The Yorkshire Coast (presumably Whitby), where Dracula washed ashore. Is several hours out from London. For the sake of argument, it is written as only being several minutes away instead. This is to help flow and relate better to the chapter and context. Enjoy!

It only took minutes to feel as though his world was falling in around him. Oh, how he longed to go back to Transylvania. The native soil of which his coffin held, he would hardly qualify as a reasonable substitution. Whilst Frank was busy, caught up in whatever courtroom sanguisuge affairs. The Count slipped out in the dead of night. He hadn't the faintest clue where Zoe could have gone. Although, he could just as easily track her scent, but didn't want to exacerbate an already tense situation.

Inhaling deeply, the air was crisp, yet biting. He hiked the collar of his elaborate black cape higher around his neck. Normally he preferred this type of dry, cold climate. However, taking his newly discovered condition into play, he took every precaution possible to stave off the brisk chilly air, and possibility of illnesses to set in.

The old street lamps light a path down the pavement. Even at this hour, one could still hear the sounds of traffic and indistinguishable, distant chatter. Suddenly, he stops dead in his tracks to briefly sniff the air surrounding him. Someone was hurt, bleeding in fact. His upper lip trembled as he tried to control the carnal-like urges inside. He took the risk and ventured further down the worn stone pathway. Everything inside him screamed not to, but whenever he was faced with a situation like this. He just couldn't control it.

A Yorkshire-accent vagrant had cut his palm on an old tin can. The sweet, metallic scent growing stronger with each step. The vampire does a brief visual sweep before approaching the homeless man, with somewhat of a crooked smile. His breath letting out a slight hiss.

"Ooh, that doesn't look good"

Taking the man's rough, calloused hand in his. He was very selective of his victims, unfortunately when it came to accidental natures such as this, instinct trumped fastidious each time. The man quickly withdrew his hand from the vampire's grasp.

"T' ell be wrong 'wi thee"

He spat. Evidentially in a state of distress. His accent so thick, it was almost difficult to comprehend what he was saying. Dracula simply chuckled softly, as if he was turning a page of an old, weathered novel. Licking the remnants of blood from his index finger. The vagrant's eyes grew wide with fear. It was at this point Dracula realized he had to step it up a notch.

Channeling his powers of persuasion, he eventually was able to lead the man down a dark alleyway. Far from the public eye. Within moments, the vampire's eyes took on a crimson red appearance. Needlepoint fangs accented by the stray bits of light from neighboring buildings.

"Nah, please..don't"

He choked helplessly. Like a serrated knife through freshly baked bread, the vampire's teeth sunk deeply into the poor victim's neck. The vagrant could feel himself becoming weaker as the Count continued to feed. Traces of blood running down his chin, soiling his once pristine cape. Once he had his fill, he gives a sharp growl and tosses the feeble man aside, as if he were merely garbage left out by the curb.

Dracula returns home, attempting to wipe the last remaining traces of blood from his mouth. The spontaneous feeding, as he had surmised from the beginning, was a fruitless endeavor. The man was neither academically brilliant, nor bilingual. However, for at least five precious minutes, was he able to speak in a perfectly convincing Yorkshire.

With Zoe still not yet returning, he was skeptical if their relationship would ever resemble what it once was. He collapses into one of the dinning room chairs with a heavy sigh. Rubbing circles into the temples of his forehead. It was foolish of him to be so edacious, especially when considering he would most likely bring it back up again within the hour.

Suddenly, his cell goes off. Briefly glancing at the caller ID, he is shocked to see it was her. His mind instantly switching to panic mode.

"There's a vagrant corpse following me! (tone transitioning from frightened to almost facetious)..this' your Frankenstein isn't it?"

Immediately the Count slams his eyes shut, his expression akin to having just eaten something sour. He gives a somewhat exasperated sigh.

"I do wish you'd keep his name out of my masterpi-"

"Help me, dammit!"

Her tone reverting back to panic, cutting him off before he even had a chance to finish his sentence. He gives yet another heavy sigh and gathers his necessities, consisting of a wooden stake and hammer. Suddenly, feeling a qualm wash over him, bloody morning sickness.

"I'll be there soon"

Van Helsing had apparently taken a drive to the Yorkshire coastline. To walk along the very same Whitby shoreline that Dracula had once washed upon. He arrives to see the poor Doctor, confined inside her car. Brandishing a sterling silver cross necklace against the window pane of the driver's side to keep the undead creature at bay. She spots Dracula rushing alongside the vehicle, an instant look of relief washing over her.

He avoids any and all eye contact with the religious symbol. The vagrant sensing his presence, the rotting, paper-thin flesh of his neck jerking with an awkward motion to try and face the vampire. It didn't speak, simply uttering animalistic-like snarls and growls. It soon was gaining speed. Zoe's hand rushes to cover her mouth. Anxiety mounting over the uncertain outcome.

The creature lunges for Dracula, emitting an ear-splitting shrill. The vampire simply smirks, before plunging the stake directly into its chest, instantly erupting into a cloud of dust. The tools falling at his feet, the tension leaving his body, letting out a long exhale of relief. The vehicle's door flies open, her arms wrapping around him. He was a bit unsure how to respond to such a reaction.

"Thank you..(she whispered into his chest)..and..I'm sorry"

The latter caught him completely off guard, but nevertheless, he was thankful. He gives a small smile, gingerly cupping her chin and guiding it to look into his eyes. As their lips move in closer, he could feel the warmth of Zoe's palm as it traveled to rest over his stomach. Giving a small smile, once again.

"You're welcome, my dear"