Van Helsing's Bride

Author’s Note

Please don’t read this story unless you have already seen the film ‘Van Helsing’ as it gives away the ending!

Recently I watched this film and it has become one of my favourite films of all time. I nearly cried when the Wolfman delivered his final, punishing blow to Anna; why must the film be so unfair? Most films have happy endings. Most films should have happy endings. And then it struck me–what if Anna had lived? She and Van Helsing would certainly have married, maybe started a family. It is even possible the Holy Order would have allowed her to accompany Van Helsing on his missions; she is certainly skilled enough to keep up.

And then it hit me. I could make them live happily ever after! So I returned home after my third viewing of the film, fired up the PC and started feverishly writing.

*****

Gabriel Van Helsing stood in front of the beautiful, intricately inlaid altar of St. Peter’s Church in Vatican City, and let his mind drift as the organ music and singing washed over him. His big, tanned hands nervously clenched the small box held between them.

Both his job and his curse were to vanquish evil; he was the Left Hand of God. He had served Him faithfully for centuries, though he remembered little of it–fighting the Romans in 73 AD was one memory his friend Friar Carl had prised from him. And now it was 1889. Had he truly been alive for close to a thousand years? His memories during the daytime were patchy at best, and yet during the night they came alive and plagued him with horrific nightmares that always just escaped realisation upon awakening.

The golden light from thousands of candles reflected off more statues, carvings and paintings than one man could possibly dream of seeing in a lifetime. It also reflected off Van Helsing’s finely chiselled face, illuminating his nervous smile. This day he would create new memories, starting with the woman he now turned to see walking up the aisle behind him.

Anna Valerious, a woman now raised high in the sight of God. She was beautiful, passionate and loyal; but in the time they had known one another she had also shown him how brave she could be. How determined.

Over the course of his existence he had known many women–though only a few in the Biblical sense. He had rarely grown attached enough to a woman to lay with her, knowing that he would be ageless and that they would whither and die. And once they knew the truth of what he did, what he was, they would be frightened of him. That thought more than any other kept him apart from most women.

But Anna, beautiful Anna, was different. Six months ago he had left Rome under orders of the secret Knights of the Holy Order, taking as his weapons assistant Friar Carl. He had travelled across the Adriatic Sea through winter storms, and driven their horses hard across the Carpathian Mountains. Their goal was Romania; their task, to seek out and aid the last two members of the House Valerious. Van Helsing had been informed of their centuries old battle against a great, powerful vampire–the mighty Count Dracula.

The quest had almost caused him to loose his sanity; he found himself transformed into the hideous, fearsome Wolfman after suffering a bite from Anna’s brother, a werewolf himself. But he had used those wolf abilities to destroy Dracula in one final, cataclysmic battle.

And he had nearly lost his darling Anna in the process. She had been charged with finding the antidote that stopped the progression of his lupine disease, and she promised to administer it to him after the battle, if she were able.

Now Anna was walking towards him down the marble aisle, and his mouth dropped open at her intrinsic beauty. Her slender, slight frame was shrouded in a gorgeous white wedding gown, with her face veiled, and a long white train flowing out behind her. She advanced towards him slowly, and all he could do was stare at her as his memories played through his mind once more.

This was a memory he would never forget, the moment when he had so very nearly killed the woman he was about to marry.

He remembered that time in monochrome, for he had been in wolf form and that was all they ever saw. But he remembered how vivid the smells had been–the odious smell of Dracula’s decomposing body as he had sunk his fangs into the beast had been almost overpowering, but he had been so consumed with rage during their titanic fight that he could no nothing else. There was the smell of blood, both his own and the Count’s; Van Helsing had not walked away lightly from that fight.

But most of all he remembered the smell of Anna, delicate, seemingly fragile, but hard as granite. He’d smelt her before he whirled around and saw her, standing small and defiant in front of him. He had acted on impulse, launching himself across the ruins of Dracula’s make-shift laboratory in one bound, landing on her body. He’d felt the tiny, almost inconsequential prick as she shoved the needle in to his thick, hairy hide, felt the antidote working through his veins.

