So here comes the first chapter.

queenmedesa: Thank you for your review. Don't be afraid – I have NO plans to make the count bi- or homosexual. There are really stories about that?!
I saw Marc in Berlin too and I really like Kevin – I have seen him in Stuttgart. But the best count I've seen was Robert D. Marx. But they have all been great in their own ways.

And now enjoy!

Terrible Discovery

Breda moved with his burden through the lonely village, as silent as a shadow. The possibility of him meeting anyone was quite small; the young and strong were hung up at the inn, while the old and the weak were asleep in their houses. After a short time he reached the edge of the dark forest, were his horse was waiting for him. Mephisto, dark as coal, greeted his master with a soft whinny.

Breda threw the boy over the horse's back like a sack of potatoes, then pulled himself up on the saddle. The valuable leather of the costly saddle scrunched a bit when he urged the animal on. Fortunately, his horse was very untiring, for he would have to go the distance between castle and village three more times during the night, twice with an extra burden.

Sure-footed, his horse found his way through the dark snowy wood, completely trusting his rider, who, unlike him, could see in this darkness. After half an hour of a fast trotting, the tallest towers of Castle Krolock came into view, and Breda urged Mephisto on for the final spurt.

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Sarah pressed her ear to the cold wood of the door, which, until last night, had been the entrance to her personal paradise. Now it seemed like an almost insurmountable barrier to her. Almost.

This young assistant of that odd old scientist really took an eternity to bathe. What could he be doing for so long in there? Sarah sighed impatiently, then went to her bed and sat down, squeezing her remaining sponge with her fingers.

Could it be that the young man was finished already and had forgotten about her? Sarah decided to go downstairs to the pub and have a look. Maybe he was back there? She donned her dressing gown and left her room. Silently she tiptoed to the stairway, where she paused a moment and listened intently.

She heard her mother angrily shooing Magda into the kitchen, and the violin of her father. So her father was busy, for he was the only person in this village who knew how to play the violin-even though he wasn't very good at it. Sarah dared to dart down the stairs, where she knew there to be a knot-hole in the wall at the last step, where she could peep through into the barroom. The white-haired professor sat alone on a table with a tankard of beer in front of him, scribbling into a small book. The young man was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he was in the kitchen getting hot water for her? Sarah turned to a door opposite the barroom and opened it. Magda stood by the sink, scrubbing a huge pot that her mother always used to cook her goulash in, but there was no one else in the room.

"Hey Magda, was the young guest here again to fetch some new bathwater?" Sarah asked the fair blond woman.

Magda didn't stop scrubbing the pot – her back would feel it if it was not clean enough for the mistress' liking. "Why again? He was here once and took two buckets, why should he come once more?" she said.

When she received no answer, Magda looked up. The door was closed, Sarah had disappeared. She shook her head angrily. Sarah truly was her parents' daughter. Not even able to say "Thank you". Spoiled brat. Thought she was better than everyone else when in fact, she was as bad a lob as all the other villagers.

Sarah darted up the stairs again and looked doubtfully at the door to the guest chamber. She raised a fist to knock, but hesitated before her knuckles met the wood and let her arm sink again.

What was she afraid of? Earlier that evening she had gone through that room to get to the bathroom with no problem. And what if the young lad had gone to sleep? What if she woke him up? If he was sleeping, then he broke his word by forgetting about her. Righteous anger rose in her and she threw all caution to the wind. She opened the door resolutely and stormed into the chamber – and found that there was no one there.

Dumbfounded, Sarah stared at the door to the bathroom. He could not possibly still be in there? The water had to be freezing cold by now. Cautiously, she approached the door and pressed an ear to it. Nothing. No sound at all, no water splashing, no nothing.

Hesitating, she laid a hand on the handle and lingered for a moment. Then she took a deep breath, mustered all her courage and pressed the handle down. Two seconds later she screamed her head off.

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Professor Konstantin Abronsius read the notes he wrote today one last time. They were mostly about the strange behavior of the people in this village. Obviously they tried with all their might to prevent him and Alfred from finding out the truth. Abronsius was certain by now that it had to be the undead that scared them so much. He quickly added another thought that ran through his head, then finally shut the book and put it away in his jacket.

