fingers resting on her bronzed, supple flesh. She let him rest just long enough for the shocked gasp to wear off his companion’s face.
“W-what have you done to Jonathan?” the little witch stammered.
Astarte rested her lips on Jonathan’s forehead before deigning to speak to her. “Don’t be jealous. He was never yours. Why do you think he succumbed so easily my charms?”
Rage flared from the mage. “Y-you cheater! This is a trick!” She clutched her book to her chest, pleading and shouting at her ensorcelled friend. “Jonathan, snap out of it!”
The regal lady bent down, stopping only to whisper in her prey’s ear. “Why don’t you show her who you love best?”
“Yes, my master…” her toy agreed.
“I’ve been waiting for a good looking guy like you,” the wench whispered.
Her wink made Simon groan. Who was she kidding? He smelt like sweat and rotted offal. His skin looked wane, hair greasy, eyes bloodshot from staying awake for days on end. He was pretty sure one of his magic crystals had dropped off, to put a blunt point on how his body was falling apart. If his wife wasn’t going to touch him, there was no way any other woman would.
He drew his whip. Clearly, this had to be some kind of demon, to want to fuck him as he was.
Their young, befuddled master stood frozen in the doorway.
Of course, the poor thing would have no clue what to do. He’d forgotten all the fun they had used to have, so many centuries ago. The maid pulled back the bed sheets as the witches and their pupil drew the nervous man inside. He protested as he was thrown face-first into the bosom of the succubus in the bed. Two more demons fanned their wings about him, leather brushing his round cheeks. A startled gasp eeked out of him as he was drawn back into the arms that desired to hold him—the ample chests that were smothering him.
“Let me go!” the white haired youth cried out.
“Settle down, my lord,” the succubus cooed. “We only want to please you.”
Lips coated his skin and hands. Fingers pulled at his jacket. White fabric went sailing across the room in diagonal chunks. The black sweater beneath it unraveled in the same fashion. This did nothing to calm the reincarnation of their master. He kicked back, bucked against the thick thighs pinning him to the bed.
The white-haired man screamed again. “Somebody, help me!”
The bedroom door slammed back. “Soma!”
Dozens of almond eyes flickered up to the new intruder. Where there had once stood white, there was now black. Soma yanked a pillow from the bed, trying desperately to hide his nakedness. That did not worry his rescuer as much as the hoard of demons that he was tangled in. Not that he was a threat to them, either. With his thick, black hair, and dark eyes, he would make a perfect complement to their quarry—yin to their captured yang.
The succubus wriggled her finger. “Bring him in, ladies.”
“Uh…Jonathan?” Charlotte gasped. “What is that guy doing?”
Now was the poet’s turn to shine! He slammed onto his right knee, extending his hand to the beautiful blue belle behind the repulsive, red-coated rapscallion. How inspiring her wide, innocent eyes were. How more so, he felt for her blooming womanhood, the markers of maturity on such a lovely lady. The words came to him smoothly, as naturally as water flowing from cascades. All he had to do was open his mouth and speak them.
The foppish demon poured out the depths of his soul. “Your stockings are scanty, your skirt I adore. If I knew no better, I’d call you a wh—”
His love pounded his nose in before he could speak any more.
He had never before seen her this way. It broke his heart.
Trevor would have never asked her to step aside, to put away her wand and magic. His friends needed her strength. Now, with her bravado stripped bare as her skin, he ached. What should have been perfect, unmarred flesh was bruised black and blue. One large lump on her left thigh stretched larger than his palm. He rested one hand on her backside, placing the other behind her head. If he had to kiss each wound to make her whole again, he would.
“I’m so sorry that you went through this,” Trevor murmured.
A simple smile and a gruff jab was his reward. “The rest of you had better not be as soft as your heart, Belmont. I haven’t got all night.”
He squeezed her butt, making a bruise of his own. “Right away, miss!”
There was no way he could rise to please her, not before feeding. Damned if Lisa wasn’t nearly doing the trick by sight alone.
It had been her suggestion to use wine glasses instead of bare contact between his teeth and her neck. Such a condition was irritating, but the doctor had made her case. The longer he let Lisa live untainted by his teeth, the more blood she would have for him. Dracula had never been one for husbandry, but having a tame human made his work easier. Just waiting for her to bleed out enough was maddening.
She had a wine glass just for him. Not a fine piece of dining ware, but it was her gift to him, so he said little of it. Every time she fed him, she would use this glass, swirling her pricked finger from its base up. Such a simple, gentle motion was provocative to the vampire lord. He could leap upon her, tear gore from her throat, having his meal done much swifter. This patience, waiting, watching with hungry eyes as Lisa poured herself out for him—it made him all the more eager to finally have her.
Warm lips pressed against the glass before his own, leaving the faint imprint of a kiss behind. “Your dinner, my lord.”
God, he could just eat her up.
“Uh, just to let you know…” Soma stammered. “I-I might randomly change into a woman. One of the souls I’ve picked up is a little bit erratic, and—”
A smooth hand jammed down his pants and stopped his nervous jittering. “I’ll make this work.”
He was sitting on the edge of their bed, eyes yellow and wide. That bird was doing just what came naturally to him. He guarded his mistress with his life, ready to attack at a single command. That did not bring any peace to the man beneath the owl’s owner. Those damn eyes were judging him. He was going to hurt her, he was going to take away her youth, he was going to be just as awful as his father and—
Alucard pulled back. “Maria?”
