Made in Death's Image

"You saw me feeding," she cut in, "But no, that's not why."

"Then why?" He said sharply as the car took a quick turn around a corner pushing Michael into the car door.

"Because you are the descendant of Abraham Van Helsing." Her words are as cold as the stone she used to stand on those mornings decades ago.

FOUR

Michael was silent for a while. His mind whirling with what she had said. He knew nothing about his ancestors, let alone someone who seemed to have pissed off every vampire in existence. A vampire hunter, that's all he knew and it scared him. This man killed vampires for a living, and now the vampires knew he had that blood inside him. But he was a fictional character no? A book written by a playwright more than 100 years ago.

Grace looked over as she drove, a sigh leaving her cool lips.

"He was a doctor too," she explained suddenly.

He looked over at her, "A doctor?"

She nodded, "He was well known for saving humans. That's what led him to start hunting vampires. Back then, we hid our existence less, so many more humans were dying from loss of blood so visibly. It usually got blamed on the consumption among other ailments."

"And now not as many people die?" Michael asked.

She chuckled, "I didn't say that. We're just better at hiding the bodies."

He shivered, a flash of fear filling him.

Grace looked over at him, instantly realizing the man's face had grown pale. She looked back to the road, a feeling forming in the middle of her chest. It was guilt, she realized, placing a free hand on her chest.

She was feeling guilty for scaring this Hunter.

"Tell me," Grace asked, ignoring the feeling, "What do you think of vampires?"

Michael blinked, "What do you mean? I've literally only met one, you."

She laughed, "Is that enough to form an opinion. Every man is the same. By extension there is rarely an remarkable human."

Michael took offense like she had hoped, "What is that supposed to mean?" It was rhetorical he knew mostly what she meant bar the human comment.

She looked him over with a mischievous smile, "You've made my point. But I'm here to protect you from my kind. You seem rather ignorant to the world. You don't deserve the violence that's coming to you."

Michael caught her gaze, "Is that so? I'm worth saving to you or anyone of your kind?"

Grace responded carefully, "Personally; yes. Some might just seek to avoid you but cause no issue. Others wanna slaughter you just for existing and to exert their dominance."

Michael came to a realization, "You aren't that different from us after all. Didn't Dracula do all he did for love?"

His words left her in thoughts she'd rather not entertain, "Should we live or die? While it is possible to feed without killing, it often is a hard task to do. It takes years of practice. So many years for our humanity to fade and for us to ask why spare human lives? So the question remains, do vampires have a right to live after all the suffering our kind causes?"

Michael thought about it. From what he knew about the stereotypical vampire from the media, they were killers. Predators who lived on the true top of the food chain. Yet, he couldn't help but not think of Grace in that way. She was trying to save his life after all, so did she really deserve to die because of what she was?

"No," he replied honestly, "I don't think vampires deserve to die. I don't think you'd deserve to die. Not all vampires can be bad. You're not bad. Just like not all people are bad. Only some, and is it worth throwing out the whole lot for a few?"

Grace grinned, her two fangs poking at her bottom lip, "Then you really don't have the same perception as your former. You trust too easily. A few bad apples can spoil a bunch."

"Maybe," he grumbled, his scope of the world was far too small , he supposed in comparison to her.

The car rolled to a stop and Michael looked up. They were in a nice neighborhood, a possibly busy one too. There was a line of townhouses, with many people outside doing miscellaneous tasks. Such as walking their dogs, pushing strollers, kids on bicycles. It was a nice, warm and sunny day after all, probably one of the last few before Fall and Winter hit. Which made a thought occur to Michael.

"Hey Grace," he asked, "How can you be out in the daytime?"

Grace snickered, "Do you believe every trope you've heard?"

"Only the big ones," he grunted, "won't know more unless you tell me more. I guess I have a lot of learning to do."

Her eyes rolled playfully, and she slid from the car, "We're not allergic to the sun much to the belief of humans. We are perfectly fine in the daytime."

He watched as she winced slightly again as she stepped out, "But you're weaker."

She paused, her brow arching, "Trying to find a weakness?"

"N-No!" he gasped before realizing she was kidding.

