Hellsing: BLOOD LUST.
Disclaimer—Okey-Dokey. I know I have to say this so here it goes—(clears throat) this is for the lawyers, 'I do not own Hellsing. None of it.' This is influenced by a few other Hellsing fanfics and of course, my own twisted imagination. It's sick. This is my second Hellsing fan-fiction. Looking for my first Hellsing fan-fiction? It is Musings.
So, do not hate me or flame me.
Also I plan on making this a series, instead of a one-shot. But I need reviews!! Hint.
I know there will be grammar mistakes. I did my best. I was more in a hurry to actually post this. Hey! I cannot be perfect all the time.
Synopsis—After the Tower of London incident, the Hellsing Organization and Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing are under 'investigation'…by the Iscariot Agency. Meanwhile a shadowed organization is on the move, Millennium.
Sorry if it seems rush. I figured—post it or never do it.
I welcome ideas.
Of Enemies and Friends.The Falling of a Knight
"At last. We can move forward with our plans for the impending war. And the war beyond that, and the next and the next," replied the round figure in the shadows. The man said it, exaggerating his gleeful triumph with the slyness of ease. After all, he was happy and he had every reason in the world to express himself. He adjusted his oversized glasses, shoving them into the proper place on the bridge of his short pudgy nose. His round beady turned to the tall and lanky individual standing next to him. "If I can possible assume that we can…Doc! Might that be remotely possible?"
Trembling, the ever-faithful subject replied in an eager tone, "Yes! Yes of course, mein Fuhrer—"
The man corrected stiffly, "Do not call me that."
Doc apologized, "Of course not. I will alter the staff to proceed the next phase. It will be done, Major."
"Good," the Major cooed. "That is good. Order 666 will finally be concluded. And completed."
The medical doctor nodded and stammered, "Yes. It will."
The figure purred in the dark embrace, his voice hardly able to contain the mirth of his joy. "That is excellent. I am most pleased. Thrilled." He added, touching a nerve, "Hopefully this new assembly will prove worthy—much better than your last perfection…Incognito. What potential wasted! I was disappointed, but then again his demise did prove somewhat useful." The Major stroked his chin. "Interesting…very interesting about this Cromwell effect. We seems we have greatly underestimated the No-Life King—regardless the game has changed to our favor."
He held a vial filled with swirling blood, the essence of the No-Life King—the Immortal Nosferatu Alucard. Vlad Tepes III. Studying it in the ill light, his nasty smile grew wider, stretching ear to ear. The expression threatened to split his cheeks. The Major peered at the blood. It was such a lovely color. So pure and so rich like a priceless ruby stone. Only one word could describe it. "Simply prefect…" True, the essence would be used for their own wicked, carnal purposes. "Than proceed, Doc…after all, the world is waiting—the innocent and ignorant masses are waiting for us. I want war! War! I want to hear the music."
The Captain remained silent, as he always does.
A boy with cat-like ears approached. "Any other orders, Major?"
"I have one piece of the puzzle…and I need is one more." His surrounding minions advanced eagerly, patiently waiting. He answered wolfishly, "The Master of the Monster…Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing."
The Tower of London
Basement, Cell 33
The No-Life King, the Nosferatu Alucard whispered with his voice close to breathlessness, "Integra…" His Master, Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing gave him a cold, hard and blank stare. He corrected himself, not using such an informal and personal introduction, "My Master..."
"Give me an order…" Without warning he enclosed his fist around the wineglass, shattering it. Droplets of unholy crimson-blood, thick as priceless rubies oozed from the superficial wounds, staining his infamous Hellsing-Seal gloves. In a tantalizing and deliberate fashion the beads fell, decorating the dungeon-floor with a blooming scarlet rosette. Alucard extended his hand towards her, making a humble and silent offering of his blood to her, the gift and damnation of the Undead Life. Her fierce and passionate sapphire-stone eyes studied the blood drops with intense consideration, and a mischievous chuckle escaped him. She was tempted, he could see it in her eyes and smell it on her virginal skin. The laugh rumbled low in his throat, echoing off the walls. "Remember, the choice is yours…"
A rare-seen smile crossed her lips. Integra made a bemused sound and smirked doubtfully. "The choice is mine." Smiling gleefully like a spoiled schoolboy, Alucard advanced. Her expression hardened, as it always does in his presence. She challenged coldly, "Why don't you just read my thoughts?"