The eager lady shot up, hair mussed, eyebrows lowered in confusion and concern. “Yes?”
“I need you to get that damn owl out of here,” the dhampir groaned.
“Enough of this folly.” Dracula pushed the writhing demons off of his lap. “I have work to do.”
Soma put the envelope back down and hung his head, knowing that he should have never read its contents. Who would have thought that Arikado would still write love letters to a ghost—and that they would be so provocative?
Nothing was ever documented on Lisa’s heritage. It was said that she came from another lineage of vampire hunters, but that line had died out long ago. The only evidence left to such claims was in Alucard’s nature—the gentleness of holy blood tempering dark powers. Such a mixed bloodline came with burdens, fears that could only be quelled by other hunters. Sometimes, the darkness was too much. That was when he would find the dhampir kneeled before him, gold eyes almost glowing orange, fearful of the changes within himself.
“Belmont,” he would plead. “Help me.”
How enjoyable it was for the vampire hunter to set the dhampir’s humors right—through his own infusion of holy power.
It was after a few minutes of tentative exploration that Sypha decided Alucard was safe, hardly a monster at all. As pure as a man, as Trevor had said. More entertaining than most, though.
“Now, there’s an ass I could never forget,” Julius laughed.
“Well, there’s another reason they’re called the Greatest Five,” Jonathan explained. “Legend has it that they knew of a technique so great that it would make any woman in a three mile radius—”
“I don’t need to know the rest of this!” Charlotte huffed. She paused, then reconsidered. “Unless you know how to do it, of course.”
All Jonathan did was stick out his hand and bap the witch on her forehead. “You ease up, little lady.”
“Do you love me?” Carmilla asked.
Her faithful little lackey chirped back. “Absolutely! Always and forever.”
The vampire queen smirked. She leaned closer to her spritely companion, lashes fluttering. “Can you prove it to me?”
“Anything you wish!” her follower cheered.
Sharp fangs peered over plump lips. “Then kiss me.”
The little minx beneath her pouted. She hated this constant doubt that Carmilla had, the worrying and fretting unbecoming of a vampire and sorceress of her power. This test of loyalty was older than any human alive, the results always the same. It was just the way Carmilla warmed up before she showered her friend with love. She had to have the power, the strength, full control. How funny it was that her little follower always had to give that to her vampire lover, even when she had none herself.
Small teeth and ginger lips had nothing to fear from the feral mouth that fed from her.
“Eternity without her would be nothing but emptiness.”
How true Leon had been. Mathias looked down, disgusted by his new form. He had forever severed himself from the soul that had loved him. Those creamy fingers that had once hesitated to touch his chest, timid and amazed by his form, were no more than ghost wisps over him. There would be no more blonde curls on his shoulders, no sweet lips on his own, no warmth to surround him. All he had left were the vestiges of his body.
With no one left to touch him, he went on alone, his fondling as cold and numb as the rest of his cursed world.
So, maybe it had been a little tactless for Sara and Leon to sneak off into the woods behind the church after Elisabetha’s funeral for a quickie. That still didn’t justify Mathias’ overdramatic revenge.
He could feel Alucard’s gasp trembling in his throat long before the sound left his body. How wonderful a tone it was, sudden and intoxicating, deep and frail. He pulled back on Alucard’s neck, forcing him to lean back. Long hair fell onto his stomach, falling so far as to frame the sword now sheathed deep within the whining, keening dhampir. Nails dug into rough fingers, hissing and swearing following the pang of pain. He clenched tighter, drew another wonderful hitch.
“God, you feel just as good as a woman,” his captor wheezed.
All Alucard could cough was, “Damn you!”
Annette looked up and sighed.
Damned if Richter really wasn’t doing his best. She felt fire through her face and belly, his strength turning her bones to jelly. The way he squeezed her hips, the tender nuzzling to her breasts, the very flick of his tongue across her—it was enough to make her melt. She would never regret taking him in, being his garden, bearing him fruit. She would take joy in such tasks, in being wife and mother.
But she knew her kids were going to have his damn eyebrows, and that was just a turn-off.
Christopher threw back his scotch. Its fire wasn’t enough to burn out the debauchery he had read in Trevor’s journals. The shenanigans with Sypha were to be expected. After all, they had ended up together, so they had to start somewhere. He just could have gone through the rest of his life without knowing about Sir Danasty’s nasty and Alucard’s thoroughly backward nature.
“Hey, babe.” The shopkeeper raised his leg, slamming it down on his makeshift counter. “Wanna know how I got the nickname Hammer?”
Many had reason to call him king. His sprawling castles, his dedicated legions, his airs and graces. That was not what made him feel as the ruler of the night. Oh, there were those moments of hot, sweaty victory, when even the coldness in his loins went rigid with excitement and bloodlust. It was a frosty, hollow shell compared to his moments over her, when his queen drew him into a cloister warmer and sweeter than any virgin’s blood.
“Well, I suppose we could always hit up a soup kitchen, if we’re desperate,” Yoko sighed.
A barking laugh roared from Julius. Everyone turned their heads to the old man. He shook his head, trying to fan the color away from his cheeks. Oh, those poor, innocent kids. They would never have to know the disgrace from such a term, would they?
“Sorry,” Julius apologized. “Just reminded me of a rough night in Amsterdam.”