His cheeks heated up, and he followed her onto the sidewalk before moving up to one of the townhouses. His eyes widened. The house looked so normal. He was surprised to find her living in such a human space, surrounded by families.

She lifted a key to the red painted door's lock. It clicked and the two walked in. Michael was extremely interested to explore the house. He wanted to know more about Grace as a person. He knew his fear was placed in her being a vampire, and yet she seemed so human. It almost completely blinded him to the truth. But I guess it fits with a predator, hiding in plain sight.

"The bathroom is down the hall," she explained, "There should be some clothing of your size in the closet. I'll be back, I'm going to check other safe houses and plan our next move. Stay inside, keep the door closed. A vampire cannot enter as long as they're not invited. You'll be safe until I return."

He looked over at her, "Until you return? Also, men's clothing. Do you do this often?- saving Hunters that is, or is this a sex thing?"

She tittered at the first bit. He wasn't Oxford smart but he was surely sharp. She had to be careful of that, "Jealous?" she teased, "Long ago a friend used to stay here with me. He's gone now but I haven't thrown out his clothing."

Michael didn't respond. Despite her tone being playful there was a weight to her words. He didn't bring it up, but it only added to the questions he had for her. Instead of waiting for his reply, she turned, and left. Locking the front door behind her. Leaving him alone in her home.

"I should shower," he said but couldn't bring himself to move.

Instead, he wandered the living room, his eyes flickering around the stuff. It looked like a scene from a furniture catalogue. The only thing that seemed out of place was an extremely old painting on the wall. He moved closer, his finger running along it's silky texture. It was a painting of a woman with long blonde hair and bright hazel. It looked exactly like Grace and yet so different. Maybe more innocent was the word? But she still looked far too jaded to utter those words.

The woman in the painting wore a lavish black gown and black choker with a ruby in the middle. In the corner of the painting there was a signature in elegant white cursive. It read: To my darling pet, may your beauty continue to bloom in death. The signature under the odd words read: Codrin.

"Codrin," Michael whispered, disliking the name. It was harsh in his mouth. The name of someone from the Balkans probably.

Something about the painting was cold, eerie and dark. He didn't know exactly what about it he didn't like, maybe it was the odd ode the painter had written, or maybe it was the insinuation of the woman in the painting being dead which was in fact the reality of it. Michael quickly decided it was the painter's wish.

For the woman's beauty to flourish in death.

It was extremely morbid, especially so that he knew the woman. What are the events that led to Grace being turned? Stepping away from the painting, Michael suddenly found himself needing a shower. The painting didn't sit right with him, and so he wanted to bask his fingers in bleach. Instead however, he settled on a searing hot shower.

Slipping into the bathroom, he found it also looking like a scene from a catalogue. It was strange, like the entire house was all for show. It all seemed so fake, except for the strange painting. He wondered if that was due to Grace being a vampire or maybe this setup was just her style. He doubted that assertion. Grace had too much style and flare to be a basic ikea kinda person.

And yet, if that was true then why did that painting sit in the living room? Did she bring it wherever she went?

Michael sighed, stripping off his clothing and stepping into the shower. He stood under the thundering hot water for a long while, his mind attempting to process all the information he had been given as of late. Even after the water ran cold, he stayed put. In truth he didn't fully understand what she had explained.

There was no way he could be the descendant of Van Helsing. He was, after all, a European man from Luxembourg. Michael had done the 21 and Me situation. The only European in himself came from Spain and Germany. The rest was Latin American.

A sigh left his lips as he heard the front door open. Stepping out of the tub and shutting off the water, he dried off with a towel that had been on the side before pausing. Despite her giving him the ok, he felt weird wearing someone else's clothing. So he pulled on his original clothing stained with grass, ruffled his hair with his towel then stepped out of the bathroom and into the living room.

Grace looked up from the table. She could smell him exit the bathroom in his normal clothing and it made her smirk. Stubborn man. She pulled the take out Peter Luger's from it's fancy paper bag before placing a bottle of wine on the table as well. Michael relaxed seeing it was only Grace back and not any other unwelcome intruder.

