And, wow, am I excited about this one. The idea for this oneshot came from me thinking about how we sometimes make Vladdypants into a fluffy teddy bear, when he really is a cold, heartless bastard. I decided things needed to be righted. That's all I'm going to say.
Rated M for a reason. You are accountable for what you read; I am not your mother. :P
Enjoy!
"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Aleera mocked from her perch on the edge of her coffin. Her frosty blue eyes – a weak echo of her Master's – were dead on Marishka. Despite her fiery hair being slightly tussled, having just awoken from a day's sleep, she appeared no less striking.
Marishka sent her a foul look and curled her lips in a silent hiss, before sauntering over to their vanity table on which sat the vampiress' 'necessities' – brushes, combs, perfumes, lotions, expensive jewelry, and hairpieces – complete with a useless shattered mirror. She picked up a choice bottle of perfume and spritzed a little on her neck and wrists then moved on to her coffin, past Aleera and farther past the still resting Verona. Or so it seemed.
The eldest bride peeked an eye open as soon as she caught the strong, whirling scent of perfume, sweat, female heat, and male musk that lingered in Marishka's wake. Leisurely, she brought her hands up to her sides and stretched, her back arching and curling, looking more like a waking cat than a vampiress. She yawned, her canines lengthening. Finally, she asked, "Where have you been?"
"What's it to you?" Marishka retorted sharply, climbing into her coffin… and noticeably more clumsy than usual. She unclasped her shoes and dropped them over the edge to the floor offhandedly. Curling up, she closed her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Marishka, I am very serious, where have you been?" Verona pressed further, sitting up and staring at her sister.
"Oh yes, Marishka, you little whore, we would love to know what you have been doing all day. Or should I say… whom?" Aleera cackled at her own joke.
At that, Marishka sat up straight, her eyes aflame and pointed a dangerous finger at Aleera. "Look who is talking! And I'm not telling you where I've been!"
Verona sighed. "The two of you, silence!" She looked at the furious but guilty bride. "It doesn't matter if you want to tell, I already know where you were. And you shouldn't go to see… him when our husband leaves me in charge. You are going to get me in trouble! Can't you think about anyone other than yourself, Marishka?!"
"How do you know where I've been?" Marishka stared at her incredulously, slightly worried her eldest sister had the acute senses of their Master.
"I've followed you before. You should be more careful with what you do." She lowered her head and looked at her fingers, wincing slightly at a harsh memory. "You don't want to be caught… I know."
"Oooh!" Aleera rolled in her coffin and sat up on her legs, clutching the edge of the white marble with her long fingers as she leaned over it, a curious look on her face. "What happened, Verona? Tell us!"
Verona shook her head, dark strands of hair falling in her face. "It was long ago. It's not important." Aleera whined in frustration, but was denied any more of an explanation, only, "No one will tattle on Marishka. Is that understood, Aleera? We are sisters, we must look out for each other. I detest keeping secrets from our husband, but there is no need in troubling him with Marishka's lapse in judgment. This will remain between the three of us."
Marishka mouthed her a meek 'thank you' and Aleera grumbled something to herself.
"At least he will not be back from Castle Frankenstein for a few more days," Verona said in a low voice, as if the words were blasphemous. "Two or three baths will get that… smell off of you."
Aleera took a strand of hair in her fingers and examined it. "What do you think the Master does all that time there, anyway?"
"Trying to wake our children, of course." Verona lie back in her coffin, nestled into the scarlet satin, and closed her black-fringed eyelids. With their Master away, what else were the brides to occupy their time with other than sleeping, resting, and bickering? Well, it appeared Marishka had found something…
"Yes, I know that, Verona." Aleera rolled her eyes, and leaned even more over the edge of her coffin. "But don't you wonder why he doesn't take any of us with him?"
"Yes," Marishka said.
"No," Verona replied. "I don't wonder. I wouldn't question our Master, Aleera."
"Well, he isn't here now, is he?" Aleera snipped at her. "I bet he doesn't work on the progeny all the time. Do you think… do you think that there is… someone else?"
"What do you mean 'someone else'?" Verona asked, narrowing her eyes just enough at Aleera.
"She means that he's found someone other than us," Marishka scowled. "I bet he has… he isn't as easily amused as he used to be. And why else would he leave us here? I bet he's found some little minx to share his coffin with him when we aren't there. I wonder if he will make her his bride too… if he hasn't already…"
Aleera hissed in displeasure at the thought. "Oh, don't say such foul things! I don't even want to think about it!"