“I don’t get it.” Soma tipped his head. “What’s so funny about a soup kitchen?”
The Belmont sighed. “When you have lived like I have, Soma, that phrase takes on a whole new meaning.”
“I still don’t know what you mean,” Soma frowned.
All Julius could do was pat the naïve young man on the shoulder. “Just keep your Toyota locked is all I’m saying.”
He probably should have figured something was up when he saw Yoko leaning against his shop door, bare-ass naked, snow blowing over her ivory skin. The dumb animal part of his brain just really, really hoped it was actually the witch and not a succubus again.
“Yeah. I’m a total woman,” Charlotte grumbled. She dug her toe into the ground, her lying harder and harder to bear. “My flower has been…and my cherry was…gone all the way to…oh, just get that unicorn away from me!”
Sypha rolled over, saw Grant’s smirk, and immediately rolled back.
Richter plopped onto his rear, then tore the stopper out of his holy water bottle with his teeth. There was no training Grandpa Juste could have given him for the sight before him. It was quite the feat for the two demons to perform, to keep balanced on the top of a giant skull while pawing and licking at each other. Flashing eyes met his. Neither the vampire nor her little doll was upset for his intrusion. If anything, being given an audience made their act all the more lively.
He threw the holy water into his mouth and eyes, hoping the image of their splendor would be burned out before he was ensorcelled by the pair.
“Oh, damn it!” Juste cursed. “Do you know how long it’s going to take me to scrub that out of the curtains?”
Maxim’s apology wasn’t exactly sincere. “Sorry for making you that happy, man.”
Maybe it was just projection. Maybe he was a fool, still wishing for the tender past, warm trysts in cold autumn nights. Her blonde locks, the softness in her eyes, the smoothness of her skin. God, she even had a mole on the same buttock that Rosaly had. What was this madness? How could one woman be taken away, and another given, looking just the same?
There was magic in Juila, but this sorcery—being little more than a duplicated illusion—that was never something Hector would dare accuse her of. For she too was her own woman, of her own charms and beauty.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The vampire hunter grabbed a handful of thick hair. Gently, he tugged the dhampir’s head up. “What are you doing there, buddy?”
A golden flash from narrowed eyes pierced him well before Alucard’s sharp words could. “I wish to make our situations even.”
The Belmont gawked in horror. So, the dhampir kneeled before him wasn’t entirely a bad sight. The old bat certainly had a way with his fingers, as dexterous and graceful with the loops of the hunter’s pants as with a sword. No doubt he would be just as talented with his tongue. It was just those damned awful teeth! There was no overlooking how sharp his canines were, how easily they could sink into delicate skin. Perhaps even gnash straight through.
Putting his dick into that elegant mouth was like swinging it into a bear trap.
That was how the routine went for hundreds of years. Learn how to swing, storm Dracula’s castle, whip the demon back into submission, make sweet love to the nearest woman, come with the rising sun. It was just a shame that Julius never got his victory lap.
Well, not until tonight.
He at least made sure Rosaly died swiftly. Hector’s punishment, no.
The heretic was bound by his wrists to the very spear that had pierced him through. How beautiful he was, silver, blue, and red red red. Isaac dipped his fingers into the open wounds he had created, then slathered Hector’s chest once more. How he would paint those colors out! Hector would be his—be Dracula’s—and be whole and right again. No more talk of sympathy for others. No more doubts. Just doing the works of their master, dancing in the moonlight again.
Isaac drew more paint from within Hector’s body, drawing a shudder from both men. His blood was so slick. The wicked forgemaster painted Hector’s face, drawing swirls and lines around his lips and eyes, mirroring the tattoos neatly spun about Isaac’s shoulders. How lovely it had been, to have Hector paint him so. More beautiful still would be the same stains upon Hector’s soul.
“Your blood is wonderful,” Isaac cooed. “So thick…” Fingers traced down Hector’s aching back, resting just a few strokes away from his rump. They crept closer still, crawling like spider’s legs towards their destination. “With it, I could—”
“Brother, stop!” were the only words that stayed his execution of justice.
“There’s this old belief that whatever you’re afraid of has to do with how you died in your past life,” Mina explained. “Like, people who are afraid of snakes having been bitten by them. Or, people who are afraid of knives having been cut. Things like that.”
Soma’s head dropped. “So, you’re saying that’s why I freaked out in the sex shop?”
The miko could hardly speak, her embarrassment louder than her meek words. “W-well, there were quite a few whips in there, after all.”
Soma groaned as the skeleton waiter stared at him, his groping slowing. “Does it look like I want curry right now?”
There was crude graffiti scraped into the castle walls. It read, “Legion has a thousand rectums and smells like it.”
“You know how this works, don’t you?” the good witch asked.
Hammer leaned back, kicking his thick boots onto a nearby crate. “Keep back. Hands off. Only move when you say so.”
Yoko flashed him a smile. “Good man.”
Her sash was the first part to go. The white silk fluttered from her hips, wrapped around her shoulders as she held it like a boa. A single flick sent it flying across the room, landing around Hammer’s neck. The American chuckled, but held his ground. That was the kind of whip work that would put a Belmont man to shame.
Pops of gold buttons shed the next layer of clothing. He followed each and every one of her fingers, amazed by the simplest shimmer of metal. The black sheen of her shirt revealed every smooth contour of her frame. Soft lace pressed against it, proving the genuineness of her fullness. His stomach twisted in excitement as her fingers went to undo her shirt. Damned that she had to start picking at her cuffs before her neck.