"Come sit, I'm sure you're starving," she mused.

He nodded, sitting at the table with her. Michael thanked her briefly for the food before digging in. In truth, he was starving. He had woken up in the park feeling the need for food, and had forgotten all about his hunger until now. He had already finished his burger before looking up and noticing Grace had also begun eating. Grace was a little disgusted at how fast he ate but part of her also found it cute how satisfied he looked being nourished. He was quite a cute man- for a human that is.

"Vampires can eat food?" He asked surprised at her consumption of the other burger

She smirked, taking a sip of her red wine, "We can. However, it does nothing. We're dead after all, which is why we crave the life of others. Our bodies can only survive by stealing life from humans. We also shouldn't eat too often. It doesn't agree with us in excess. Ironic isn't it. I like my burgers bloody as all of hell but it doesn't do shit for me. "

Michael grew silent, suddenly not so hungry. The idea of human flesh and blood made a connection with his rare burger.

"We have other abilities as well," she then said, sensing his discomfort, "We can shift our form into that of an animal for a short period of course. This is, however, very exhausting. We can also astral project, our body is dead after all, so with some practice we can push our soul from our body."

He could tell she was trying to distract him from the thought of ripping and tearing a human, "Really?" he asked curiously.

She nodded with a joking smile, "See? Not everything is horrific and scary."

"No I guess not," Michael pondered, "But how is all that possible?"

Grace tilted her head, "Scientifically?"

"Yeah."

She sighed, waving her hand in a dismissive way, "Magic darling. Tell me, how does your heart know to beat eighty times per minute? Or how your brain works in the way that it does? Humans have always demanded scientific explanations for things that are beyond the demands of humans. Science has always been an ideology with false rules and boxes, and yet how can we demand answers when we ourselves don't know all the rules the universe has placed?"

Michael's mind whirled and he nodded, "That's true I suppose."

"And what about you?" she then asked, leaning forward, "Tell me about yourself. What makes your heart beat, what makes you tik."

He leaned back, looking at the glass of red wine, "There's nothing much to tell honestly. I don't have a family, they gave me up when I was really little. I don't remember them at all."

"Would you want to?" she asked suddenly.

He blinked, "Would I want to?"

In truth he wasn't sure. Grace simply sipped at her wine and watched him. She could see the torment of her question on his face and it made her cold, dead heart warm a tad. She wondered how he felt, was it the same as her? Is the past worth thinking about and opening up?

If she could remember her father's face, her father's voice would she choose to after all that he did? Grace mused quietly to herself at the implications of her question. She was so focused at the task at hand she hadn't thought how it would make the Hunter feel. It had been hundreds of years, she had worked so hard to forget her past and her humanity that William's voice was no longer memorable. His face was also blank in her mind.

"Yes," he suddenly said, catching her out of her thoughts.

She looked over at him, "You would?"

"You sound surprised," he said firmly.

Grace could help but respond in equal measures or confidence, "I am in all honesty. They abandoned you, and maybe they weren't great people, maybe they hurt you. Why would you want to remember them?"

He sighed, "That's true. But I want to remember, I want to decide for myself if I want to forgive them or not. I want to know the truth."

She thought it was juvenile to even consider those who put you down or hurt you. To her only yourself mattered, and so she nodded, "Alright."

He noticed her rejection of his truth, "You don't agree?".

And of course without thinking she took the bait, "I've lived for some time. The circumstances of how I was made have taught me to lack mercy or forgiveness to those who have hurt me and those who could."

He saw an opening, her response seemed incongruous to her actions. But maybe part of the Vampire's powers were reading someone's mind and intention, "I could be a threat to your kind yet here you are."

She didn't dare continue down this path. She knew she'd need time to craft a work around and this human was proving to be too sharp. However, more advanced and superior as she thought of herself. She never was that beyond them. She figured it would come with more age. She'd be as enlightened as her Maker.

Grace suddenly stood, grabbing her wine glass and giving a look to Michael to follow.. They moved into the living room, Michael holding his glass, and Grace holding hers as well as the bottle of wine. The two sat side by side and for a moment, Michael was distracted by the beautiful woman beside him. Vampire or not, he couldn't deny the desire he felt inside.