Abronsius pulled a watch out of his breast pocket. He opened the smooth golden lid with a soft click. 'That late?' Abronsius started. He had planned to turn in early, since he wanted to get out again with Alfred at the first light of day. He had looked at some maps of the region and had marked those spots, where a castle was most likely to be.

Where was that lad anyway? Abronsius remembered dimly that he had asked to go and take a bath some time ago. He had probably gone to bed right afterwards. Very laudable. Maybe hope was not lost for the boy. But it would have been nice if he had reminded Abronsius to do the same.

Abronsius poured the rest of the terribly watery beer into his throat, rose and put a hand to the small of his back. His sciatic was hurting again. After getting up wearily, he left the pub and struggled to get upstairs.

It was when he was halfway up, resting for a moment, that he heard a piercing scream. It came from their chamber. Forgetting his pains for the moment, he took the rest of the stairs at a run and stormed through the open door.

In the door to the bathroom stood the daughter of the inn-keeper. The girl had clasped her hands to her mouth and was staring with wide eyes into the room. Abronsius pushed her gently aside and then felt for a moment as if he had crashed into a wall.

To be truthful, the only frightening sight in the room was the color of the bathwater flowing in the tub. It was a shining, bloody red. Aside from his neatly-folded clothes on the stool, there was no trace of Alfred to be found. The window was wide open and the room was growing colder by the minute.

"Alfred," whispered the old scientist, his mind going completely numb.

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Breda commanded the stable boy to rub down the horse and give him water and oats. He then took the dead boy and entered into the thick walls of his castle.

An enormous winged staircase led from the entrance hall to the upper floors. After some twists and turns in the labyrinthine alleys of the castle, he reached the final hallway where his and his son's private rooms were located. When he reached his son's chamber he paused in front of the door and called "Herbert." When there was no answer after a couple of seconds, he shouted more loudly, a trace of anger in his voice. But his call remained unheard – at least by his son. The lesser vampires down in the grounds had probably fled into their graves by now, frightened.

Irritated, Breda walked through the aisles, searching for his heir, until soft chimes reached his ear. He should have guessed it. Knowing his destination now, he went toward the music room, climbing another set of stairs and crossing another alley. The nearer he approached, the more distinct the piano music became, his son being the only possible orchestrator. Some of the other vampires were able to play as well, but not nearly as perfectly and certainly never on Herbert's grand piano, a gift received from his father about twenty years ago.

Breda entered the room, the bundled body still in his arms.

"Herbert," he called loudly, for his son tended to be drawn completely into another world when making music. Discord disrupted the sweet melody, and Herbert turned around to look at him like a hare looking at a wolf.

"I've got something for you. Come," Breda said shortly, and, when he was sure that he had his heir's full attention, turned around and walked away. Herbert would follow. He took the shortest way to Herbert's private chambers and turned in the middle of that room to his son, who had indeed followed him on his heels. With one hand he loosened the cape a bit, so Herbert could see his "gift".

"Didn't you want to get the girl for the ball?" Herbert asked, a certain note in his voice that told his father that he liked the looks of the boy.

"I did. But alas, instead of her I found this young man sitting in the tub. I had to kill him, but I thought you might like him." While he explained, he loosened the cape further from the corpse and realized that the combination of a wet naked body and a soot-covered cape didn't really harmonize. The boy looked like a chimney-sweep's apprentice. He couldn't really resent Herbert for crying out in panic when he tried to place the body on his bed.

"NO! Not there. Here, take the divan," Herbert ordered.

Breda complied with this request and put the lad down on the divan, naked, dead and covered in soot. Somehow, his death was just as undignified as his dying. He could only hope that his un-life would take a better turn – but that would depend largely on his son, and this boy's ability to respond to him.

"Care for him, do whatever you want with him, he's yours. I must leave again." He rolled the cape together and tucked it under his arm. He'd have to get another one. This one would have to be cleaned by his hunchbacked servant Koukól.