He smiled; it was a terrible thing to witness. Alucard cooed seductively, "I have."
"I have your order…." Alucard waiting, anticipating her command. Integra turned mellow, casting her eyes to the side and away from his fervent eyes and from the bloody temptation. Pride and duty would be her downfall and her untimely demise. "Check up on Walter's status and Seras Victoria's location."
Alucard smirked and answered in a bored flat tone, "Walter is well, nothing but a laceration on the head. He broke his bifocal. Seras Victoria is with me at Hellsing manor. Naturally, still a childe. Police-Girl has a taste for birds." Integra remembered, since the Tower of London the Medical supply had be forestalled. It left the two vampires searching for their own blood supplies. "Walter will be released."
Integra breathed a sigh of relief. She mumbled a prayer, thanking God.
The No-Life King offered his hand again. He purred with sadistic wickedness, "Give me your order, my Countess."
She glared at the wild, flaming and bloodthirsty red eyes. "Refrain using that title with me. I am not a little girl anymore." The Countess title started as a joke when she was younger, and Alucard was thrilled to oblige into the childish game—he was the dragon, she was the Iron Maiden and he was the Knight and she was the Countess. Sweet innocence.
"You will always be that little girl."
The Hellsing Heir disregarded him.
Nevertheless Alucard refused to be ignored. "Come Integra…" Hypnotized, under some deviant and unnaturally spell, all notions of rebellion and rejection diminished. A milky-film glaze coated her eyes. Subconsciously she stood to her feet, ambling towards him and his outstretched gift. Locks of silvery strands danced wildly in some unseen wind. The room darkened and the eyes of his daemon, the Hellhounds filled the room. "Make your choice. Follow me without fear into the darkest gloom." There was something so inviting in his rich tone, and she did not falter. "The choice will always be yours Integra, my Love, my Master."
Alucard toyed, playing with a strand of her silvery mane and his eyes lowered to her lapel. He licked his lips, displaying his eager fangs. With his bloodstained hand, the No-Life King cupped her cheek and the crimson-fluid smudged at the corner of her parted mouth. "Just a lick."
Integra blinked out of the Dreamworld, as the Hellsing Seal broke the spell.
His moment of triumph was cruelly interrupted as Integra removed her cigar from her mouth and twisted the smoldering end into his flesh. The tissue singed, scorching it charcoal black. He remained silent. A malicious grin twitched his lips and an elongated fang nudged his lower lip, stroking against the sensitive skin. "Remove your hands." Her voice was cold and Alucard grinned, his long tongue wrapped around his wounds and suckled on them.
She hissed sharply, "I am still your Master. I wear the trousers in this relationship."
"Indeed," he mused. "But let me know if you ever desire to lift the skirt."
Integra turned her back on him. He could smell her scent—cigars and lavender. It was a mixture of authority and femininity. Interesting combo. "You know my answer, slave. That is my choice. My patience is wearing thin, vampire. Stop this silly nonsense. I refuse to repeat myself."
Alucard glazed uninterested at his marred flesh. "Forever the Artemis, Integra…" The wounds were now healed. Integra adjusted her collar, closing the tie closer around her throat. His nostrils flared, since even through the articles of clothing Alucard would smell the Hellsing blood wafting in the air. He closed his fluttering eyes, humming in pleasure. Intoxicating.
Integra still had her back facing him, flatly ignoring him. A growl of frustration escaped his throat and he stepped closer, advancing. He did not touch her as Alucard leaned in, sniffing the nape of her neck. Whispering he promised, "I shall have you, Integra. You will come to me…and you will scream—but in pleasure or pain, that remains your choice."
God, her blood froze and then boiled at the remark. "That is not day."
"No it is not," he confessed disappointedly. "But perhaps tomorrow, Artemis."
Released with a Price.
Tower of London
Two hours later.
