The Blood Of The Slayer's Daughter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 1 (v.1) - He's Not Dead

Submitted: September 23, 2011

Reads: 268

Comments: 1

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Submitted: September 23, 2011

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My face was wet with tears and raindrops, only I could tell the difference between the two. The raindrops were icy and sharp against on my cheeks, they stung and nipped. The tears were warm and somehow flowed down my face with more ease than the raindrops. It was a strange feeling, being the only one to know that you had been crying, but I was glad for it. 'Van Helsing's don't cry', that was what my Father had always told me when I was sad, but he'd said it in a way that gave me courage rather than in a way that frightened me or as if it were a rule.

"He's not dead," I sounded surer and more confident than I felt but it wasn't enough to reassure Mother. I rested my hand on her shaking shoulder gently.

"How can you know?" My Grandfather was old but far from frail or weak and he spoke strongly as ever, especially in this time of our family's need.

"I can feel it, or rather I can't feel it. I don't feel a loss or grief, only an unbearable need to find him. That and he knows far too much about vampires to ever let one kill him." Grandfather noticed that I spoke in the present tense about him, I saw that that erased any doubt in him that thought I was just being brave for my Mother rather than telling the absolute truth of what I felt. His wise dark brown eyes flashed in realisation or recognition, eyes my Father and I had inherited. I wondered if my eyes had made that flash when I had spoke my mind on where I stood about my Father's capture.

"I understand your anxiety, but there are things you don't understand. Things I don't understand," My Grandfather clearly saw no way of changing my mind since he hadn't said it as to scare me, more to inform me.

There was a small pause of silence in the small room. It was cosy and not cluttered in it's compact dimensions. The fire place dominated the grey, stone wall, the flame roared brilliantly, the wall opposite was lined completely with a large mahogany bookcase. The books were ancient and well read, with their leather binding made to last. The wooden boards floor creaked when I along side the bookcase trailing my fingertips over their strong spines.

"Which is why we must speak," After my Grandfather said this my Mother left her chair and left the room. I gestured to Grandfather that I would be two minutes, he nodded in return. I followed my Mother up the cold stone stairs to her bedroom, and watched her crawl into bed even though I was certain she had no intention of sleeping and couldn't even if she had wanted to. Her long dark hair rippled in waves and curls on the pillow.

Once again I wondered idly where I could possibly had gotten my red wine coloured hair from. All of the relations I'd known of had hair black as midnight or dark brown like the mud on the side of the road that could often look black depending on the lighting. Everything about my appearance said I was the daughter of Victor and Adela Van Helsing a part from my hair, this irritated me more often than not. I had the Van Helsing family deep brown eyes, my Mothers thick eyelashes surrounded them and her bountiful curves. My small nose from my recently deceased Grandmother sat between them, the quaint smile I had acquired from Grandfather normally would be sat just underneath but not at that moment in time.

That thought pulled myself back to the current event of my Father being captured as I wondered through to the living room that also served as a library. I sat in the arm chair across from my Grandfather, putting my feet on the cushion of the seat and wrapping my arms around my knees.

The warmth that radiated from the fire and around the room had dried up my face, it was a pleasant feeling, comforting. I wondered if that was one of the things vampires missed the most, the simple pleasure of heat, rather than having the instinct to flee from it, and if their mind set was human enough to miss things. If I wasn't so consumed by bloodlust, the warmth of a fire would be one of the things I'd miss the most.

"I've always known you were like your Father, but just then you told me how you are so sure that he is alive, the likeness between you, the similarities, became yet more apparent. Uncanny even. The look in your eyes, the way you held your posture, how your head was tilted slightly, in thought." I could feel my Grandfather's eyes on me as I studied how the flames in the fireplace licked the wood and leaped over each other. He was very deep in thought.

The clouds outside were growing darker and lightening forked the sky, flowed shortly by the roar of thunder.

Grandfather opened his mouth to say something but was cut off when the door swung open. A tall, broad silhouette stood in the door way.

Before he could even step inside, or if he was a vampire, demand invitation, I swiftly reached for the silver dagger in my boot and leapt across the room. He was caught off guard and knocked to the ground, making water from the puddles and mud fly up in the air then fall back onto the path. I had the lethally sharp dagger to the man's throat.

I saw he had dark brown hair, made wet and dirty by the mud and his blue eyes were bright with shock and amusement.

Daniel.


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