But then, he turned to look down at his precious Anna, lying so still on the chaise lounge before him. Slow realisation crystallised in his brain when he heard Friar Carl utter the words, “She’s dead.”

He’d picked her up and held her close to him, howling out his pain and desolation as his wolf form deserted him and he shrank back to human size. The wolf’s howl became a human cry of loss, of sorrow, and he wept as he touched his lips to her face.

But Anna Valerious had not been dead–she was indeed made of sterner stuff, and the blood of nine generations of House Valerious ran through her. As he had held her so close to him, feeling the contours of her body and mourning her loss, he’d felt a tiny, wayward pulse in her neck.

“Carl!” he called, disbelief and hope running hotly through his tired, confused body. “Carl! I don’t think she’s dead! I–I can feel a pulse!”

Friar Carl had run forward and immediately touched his fingers to Anna’s neck, counting under his breath. A look of relief played across his sweaty, frightened face.

“Van Helsing, you are a very, very lucky man, and she is an even luckier woman. She is alive, but she needs help immediately.”

And so they had taken her back to her town, and he had stayed by her side constantly until she was fully healed and recovered. Amazingly she had suffered nothing worse than a broken rib from the impact and a concussion that had knocked her unconscious.

Van Helsing had spent the next six months with her, getting to know her better, every day apologising for his attack until she’d grown angry with him and demanded that he accept that it wasn’t his fault.

It had taken time, but gradually he did accept that fact, and with it, he had been able to move on with his life and take steps to moulding it with hers. Anna was the only surviving child of the Gypsy King, and now he wooed her. He had made her feel like the true Princess she was. And gradually she had fallen in love with him.

Van Helsing had been in love with her since before he had defeated Dracula. Before they parted ways–him to search out and destroy the Count, she to find the antidote–they had shared a long, passionate and desperate kiss, and it was then that he knew he would do anything for this woman, anything at all.

And now she had consented to be his wife, to stay by his side for the rest of their lives. Which they would be sharing for some higher power had intervened, and he had been told by the Holy Order that Anna could live as he did, fighting evil, never ageing. It was obvious to him that God himself must have intervened and finally made Van Helsing’s life as the Left Hand of God bearable. Maybe Anna was his reward for carrying out God’s Will.

But all thoughts, all memories, all hopes and fears were driven from his head as Anna came closer. He felt out of place in his fine black suit, his shoulder length dark hair parted as ever on the left but this time held back in a tail that he didn’t like, though Friar Carl had told him he looked very dashing. He caught sight of the brown-robed Friar now, sitting way back in the crowd of clerics, and the mousy man gave him a secret wink. Van Helsing’s expressive lips twitched in a smile of acknowledgement.

This marriage ceremony was of particular importance to the Church–indeed, it was one of the very, very few that took place within St. Peter’s Church itself.

Van Helsing had once been admonished by Cardinal Jinette for bringing undue attention to the secretive Holy Order of Knights by his unorthodox methods of vanquishing evil. The Holy Order, he had been told, did not exist. Almost snarling with anger, Van Helsing had replied that therefore he did not exist, either–his life was a secret even to himself.

In light of his past and his importance to the Holy Order, this ceremony didn’t exist. Although it was attended by many clerics of different ranks within the Church, they were all members of the Holy Order, the men who kept watch on the world.

Worshippers were politely but firmly turned away from the Church until the ceremony was completed. Van Helsing had a reputation the world over, and not a good one at that. The fact that he was wanted in several countries would instantly make the devoted mass loose faith in the Church; they could never be told what his true purpose was. He, and other knights like him, were the last bastion of hope for humanity in a world of evil.

As a final mark of the respect the Holy Order held in him, Pope Leo XIII himself had volunteered to officiate at Van Helsing’s wedding. He had felt touched that the old man had agreed to marry them.

After a length of time that was endless and yet over in seconds, Anna was beside him, staring up at him through the concealing white veil. Her dark, sensuous eyes locked with his, even through the material, and his heart pounded in his wide chest.