Integra sat, reclined on the cot, hands folded behind her head and eyes slightly closed. She was not asleep, merely resting herself. Alucard's visit had drained every ounce of self-control from her and his boldness had matured, almost to a threatening level. It wouldn't be the first time, and frankly she doubt that it would be the last. The Hellsing Seal was not breaking; it was just simply—Alucard. It was him, plain and simple. Relentlessly testing her. Challenging her. "Give me an order. The choice is yours." The blood offering weighted heavily against her. It was not the offering that was disturbing, but rather than that Alucard had read her mind. He knew her thoughts.
And Integra would not deny anything. It was too late.Countess…
She smirked to herself.
Forever the Artemis, Integra.
What an interesting analogy. Artemis, the Virgin Huntress.
There was a knock at the heavy doors.
Integra replied sharply, "Come in."
The two royal guards entered, spears in hand and beaver-hats wiggling on their oversized heads. The men were complete physical opposites of each other. "Miss Hellsing you have a visitor." It was a thin lanky individual, sitting in a carbon-steel wheelchair. His graying hair was sleeked back. Calm chocolate eyes glazed out from spectacles sitting low on the fat bridge of his nose. The door slammed behind him. "Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing." In the limits of his wheelchair, the man gave the slightest and modest of nods. Otherwise he would have stood to his feet and bowed. "I am—"
Integra reached her feet. "I know you are Dr. Malcolm Charles Thayer." The man blinked in shook and then smiled. "I believed you worked with my father."
Dr. Thayer gave a ghostly smile. "Yes indeed, but that was many years ago. Practically a lifetime ago—before my," his voice faltered in his throat as he studied his useless legs and the wheelchair, "well…before my accident."
Due to his untimely accident, Dr. Thayer had been pressed by the Royal Order to proceed to the only avenue left to a man of his condition—Retirement. He retired and currently was a Member of Parliament. However, he refused to abandon his gift. He was a Master of weapons, both biochemical and warfare—regarding vampires and werewolves, not humans.
This crippled man was responsible for Mary-Tears, the liquid-silver bullets, 13mm Armor-piercing explosive rounds, mercury charged tips and even the design of the 30mm Anti-Midian Harkonnen Cannon. It was rumored that he constructed the Angel of Death's instrument of destruction, the razor wires and even the Casull, and the Jackal. Nevertheless the truth remained to be seen.
Regardless, he refused to allow his physical incapable to waver him.
He waved his thoughts aside. "Please my dear, sit down. There's no need to stand for a cripple old man. I know your manners are proper and well; however, I am here professionally. I am a messenger from the Queen and the Royal Order. By order of her Majesty, the Queen of England and by the Royal Order of Protestant Knights, you have been released…but with a price."
"I am not pardoned." Integra noted, understanding the bitterness of the situation—it sucked! Fucking and royally sucked. Nevertheless, in spite of the unpleasantness, the Iron Maiden contained her composure. "I see Dr. Thayer, however, I must inquire—what is the price of such amnesty?"
"You will be released. Returned to the Hellsing manor. Walter Dornez will accompany you." He licked his lips. "It has been discussed—"
She demanded sharply, "Just tell me."
"You are removed from the Royal Order. And no longer a Protestant Knight."
Surprisingly, the removal of her knighthood did not hurt as much as she expected, but it left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. Hastily she recalled the Queen's words, "These are times that test the soul, Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing…Stand strong through this—and find solace that in the morning your Judas shall be punished…Remember, her Majesty's prayers are with you. Indeed. Stand strong through this. Such words of comfort were overrated. Nothing of the sort had happened—nothing but broken promises and disappointments. "The Hellsing Organization is under investigation. Permanent investigation."
No doubt, Abraham Van Hellsing was rolling in his grave.
"Truly," she said bitterly. "And pray tell who—or what will be investigating the Hellsing Organization? MI-6? Or the SAS?"
Dr. Thayer shrugged his shoulders. "That I do not know."
Integra noted sadly, "I see. My Judas has not been captured and silenced."
"No. The Investigation has not wavered." Sir Integra refused to look at him. "You look like your mother, Sir Hellsing…if I may say so—but you have your father's eyes. You're strong. The Queen knows this."