"Ok, I think it's time you receive my questions before I answer anymore of your own." she said.

"Wait," he replied before lowering his glass then facing her, "Ok go."

She adjusted to sit upright and look him in the eyes. She inspected him carefully, "What if I could show them to you right now. Enter your mind deeper than any conscious human thought and pull the images of your parents."

Michael reared backwards in his seat, "Excuse me? I didn't realize we had gotten here. I appreciate the desire to help me find some sort of peace but I just met you. I'd rather not have you poke around in there."

She smiled with that devilish smile. It was innocent at a glance but you could tell something not so innocent was brewing whether sexual or hungry, "Afraid of what I'll find?"

Michael tried to push the conversation away from her probing, "I'm not scared of what you'll find. There are some things I'd rather not dig up."

She gasped sarcastically, "You'd think I'm so inexperienced?"

He didn't get her sarcasm at first and tried to plead, "No, not that at all. If you're as precise as you say- avoid the trauma?"

She smiled reassuringly, before placing the palms of her hands on either side of his temple. Right away she could feel how nervous he was, his eyes flickering back and forth under his closed lids. His knee jittering up and down.

"Relax," she whispered.

He did with a sigh, his body stilling.

Grace got to work then, her own eyes closing as she pressed her consciousness forward. He could feel her consciousness stretch over him, his mind opening up to her. Grace pressed forward only to find a large wall between her and his mind. Confusion filled her, and she pressed harder, feeling her power bubbling up against this wall.

"Come on," she hissed from the depths of her mind into his own.

However, the wall didn't budge. Instead, it suddenly throbbed. Her power snapped back at her, and with a gasp, she was thrown from his mind and back to her own. Her eyes instantly flew open and she stared at Michael. However, he didn't seem to have even noticed, his eyes still closed with patience.

"Michael," she said slowly.

Slowly his eyes opened, "D-did it work?"

She frowned, "No. No it didn't."

"Why?" he asked with disappointment.

Her mouth opened for a moment before she closed it. In truth, she wasn't sure if she should tell him what had exactly happened. Hell, she wasn't quite sure herself. She had never seen such a block in a mere human before. Hellsing blood or not, such a barrier in one's mind was nearly impossible. And yet, he had one without a thought or knowledge about it.

"Grace?" he said.

She repeated, "It didn't work."

"Do you know why?"

"Maybe the wine is affecting me," she forced a giggle.

It was a lie.

Grace was well aware alcohol did nothing to her body unless it is already in the blood of a victim. Blood was their source of life after all. The wine did nothing to her, but she was careful with what information about vampires she revealed and now the vampire was glad she left out the full details of her diet.

"Well anyways!" she laughed, pushing the bottle towards Michael, "Let's just relax for the rest of the night! Here, have another glass!"

Michael was apprehensive for a moment, "maybe I shouldn't..."

Grace jumped to manipulate him, "You're gonna tell a pretty woman like me, no?", she pushed her persuasion gently lest making him aware of it. A Hunter was more resilient to these attacks.

Michael felt a small chill but brushed off its intrusion, choosing instead to smile, "Well who am I to object to a beautiful woman?"

So they did.

FIVE

Grace glanced at the clock on the wall, it was almost midnight and while she had plans, she knew there was no leaving while the human was still awake. The questions that would arise would be none she couldnt answer. But she would rather not add to any of the trouble she already had. So, she kept feeding him glasses of wine, one after another, until the two had moved onto their third bottle.              

"H-Hey," Michael slurred his words, "T-Tell me something. Anything."

She smiled, "You're very drunk."

"A-And I'm v-very curious," he murmured, his eyes fluttering, "About you. Tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows." He hiccuped like straight out of a classic movie she thought it was adorable, "I answered your question- you owe ques-I mean answers to my questions."

For a moment Grace paused. Even drunk the man was so intriguing. She wanted to know more about him as well, and so she nodded her head in agreement. Leaning back on the couch, she propped her elbow on the arm of the couch before leaning her face to look at him.

"Very well," she mused, "But only if you do the same."