She drew her veil back, exposing her beautiful face. She has dark eyes, pale, smooth skin, and masses and masses of coal-black hair, bound intricately atop her head and into which her veil had been fastened.

Dimly he could hear the congregation cease their singing, and the music stopped. Pope Leo began his speech, but Van Helsing ignored it all; his avid eyes searched every inch of Anna’s face, as she did to him. He burned to hold her in his arms, to taste the soft sweetness of her lips again.

His conscious mind may not have been paying attention to things, but his subconscious certainly was. When it was time for him to make his vows he went through them flawlessly, his crisp British tones softened a little by his very obvious love for his bride. She, in her turn, made her vows to him, and when she was done his slightly trembling hands revealed the small box. He opened it, and took out two plain golden rings–one large one for him, and one much smaller and delicate for her.

He handed her the ring meant for him, and kept hers; together, they exchanged them, relishing the touch of their skin against each other’s. And then, finally, the moment he had dreamed of.

The kiss that would bind them together for eternity in the eyes of God.

His arms came out to hold her, closing around her slender waist, and he pulled her close. He gazed down into her dark eyes as one of her arms reached up to coil around his neck; he bent down a little, his eyes drifting shut as hers did. When their lips touched, they brushed together in a faint motion that had his heart pulsing and his cock hard in his trousers. She could clearly feel it pressing into her belly, for she moaned so softly only he could hear, and then they touched lips again. This time it was a deep, lingering kiss, her mouth opening to his gently probing tongue, her own tongue emerging to grapple his. They kissed passionately, with an intensity that everybody present could see, and when they finally broke the kiss and looked at each other with dazed eyes they were surrounded by happy, congratulating cheers.

Anna and Gabriel spent the first night of their honeymoon right there in Vatican City itself, in a sumptuous suite richly decorated in red and gold. In the morning they would travel by coach to Paris, the first leg on their months-long tour of Europe, Van Helsing’s present to his bride. He would also sail with her across the sea to Britain for a time. They had already crossed the Adriatic, but Anna still longed to travel on the sea. She loved its rugged beauty, and he loved that in her.

Tonight was their first night together as a married couple, their first night together sleeping in the same bed. Although both of them doubted that much sleeping would be done. During the months they had spent together in Romania, he had stolen a few kisses from her, but he was too gentlemanly to press her for any further attentions. But they had certainly been frank in their discussions. He had not made love for some considerable time, and she had never made love at all. It had surprised him a little to find that Anna was still a virgin; after all, she was passionate and full of life, a Gypsy Princess with a free spirit. But when he had stopped to really think about it, it hadn’t surprised him at all. Anna was loyal and true; when she loved, she loved with all her heart and body. She hadn’t found the right man before Van Helsing, so she remained a virgin.

Once they were installed in their suite, two maids and a manservant appeared, offering to help them disrobe and bathe. Van Helsing sent the manservant away with a tip. He wasn’t in the mood for a bath, and he certainly needed no help with it, but Anna gladly accepted the help of the two maids. He retired to the lounge area as his bride began the long process of making herself ready for him.

He had plenty of time to think whilst she was gone, plenty of time to imagine. He tried to guess what Anna’s naked body would look like underneath his, and his eyes drifted shut; his manhood throbbed between his legs and he shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like these clothes. They felt wrong. It took only a little time for him to decide to change out of them.

He was up in one swift movement and quickly in the room he would share with his wife. He could hear the distant sound of splashing and feminine laughter from the expansive bathroom, and the sounds made him shiver as he pictured Anna naked and dripping wet in the marbled bath. He had to get a grip on himself or he’d be no good to her tonight.

The first change he made was to his hair. He pulled it free from its tail and let it fall around his face. Instantly it made his hard features look softer, and he smiled at himself in the mirror. It was the early evening and already it looked as if he needed a shave; he was sporting light stubble. He ran his palm over it, deciding it wasn’t too rough. He had a few plans for Anna tonight!