She blinked at this remark. It was odd and out of place. Few people had complimented Integra's look, it wasn't that she was beautiful but rather that she was a cold and distant person. People were slightly intimidated, and in addition many members of British society opposed Arthur's marriage to Parvati Ramayania. She was a foreigner, not English. "I have the feeling that's not all the Queen wishes to tell me," she inquired.
"Listen. Even these walls have ears." Dr. Thayer grabbed her hand. He whispered in a low tone, "Listen. There is some strange force at work here, some shadowed organization. The Queen expresses to you—Listen this has not been discussed at the commission between the Queen and the Royal Knights. A secret. You understand?"
Integra nodded. She was professional at secrets, the Hellsing Organization being one of them.
"The situation is much more complicated. The Queen has tied hands. She has done all that she can, given the circumstances." Dr. Thayer asked, "I understand that Alucard was able to retrieve information from that White Demon?"
"Incognito. Yes. Indeed. Alucard has his methods of persuasion." The smile could have come to her face for any reason, but remembering Incognito's body impaled caused her much glee, much joy. May the bastard rest in Hell.
"What was the word?"
"I suspect it was a name…Millennium."
An expression came to his face.
He whispered fiercely, "You have been removed from your duty, but you are permitted to perform your own private investigation—but do not draw intention to yourself." Dr. Thayer licked his lips nervously. The man added in a hot warning, "Keep Alucard on a tight leash. Nothing loud."
Alucard said in her mind, "How quaint! Fallen but not yet broken."
Private property of the Hellsing estate.
Two weeks later.
Removed of her knightly duty, there was little joy that the 'normal, ignorant and innocent' world had to offer the recently fallen Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing. Or at least—nothing, but disappointment and rage, following the memories of broken-promises and betrayal. No doubt she did conclude her own private investigation, but every possible lead was a dead-end. But, hope was not yet lost and Hellsings are not the giving-up type. The answer to the Millennium riddle might be in the head of a vampire residing in London, at a local Blood-Bar. It was Marius Von Montague. Integra and Alucard planned to interrogate him the day after tomorrow. They waited for the cover of night.
In the meanwhile she acted like any normal aristocrat lady.
Whatever that meant.
Hellsings did not live normal lives.
Walter and Seras helped in the best ways that they could possibly manage. The Queen insisted it and naturally Integra obeyed, attending a few knighting ceremonies, watching polo games and sod-races. She had even dressed up in a large sun-hat and white knee-length dress that Walter picked out. She hated it—the dress, the oversized hat, laced gloves and sandals. She couldn't even conceal her Glock .45 under it, because it was too bulky and too dark. It was her own personal hell, complete with the men watching and the women whispering. Alucard loved it. Duchness Dominique Wallingford remarked, "Miss Integra, how trim and proper you look! It is the vision of a true English woman. This is an exercise that I wish to see long repeated."
So here she was, dressed in a button-down and vest, tight tan-riding slacks and knee-length deerskin boots, and sitting on her Spanish steed. The Heir of Hellsing studied the foothills, woods and lands of the Hellsing estate and extending private property. This was unsuspicious behavior.
The British New Channel at Jordan Tower were not so kind, constantly pacing up and down at the Hellsing Gates, asking questions and demanding an interview. The Tabloids were even worse, climbing into the trees and trespassing. Once Alucard took the form of a dog, chased a photographer and bit him on the rear. The man screamed, landing himself in the hospital. The No-Life King came back with a shred of trousers in his mouth. "Pet me, Master. Am I not faithful?"
Tomorrow would be another sod-race and the Duchess had invited her. The vile woman could not take no for an answer, so she was obligated to attend. Bloody Hell. Walter would attend the event with her, and if not, Alucard offered. That was not a wise idea, but an Englishwoman; especially an aristocratic lady did not present public or private events alone. It was highly improper.
At least she had the night to practice her Hellsing duty, but only in secret.
Suddenly there was a loud noise, the sound of a hundred thundering hoofs. The wind became harsher, tossing and turning the leaves and her silvery mane wildly in the unseen and even violent current. The horse grunted staring around and flicking his ears back threatening. He grunted, alarmed.
