Author's note: This is set a few weeks before the present time in Van Helsing. Not sure how I got the idea, but I did, it stuck, and I forced it to get out of my mind onto paper, sort of. Please review, hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Velkan, Marishka, or any other characters mentioned in the story. They are the property of Stephen Sommers, Universal, and whoever else has copyrights to them. Please do not sue me, I mean no harm or copyright infringement. Savvy?
It was wrong, it was a sin, it was filthy and corrupt. He knew this. He wanted to stop himself, but when she touched him she turned him. She made him savage and primal, claiming him as her own without even leaving the two tell-tale marks on his neck.
He was above this. He was better than this. He didn't care. Because he still wanted this.
Velkan Valerious wanted to thrust into Marishka until she cried out in pleasure, wanted to bite down on her shoulder, grip her hips until they bruised. He wanted to make her hurt even while he wanted to make her quiver with rapture. He wanted to find release inside her, even while he wanted to kill himself for touching her.
She was cold fire, warm skin hiding a frozen heart. Her breath was merely an illusion of life, blood not even hers running through her veins.
Velkan stared down at her, grunting in pleasure even as she writhed beneath him, her long legs wrapping around his hips as he thrust into her. He heard her moan in pleasure, her eyes shut as she threw her head back against the bed, screaming as she came. Velkan let out a loud, animalistic groan as he came himself, panting and sweating while she stared up at him through half closed eyes.
The high of the pleasure was wonderful. But when he came back down, he came back down hard. He looked down and saw the monster lying dormant behind those dark eyes, saw the snarl hiding under the seductive smile.
When Marishka touched him, he did not feel like a prince, did not feel like a man, did not feel like he could be the champion he had to be. He was weak and he was corrupted, lusting after a cold heart that somehow burned him more than any flame.
Velkan slid out of her, pulling away and sitting up in the bed. He knew why she came to him, why she slipped out of her flimsy clothes and let him take her while she claimed his soul.
Marishka was nothing but a slave to her master, and she was not breaking away from Dracula. She was following his orders, weakening Velkan from the inside. Marishka was taunting and violent, soft and caressing, a harpy with an angel's grace. And she tarnished Velkan's soul.
"Dawn approaches," she said softly, sliding off the bed. She walked over to where her clothes had been practically torn of by the animal she turned him into. She dressed slowly, letting him see every inch of her skin once more before she left him.
"I hate you," he whispered vehemently.
Marishka grinned cruelly at him. "And I despise you." She walked over to him, leaning down and kissing his lips softly for a moment. "Give my regards to Anna." Marishka kissed Velkan savagely then, before taking flight out the window, soaring back to her home, with her sisters and her master, where she would please him with even more enthusiasm than she pleasured Velkan.
Tomorrow he and Anna would hunt for Marishka, Aleera, Verona, Dracula. They would avoid his werewolf, search for any clue to where he lived, how he could die. They would protect the people of Transylvania from the bloodlust of Dracula and his brides.
And Velkan would take extra care that none of the townsfolk feel prey to Marishka. He knew her cruelty, he glimpsed it, could see her lusting to make him bleed more than make him sweat, could see the desire to hear him scream in pain even more than he did in pleasure. But he was not hers to kill, and so she would torture anyone else she could sink her fangs into, and Velkan would see to it she never had the chance.
She was his responsibility. His dark, dirty secret. It was his fault she was still alive, still a predator loose and eager to feed. He had a chance to kill her, every night. For the past few weeks, he had been given his chance, and every time he threw it away.
Prince Velkan Valerious was becoming just as much a slave to Marishka as she was to Dracula.