Vampires. Trying to predict what they would do was nearly impossible.
Abraham sat comfortably in his bed, propped up by pillows, and mused over what he had learned about his vampire in the last week. He'd gotten the vampire to England, ensconced it in its choice of basement rooms, and completed binding it to his control.
The beast had accepted the agreement. Helsing had no doubt that it couldn't hurt him. It was willing to follow his orders and leave humans alone. He had to keep it safe during the day and supply blood to it. Including, on occasion, his own. The beast had been very firm about that.
Control. He absolutely had to maintain control over the monster. Failure to control the vampire would result in his death at the hands of a furiously disappointed murderous monster. And that monster had made it clear that he would be looking for weaknesses, too.
But...he was...unpredictable.
Catching him roaming the halls in the afternoons was a surprise. Finding him curled up comfortably at the side of the warm chimney for the kitchen oven had been an even larger one. He'd been a little prepared for that, once he'd gotten over the shock of the cook's assistant, a freckle-faced ten year old boy, coming to ask him for permission to give the vampire a bowl of beef blood that had been drained off the joint.
Apparently, this vampire occasionally craved warmth. Apparently, he also prefered the warmth of a live human to a warm chimney.
At least he didn't snore.
Although he did steal covers.