Verona exhaled loudly. Did those two not realize she had felt the same when they were first sired? That she had to push all the jealousy and hatred she had for them aside to do what her Master commanded of her: to teach and look after them? Even though he had only being gone a few days, she had already dealt with them enough, and wished for nothing more than to sleep in peace without worry or fretting over what they would do. Sometimes they were just like children. "Aleera, I wish you wouldn't fret over such things, and if he were to bring another bride to the castle, it wouldn't be nearly as bad as you make it out to be."
"As bad as I make it out to be?! It's already bad enough trying to get time with him around you and Marishka! And that's not to mention all the time he spends with our children! And that those little roaches of dwergi keep messing things up! And you forget–"
"Shhh!" Marishka pressed her finger to her lips. "Did you hear that?"
They sat in silence for a moment until Verona spoke, "I don't hear any—oh."
The faint sound of boots clicking on stone resonated louder in their ears – they would know that sound anywhere.
Marishka's eyes widened. "It's not…"
"The Master's back!" Aleera squealed, causing the eldest bride to wince.
Verona glanced over at Marishka. Instead of being excited over her Master's return, all the color had drained from her face, her eyes were staring with a distant look, and she seemed purely horrified. But there was nothing either of them could do. Solemnly, they both climbed out of their coffins as the footsteps echoed louder in their ears.
Soon, the door to their chambers was thrown open, and the in the doorway stood Dracula – tall, arrogant and proud. The black of his attire contrasted appealingly against the pallor of his skin and enhanced his well-built physique as her surveyed his harem from under the arch of the door. His frosty cobalt eyes seemed to smolder, while a sinfully devious smirk pulled at the corners of his lips and a few more than usual dark strands of silk fell to the hollows of his cheeks, giving him a feral appearance. He looked hungry, starved, like a wild animal. However, it wasn't from bloodlust. It was lust of the flesh, pure and potent.
Aleera gave an unrestrained squeal of delight and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, nuzzling and kissing it to her non-beating heart's content. "Master, oh, Master," she cooed into his cool skin. "I missed you oh so very much!"
The Count chuckled, soaking in his bride's affection for a moment, before taking her chin in hand and assailing her willing lips with an overpowering kiss. Aleera's chilly skin caught on fire and those burning sensations flared up in her lower abdomen and between her thighs. But Dracula pulled away just soon enough not to overindulge his greedy little bride, as he intended to keep her wanting more for just a little longer. He pushed her aside and moved over to Verona, who was standing in front of Marishka, with her head tilted down respectfully. "Verona, my lovely…" he whispered huskily, coaxing her timid eyes to meet his, and brushing his warrior-rough fingers across her smooth cheek. She turned into his large hand and he affectionately placed a few kisses on her other cheek. Then he moved around his eldest bride and towards Marishka, who was standing quietly away from him, staring at the floor. "What is this? Did you not miss me, Marishka, dear?" he asked, chuckling to himself. "Or are you playing shy just for attention?" He advanced on her and took a long lock of gold hair in his fingers, twirling it as he leaned in, about to capture her lips. Closer… closer… but before he did, he froze.
Inches from her face, he sniffed the air, and then inhaled deeply. His eyes narrowed as he caught the faint traces of a mortal on her skin. He had strictly told her not to feed while he was away! Without any outward warning, he grabbed the large beaded necklace at her throat and pulled her stiff body closer to him. Her chest rose and fell with each useless and shaky breath as his nose ran down her neck then across the top of her shoulder. He could smell her lingering heat… the scent of her desire… the sweat of a male… his hunger within it… the sweet aroma of shared passion… its fulfillment… Dracula's anger rose as the picture of his bridewrithing naked in bed with another man formed in his head. But spiked to its utmost peak when he caught a whiff of something familiar…
Valerious.
"Velkan…" he growled with contempt. He took a step back and stared into her eyes, the guilt and fear visible for only a second, before she diverted them away. Turning to Verona and Aleera, he simply ordered, "Go."
Aleera shuffled out the door as quickly as possible, but Verona's fear for her sister and memory of a past incident caused her to step up in Marishka's defense. However, when she opened her mouth to speak, she wasn't able to utter even a word before Dracula cut her off.
