Thanks as always to Rin – Chan, Wolfpup and Megan for their convincing me that it IS worth finishing this!!(despite the lack of reviewage!)

We're getting near the end!!!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mitchell looked after Edward and Harry as they walked into the great hall. He'd never seen this place before and the sheer size of it awed him. How long had Dracula been alive, that he could have had the time to build something as huge as this, he asked himself. A dark voice in his head asked another question; how powerful was Dracula that he had kept something this huge hidden for so long? Mitchell didn't want to listen to the dark voice but he had to admit it had a point. He could almost hear George's whining voice in his head telling him to get out, come home. The thought made him colder still. What were George and Annie thinking, back home in Bristol? Harry made as though to turn to him and Mitchell marvelled at his youth, he seemed so bloody young to be in this kind of trouble. How did they ever expect to get out of this, as if any of them were a match for something as old and powerful as Dracula? Mitchell's gaze fell on Harry as he removed his wand from his jacket and stepped forward.

Something caught his attention, just out of his line of sight. He turned his head quickly, there, a flash of green. What was it? As Mitchell turned back the columns of rock lining the great hall became the trees of a dense forest, the drapes were leaves through which moonlight filtered. He was no longer in the cavern hollowed out by centuries of Dracula's slaves; he was in a forest at night. Off in the distance shells flared briefly orange. Mitchell winced even though he knew the blast was miles away. Another flare of orange light in the distance and the sound of heavy artillery a few miles away. Ypres 1915.

The forest was damp and the smell of earth and rotting leaves were all around. Off to his left Mitchell could see the crouched form of Herrick, his maker. In just under a month of becoming a vampire Mitchell had hunted every night with Herrick. Harrick had explained that keeping his strength up in the first few years was crucial to a vampire's longevity.

'Come on Mitchell, this one's not dead yet.' Herrick beckoned with a pudgy white finger, his small piggy eyes glinting in the amber light of the flares. Mitchell shook himself, trying to escape the feeling that something was wrong, that this was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. In a blur of movement he was at Herrick's side, squatting down lightly on his haunches. Herrick lifted the soldier's head. The limp neck barely supporting the heavy metal helmet and the fragile skull.

Mitchell bent to grab the soldier, avoiding looking into his eyes. Hungrily he bit down on the grimy skin under the dirty ear. Repressing a shudder to himself until the sweet young blood flowed over his lips and ran down his throat, quenching the burning in his chest. He opened his eyes slowly still amazed at what he had become, this graceful angel of death. The ability of the blood to transform him, sharpen his senses and quicken his reflexes was still new to him.

The soldier's eye rolled wildly in its socket and he kicked out briefly, his feeble attempt to save himself was futile but it served to draw Mitchell's attention away from the blood, to remind him that this was not an animal from which he was feeding. Somewhere in his blood slaked mind the uniform of the young soldier registered. His humanity fought its way to the forefront of his mind, clawing through the blood and gore which had become his home since his turning. Since his death.

With a dawning horror Mitchell realised he knew this man, he was one of his own regiment. Mitchell recalled their shared horror that first night in the trenches, the jokes about the mud and the Bosch, the talk of sweethearts and home. Sickness swept through him like nausea and he spewed the blood back, crawling away from the broken soldier, away from his revulsion at what he had become.

Herrick stood and sneered down at him, lips curled back to show sharp teeth. His wispy ginger hair blew in the cold night air and in this light it became thicker, darker. Herrick was small in stature but his body now grew slight, almost like that of a girl. His pale face now framed a pair of large sapphire blue eyes, swept with thick dark lashes.

Mitchell stared up in horror, his brain frantically trying to process that he wasn't in the forest at Ypres, he was in the great hall and this was not Herrick, Herrick was dead. This was Dracula.

Lady Elizabeth was following behind the others. Already she was planning her escape, selling the others out was not an obstacle in her policy of survival. She would survive this the way she had survived for hundreds of years, by putting herself before all others. She scanned the great hall looking for a way out which did not mean confronting the Count. She had no argument with him, save that he had imprisoned her, and she could wait for her revenge on him.

Something red sparkled on the periphery of her vision and her eyes snapped towards the movement. A breeze seemed to stir the hangings around the walls, making the candles gutter and flicker. The cold night air reminded her of her old home, the castle high upon a hill perched in the forests.

Yes, there was her bath, deep and already swimming with slick red blood. There her servants dragging away the last girl, her corpse white and parched from the draining. Lady Elizabeth accepted the arm of her servant girl, noting with satisfaction the tremor of fright in her grip. She slipped one long pale leg into the warm bath. She noticed she was naked now but this did not bother her, how else would she be preparing to have a bath if not naked.

She surveyed with satisfaction the firm white skin of her breasts, the smooth gentle curve of her stomach. Now she was fully immersed, her neck and shoulders slimy with gore. She raised a red hand and admired the way the cooling blood thickened and dropped from her fingers like rubies. She gestured to her servant to bring another girl, more blood to make me beautiful she thought. To keep me young, to give me anyone I want.

Her servants dragged a struggling young girl; she might be no more than eleven. Her feet slipping on the red pool around the bath as she struggled to save herself. Pinning her arms back the servant held her over the Countess and prepared the knife. Lady Elizabeth took the long silver blade, crusted with drying blood and put it to the girl's neck; she smiled at the servant who was holding the whimpering girl still.

She plunged the knife into the girl's neck, feeling a thrill run through her body as she watched the blood fountain out, pumping its warm jet over her body and into the bath. The girl's eyes rolled in pain and Lady Elizabeth gazed at the expression on her face savouring her agony.

And yet there was something familiar about this girl. Something about how her mouth curved, the colour of her hair, the shape of her nose as she cried out in pain.

'Mother!' she cried out, 'mother you have killed me!' The jigsaw puzzle fell into place with sickening clarity. Lady Elizabeth looked at the face and saw herself there, knew that this was her daughter, taken from her when she was only days old, merely a baby. Her hands reached out to stem the spray of blood but it was too late. She covered her face with her hands, trying to clear her mind of what she had done, done to her own child! The blood stung her eyes and the tears that feel from them were bitter. Through the tears and the blood the countess saw her servant laughing. She reached forward to grab the woman, to shake her, to make her realise what she had done but instead she found herself gripping onto a small boy. A small boy with eyes like sapphires.

Please review and let me know what you think so far!! The Count's got to mess with Zillah's head next before we start on Harry and Edward!!