It emerged over her head bearing towards the Hellsing mansion with a loud and defining roar. The started steed reared up but Integra remained firmly fixed in the saddle. It flew over the trees and plains with only a foot of clearance. The helicopter ignored the Hellsing rider and continued towards the headquarters of the fallen Hellsing Organization. From the close distance Sir Integra would make out several characters sitting at the open window, but one person caught her complete attention, fueling anger and distrust.
There was a symbol on the side of the helicopter…the roman-numerals of ten and three, separated only by a cross—Iscariot. "Vatican Section XIII, the Iscariot Agency." Narrowing her icy-blue eyes into slits, Sir Integra pulled on the reins and buried her heel deep into her steed's ribs. Giving out a cry of protest the hot-blooded Spanish-steed turned and raced after the helicopter.
Faster and faster…but flesh isn't any match for steel.
When rider and steed reached the landing pad, the occupants of the Iscariot helicopter had left and preceded into the house. Sir Integra followed; striping off her riding gloves and twisted them in her grip.
The look on her face was a vision of Hell itself.
And in the basement the No-Life King woke with a start.
Tea is for Guest, the Door is for Intruders.
Library of the Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing
Butler and former trash-man of the Order of Royal Protestant Knights, Walter C. Dornez approached the uninvited agents of Iscariot, and in spite of the unrest between Hellsing and the Vatican House; the Butler remained modest and respectable. He was waiting for them at the launch pad and directed them to the library so they would wait for the Mistress of the house. They exchanged formal and even direct introductions. The agents of Iscariot sat down in the comforts of the cushioned chairs and whispered fiercely to each other.
Anderson pouted, "This is ridiculous."
"Quit your whining." The Director of Iscariot turned the page of the London Inquirer with great interest. The main-headline read, "Hellsing released. Investigation impending,"—there was a photo of Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing escorted by two royal British guards. She appeared defiant and proud as always. The other photos showed her at recent aristocratic events, dressed trim and proper. Maxwell stoked her face with his index finger, smudging the print. "Enhance your calm, Alexander. Remember, old friend that we are under orders from his Holiness the Pope. It is a great honor, I might add."
Heinkel Wulf smirked, murmuring to herself, "Or an insult."
Yumiko exchanged looks with her fellow sister. She couldn't really argue with her; after all they dealt with assassinations, not investigations.
"Ridiculous! I will not enhance me calm. This is serious, Director." Anderson inched closer and whispered fiercely, "Assigned to Hellsing is an offense. What are ye doing? Two virgin ladies under the same roof as the No-Life King, the Nosferatu Alucard! Have ye gone mad? Tell me has ye hatred for Hellsing clouded ye judgment."
With a suspicious brow the silver-haired man challenged, "Father Anderson, are you questioning my motive?"
"No. I am questioning ye sanity."
Touched he replied cynically, "I am mentally well—besides Heinkel and Yumiko can handle themselves. They are members of Iscariot. God is with us. We shall be victorious."
True, Iscariot were the messengers of the divine punishment. If God is with us, then who can be against us? "Indeed." Anderson shimmered down, since his faith calmed him. It relaxed him, almost a mother soothing her crying babe. The Judas Priest noted, "Sir Integra remains untouched—unravished."
Maxwell choked. "You honestly believe all that rubbish about her purity…" Behind the newspaper he raised a suspicious brow, peering at Anderson. The notion intrigued him. "The Iron Maiden…or even the Virgin Protestant Knight?"
The Judas Priest confessed meekly, "Something tells me that Alucard would prefer his women willingly, not forced." Maxwell frowned. The impression wasn't comforting.
Walter came again. "Gentlemen…" he paused, noticing Yumiko Takagi and Heinkel Wolfe, Walter added meekly, "and young ladies, might I interest you in a cup of tea?"
Father Renaldo wrinkled his nose and asked, "Where is the Mistress of the house, Integra Hellsing?"
"As I have said, 'the Madame is out.'"
Director Maxwell touched his arm, stopping him. "Calm yourself, Father Renaldo. Be patient. There is time."
Walter lifted the tray and asked, "Tea, anyone?"
