He yawned. stretched writhing wantonly, feeling the softness of the satin enveloping his nubile, masculine body. His pale, flawless skin shone red under the crimson lining. His mane of raven black tresses cascaded down his muscled back like raw ebony silk. His leanness belied the strength and suppleness of his limbs. With lips as red as a virgin’s blood and handsome aristocratic features he was the epitome of superb manhood. He was a Prince amongst his peers. He lacked only one thing. But that one exception did not bother him. He loved his life and had saved many a one from a dreary, dismal existence. They worshipped him and he accepted this as his due.

Time to rise now, take his place among the living and hunt down guests for this evening. He chose wisely. Only the finest and best would enable him to live and perhaps, if he pleases, they would become faithful servants to their Master. He sat and surveyed his domain, his lair. A cavernous mausoleum fit for a member of Royalty. Thick, slime encrusted walls, periodically broken by solid, ancient patinaed doors adorned with rusted fleur de lis and splattered with identifable stains. His safety and well being depended on the secrecy of the location. Deep in the Transylvanian mountains, well hidden from curiosity seekers. But few would venture this far, stories and fables of lost travellers prevented infiltration by undesirables. He smiled. Boris, his faithful retainer would have his garments ready. Cold and iced to drape on his perfect body. As cold as possible to maintain his well being and preserve his perfect body

Suddenly he tensed, sensing danger, sensing all was not as it should be in his home. He caught a scent so familiar that he questioned his own sanity. The enemy within. Old, old adversary who has hunted him down relentlessly for aeons. This parasite should be gone now, to his own resting place. What keeps him here? But the Nightstalker knows only too well the answer. His arch enemy exists only to destroy him, to break him apart and scatter his pieces to the wind. And now he is here. If he lay still perhaps he would survive. Evening was the Prince’s time. They had again left it too late. Hope sprang eternal in the regal, fearless breast. If he had possessed the organ that pulsed the red liquid, so vital to his survival, around the human bodies, it would now be beating so fast that his predators would surely have heard its staccato beat. But he didn’t. His stillness, swiftness and agility were to be his only weapons. He waited.

Possessing the hearing of the lofty vampire bat, he was attuned to every slight sound, aware of any slight movement. The swish of cloth, the fearful, intense breathing of his nemesis. He even picked up the silent beat of his treacherous heart.

Movement. running footsteps. Hesitant halting. They knew they were tardy and took extra care. The Dark King rose majestically from his abode and faced them. They drew back immediately, retreating as one until there was only the two figures left, assessing each other.

Van Helsing and Count Dracula.

“What took you so long, My Friend? I have been waiting. Come to me.”

The Dark, velvet eyes of the Prince took on a hellish, hypnotic glow. Van Helsing was powerless to resist. Old and frail with a sickly countenance, a man on the cusp of eternity. His last earthly wish was being thwarted. The destruction of the Vampire Race. The obliteration of the Darkness. The extinction of it’s Master. Pale, translucent hands were placed on the hunter’s shoulders. Dracula inched towards Helsing’s exposed neck.

“I can help you, My Friend.” The whispered words caressed the skin of the pursuer who was unable to react. “But I won’t.

You have made it your life’s work to consistently hunt me down. To pierce my still heart with your sanctified stake. It will not be so. You have so little breaths left and I will not offer you the gift of everlasting life. You would not thank me for it, I am sure. So rest now. Sleep. When you awake I shall be gone. You have failed again, miserable old man. But before I go, I must administer a punishment for the destruction of my revered manservant. For that atrocity I remove your tongue. No more will you assassinate my character with libellous tales. No more recruit feeble-minded followers to assist in your abomination.”

And so, when the deed was done, Dracul transformed himself into a creature of the night, a magnificent specimen, and with the speed of light transported himself to a far off country and a more secure home.

“Enter freely, go safely and leave some of the happiness you bring.”