Part three of four - shorter and less dramatic than the others, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: None of this is mine.

Vlad was improving, slowly but surely; his telepathy was better, he'd never had any problems with hypnotism and had literally charmed a bird – an owl – out of a tree in order to prove that to Bertrand, and his combat skills were vastly better now than they had been. It had been months since the first time he'd pinned Bertrand, and he was sure that he had become a better fighter. Unfortunately, it was hard to tell; Bertrand was becoming more distracted with every passing night, it seemed, and lately he seemed so tired. He had taken to abruptly ending their sessions for no apparent reason, stalking off to disappear into his room.

"Bertrand?" The older vampire stopped in the doorway, looking back at him over his shoulder.
"What is it?" Vlad shifted awkwardly, uncertain of his tutor's reaction to what he was about to ask.
"Fang!TV are saying there's going to be a huge ball to celebrate the Grand High Vampire's coronation, when it happens." It was only a few months away, now, after all, and he was beginning to wonder about the future. "Would you… I mean, do you know how to dance? Could you… teach me?"

Bertrand stared at him for a moment.
"Teach you… yes. That is my job, after all." He turned away, making his way towards the stairs. "Dinner at 6am, in the dining room." Vlad let him go, then headed for his own room. For this ball, he'd no doubt be expected to wear a cape… he should probably wear one for his dance lesson, then. And if he was going to wear a cape, he might as well go the whole hog and dress up to the nines. Well, if he could find anything suitable from the clothes he'd stuffed into his wardrobe…


The monster pulled out his best formal outfit, not worn since the last ball Charles had invited him to, in the 1670s. It still looked alright, he thought. It didn't matter, anyway; he wasn't trying to impress anyone. It just seemed appropriate to wear something formal in order to demonstrate formal dancing to his student.

He was fortunate, really, that the vampire world didn't waver from its traditions; the dancing would be the same at Vlad's ball as it had been at the coronation of every Grand High Vampire before him. Most of it didn't even require a partner, as the dances were more to do with a number of dancers skilfully weaving in between one another in time to music, creating a pleasing effect and allowing as many vampires as possible to meet and mingle. There might be some waltzing, but he could teach Vlad that easily enough. He would have to teach him to lead, which meant the monster would be taking the lady's part, but that was quite easy to do; he had taught young men to dance before, after all, long ago.

The monster swept a critical eye over the outfit and sighed; it would do. He began to change.


Vlad stepped out into the corridor between his room and Bertrand's just as his tutor emerged from his door on the other side of the hallway. Vlad hesitated for a moment, taking in Du Fortunesa's formal attire; he was glad he'd dressed up. Bertrand stared back at him, and Vlad wondered if he looked like an idiot. But that didn't seem to be the other vampire's point. He was just looking; assessing him, no doubt.

Vlad supposed he should practice escorting a partner onto the dance floor; no time like the present. He made his way along the hall until he was level with Bertrand, then bowed formally and offered his arm. Bertrand looked a little taken aback, but bowed back and, somewhat hesitantly, looped his arm through his student's.

They shared a drink as usual, but something seemed subtly different tonight. Bertrand kept his eyes on his goblet until Vlad engaged him in conversation, mostly about the dances he would have to know. To his tutor's obvious surprise, he was already familiar with several of the larger dances.
"It's the partner ones I'm really worried about," he confided, and watched Bertrand take a long gulp of blood.
"Then let's begin with those."

This time, when Vlad offered his arm, Bertrand took it without questioning, and allowed himself to be led into the large room with a gramophone in it. Vlad was rather pleased with himself, actually, for remembering where it was. It was the work of moments for Bertrand to get it running.
"Get a feel for the music," he advised, and then they stood, awkwardly, on opposite sides of the room, for several minutes. In the end, Vlad stepped forward.

"I think I've got a feel for it." He held out his hand once more. "May I have this dance?" Bertrand carefully placed his hand in his student's, then rested his other on Vlad's shoulder and waited, as if to see whether Vlad had the faintest clue what he was doing.


Vlad's remaining hand found its way hesitantly to the monster's waist, and he wondered briefly what he was doing. He ran through the steps as briefly as he could, wanting only to get it over with so they could move on to brushing up the less contact-intensive dances. He shouldn't be this close to the Chosen One – if he was the real Chosen One, which of course he couldn't be, no matter what the Book did – he should be alone, a hideous monster in a dark, cold castle.


Vlad thought he was getting the hang of it; Bertrand had stopped giving him instructions and was simply watching his footwork carefully as they moved across the room. Something about dancing with him made Vlad feel a little strange – like there were bats breeding in his stomach. He supposed it was the bizarre notion that he was dancing with Du Fortunesa, the villain from every little vampire's bedtime stories. That was all it was… and then Bertrand looked up.

Bright blue eyes stared into dark blue, barely a few inches apart, and for a moment Vlad thought he'd got too close to the book upstairs again as a shock ran through him. Bertrand faltered, then stepped back, and he knew the tutor had noticed his jolt of surprise. He made him a courteous bow and excused himself with no further explanation, leaving Vlad to turn off the gramophone.

He settled into his coffin with a discontented sigh. He'd enjoyed dancing with Bertrand; too much, he now realised, enough to scare the other vampire away. He hadn't realised until recently, but he'd become somewhat fond of his tutor – and he knew any of the counsellors from Garside would have told him that was Stockholm Syndrome, but he was barely a prisoner here anymore. He wasn't even sure that Bertrand would come after him if he disappeared; his family were probably safe. He could take off any time he wanted, but he stayed.

He stayed because he enjoyed Bertrand's company, strange and stilted though their conversations were. He didn't want to read any further into it than that.


The monster lay in his shroud and glared up at the ceiling. How dare he even look at the Dracula who could be – but wasn't, almost certainly wasn't – the Chosen One like that? As if he was worthy of meeting his eye? It was preposterous, and looking at him with affection, fondness, maybe even desire – that was unthinkable. He had barely made it out of the room before his face twisted into a snarl. He could not fall for Vladimir Dracula.

The monster feared he already had.