Anderson refused, stoking the handle of his blessed blade. He studied the room, apparently, as if, he expected the Nosferatu Alucard to appear. His eyes never left his surroundings. Yumiko smiled big, looking at the butler and eagerly accepted a cup. Heinkel merely ignored him, since her eyes remained on Anderson. There was a sad expression on her face.
The Director replied in his heavily-accented voice, "A cup of Russian tea with lemon would be most pleasing, Angel of Death."
Walter did not respond to his former title.
"NO! I think not." At the entrance of the Hellsing Library stood THE Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing. She threw aside her riding gloves and advanced. The heavy metallic clicks of her heels announced her. The white and mud-spattered trench coat followed her like a second shadow. Silvery stands wisped around as if trapped by the harsh current in her long stride. "Tea is for guests. The door is for intruders."
The man protested sweetly, "Miss Hellsing. You must not be so hasty…so terribly rude—And this will certainly not do. It seems you still hold such a grudge."
It was Maxwell.
And Father Renaldo…
A snort escaped her. Hateful, wicked man! Her eyes contracted into slits, narrowing on the white priest-collar beneath his chin. It was such a deceiving symbol. Maxwell was not a man of God, but a pervert, a sick, demented and power-hungry sap. He was the Director of Section XIII the Iscariot Agency, the top-secret wing of the Vatican—second only to his Holiness, the Pope. "I have business with you."
She gritted down on her cigar, nearly splitting it down the middle. Integra tucked it behind her ear. Walter retrieved a cup for the Hellsing Heir and sat it down on the desk with milk and sugar. She left it there, sitting untouched.
Integra shook her head disdainfully when she noticed Anderson and two women, one dressed as a nun and the other as a priest. She demanded coldly, "Director Enrico Maxwell, head of the Iscariot Agency. Pray inform me, to what do I owe the pleasure from your unsought and uninvited presence?"
He cooed, "My child, I have come for your confession."
Confession? "What?" Integra blinked. "Repeat that."
A Catholic Priest, a Holy Bible and a Rose-Mary were the instruments of the Vatican faith. Maxwell held them against his blacken and ambitious heart. Section XIII, the Iscariot Organization disguised as humble messengers had come to hear her sins, pleas of mercy and begs for amnesty. Integra would never be tempted by such an innocent diversion. "I am here for your confession…heretic and traitor."
Sniveling little leech.
A huff escaped her parted lips but she was determined to be civil, so the Knight replied in the kindest of tones, "You forget Father Maxwell—I am Protestant, not Catholic." Integra added grimly, "Besides I have nothing to confess."
Maxwell smiled. It was an uncomfortable expression to witness. He said fatherly and almost sympathetically, "Nothing! Nothing weights trouble on your most unworthy soul, my child? Do not falter from the path of righteousness. This is the time to find solace in the Lord. Cleanse yourself. Repentance is at hand."
Integra snapped hotly, "Maxwell. I warn you—get to the point. And quickly. I have patience but it runs deadly thin. Speak! Before I fetch my pet on gnaw on your throat."
He paled and searched the room. Anderson leaped to his throat with his blades in hand.
"I merely have to make the slightest hint of my wish. He is eager to please."
The shadow beside Integra physically withdrew revealing orange-shades, a Cheshire-cat grin, black inky hair, fedora hat and blood-red trench coat—The No-Life King, Nosferatu Alucard. Anderson stiffened, gripping on his blessed blades. Yumiko and Heinkel reached for their guns but Maxwell waved them off. The vampire leaned against Sir Integra, burying his nose against her earlobe and whispered lusty, "Surely… Master you would not subject me to such tainted and spoiled Vatican blood. I have better taste than that." Inside her head he cooed, I sought yours. One hand rested on her shoulder. The motion was almost protective, if not possessive.
Integra did not bat an eye. "I did not give you permission to express yourself. Silent your tongue."
Maxwell stood to his feet. "Perhaps it would be best to discuss business in private." The Hellsing Heir defiantly crossed her arms. "Just between us. I have a message from the Queen herself. The Pope as well."
"Bollocks," Alucard leered.
The Director gave an honest smile and struggled his shoulders. He said meekly, "Allow me a word."