"Leave now," he spoke through clenched teeth, "or else you will be next."
Verona gave her sister a sympathetic look, before turning and leaving gravely.
The loud sound of the heavy latch of the door closing, knocked Marishka into a sense of reality and desperation, and she began to back up, away from Dracula, all the while, keeping her eyes locked on him. Slowly, he turned at looked at her, his eyes a pitless black, and the corner of his lips twitching occasionally.
"Marishka," he cooed softly, sweetly, like he did when he wasn't upset with her. "Come now, dearest, I know you missed me while I was gone." He began to pursue her, backing her farther into the room, one boot in front of the other, his arms slightly swaying by his sides. "I just didn't know you missed me that greatly." He clicked his tongue at her, and she weaved around Aleera's coffin first, then Verona's, and finally around her own, nearing the wall behind the head of it. "How desperate you must have been…" Now, he was moving around Verona's coffin as Marishka's back hit the wall. "To sleep with Velkan Valerious." In a matter of seconds, he was standing before her, and she was squirming for an escape. "Tell me, darling, did you enjoy it?" His voice lowered to a lover's whisper. "Did he give you what you needed?" Long fingers traced along her collarbone. "Did his touch ignite a fire in your soul?" He leaned in closer. "Did he make you cry out in the night? Plead him for more?" Those fingers closed over her neck, beginning to squeeze. "Was it worth it?" Tighter and deeper his fingers went and still she stood silent, her mouth frozen in terror. "Tell me, Marishka. Was it worth it? TELL ME!"
All Marishka could do in response was tremble and shake her head as much as the grip on her throat allowed. She didn't need the air but, nevertheless, she gasped for it. Her Master stared at her with eyes that she had rarely seen before, and have never been aimed at her. She could barely remember the last time he had pinned her to the wall in anger or grabbed her throat in fury. And none of those times compared to this. He wanted to hurt her, make her suffer, teach her a lesson – she knew it. How she wished now she could have controlled herself. How she wished…
"I believe you need to be taught a lesson, Marishka," Dracula said calmly, but pulled her from the wall by her throat and slammed her into the edge of her coffin. She groaned, her back arching dangerously so her face would be further from his as he leaned into her, fangs lengthening and glistening menacingly. "When I'm done with you, my dear, you will beg for mercy. You will scream in agony. Sob in pain. Claw for an escape. You will learn never to defy me or my will again!" With those words, he lifted her by the neck, her feet dangling and nails digging into his hands, and shoved her into her coffin.
"Master, my lord, please… " she whimpered, scrambling away as he climbed in gracefully after her. She was like a fly caught in a spider's web; there was no way out. "I didn't think you would be this angry… I didn't know! Please, don't hurt me!" He was starved and ravenous, but now he was livid too. She knew by no means would she get out of this one unscathed, yet that didn't keep her from trying to ease his temper. She gave him the most innocent and purely horrified face she could, which didn't take much effort on her part. "Sire… Master… please, don't do this…"
Not heeding her pleas at all, he grabbed one of her ankles and with an easy yank, pulled her back down so that her thighs were situated on either side of him. He grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger and bent over her, dark strands of his hair tickling her cheeks, before he brought his lips down on hers. His kiss was selfish and ruthless, crushing her tender lips with his strong ones, bruising them almost instantly. However, she managed to turn away from his onslaught, even in the vise-grip his fingers held her chin in. He leaned up and asked, "Do you fear me?" She couldn't find her voice, couldn't call upon the strength to nod her head. He questioned her again. When she didn't give him any answer, the back of his hand connected with her cheek, and a loud, harsh sound echoed in the room. Sudden tears marbled with blood began to slip down Marishka's now throbbing and reddening cheek. "As of this moment," he growled, "You should fear me."
Dracula grabbed the edges of his jacket and peeled it off his shoulders in a blink, and then dropped it on the floor, before skillfully undoing the cords and buttons of his vest. It followed the jacket's path over the coffin's edge, as did his silk shirt, and boots once they were removed. All the while, his hollow, black eyes never left Marishka's as his mind ran rampant with thoughts of disciplining her for her insolence, reminding her that no one could compare to him, and sating his own lusts at the same time. She began to move away from him again on her elbows, but be pressed a palm to her bare stomach, and began placing open-mouthed kisses above the swells of her breasts. His mouth was warm, tongue hot, and breath cool, causing a wonderful yet dangerous mixture of sensations in Marishka. He wanted to taste her skin, smell her aroma of passion on it… but all he could take in was the godforsaken scent of that mortal! His teeth lengthened as his mouth became more aggressive, his teeth grazing and pricking her skin.