But, surely enough, the next part came. One, two, three buttons went away. Next came the sleek pull of her neck, the bow of her collarbone, deeper and deeper until there they were. Hammer sat up, his interesting flaring. Feathered hair fell upon plump, luxurious beasts. The tendrils may have fought to shield Yoko’s lovely wonders, but how pointless their struggles were as she turned away, undid the clasps, spun about and—
“Hey, Hammer! I’m looking for some—”
Hammer kicked the door shut. “Ten minutes, kid! Geez!”
“Kid, I’m going to tell you the same thing my dad should have told me,” the old Morris grunted at Julius as he yanked him backwards. “If you get distracted by every spinning, jiggling thing in this castle, some demon’s going to tear the orbs right off of you.”
Well, this had been a long time coming. The poor woman couldn’t say she wasn’t surprised. Both Juste and Maxim were close friends, closer than she was to either of them. The Belmonts hadn’t always been on the straight and narrow, despite their legacy depending on their sexuality. This inevitable tryst was going to happen. She was just hoping that they were going to be honest with her about their relationship. At the very least, not create a man pile in her bed.
“Just wipe him off when you’re done,” Lydie huffed to Maxim.
Sheepishly, Maxim rolled off of Juste. “Sorry.” His eyes glimmered, a new flush spurring him on. “Say, Lydie! Why don’t you hop in here? We could have a swell time!”
She sighed, then pulled her shoes off. “Well, why not? It’s not like our friendship can get any stranger than it already is.”
Juste flopped his head back onto the pillows. “Have I ever told you both how much I love you?”
“You keep your mouth shut,” Lydie hissed.
“A thousand yen says she makes the first move,” Yoko whispered to Hammer.
The American nodded. “You’re on.”
Sure, Trevor had hoped to get some noise out of the quiet dhampir, but not a shriek. He froze stiff, his hands immediately pulled back. “What’s wrong?”
“One…” Alucard could hardly speak. “One moment.”
Legs shuffled uncomfortably around Trevor’s hips. The hunter groaned. He’d gone in too fast. Perhaps he was a slayer of monsters, but he had no intention of using his own body as a weapon. Not during the throes of passion. He shifted back, retreating from his friend’s companionship. This had been a foolish idea. Alucard’s hips were too narrow, the Belmont’s girth too—
Long fingers rested on his hips. “Don’t move.”
“Aren’t I hurting you?” the hunter asked.
“I…underestimated you.” Alucard could hardly breathe, as if Trevor was so deep within him that his lungs were being squeezed out by the Belmont’s invasion. “I can adjust. Just…just give me some time.”
Trevor nodded. He stroked the skin beneath him, tried to sooth the muscles pained by their battles and rough play. “Alright. I’ll wait.”
It was when the clock chimed once more that Maria finally pushed Alucard back. “Wait a moment. Don’t clocks chime twelve times at most?”
The dhampir wiped her saliva from his lips. “Obviously.”
“Then why did it chime thirteen times?” Maria asked.
“Who still uses one of these things?” Yoko shouted. She yanked the paper from its feed, then shrieked again. “And who in the hell has been writing smut about me?!”
Well, the store was an absolute wreck. Clothes had been thrown to the four winds, chiffon and silk left to the floor’s whims. Polished stones hung from the cash register, the racks, tossed about the open window. Thin fingers reached across the mess on the floor. They plopped onto a round breast, heavy jewelry. Both Laura and Monica groaned. Their drinking contest really had gone too far.
At least they had finally gotten Shanoa to smile, their stoic angel curled between them still in a sea of bliss.
She nearly came at Alucard’s calm, gentle consent. “As you wish.”
There was an unfortunate reputation to be had, with a hunter as rough around the edges as Simon.
It didn’t help that he stomped through towns in the dead of night, draped with the fur of rich kills over his shoulders. Without the sun’s light, his hair looked dark, blood-drenched. Carrying a whip? Wearing tight shorts or no pants at all? None would dare say what they thought of him to his face, but Simon knew their words for him, all the same.
And yet, there were still people out there, hungering for a man as ferocious as a warg.
The problem with Alura Unes was that they were just too damn charming. They were soft, nude, always had rivulets of dew rolling down their breasts and stomachs. And their smell! It was impossible to detect how many animals they drained to keep themselves alive. All he could ever smell was sweet seduction, a waft so humid and heavy that it put perfume counters to shame.
Soma wasn’t surprised that she got the jump on him, with how much he was daydreaming. He just wasn’t expecting a vine down the front of his pants.
“It’s like…um…” Soma circled his hands around, his understanding of English failing him. “You know. When you show up at a place.”
Hammer dropped his newspaper. “You came?”
“Yes!” Soma shouted. “I came!”
The shadow over his shoulder bristled. “I didn’t need to walk in on this.”
That’s weird. How did I get this one in here? Anyway.
“So, are you super sexy as a bat or something?” Soma asked.
Arikado cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t understand why you’re asking this.”
“Well, there’s always like a flock of bats following you around when you transform.” The young man scratched the back of his head, then laughed. “I swear. It’s like they have little hearts floating out of their eyes.”
The dhampir chuckled. “And what does that mean about the trio that follow you, even when you are human?”
