Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to favourite, follow or review! I'm very sorry about the delay- life has been crazy! Short chapter but I'm just trying to set the scene before getting into the plot. Hope you enjoy it and my interpretation of Vlad. I promise he will get darker and that I will promise to try and update more often.

Chapter 3

Bertrand du Fortunesa glanced up from his paperwork as Vlad and the Count strolled into the study. The younger of the two Draculas tossed his cape aside before throwing himself onto the softest sofa available. The Count didn't even raise an eyebrow at this self-indulgent behaviour; instead he picked up an empty glass and gave it a searing look of displeasure before bellowing for his manservant. Bertrand sometimes wished that the Count would show more discipline towards his precious son, there was no excuse for such untidiness. "How was your dinner party?"

"Boring!" The Count declared before Vlad even had a chance to speak. "Not so much as a decent nibble." He tossed his long, black hair out of the way so he could give his son a baleful look. "I understand that you won't let me eat the Branaghs because of some sense of misplaced loyalty towards that boy but feasting on the van Helsings is practically a family tradition!" He glanced around with increasing displeasure. "Where is that disgusting snotbag?"

"He hasn't returned from collecting Robin." Bertrand took a sip of his own glass of blood, making a show of deliberately savouring it in order to provoke the Count's temper.

Vlad straightened up slightly. "Robin's not here yet?"

The Count slammed his glass down. "This is ridiculous!" he cried, "What am I supposed to do? Serve myself?"

The Chosen One rolled his eyes at this usual display of theatrics from his father. "Get me a glass while you're at it?"

The Count shot him a glare. "That's it," he said stiffly, straightening his cape, "I'm eating out." He sped out of the room.

Vlad gazed after his father with amusement before turning his attention back to his valet. "Pass me the bottle Bertrand." He held his hand out, barely bothering to shift from his position on the sofa.

"No." Bertrand turned back to his papers. "It's unhygienic, not to mention uncivilised, to drink straight from the bottle. And fetch it yourself Your Grandness." Despite his grumpy mood, a low chuckle escaped Bertrand's lips as the bottle, previously resting on his desk, began to hover slowly in the air, heading in the direction of his protégé. He caught it easily and poured himself another glass before handing it over.

Vlad accepted it gratefully, a smile lighting up his face as he noted the exceptional vintage. "Your good taste never fails to impress." He took a deep gulp, savouring the sensation of the thick, cool liquid on his tongue before it flowed down his throat, quenching the thirst that was sometimes all he could think about.

Bertrand turned around properly in his chair so that he could face his master before repeating his earlier question. "How was the dinner party?"

Vlad took another gulp before answering. "Interesting," he replied with a slight smirk. "One of the slayers was female."

Bertrand regarded him warily. "And?" he prompted.

Vlad's smirk deepened as he sank back into the softness of the cushions. "Blonde. Pretty. Definitely interesting."

It was Bertrand's turn to take a sharp gulp of blood. "Not again."

Vlad gave him a look of false innocence. "I have no idea what you mean," he replied airily.

Bertrand fixed him with a stern look. "The last time you dabbled with such a slayer, we had to use an earthquake to cover up the damage." He shook his head in consternation, he couldn't quite grasp how they managed to cause so much devastation to one city but he was certain that San Francisco was now a no-go area as far the Draculas were concerned.

Vlad let out a contented sigh. "Oh but Buffy was such good sport." A slightly dreamy look passed over his handsome features before he caught sight of the grim look in his valet's eyes. "Oh Bertrand, don't you ever get bored of being so dull?"

"Somebody has to clear up after you," Bertrand said sourly.

There was a light knock at the door before it was opened with a flourish by an oddly dressed butler. Renfield, as ever, had grasped the concept of wearing a uniform but had failed to apply it with style. Was it too much to expect him to at least button his shirt?

"Master Vlad, you have a visitor-" he began pompously before a dark haired, dark eyed young man impatiently pushed past him, a look of joy spreading across his pale face as he caught sight of the vampire on the sofa.

"Vlad!" "Robin!" Despite the obvious dangers, and the clear breach of etiquette, Vlad leapt off the sofa and gathered the breather into his arms for a tight hug, their mutual delight at seeing each other overcoming any artificial barriers of class, race or protocol.

"Why are you so late?" Vlad demanded as he stepped back to assess his friend for any signs of injury or distress.

An awkward look passed over Robin's face. "Um, yes, about that?" He turned his head slowly in the direction of the door, forcing out a weak laugh, as he gestured towards the dishevelled woman standing there, her bright blue eyes full of disapproval as she surveyed the scene before.

"Chloe Branagh," Vlad's gaze trailed appreciatively over the curves of his former childhood friend before his lips parted in a lascivious grin, "Haven't you blossomed!"

Thank you for reading!