How dare Velkan touch what was his! How dare Marishka even entertain the idea of letting that boy touch her! How dare she defy him!
In a moment of pure fury, he brutishly sank his fangs into her neck, piercing her flesh deeply and rupturing the jugular vein. Marishka cried out, pain shooting through her body only because Dracula willed it. He fastened his mouth over the wounds and drew in gulps of her delectable blood, one after another, savoring it only momentarily, before swallowing it down and filling his mouth again. There was an added zing from her terror in it – something he couldn't get enough of, no matter how much he took.
Marishka frantically struggled underneath his heavy form, pushing with her hands against his solid, bulky chest in a futile attempt to make him stop drinking. She could feel her strength quickly fading away, her vision becoming blurry and then clear, her fingers and toes felt tingly as the blood rushed from her extremities… and she fought harder. Her nails grew in length and sharpened, and she sank them into his biceps, pushing in one last effort against him.
His mouth drew away from her neck, which healed almost instantly, and he ran a thumb over his bottom lip, gathering the few droplets of her blood before licking them off his finger. He growled deep within his chest when his hands dropped to her hips, then ran up over her tight abdomen, feeling her shudder as his fingers brushed the exposed skin under her breasts that wasn't covered by her scant top. The tiny bells on the edge gave a melodious and eerie sound – a sound that had drawn many unlucky men to their deaths – while his fingers slid over the decorated fabric, soon taking her fullness in his palm. She inhaled sharply through her teeth as his fingers tightened around her; she had never been quite so scared of his touch until now. His hands came together over the gold cords on the front of her bodice, and his eyes flashed a lust-filled turquoise as he looped a finger under the top cord, pulling on it dangerously.
"Master, don't!" Marishka cried, as his finger broke the first string. She closed her eyes tightly.
"Beg me," he whispered spitefully in her ear.
"I'm sorry, Master… I didn't think it would upset you like this. You weren't at the castle for over a week… and there was Velkan… and… and I couldn't help myself–"
"You're not trying hard enough, dearest," he cooed and another string snapped… like music to his ears.
Two more left. Marishka could feel the strain on the remaining cords, so tight was her bodice. Her voice became even more desperate, "I won't do it again! I swear! I-I… Sire, please don't do this." Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes, and rolled down the sides of her face.
For one of those rare moments, Dracula saw his strong, fearless bride broken and weeping silently at his hand, but he just snapped another string, unaffected by her cries.
"I'm so sorry for what I did. I'll do anything you want, just please… please don't hurt me. Master…" she whimpered pathetically.
"Marishka, my darling, you have truly tugged on my heartstrings… a pity it's been dead for centuries." With those words, Dracula broke the final cord, and Marishka's small bodice was rent in two. One side fell open and over her arm, exposing creamy white and contrasting darker flesh. Yet it wasn't enough for him. The helpless bride closed her eyes as he tore the material from her body, the bodice ripping in multiple places and the silken, flowing sleeves going to shreds. He tossed it all behind him, soundless, but for the bells that rang and clamored against the stone floor.
Marishka shifted involuntarily when she felt his cold fingers touch the tips of her breasts, her body responding but not from pleasure. She didn't dare open her eyes when his breath fanned her skin; only moments later, his nose and mouth were nuzzling into where one hand had once been. His actions were deliberate and somewhat gentle, but she knew that would only last for a time before the beast in him would come out. For the moment, he was reveling in her, taking the liberties he had to her body because she was his.
And she hated it.
His moist tongue ran over her stiff nipple and she was torn between groaning in agony and moaning in bliss. When he began painting little circles around and around that hypersensitive skin with his tongue, she nearly lost her control, arching her back and pushing up on her elbows to get her chest closer to him. He took as much of her breast into his mouth as he could, suckling like a starved child, his dull teeth lightly biting into her. His curious hands didn't remain idle; one slipped down to her waist and then under her back, pulling her bare stomach flush against his body, while the other kneaded and rolled the breast that wasn't between his teeth. She couldn't help herself anymore – a low moan rolled from the back of her throat, out past her lips.