The vampire laughed. "A word? I daresay, I think you need a prayer. Get down on your knees and start begging."
Maxwell glared at him, "I have business with the Mistress of Hellsing." His eyes followed down her neck, studying the bandages beneath the silk riding-blouse—just a shirt and a tank top. His eyes lowered. A growl interrupted his unholy thoughts. Soon the Director of Iscariot found himself staring down the barrel of the Jackal and the Casull! Eyes off her! I know your thoughts, Maxwell. "I am going to take great pleasure in putting air inside your skull, Father." Walter placed a hand on Alucard's arm and lowered the gun. The Angel of Death shook his head.
Anderson stood in front of Maxwell. Yumiko and Heinkel followed in suit, guns and sword in hand.
Integra snarled against his earlobe, "That is enough Alucard." Reluctantly Alucard holstered his weapons. She turned to face the Vatican Director. "A moment is all you have, Mr. Maxwell. I am here at your disposal. Just you and me. No bodyguards—that includes Father Anderson."
"Or your pet," leered Maxwell. He glared at Alucard.
Main office of Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing.
Together Integra Hellsing and Enrico Maxwell entered the confinements of her private office. Neither sat down at the open chairs, since the tension was too concentrated between them. It was like thick and black smoke. "Lovely office, Miss Integra Hellsing. Quite charming. Your contractor managed to fix it nicely after the Valentine Brother invasion. I hope their efforts were praised." He touched the wall and studied the painting of her father, Sir Arthur Fredrick Wilson Hellsing. She had her father's blond-silver hair and blue eyes, but every other physical quality came from her mother, the Indian princess Parvati Ramayania.
Their union was forged for political relations, not love.
Regardless Parvati and Arthur respected and honored each other, even so that after her death the Hellsing Knight refused to remarry. Arthur refused the requests of the Queen and the Royal Order, even his friend and comrade Sir Islands. Perhaps love had forged later in the marriage.
To Maxwell, she was still a heathen.
It was rumored that Arthur allowed one room dictated as a shrine to her gods and goddess. The room was in the South end of the Hellsing manor, the wing closest to India. At night the room would smell like incense and lotus bosoms.
"They were paid well." Integra sneered, but replied sweetly, "Director Maxwell, you have but a moment. I advise you to use it."
"No. I will not keep you any longer than what is necessary so…" He paused savoring the moment, "His Grace, Holiness the Pope wishes to give you his regard. The Vatican is concerned, especially with your unfortunate circumstance with the Baobhan Sith—it must have been traumatizing…as well as your surgery." Maxwell reached into his jacket and pulled out a yellow-dyed rose. A rose. He placed it on the desk, next to her hand. The Italian man jeered, "A token of our best wishes…"
Integra inched away from the object. She remembered their session at the British War Museum. A dry laugh escaped her lips and she replied darkly, "Yellow. You are fond of the color, Maxwell."
He struggled. "One could see it as a friendly gesture. It is the color of friendship, you know."
She wanted to roll her eyes but she resisted against the urge. Integra noted, "I would hardly call us friends, Father Maxwell."
The Judas Director merely gave a leechlike smile, shoving the rose closer to her hand. Something crossed her face. He frowned, slightly confused by her retreating steps. Maxwell joked sweetly, "Surely you are not afraid of a flower, Miss Integra? It is armless. It may be a humble gift from Iscariot, but I can assure you that it is not poison."
Integra said, "I am not fond of roses."
Truly! This bemused Enrico Maxwell and he whispered softly, "Red Rose Vertigo." He blinked, snapping out of it. The priest cleared his throat and continued, "In addition the Pope offers his condolences to your dead men and at your recent fallen from grace. It's a shame."
Placing her hand over her heart she replied with sarcasm, "I am touched."
Maxwell grinned, the gloating smile stretching ear-to-ear on his waxy face. "That is not all. There are more pressing matters between Hellsing and Iscariot, and that it why my presence has been summoned. Trust me, I take no pleasure being here."
Integra smirked. She grabbed a cigar, scratched the match on her spur and lit it. The Hellsing Heir breathed in the fumes and waved him on. "Pray continue…"