He pulled off the suit with deft hands and dressed rapidly in the day to day clothes he felt most comfortable in. He started with the tight, flexible trousers, then pulled on the dark grey sweater and the leather waistcoat. He coupled it with his heavy boots and his black leather overcoat, then finished the ensemble with his wide brimmed hat, set at a rakish angle. And right now, he felt very rakish.

He retreated back to the lounge and sat on one of the plush sofas. There was nothing more he could do now except wait for his beloved, and imagine, constantly imagine, the moment when they would lay together for that first time.

He was so lost in his imaginings that the sound of the bathroom door opening didn’t register with him. The first he was aware of was more girlish laughter, and he got instantly to his feet to see the two maids approaching the exit to his suite. One of them blushed and dropped her gaze to his crotch, and he realised with painful intensity that he was erect and probably had been for some time. He grabbed up a rich looking cushion and shoved it in front of him, giving them a cheesy, embarrassed grin.

The girls left with a nod and a wink, closing the door firmly behind them. He heaved a sigh of relief and dropped the cushion back onto the sofa, turning back towards the bathroom–and then flushing with embarrassment again when he saw Anna standing there, her eyes fixed on his crotch. Her legs were apart and her hands jauntily on her hips, as they had been the very first time they’d met; only that time she’d been standing on the edge of a well, looking down at him.

“Is that for me?” she drawled, her Romanian accent still strong.

“All for you,” he breathed, taking in every detail of her. She had dressed in the clothes she was wearing during their adventures, as he had, and the fact made him smile inwardly as his eyes roamed over her red velvet jacket, embroidered gypsy blouse, that tight black corset and the figure-hugging trousers. He even noticed and appreciated the thigh-high ladies boots she wore.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get over here and kiss me, Gabriel,” she commanded in a firm voice, a voice that was used to giving orders to her people.

Van Helsing wasted no time in obeying. He was in front of her in a flash, his arms snaking out to pull her tightly against his hard body. His lips came down on hers with only a little gentleness, full of passion, and he groaned slightly. He needed her, wanted her; he loved her so badly right now.

She made a soft sound of pleasure in her throat and gently squirmed against the hardness in his trousers, eliciting a further groan from him. He picked her up with one swift motion, one strong arm under her legs and the other supporting her back. She clung on to him, nuzzling her face against his neck; he shuddered as she licked his heated skin, feeling his pulse.

“Anna,” he breathed, his eyes drifting shut for a second as he stopped.

“Keep moving,” she commanded, a touch of humoured petulance in her voice as she kicked him lightly in the thigh.

He continued towards the bedroom.

“You’re a little witch, Anna. You have me completely in your spell.”

“The feeling is mutual, Gabriel.”

He placed her gently down on the thick carpet of their bedroom and pushed the door shut behind him. He took his hat off and put it on her own head, resting on top of her glorious coal-black curls; it looked so sexy on her that he just wanted to throw her on the bed and make love to her right then. But that was not the way it would be done.

Her arms stretched out and she pushed his heavy overcoat off his shoulders; he let it drop to the floor as he leaned in and kissed her again, this time gently, letting his tongue roam towards hers. His lips left hers and planted a trail across her cheek, gently nipping at her earlobe. She gasped, her eyes half shut, and made a feeble attempt to unbutton his waistcoat.

“No. Let me,” he told her, reluctantly letting her go and taking a few steps backwards. He unbuttoned his leather waistcoat, shrugging it off, and removed his grey sweater with one lithe movement. He dropped the garments on top of his overcoat then pulled his boots off, setting them in one corner of the room where they wouldn’t be in the way. He could feel her eyes all over his broad, muscled chest, and it added to his arousal.

Finally he moved to his trousers, undoing his belt and pulling both trousers and black underpants off in one movement. He heard her gasp slightly as she caught a brief sight of his erect cock, and then he was throwing the garments away and turning to her, naked as the day he was born.

Anna was literally speechless, the first blush of arousal creeping across her pale face and upper chest, above her gypsy blouse.

He took her hand and pulled her close to him, but not so close that they were touching. He lightly kissed the golden ring on her finger, his eyes fixed on her hers. Her breathing had increased with desire and he knew his was a match for it.