The cave was furnished richly with priceless antiques and sumptuous velvets. Harker hardly noticed them. The Count liked to maintain the standard to which he had become accustomed in his breathing life. Now the court was sleeping and draped around the room his courtiers lay across the chaises longue and the golden brocaded cushions. The dais at the end of the cave was curtained with flags embroidered with the Count's own insignia. Red dragons flew on the black silk which hung to the stone floor, polished and swept. They hid the Count's resting place from unworthy eyes. Harker approached feeling the familiar fear and hatred rise in his throat. He had tried to escape many times since his first unfortunate visit to the Count's castle. First, his own English sense of manners had held him captive, for how could he refuse the Count's hospitality? Now it was fear and love which held him in place. Fear of the dreadful creature he was bound to serve and love for his beloved wife Mina. He knew she too would be behind the curtain. What depravities the Count subjected her to had long ceased to burn him. He was not a young man despite his appearance. Magic held the facade of his youth together, Dracula demanded it. He had no wish to see age and decay around him, he had laughed. Still Harker had no desire to see his wife in the arms of the Count. Beautiful Mina, forever young. She had been only eighteen when he had proposed to her, long before his fateful trip to Transylvania, back when Victoria was still queen of England. For a moment he was lost in his reverie.

'Yesssss?' the voice was old, centuries old and as cold as death. Harker cleared his throat.

'I've made the arrangements you have asked for...Master.' His hesitation was momentary but he was sure it did not go unnoticed.

'The boy vampire?' the voice was thick with a sickening lust at the mention of the boy's name. Harker wrinkled his nose, unable to hide the distaste he felt.

'Secured in the palace.' He tried to keep his voice even, betraying nothing. He knew that the Count's senses were razor sharp.

'The American vampire hunter?' the voice sounded amused.

'She has found Ruthven and Zillah's kill...where I left it,' Harker reported,' I believe she will begin her hunt tonight.' He checked his notes in his hand.

'Excellent.' The Count sounded pleased; maybe he would allow him to see Mina tonight? A small flicker of hope lit in Harker's chest. As if his thoughts had been heard the curtain twitched by his feet. The voice snaked through the air, chilling and seductive.

'You may join us Harker.' The lascivious chuckle at the end of the comment left Harker almost running for the door.

'Ah, I must make sure that all is in readiness for your great work, Master.' Harker hoped his revulsion could not be heard in his voice. The curtain fell with a sigh.

'Very well Harker. You may leave.' Harker left, crushing the hope that had been kindled in his heart, hoping Mina would please the Count and that she would live another night. He had lived like this night after night. Wishing that his wife would satisfy that...monster so that she would live, live long enough for Harker to rescue her but he had failed every time. And every time he knew Dracula would require more... humiliations to salve his ego. Living like this was no life at all. Harker left silently to visit the new captive. He hoped the two lovers would fare better than he.

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Blake fastened the Firestar, a compact 9mm revolver she liked to use, into the holster she kept strapped to her thigh. The tight dress would reveal the weapon but she was hoping that the deep, plunging neckline would distract anyone from taking a close look anywhere else. She'd arrived that afternoon after a tip off from an Englishman which had come with a plane ticket to Rome. The body of the young boy was exactly where he said it would be. Poor bastard, Blake thought to herself as she took in the smooth baby skin, the blonde hair falling around his face, the wide staring innocent eyes, glassy in death. She checked her makeup in the mirror before picking up her small leather purse. In it she had two stakes, a silver cross and a vial of Holy Water. You could never be too careful, she thought, especially with foreign vamps.

The club was about twenty minutes walk from the hotel and she made it there in good time. She spoke with the young mortal waiter and he informed her that the two she was hunting weren't going to be there that night as she had been told. This threw her; she didn't like it when a plan went its own way. A quick call on her cell to the Englishman gave her a new location of the two she was seeking. The Englishman was quite insistent that she did it tonight. She reckoned he had been the lover of the murdered boy and wanted revenge. She smiled into the handset. No problem, she assured the client. With what he was paying for this one job she'd be able to take a vacation when she got home.

The graveyard was the usual creepy joint. Tombs fallen in and lots of ivy. Blake slipped off her heels and stuffed them in her purse. When she reached the door of the Polidori crypt she reached into her bag and quietly brought out the Holy Water, then she reached for her gun.

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Zillah raised a hand to silence the others. Ruthven and Harry stopped their arguing and looked up. Zillah had heard someone outside. Harry's first thought was that it was someone from Dracula and he rose, taking out his wand as he moved stealthily towards the door. Zillah's cold powerful hand stopped him and held him back.

They'd spent all day pouring over the map which Harry had bought that afternoon. He'd been back to the house and picked up Edward's scent with his magic. It had been easy enough to trace but every step had been like a knife in his heart. Knowing that he was getting nearer and nearer to Edward but that he had to go back to Ruthven was torture. But he knew it was the right thing to do. He was no match for Dracula alone and especially as the Count seemed also to have a powerful wizard in his employ. How else could they have taken Edward?

Ruthven had been confident and this had made Harry more hopeful. Zillah wanted to enlist more help and this was still undecided. Ruthven favoured just the three of them. More, he explained, always meant chance of betrayal. Look at all the successful criminals in history; he had expounded gesturing wildly, never more than three. It was then that Zillah had made his sign that he had heard someone outside.

Zillah moved with utter silence to the edge of the door. Harry saw his nostrils flair and then he flashed behind them. Why the tomb had a back door Harry had no idea and it was likely their attacker didn't either. That was where Zillah had gone.

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Blake felt the rush of air seconds before Zillah was on her. She splashed the Holy Water in his face. Zillah began to scream and then to laugh. Blake was horrified. Zillah, pre Christian Roman that he was, felt nothing from the Holy Water. He batted the hand holding out the silver cross aside and put strong white fingers around her throat. She fumbled for the gun, but Zillah brought down his wrist in a lethal karate chop which met Blake's arm with a sickening snap. She screamed. Her last sight in the world was Zillah's impossibly beautiful mouth bending to her neck. She felt the bite, the sweet sting of his fangs and lost consciousness.

Ruthven and Harry rushed outside at the scream. They were just in time to see Zillah hungrily sucking at the young woman's neck. Her limp body jigged comically as Zillah's strong jaws worked at the wound he had made. He dropped her and wiped his lips, grinning broadly. Harry ran to the woman's body. It was clear she was dead, her body drained and pale in the moonlight. He couldn't believe what he had seen. Zillah and Ruthven were killers. They just happened to want to help him. He had to keep that thought in the forefront of his mind.

Ruthven was looking through the woman's wallet. He found a license card.

'Anita Blake, vampire hunter.' He read shrugging up at Zillah. 'Zillah, you naughty boy.'

Zillah grinned, his teeth slicked with blood.

'They don't make them like they used to.' His shark grin widened.' Now, give me a Slayer any day of the week.'