The sound was tantalizing to Dracula and made the demanding organ in his pants harden and throb with want to be inside her. His mouth let go of her breast, and he began to trail greedy kisses slowly down her ribs, then to the dip of her stomach, all the way to her bellybutton, where he stopped. When his hands moved down to her covered hips, he could feel her body tremble as the dread and pleasure created a fierce mix in her veins, and he found this to be more of an aphrodisiac than anything else. What were now readily heating fingers ran along the waist of her pants – the only remaining garment that kept him from fulfilling his desires completely – tickling her skin. His hands slipped to her sides, fingers looping around the ties and bunching the silky material of her pants up in his palm. He paused and looked up at her face; her eyes watched him now, dazed, glassy… waiting.
Suddenly wrenching the garment from her hips, he listened with satisfaction as her cry reverberated off the stone walls. He threw it to the floor along with the top. Her strong legs were clenched together, and he forced his hands between her thighs, pushing lightly to separate them. She didn't budge.
"Oh, Marishka, don't be modest," he purred and she trembled. "You are after all, my lovely, only a whore…"
He pressed harder, and she finally relented, her knees hitting the sides of the coffin. Remaining heat attacked his senses. Instinctively he reached out and dragged his fingers through the coarse hair between her legs, before slipping his fingers into the silky folds.
Never before had Marishka felt so vulnerable. Not even years ago, when she had tilted her head back, exposing her neck and offering him her very life. No, it wasn't like that at all. She didn't look at him, fighting to hard to keep her tears at bay, as he delved into her most private places with a corrupting touch. Every passing second felt like a quarter of forever…
"Open your eyes," she heard him command finally, and she reluctantly obeyed. He lifted her limp hands from her sides and brought them to the buttons of his fly. "Go on," he encouraged darkly.
Marishka swallowed hard, her fingers shaking as she fiddled with the top button. She could feel him rigid under the fabric and knew he got a twisted sense of pleasure out of what she was doing. It took a minute just to get the first button through the hole, so fiercely was she quaking. She tried to stop herself, but that only made it worse. The second button was more of a challenge; as she couldn't even grasp it with her fingers. She could almost feel his annoyance and somehow managed to pull it through. But as she tried for the third, he growled and shoved her back down, apparently tired of waiting.
It took no time for him to get the final three buttons undone and he went ahead and shrugged out of his pants, all the while smirking down at her. He thought about how he would take her – he could flip her over and take her from behind like the beast he was… but he figured he would much rather watch her face, as she cried and screamed, pleaded him to stop, thrashing in distress. He would be sure he purged her of all insolence. Every thought of the gypsy prince that crossed her mind in the future would bring her pain.
With her body numbed with terror of what was soon to come, Marishka dared to let her eyes venture from his face, down his chest, and lower, to what would soon cause her ruin. She remembered him being big, but never this enormous. He was long, thick and strong, and for the first time, she was reminded of the bringer of true death to most undead. Yes, her very own master would stake her thoroughly. She would experience death over and over and over again.
He brought both his hands down beside her head and took position over her trembling body. She bit down hard on her lip, feeling the tip of him stroke the sensitive skin between her widely parted thighs. There was stillness, and she knew her death would come swiftly, suddenly, but not painlessly. Any moment… any moment… Then he drove into her ruthlessly, filling and stretching her to the very limit.
She gave a sharp, ear-piercing cry that was sure to resonate to the highest tower and all the way to the dungeons, as searing pain shot through her body from the one place unready for such an intrusion. The tears she had held back rolled out the corners of her eyes and down the side of her face.
And Dracula reveled in it… the feeling of his pleasure and the sound of her pain. He wanted it again, so he withdrew and then violently thrust back into her. And with the same effect. She screamed again, less piercing and more broken. He chuckled maliciously, before carnal need took over his body, and he began to pound into her.
Slim, pale hands gripped the edges of the coffin, the knuckles turning whiter each time as he penetrated her deeply, reclaiming her where only he could reach in the first place. Repeatedly her hips were bruised, sore and tender, but she wasn't allowed the time for them to heal. He pinned her with his heavy, rapidly warming body, smothering the little remaining worth out of her spirit. This was her prison, she realized hopelessly, from which not even death was an escape. That was when her screams turned to pitiful sobs.