That was not a question Soma wanted answered.
Juste craved Maxim’s roughness. He was the only man that didn’t treat him like some sort of dainty doll. Even his own grandfather was hesitant to see the Vampire Killer passed down to one so pale and frail as Juste. But, Maxim? He grabbed. He ripped. He tore and bit and fought, demanding that Juste fight back.
Even so, he wished his fellow hunter took a little more care with his clothes. Sewing buttons on his jacket after every triste was getting old.
Something soft and spongy squeezed beneath his fingertips. Richter frowned. What the hell was that? He drew his hand up, grumbling again. Right. Wedding cake. Probably shouldn't have taken that to bed with Annette. It didn't matter how hungry the day had made him. That was just a gross way to live.
It took him a moment to process why he and his new bride were not, in fact, in their own bed. A minute more, to realize why everyone left in their wedding party was clapping and hooting about them being covered in chunks of wedding cake and nothing else.
“Look!” Trevor shouted. “We can’t give this journey up now. Everything we are doing is for the greatest goal a man can achieve!”
Grant cocked his head. “To get a shot at banging all of the hottest women in Wallachia?”
The vampire hunter waffled. “Well, that’s up there, but I meant something else.”
The earth stopped spinning. Flames in his mind stilled, cooling to a gentle glow. The elements themselves faded. She was still there. Her grin was as slim as a crescent moon, her eyes vivid, her hair tangled in his.
Alucard reached up, stroking the sweat from Maria’s face. How long she had waited for him. How many years she had laid at his side, wishing for the day she could climb atop him. How many centuries had passed since he was last so passionately, earnestly loved. Those years were spent in fear, worrying, sorrow. They evaporated before her smile, the wonderful rise of heat she brought to his skin.
The least he could do to thank her was kiss her once more.
Grant screamed. Sypha turned away, horrified. Alucard knelt in the opposite direction, spitting out blood and flesh. Trevor stepped over him, eager to finish the job the dhampir started. With one crack, the hunter sent their loathsome foe sprawling. It disappeared in a flash of fire, burning with rage, humiliation. Trevor paid its final obscenities no heed. All he did grab Alucard’s cloak, throwing it around his friend’s battered shoulders.
“And that’s why I never want you to suck my dick!” Trevor shouted.
Alucard nodded, wiping his lips clean. “Duly noted.”
“Oh, please!” Lydie huffed. “Like I’m supposed to believe you fell dick-first into my husband!”
Rage bubbled beneath Richter's skin. What sick promise had Dracula given her? Eternal beauty? Freedom? Power? There was none of that here. All that was left was a twisted body, a bodice torn up, breasts and hair falling in uneven mounds. He reached towards the slain vampire's throat, searching for the two pinprick holes that had damned her. Even Dracula knew better than to expose that shame. He kept his slave's throat clean, tidy, hiding it beneath a collar of silk and lace.
With one slice, Richter cut the soft shackle off. He could free the fallen vampire no more than that.
Charlotte was beet-red again.
Jonathan groaned. "What now?"
"I was just...well, I was wondering if..." The young lady shook her head, too embarrassed to say. "But you wouldn't know anything about it, right?"
"Anything about what?" Jonathan snapped.
Charlotte sighed. It was just best to blurt it out, when her tongue tied itself. "About how many Belmont men were into BDSM."
The Texan stared at the whip in his hand, then threw it on the ground. "Ew! Ew ew ew! Why would you ask that? Argh!"
"I'm sorry!" Charlotte squealed. "I-It's not like they would have used the Vampire Killer in the bedroom or anything, right?"
"God have mercy!" Jonathan shouted.
He did not use the Vampire Killer for the rest of their excursion.
Simon pulled the Vampire Killer back, grumbling. It was no fun beating on ghouls who wriggled their hips at him, begged for more. It just felt wrong.
There were many reasons to fall ill, in Dracula’s castle. Being at the end of the vampire’s legendary teeth was an obvious issue. Zombies, skeletons, and kebabbed bodies were several more notable health hazards. That what wasn’t leveled Alucard. He crawled out of the massive chamber, chest heaving, dribbling vomit and blood. Never before had he felt so sick. He wanted to throw himself in the nearest coffin and die.
It wasn’t the swarm of flies. Not the piles of maggots that fell. Not even the giant, mutilated corpse left impaled on meat hooks, wriggling with parasites that had eaten down to the bone.
It was watching its rotted phallus fall off and burst, feeling it splatter through his cape.
Hot breath fell from Trevor's lips. He pushed down, pressing deeper into Alucard's stomach. How pleasing it felt for the dhampir to squirm beneath him. With their every passing clash, he felt more at ease, more confident. He was ready to fight, ready to kill Dracula.
The same content glimmer was in Alucard's eyes. "Enjoying yourself, Belmont?"
Trevor glanced down, then grunted. Goddamnit! Every time! "If I get a boner while fighting your father, I'm cutting my junk off."
Alucard bristled. "I may have to do that for you, if that happens."
Getting into position while fighting a chemise, a corset, and three layers of skirts was not easy for Richter to do. Luckily, he managed.
Trevor tried his damnedest to convince himself that what he was doing was scholarly.
