A/N: Another new chapter! And we're slowly moving along with the plot/arc type thing. This chapter was inspired by Underworld, but it also was in part how this part was always going to be put across. Again, I have to recommned people read the sister story to this, as it explains some things ahead of this fic (well, it's privvy to information Vlad doesn't know yet). Otherwise, I ask that you leave me a lovely review please. Enjoy the chapter.

It was raining, and too busy to flit, they were the excuses Vlad gave for deciding to take the tube to Robin. He wouldn't tell him the truth, it would only worry him, and Vlad really couldn't be bothered with listening to Robin's paranoid worried ranting. Something which he knew he would receive in abundance when he told him the truth.

He knew Melech and Strigoi were following him from the minute he left the shop. They stood in the shadows of the alley opposite, glaring at him, not really making an effort to hide; at least, not from vampire eyes. Vlad couldn't help but smirk on seeing them, fighting the instinct to flit, as he knew that's what they expected him to do. He knew the way they worked after all; he'd helped in on many of their attacks. This was one of their particular favourite tactics: present your target with the threat, forcing them into fleeing, making their blood pump faster and easier to find with the sweeter smell that resulted. That's how it work with breathers anyway, and werewolves.

Vlad nodded across at the pair, smirking with a cool confidence that couldn't be faked. He wasn't scared of these two, truth be told, he was almost excited to see what they would try, wanting to drag the hunt out for as long as he could. He turned deliberately in the direction of the tube station, wandering along the street at an easy pace, knowing they would follow him.

He enjoyed the walk, in an odd way. It was somewhat pleasant, pretending he was just another breather, trying to make his way home after a long day. Due to his sleeping habits and the places he was used to frequenting; he wasn't really used to seeing so many different people sober. He became aware, just as he was about to enter the tube station, of someone staring at him, and resisted the urge to look out the person, not really wanting to give Melech and Strigoi the change to grab him, as they were closing in.

Inside, the tube station was warm and dry and crowded, and Vlad almost felt a pang of guilt for what might happen. It was a big almost, because the majority of his thoughts and feelings couldn't care less about the breathers surrounding him. He'd decided that his pitying thoughts the other night in the bar came from being cooped up in his flat for far too long. At least, that's what he was desperately clinging to as being the real reason, he'd gotten too used to living without caring, he didn't think he could handle it if he were to regain caring.

The breathers crowded round the openings in the barrier, as though it would make the tube arrive quicker. There was an eerie silence from Melech and Strigoi, and it unnerved Vlad. Breathers or not, they should have made their move by now; they were taking far too long for a relatively simple act. Then it came, a loud, piercing cry: "Slayers."

Guns were fired, and Vlad found himself dropping to the floor, dragging a mother gripping on to a small child with him, throwing an arm over them. He could smell blood, knowing his eyes had darkened to black as he felt his teeth expand. A small growl issued from his throat as he crawled over to the bleeding man, pressing a hand against his chest, allowing the blood to pool out over his shoulders.

"No … I can't …" the man was gasping, grabbing up at Vlad, "my wife … my daughter …" he gasped, gesturing over at the woman and child Vlad had dragged down to safety with him. Vlad looked at the pair unblinkingly, turned back to the man, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him down. He was dying anyway, there was no need for the unnecessary pain moving around would bring.

"They're safe."

Those two words relaxed the man enough to even allow him to die with a small smile on his face. Death, Vlad mused, was something interesting to watch. Seeing all the troubles of the person fade away, the muscles in their body relaxing slightly, taking their last gasp of life before settling back. It was always the same in those last few seconds, from the most peaceful of deaths to the most bloody of murders.

When the shooting has subsided, Vlad stood, finding himself face to face - or as face to face as standing on opposite sides of the station would allow - with a leather clad female, who clutched a gun tightly in her hand, signify herself as one of the Slayers. As female slayers went, she was reasonably attractive; with short dark hair framing her face, the pale skin that came associated with most who followed the slaying lifestyle standing out clearly against the black of the leather that she wore. Her eyes were a piercing blue, something that would have been appealing had they not been fixed coldly on Vlad, searching him as though he had all answers for which she was looking for.

This time, he did. He brushed dust off himself slowly, bringing his gaze up to meet with hers carefully. He smirked, allowing her the briefest glimpse of fang. She stepped backwards, as Vlad flitted away, with the Slayer only seeing a dark blur where he once stood.

The other Slayer, a male, walked over to the female with a questioning glance. "It's him," she murmured softly, turning to briskly walk out of the tube station, leaving the clean up to the police. "I'm sure it's him."