This sudden change caught Dracula's attention. "Why do you cry, my love?" he asked between lunges. "Is this not what you wanted so many years ago? Is this not what I created you for?" She shook her head and closed her eyes tightly, but he grabbed her chin with a sweaty palm, and leaned in so close to her face that she could feel those stray strands of his hair brush her flushed cheeks. "You are not your own, pet. Every last inch of you is mine… I even own your soul, and rightfully so – I have been so gracious to you. I granted you immortality, great power, offered you everything you could ever want, and even allowed you a place in my bed." He put his hand back to the bottom of the coffin as he channeled his wrath and full weight into her, an indulgence for him, and more severe pain for her. "So enlighten me, dearest, what is it like to sleep with the enemy… with those that would have me killed… you killed…?"
"No, no… please stop," she begged between choking sobs and soft wails; she didn't know which hurt worse – what he was doing to her body or what he spoke of.
"What did it feel like, Marishka dear…" He slipped his hands behind her knees, pushing back until her feet and calves were in the air, horizontal to his body, and tilting her as if trying to sink further inside than he had ever gone before. She was worked up, flustered, and he could feel the burning hot torment coursing through her veins and seeping out of her skin. He inhaled deeply – the scent of her fear, her heat – he could even taste it. Leaning down, he trailed his tongue between her breasts and up her neck, tasting the tangy moisture. "Did it thrill, love, to know I would not approve?" he asked, nipping aggressively at her chin and her whole body trembled. "He must have been good, your mortal prince, very good indeed. Say, how did he charm you into his bed? Or was it you that did the charming?"
Marishka shook her head, unwilling to answer him, unwilling to give him more to torture her with. Every muscle ached, her thighs throbbed, her insides burned, her eyes were swollen and her throat was hoarse. There was a new smell in the air: blood. Her blood… She bled for him now like she did when she lost her innocence.
He must have noticed it soon after she did, for he laughed. "Ah, yes, it is like creating you anew. But get ahead of myself… Was it his heartbeat that captivated you so? His warmth? His youth? How good was he? I would like to know what I am up against. Was he gentle like a lover, or did he ravish you for everything that you are worth?" Dracula growled, feral and dangerous, and his eyes darkened. "Tell me, darling, share with your master! How did it feel, hm?!" He could feel that heavy delirium, that feverish rapture so close, and he pumped faster into her. Marishka gave him a frightened whimper, but that was not what he wanted. "How did it feel?! TELL ME! SPEAK, MARISHKA, DAMN YOU, HOW DID HE MAKE YOU FEEL?"
"Loved!" she cried out, unable to stop herself.
Dracula stared into her eyes, a look that could freeze blood, but only for three more thrusts, before the ecstasy consumed him. His eyes closed, his head rolled back and mouth fell open, as a groan seemed to resonate from within his chest. He trembled all over, spilling his dead seed deep inside her body, and marking her completely as his own once again. But he didn't think about that. He couldn't. In that moment, he could have been alive. The heat that engulfed his body, the fire that burned between his legs, the useless gulps of air he took in, the waves of pleasure like blood racing through his system – it was all delightfully like living, breathing.
But Marishka didn't share in this feeling like she usually did with him. Unmoving, crushed by his full weight, she lay staring up at his face, watching it contort, while a few of those loose strands of hair hung limp with sweat over his cheek bones. She hated how he found his release in her, how he found such gratification from her pain, how he treated her like something to use. And yet, hadn't he always? All she could hope for was that it was over… that there would be no more pain and no more of his taunting questions. Soon, she felt his body relax, every muscle go soft and pliant, as he came down from the high. When he opened his eyes, they were glazed over slightly; he sighed then gave her a lazy, smug smile and almost reluctantly pulled himself from her. The cool air seemed to rush to fill the empty space where his body had been, and she flinched, feeling it fan the tender skin between her legs. She suddenly felt sticky, her body laced with both their perspiration, most of which coated sleek the inside of her thighs. The aroma of blood hung thick in the air. Without a word, he left her alone in her coffin.
He was gone… she was free. She closed her eyes and brought both hands to her face. She was free…
"Come here," he ordered. And she felt a sickening lurch in her stomach.
The torture wasn't over.