Well, Alucard was a strange creature, wasn’t he? Not the kind of being just any monster hunter would run into. He had unique features, odd quirks. Somebody had to document that. So, Trevor did. He drew down every piece of skin Alucard would show, marking sinews and bones as he went. How the dhampir’s teeth sat behind his lips, pushing them out into a slight pout. How his eyes glowed in the dark. The arch of his ears, his fine fingers, the length of his collarbone and the muscles that wound beside it.
It was impossible to ignore the rush of human desires, how hard his own flesh became.
Of course, he was beautiful. He always had been. Cool, soft to the touch, lean and long and smooth. But, laying asleep beside him, Julius felt nothing but pity for Alucard. Demons and humans alike tore at his skin, hungry for his flesh. They did not care what they ripped or hurt. All that mattered was the pretty outer shell, what they could get under their fingers.
But, he was old. So old. An oldness that even Julius could not comprehend, even as an old man himself. He felt bad for what remained plush, for what never grew callouses. Soft skin was no protection for an old soul—for one that just wanted peace and quiet.
At least his own calloused hands could secure his old friend a few moments of rest.
“Look,” Yoko snapped. “My biological alarm clock’s going off. My mom’s bugging me non-stop for grandkids. I need to keep the family line going, and I know you’ve been wanting to do this for years. So, why are you hesitating?”
“I don’t know,” Hammer groaned. “Just feels like I should buy you dinner first or something.”
She drew back, giggling.
Dracula scowled. “What is it, now?”
“Your lips.” Lisa leaned deeper into his chest, her rosy face just a hair’s width away from his. “They’re so cold.”
“And you find that worth laughing at?” the vampire lord scoffed.
Warmer lips than his graced him again. “I find it…fascinating.”
There was an uproarious swoon from the tavern maidens as Richter flexed again. Annette sipped her wine, cool and composed. Maybe another woman would show jealousy or disgust towards other women ogling her man. She felt so such frustration. Not when Richter was having such a good time.
Besides—she got to see a few more muscles that no other lady in the tavern ever would.
"Listen, you cheap son of a bitch!" Yoko hissed. "My family hasn't lived through six hundred years of bullshit for you to buy generic brand condoms!"
Their first kiss was so quick and innocent that neither of them realized it happened.
Soma brushed his cheek. There was definitely a warm, soft spot where Mina left her kiss. She folded behind her hands, giggling. It was fantastic, seeing pink and red bloom in Soma face. Not that she stayed any cooler. Even behind her fingertips, she glowed, warm as the embers on the end of burning incense.
Their next kiss was a little less rushed.
“Well?” Grant asked.
“Well what?” Trevor echoed.
The thief shook his head. Surely, his friend couldn’t be that thick. Everyone in the damn camp had heard what he was up to last night. The hunters were lucky that the groaning from Trevor’s tent hadn’t drawn in every monster across the forest.
With a thwack, Grant pushed Trevor towards the truth. “What’s it like banging a dhampir?”
Trevor shrugged. “Really not all that different from banging a human.”
“Really,” his friend grunted.
“Maybe he’s a little colder, and he can’t exactly go down on a person without hurting them, but you know,” Trevor explained. “Close enough to normal.”
That answer was not nearly as interesting as Grant thought it was going to be.
Maria and Annette stared out the living room window, watching Richter and Alucard fight. Their practices were necessary, the best way to improve the Belmont family’s knowledge of fighting monsters without risking their necks. But, if it wasn’t an odd form of art! The ripple of the Vampire Killer across the front lawn, the way Alucard’s mane snapped like a flag, capes and jackets flying with every move. It was glistening, sweaty, hypnotic. Like watching air and earth dance.
Neither woman had to ask the other why they had to leave, from time to time.
It wasn’t fair.
Maria did as she was told. She drank her milk every day. Didn’t help her get the knockers that waitress Hilde had. Not that she was flat as a board. She just didn’t jiggle like that, pop out of her top, bounce around with every step. Certainly couldn’t catch tips in her cleavage. It was hard not to watch Hilde parade about the tavern. She looked so happy, capricious—plush.
“What are you staring at?” her dining companion asked.
She swiveled her head as smoothly and quickly as her owls. Maria ducked in her booth, embarrassed. “Nothing. Hush.”
Alucard chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, I would suspect you have a sapphic streak to you.”
Maria wanted to snatch Alucard’s cloak and bury herself in it. “Shut up!”
He leaned over their booth, a teasing glimmer running down the sinews of his neck. “What if I told you that I could help entertain your interests?”
“What?” Maria gawked. “W-What are you talking about?”
Her companion pulled back, grinning. “I can assume many forms, Maria. Of bat, wolf, mist.” He raised his drink towards her distraction. “Perhaps I can learn one more.”
Not even her drink could quench the thirsty heat that seized her.
“But, how do you know when you’re…” Mina stumbled on the last part of her question. She swirled her hands around each other, struggling to spit out the last word. “You know. Ready for…for it?”
Yoko laughed at Mina’s nervous flush. “When you stop calling it ‘it’ and start calling it ‘sex.’ That might be a good first step.”
It was harder to tell what was redder—the couch cushions or Mina’s face.
It was one of those inevitable tasks of the Belmont family. Train. Kill Dracula. Father children. Teach them how to kill Dracula. Given the latest family almanac and estimations, Juste knew he didn’t have to worry so much about the killing Dracula part. At least, no more than chastising a ghost. He had it easy, all things concerned.
What should have been a fun, joyous romp with Lydie had him on edge—unable to get to work.
