"To the cellar with you. Go on." Abraham waved the dog through the vague outline of a doorway that appeared before the wall. The creature bared its teeth and snapped at the man, hackles raised. Whatever awaited it in the cellar was clearly unwanted. Dracula suppressed a shudder at the idea of what could be so unpleasant that it would frighten even him. He knew well that mortal men could not be trusted. That truth had been instilled in him at a tender age, and he clung to it.
"Alucard, now, or you shall regret the consequences," Abraham snapped, the corners of his mouth turned down in frustration. The hound remained where it was. "That is an order, Monster. Our work is not finished this night." The color took up a bright glow, which grew in intensity until the hound gave an involuntary yelp at what must have been pain. Finally, the beast slunk through the doorway, belly low to the ground, ribs clear through its ragged coat.