A/n: so this idea has been flitting around in my head since I saw Fright Night 2. I started writing it then (about 3 weeks ago) then a nudge from John6Lisa last week, had me writing some more into it. So I offer this as a little teaser. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to see more. The title is a play off of the title The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice. just the title, nothing much else.

The rush of falling from extreme heights never ceased to excite her. Hair whipping in the wind, coat flapping upwards, arms lifted gloriously over her head. She landed gracefully on her feet and looked forward; lips snarled, teeth bared and a low growl emanating from her throat. This was what she was made to do. To hunt. To kill. To feed off the fear of mere mortals. She didn't need to hurry in her chase after her current prey. She would let the girl run for a while longer, let her blood pump heatedly through her veins, before pouncing on her. She glided a breath above the dirty alley ground, not needing the muck of this dingy place tarnishing her leather boots or the hem of her designer coat. Her movements through the street were effortless, graceful, almost reptilian as she slowly approached her prey. she could hear the girl's heart racing despite their distance apart. The silly mortal was attempting to climb the hastily-built brick wall. This was just too easy, the predatorial woman thought to herself, slithering nearer the wall, a low chuckle emanating from her throat.
"Darling, won't you come down to play with me a bit?" she purred in that smooth, thick-accented voice. The girl was startled at the woman's nearness and stupidly released her hold from the crook of the bricks, dropping into the arms of the waiting woman below, a silent scream choked in her throat. The woman's laughter, though musical in the girl's ears, bore the ominous warnings of danger and death. Warnings that were too late in coming, as the sharp white fangs sunk deeper into the soft flesh of her neck, drawing out not just her blood, but the very essence of her existence.

Helena Wells. This was her name, her new identity. The night prowler rolled the name around in her mouth, getting used to the sound and the feel of saying it. Long gone were the days when she was addressed by her proper name, a name that now struck terror in the hearts of those brave enough to study the history of how this terrible monster came into being, a name she could never go by again; Elizabeth Bathory. She had finally accepted her curse after a long tortuous road of self-loathing, denial and punishment. Now she wore it proudly, embracing this fate like a lover after a long spell of separation. There was no longer room in this extended purgatory for fickle ideals like guilt or repentance. This was her destiny. She let her endless 'life' be her school. Learning anything and everything she could; even penning a few titles under this new identity. Science-fiction, unfathomable concepts like alien invasion and time travel moulded into words and images these petty mortals would be able to grasp. With the hot blood of her recent feed still warming her frozen insides, the near-immortal woman drifted off into slumber, the rising sun only just peeking over the horizon. She remained like this for the next hundred years. Captured as she slept, and encased in bronze for all the crimes she had committed; no trial, no jury; only judgement.

-
"Pete?" Myka called out to her partner as she made her way back from the office. She had just gotten off the Farnsworth with Artie after finally clearing out the last civilian from the Historic house. She was glad that this was the evening tour, the last for the day, so there wouldn't be any more eager tourists showing up at the doorsteps of Atlas House.
"Pete?" She called out again, approaching the 'lobby' area.
"Artie says HG Wells is…." she said as she rounded the corner, stopping dead in her tracks as she took in the scene before her.
"A woman," Pete finished for her, being held in a deadlock by this woman, his own tesla pressed against his temple. The woman inhaled deeply and released the man from her grasp, moving to Myka's side in seemingly the same instant. Myka was quick though, grabbing the woman by the neck and pushing her up against the wall, gun pointed directly at the woman's head. The peculiar woman closed her eyes and inhaled deeply again, a slight smile gracing her perfect lips at the scent of Myka's hot blood pumping through her veins. This was the one, she marveled, the one that would set her free. She pushed forward against the woman's hand, relishing the feel of that strong grip around her neck. She leaned in, bringing her lips to the woman's neck and caressing it lightly with a feathered kiss. She inhaled again, this delicious woman would be hers.