Warily, she removed her hands from her face and used her forearms to push herself into a sitting position. He stood not even five feet away, still magnificently naked, and commanding such a dominant air that it was rather frightening. The look on his face told her it wouldn't be wise to make him repeat himself. With much effort, she climbed out of the coffin, but when her feet touched the floor, her knees buckled slightly and she grabbed a hold of the edge. She had thought she had been exhausted when she came back from Valerious Manor, but it was certainly nothing compared to this. Ever so carefully, she took small, baby steps over to him, afraid that the throbbing muscles that barely held her up would give way. She kept her head lowered and her eyes on the floor respectfully, until he put a finger on her chin and brought her gaze up to his own. His eyes held a wicked gleam.
"Marishka, my young one, it appears you have so much yet to learn. I think it best for you to know your place," he said tenderly, before commanding, "On your knees."
The feeling in her stomach tripled and her head spun while her vision blurred with fresh tears. "Master… no…" she whimpered, as he dropped his hands to her bare shoulders and applied a little pressure, encouraging her down. Finally her will broke and her legs gave out; her knees connected hard with the stone floor. She bit her quivering bottom lip harshly, drawing a large drop of blood, when she came level with his monstrous length. It was obvious what he wanted from her.
His hands slipped possessively down her arms, before taking her own and placing them at his hips. He smirked at her wide, anxious eyes now staring up at him, and with an index finger, he traced her full lips. "Such a pretty little mouth…" he whispered, and his fingers wove through her hair to the back of her head and he grabbed a fist full of the silk.
Marishka felt him push her head forward, closer to that thick, daunting shaft. She had worshiped his body with her mouth before, in sudden fits of passion, but now it felt degrading, to be forced on her knees to do such a thing. But there was no use fighting him; he would get his way. He always did. Closing her eyes tightly, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. Her nails dug into his hips, tears finding a way out of her clenched eyelids, as her jaw stretched to fit his size. He moaned, long and low, his fingers tightening in her hair. As if drawing blood from a wound, she sucked and stimulated the sensitive skin with her tongue. He tasted of man… and a little blood. She cried silently around his length; she had never felt so used, so filthy, so absolutely defiled.
He had broken her, and she knew it.
She gagged when he rocked his hips forward and the tip of him hit the back of her throat. He was close to fulfillment already. More tears came as she willed herself to suck him harder, desperate for the torment to end. His other hand found the back of her head and she could feel him pull the roots of her hair. Under her hands, his body felt stiff and tense. At last, he gave an inhuman, animalistic growl, and then spilled in her mouth. She immediately went to pull away, but he held her fast. When he could come no more, he shoved her from him, as if her mere presence were repulsive.
Rolling onto her side, she coughed and spit up what remained of him from her mouth, unwilling to degrade herself more by swallowing. She didn't look up at him, didn't move, but after a moment, she heard him laugh.
"I suppose you hate me now, is that right?" he said, a mock sigh in his voice, from above her. "That is how it may seem, my dear, but you really enjoy this, and thus you love me. You adore me, worship me… because I treat you for what you truly are – a whore. You always haven been and always will be. Whores are not allowed to truly love, pet, nor are they loved in return. They are objects, things to be used…" he paused momentarily, "And it appears your little prince understood that well enough."
Marishka let out of a shaky breath and brought the back of her hand to her lips. Had Velkan truly used her too? She heard the sound of the brass door handle turning from the other side of the room, and she looked up with blurred, glassy eyes. Dracula stood by the door, fully dressed, everything in order, appearing as if nothing of consequence had happened.
"Oh, and before I leave…" he said, looking at her lying in a heap on the floor. "The last experiments at Castle Frankenstein proved fruitless. Perhaps, next time, werewolf venom in living blood is all we will need… or should I say, in royal blood. I believe your princeling lover will make a fine addition to my collection of servants, don't you? Tomorrow morning, I intend to unleash the werewolf…" His lip curled in a smirk. "I will be sure to send it with your love."
Then he left her – alone, battered, and thoroughly in pieces.
And she wept.
Cruel? Mean? I think so. Dracula is a sh!thead and there is no doubt in my mind he would do something like this. He knows Marishka is attached to him—in the vampire sense that he is her "master" and emotionally—and he knows the easiest way to keeping her where he wants her. He wasn't destroying her physically, so much as he was destroying her psychologically. Marishka got a sense of control and freedom by having sex with Velkan, but in the end Dracula just uses it—sex, that is—against her. He destroyed whatever sense of self and self-worth she had, and then told her what she was and how to think. If that isn't creepy, I don't know what is. I feel really bad for Velkan, though, because we all know what happened to him in the movie when Dracula unleashed the werewolf…
Reviews would be just lovely!