Sometimes, Julius felt short changed. He didn’t have a family, a partner, offspring. Not even a sex drive. Everything in the past had been just to secure funds, food, a place to stay. He never had that romantic ending that every other Belmont got. Just amnesia, a hard life on the road, and maybe a couple hundred bucks, now and again.
But, after watching Soma and Hammer run around like chickens with their heads cut off—or rather, like they should be cut off—he didn’t regret it quite as much.
He didn’t know what Arikado would say. The dhampir was always so quiet, pulled back. Talking about this wasn’t exactly comfortable for either of them. But, Soma didn’t have many men to turn to for advice. Hammer was so loud that he’d immediately spread Soma’s interests like a plague across their social circle. Talking to Julius about it was like talking to his grandfather. Just not something he could screw up the courage to do. So, here he was, talking to someone ten times older than Julius about the most awkward thing men could discuss.
And yet, Arikado kept a straight face. “You are using condoms, correct?”
Soma’s face went beacon red. “Y-Yeah.”
The dhampir’s eyes narrowed. “Correctly?”
“How do you screw up using condoms?” Soma asked.
“It’s a common mistake, particularly amongst young men.” Arikado straightened his back, cupping his hands around his coffee. “You first need to pinch the end, then—”
“Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap.” Soma buried himself behind his jacket sleeves. “I am not having this conversation with you.”
Arikado wasn’t fazed in the slightest. “If you lived through what I have, you would be ecstatic to have such a product in your life.”
Soma perked up. Well, that was true. Probably beat using crocodile crap or sheep intestines or whatever the hell Arikado had to use hundreds of years ago.
It was the first time in days that blue eyes greeted her—not red.
Annette grabbed onto the bars of her cell door. Stronger fingers folded over hers. Reality was in his touch. He was here! Richter was really here! She pushed forward, nudging her lips and nose through the bars. He reached back. They burned together, hot, sloppy, kissing each other as much as the metal between them allowed. Their chill felt wonderful against her boiling cheeks. Seeing Richter again, tasting him on her tongue—that was worth their cold embrace.
The only charm that could shatter their spell was what came squeaking behind Richter. “What are you two doing?”
Technology had made Arikado’s life frustrating, but in some ways, easier. One blessing was its connectivity. He learned how to speak quietly, to find lonesome people like himself. Having a partner right now would be too troublesome. Especially, another human. He didn’t have that many urges, either. But, the occasional flare came. Other dhampirs reached out to him, and he to them. Together, through computers, they worked through their lonely nights, humming and whispering until their tensions released.
He was halfway through coaxing one such companion when Soma interrupted his call.
There were few people she could trust to be alone with her. Especially as she was now.
Sypha lifted her hair, exposing her spine. She tried to ignore the soap running down her back, the cold hands that washed it. They were gentle around healing wounds, hard on mud and grit. She sank into the tub, sulking. If she had just watched where she was going—if she hadn’t stepped right into that mire—
But, Alucard was careful with her. Her skin ached where he left, buffed smooth and velvety. For the first time in weeks, she felt clean—smelled pleasant. It was easy to pretend the heat in her cheeks was from the warmth of her bath. Only nobility was handled in such a tender way.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” Sypha murmured.
She earned a rare smile from the melancholic creature at her back. “It is my pleasure.”
Not as much as it was to her.
“No!” Hector shouted. “No, no, no, no, no!”
“What?” Isaac cracked the lightning rod against the wall. “I’m certain it’s perfectly safe. Well, it won’t kill you, anyway. Just tire you out.”
That did nothing to placate the forgemaster. “You’re going to burn my bedroom down!”
“Oh, come on,” the red head groaned. He flicked a teasing finger towards the rod’s end. “Don’t be such a—AAGH!”
It was pretty obvious the next day who was to blame for the lightning rod meters below the castle, frying out all of the fish in Dracula’s moat.
Soma was dumbstruck.
It wasn't like he hadn't been to a hot spring before. Certainly, not the first time he'd seen another man naked, either. It was the first time he had seen Arikado naked, though. For all of the clothes he wore, he seemed so slight without them. Nymphic, even. But, more than skin and bone shocked him.
The agent frowned. "Do you mind explaining why you are staring?"
"I just...um...Well..." Soma waved to the general direction of his confusion. "I thought the carpet matched the drapes."
Arikado groaned. "I didn't feel it necessary wasting my efforts dying...that."
"Looks weird, dude." Soma turned his head away. "Like you don't even have anything down there. Or you’re a geezer or something."
Shaking his head, Arikado tied a towel around his waist. "How do you think it looks on you?"
Soma went redder than people coming out of the spas. "At least I match!"
Nuns crossed himself as he walked past. Priests reached for the communion wine. The bishop didn’t flinch. Everyone deserved to speak with God. He would help them, even if they were as flagrant with their sins as this man. In some ways, he thought the vagabond only stopped in to brag. It was hard to repent for acts that one had no shame for.
Trevor Belmont plopped into the confessional both, grinning like a satiated fox. “Guess who I fucked this time?”
Animals. Damned animals, all of them!
Dracula didn’t have to say a word to shut them up. He stared through them, irises hotter than the flames of hell. He was not ignorant. Not blind, either. His child had grown up so fast, so fair. There were times even he mistook his son’s silhouette for that of Lisa’s. He saw her beauty in him, could still feel her warmth in his blood. Of course, he was wondrous. His mother had made him that way.
