Author's note: There are probably plenty of League stories that has Dracula come back or something similar, but I still had to give it a try myself. Although Dracula is not the only character from the novel that is coming back in this story. Also, Dracula in this story is fashioned after Michael Sheen in Underworld. Ironic that a werewolf is my pick for this Dracula I suppose. Anyway, please review, as I am an addict, and hope ya'll enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing really, Dracula belongs to whoever has the copyright now, as well as any other characters mentioned in this that are from that novel. The League of Extraordinary Gentle men belongs to Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill, and I suppose 20th Century Fox. Please do not sue me. Savvy?
PROLOGUE: THE TIME
"It is almost time now."
"Time for what?'
"You shall see, my dear Mina."A small, sadistic chuckle. "You shall see."
"Why can you not leave me be?" A pleading tone now. "Let me live on in peace, please."
A wide, wolfish grin, white fangs bared. "But where is the fun in that?" The grin is gone. "You think I delight in tormenting you, you believe I haunt you merely to drive you mad."
An empty laugh. "And you would have me think other wise? You have never done anything to prove me wrong." Blue eyes turn red.
He moves closer, taking another step towards her frozen form. "It does not have to be like this, Mina. You do not need to fight me, why even try? There is no husband to honor now, no professor that has fooled himself into believing he is ridding the world of an vile abomination."
"And whose fault that they are gone is it?" Her throaty voice is now a feline's hiss. "You killed them, you wore them down until they defeated you, making them too weak to go on any longer. You destroyed them." Red eyes close. "You destroyed me."
"I made you an even more extraordinary creature than you already were. Why else would you be in this league?" A hand, gentle, reaches out, cupping her cheek. "Tell me, do you truly hate what you have become? Do you truly despise me as much as you profess to?"
Eyes, blue again, open and meet a gray pair. "Yes."
"Is that so?" It is his turn to hiss. "Well, I find your taste in men to prove your lies, Mina."
An incredulous stare. "What on earth on you talking about?"
"Have you not noticed how you keep getting involved with men who have a darkness to them? How you have found yourself drawn to men with secrets, with demons?" His eyes are like storm clouds now, hinting at anger seething beneath his skin. "That was all Dorian was to you, just a substitute."
Blue eyes are once again red. "How dare you. I had no clue of Dorian's true nature.'
"Oh really? You would have me to think otherwise?" A mockery of her earlier words, twisted and cruel from his mouth. "It was there, Mina, like the scent of a female in heat. You could sense it, you wanted it, because it made you think of me."
"But look what happened." Confidence is back in her voice. "I killed him, just as I killed you."
"You could never kill me, Mina."
"I did. And then I watched my husband and a good friend die. And I now have put all my lusts for darkness behind me. You are gone, Dorian is gone, and I have a new life. I have new chances at real love, not the twisted replica you offered me."
"Ah, I see. Do you mean the boy? No, that is more maternal, protective. Not the love you speak of. The pirate? No, there is only respect and friendship. The thief? No, merely tolerance and sometimes fondness." A pause, gray eyes lighting up. "Or is it, the good doctor?"
Her body stiffens, telling him he is right. "You cannot hurt him, any of them. So why try so desperately to discover who it is?"
A hands, not so gentle this time, grabs her chin, making her look at him. "Because you are mine. Never forget that. Besides, your choice proves again I am right. You are finding someone with their own darkness."
"He is nothing like you. Nothing! If anything, he is more like Jonathan." her face softens, eyes blue and filled with memories.
Storm clouds gather again, rage filling his veins. Hands pin her down on the ground, fangs bared. "He is more like me than you admit. He has his own, personal demon that even takes form, takes over when he lets it, when he gives in. And only then. When you see that demon, you see the darkness in your doctor's soul." Lips brush against hers. "And you want it. Because it is the closest thing to me you think you can ever have."
Expression passive, blue eyes staring up at the darkening clouds. "Wrong, so very wrong. I am the closest thing to you. I want someone of the light."
"Will you still think this way when you see me again, when you feel me outside of these dreams?"
Confusion sweeps over her features.
"Like I told you, it is almost time now."
A tall, slender man entered a dimly lit parlor, another man, not quite as slender as the first man and a few inches taller, following the first man's lead. Both men were somewhat pale, though the first, slightly shorter one was incredibly pallid and his eyes glowed a pale blue.
Hair perfectly slicked back, his suit without a single wrinkle it seemed, the first man appeared as noble as any other gentleman of the British upper class. His long hands were gloved, despite the fairly warm temperature. Black boots made no sound upon the floor as he walked into the room, and his stride was long and languid.
His companion, a mild mannered looking man with soft brown and rather unruly hair that fell past his ears, was dressed just as impeccably, though minus the gloves. His skin, though pale, was still of fairly healthy hue. Dark brown eyes, not quite as piercing as the first man's, were still just as cold. Even though his clothes were just as expensive and perfectly pressed, as well as up to date with the latest fashions, the man seemed ill suited to them and out of place in such noble, aristocratic surroundings.
"Mr. Campion Bond?" the first man inquired, and a stout, middle-aged man with black hair and perfectly trimmed beard rose from his seat in the parlor, nodding his head in reply.
"That would be me. Would you like the lighting to be a bit brighter?" he asked nonchalantly. "Or do you both prefer the dimness of the room?"
"Please, the lighting is fine," the first man replied, his companion silent and expression restrained. "Now, let us get down to business." He sat down in the chair across from Bond's, motioning for him to sit as well. The grim companion stayed on his feet.
Campion Bond, who did not appear pleased with being pushed around so easily, stiffly sat and glared at the slender figure in front of him. "I am still a bit unsure of your news, I mean, wasn't this, creature killed several years ago?" Bond asked skeptically.
"Because, I know him better than almost anyone. At least anyone still living in a sense. Only one other person that still walks upon the earth in a solid form knows this monster better than I. And she is on your team."
Bond raised an eyebrow, but remained expressionless otherwise. "So, you believe that the creature that turned you and Mrs. Murray into vampires is returning yet again from its grave, and is seeking revenge. Anything else?"
"He is not just seeking revenge. He is seeking what he believes is his. Mainly, Mrs. Murray. She is in more danger than anyone else, including myself," the man replied, his pale eyes seeming to turn whiter. "But everyone is at risk, because he is growing stronger than I have ever known him to be. Vengeance has a way of doing that to people, I hear," he added, sending a brief glance towards the stoic beside his chair.
Bond nodded, rubbing his chin with his left hand. "I see. Well, I cannot promise you cooperation from the League, for they have shown they do not feel the need to listen to me or Her Majesty. But since one of their own seems to be in danger, you have a better shot."
The man nodded and stood. "Thank you, Mr. Bond. We shall be going, alert us when the League has arrived and are ready to hear my news." He started striding towards the door, his companion following, but Bond was not through yet.
"I know who you are, Mr. Renfield, and I know why you are involved in this, but what does your companion have to do with all of this?"
"I was a protégé of Van Helsing," the second man finally spoke, his voice smooth and cultured. "And now that he is dead, it is my duty to carry on his mission."
Pain was something he had learned to ignore long ago. He felt it, but in a detached way, as if he were observing it, not experiencing it. Now though, now he felt such an excruciating, indescribable pain in his chest. He had felt it for years now. He had endured and waited, biding his time.
He sighed, remembering the kiss that had done him in, sealed him to this temporary fate. The searing kiss from one of his own. He could still taste her on his lips. Could still remember the warmth of her blood flowing through his veins. He wanted to feel that again.
With a snarl, he yanked, pulling out the source of his pain.
He had waited long enough.