His servants could at least hold their panting tongues long enough for him to be out of earshot before they started thirsting after his son again.
There was no being the big spoon with Shanoa. Not with her power-snatching tattoos on her back, ready to literally tear the nipples off of people.
There was nothing quite as sad as a succubus with a padded bra.
He forgot exactly when and where his uniform had fallen off. Sometime after the castle fell, no doubt. Who would he take such clothes to, anyway? A seamstress? One look at the tattoos on his back and the symbol on his cloak, and they would throw him out. Or maybe his sneer would be enough.
Whatever. He was still beautiful. That was all that mattered. Besides, his thigh-high boots were easier to see without all that baggage getting in the way. That, and the cut of his ilium rising out of his pants.
Isaac grinned. That would not be the only bone rising out of his body tonight.
Grant loved his traveling companions. He really did. But, when he was alone for the third night in a row, nursing pint after pint, he started resenting traveling with a rugged hunter, a demure mage, and the literal poster boy of Dracula’s Castle.
She had only meant to cheer him up.
Perhaps a vampire of Dracula’s power could make whatever he want. Maybe he could have roses in the dead of winter, even at the beginning of spring. Lisa still gathered them for him. They were radiant, even in shadows. Warm. Red. Thorny.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa apologized. “Did you get pricked?”
There was no blood on Dracula’s hands. He stared at it like there was blood, all the same. A beastly horror swept over his face. Pale lips tinged blue. He reached for her hands once more, squeezing them tighter than before. His fright only grew, his lips pulling back.
Lisa cocked her head. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
The vampire narrowed his gaze. “I can feel it.”
“Feel what?” Lisa asked.
His answer was on the flat of his palms, the way they rested on her stomach. “Another pulse.”
Backless. Sequined. Sparkling. It slipped down her in one red cascade. Shanoa lifted her hair, let the night’s chill spill down her back. Her marks were free. Good. This was not a practical dress, but it would do, for her purposes.
Though, its material was awfully thin. It clung on every curve. It was a slight problem, for someone who had glyphs in the places she did. She couldn’t have a single scrap of fabric blocking it. Not even the strap of a brassiere. Given the delicate nature of the dress’ design, it was all too apparent where everyone’s attention would be on her.
Well, at least, it was apparent where seamstress Monica wanted to stare.
“So. Um. Since you’re new, traveling with us.” Trevor didn’t know how to explain his little arrangement with Grant. “Just to let you know. Grant and I have an…agreement.”
The mage snapped around. “On what?”
Frustration burned through Trevor’s face. He hid his left eye behind his hand. “Look. It’s cold out here. Do whatever you can to stay warm, alright? We make no judgments.”
That ambiguity did not sit well with Sypha. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know.” Trevor made a fist with one hand, poking through it with a pointer finger. “That.”
Sypha stared at him. Neither knew what to say. Looking at Grant didn’t help, either. Not that he was the prettiest person in Wallachia—hell, not even the prettiest person in their party—but he didn’t seem like the kind that would only get bent out of pity. He still had all of his teeth, at least.
Trevor rubbed his face again. What, was he trying to upsell banging a thief?
“I will be purchasing another tent,” was all Sypha said on the matter.
Not that the mage’s separation helped when a fourth member came along.
“That’s…unique,” was all Hector had to say about Isaac’s latest piercing and its bizarre placement.
She just wanted a reprieve.
This year had been cold, damp. It left the ground muddy and barren. People were squabbling in the streets, fighting for even a stem of moldy wheat. The Belmonts lived only off what meat Richter could hunt. He, his wife, their children—they were all pale, thin. Maria had sold off as many birds as she could to keep them fed, shared what little eggs she had left. She was so aware of suffering, shaking from fear every night as she tried to sleep.
Alucard meant to help her. He knew what brought warmth to her skin, a smile to her face. She didn’t know whether to praise him or damn him. It wasn’t like she had the body she had twenty years ago. He faked as much as he could to keep parity with her, wearing the slightest of wrinkles as a mask. But, she knew he was still young, fair, healthy beneath it all.
Or, so she believed, until he removed his shirt—bearing little more than bones beneath ashen skin.
Charlotte spun around, her reflection dancing in the mirror. Seeing her chest swell and fall made her giggle. Lean arm reached back, stretching herself taller, making her bounce again. Screw everyone else. She was damn cute. Sexy, even. She winked at her reflection, pleased. One day, she’d end up immortalized on the nose of a fighter plane. In dozens of pictures. Causing crooked glasses and bleeding noses wherever she walked.
Her confidence was shattered when she saw Jonathan’s reflection behind her. “You done being weird, yet?”
Red cheeks betrayed her cool. Charlotte grabbed her book, pitching it behind her. “Knock next time, you pervert!”
There was no ignoring the curse plaguing Simon’s body any longer. Not with the flesh that sloughed off from his fondling.
This was defiance beyond the pale. Here they were, shielded only by long, wild grass, ass naked and locked together. Dracula's claws couldn't reach them here. He would burn in the splendor that drew warmth to Alucard's skin. How the dhampir drank the sunlight in. He was in a world of fire and heat, sweating, his eyes radiant with the sun's joy.
Who would have thought that giving the ultimate "Fuck you" to Dracula was fucking his son like this?
Screw it. Did another batch of these.