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After his father left the room, Herbert stepped closer to the dead boy. He was torn between fascination and revulsion. Revulsion, because this boy was just so dirty. Fascination, because he was incredibly pretty. His wheaten hair fell in light wisps over his forehead, his delicate golden lashes brushing his high cheekbones like fans. His nose was just perfectly sized and those slightly open lips – full and sensual, screaming to be kissed.

Herbert's eyes wandered farther over the naked body. The young man was slender and tall. He guessed that they were about the same height, but Herbert's ribs didn't show that distinctly.

Of course he also investigated the lower body. He couldn't help but wonder if those absolutely decent privates had already been in operation, and whether or not the counterpart had been a woman? A small sigh came from Herbert's lips as he felt his own extremities pulse. It was no good. He only could hope for this young man to cooperate. He dared not hope that he could even develop true feelings for him.

The only annoying thing was all that soot. To change that, Herbert went to his bathroom and filled water in a bowl. He took a cloth and came back to the divan, where he began to wash the dirt from the body, which thankfully went quite smoothly.

To his own discontent, Herbert felt his trousers getting tighter. Damn it. He really wanted this boy. He'd had to relinquish pleasure for so long now, and then his father brings him this dream of a man. To distract himself, he set the bowl aside and went to his dressing room, where he looked around for something to cover the body with. He glimpsed a lambskin that he had gotten from his father some years ago and already had forgotten about. He took it and stretched it over the boy.

Unfortunately, now there was no longer a naked boy lying on his divan in the shine of his chimney fire, but a naked boy covered with snow-white lambskin, and that made it look even more sensual in the fiery glow.

Herbert fled into his bathroom and closed the door before he getting rid of his pants so he could get some release. After he was done, Herbert remained for a minute with closed eyes before he dressed again and left his chambers to go and find Kokól without giving the body on his divan another glance. Koukól would have to clean his bathroom. That didn't embarrass Herbert at all, for the dimwitted cripple wouldn't have the slightest idea what the mess on the floor was.

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After his academic guest had risen alarm, Chagal sent all the guests home, locked his daughter in her room and ordered Magda to clean out the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Abronsius sat on the hard wooden bench in the guest chamber (how could Alfred sleep on it?) and held the abandoned clothes of his assistant in his lap. He had barely registered the promises of his host, that they would assemble a search party first thing in the morning. It would be useless anyway.

The blood loss, the traceless disappearance – there was but one explanation for what had happened. Alfred was dead. Or worse, undead by now. The poor lad.

After he had gotten over the first shock, Abronsius' brain was working flawlessly again. There was no doubt about the fate of the boy. He really felt sorry about all of it. But there was nothing he could do.

He had to go back to Königsberg and find another assistant. None of his colleagues would believe the truth. Besides Aliboris, but he'd probably just laugh about his loss. Aliboris was his biggest rival nevertheless, when it came to proving the existence of vampires. Well, to be honest he was his only rival.

He would also have to bring the bad news to Alfred's parents. He'd have the whole journey back to make up an accident-scenario in which the boy had died. They could not be told the truth. Fortunately, Alfred was not their only child, but the middle of five. They would cope with the loss.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" the inn-keeper suddenly bellowed, causing Professor Abronsius to jump and eye him in irritation.

"There is no need to shout at me," he rebuked the ruffian indignantly.

"Well, I thought I should, since you didn't hear me the two times I called...," Chagal just put him off.

"There actually is something you could help me with," Abronsius said, shrugging his anger off. "We are alone in this room now, you and me, and no one else is listening. You could finally tell me the truth: Am I right in assuming that Alfred is not the first person to disappear from this village?"

Chagal scratched his head, obviously pondering his answer. "Well, you know, it's winter - the wolves..."

"Stop this with the wolves right now. I've never heard about wolves getting into a closed bathroom in the attic of a house and carrying off a young man – and I have studied biology! This was another creature, a creature you are terribly afraid of and which is the reason this house reeks of garlic."

"Why do you even ask, if you know it all already?" Chagal grumbled reluctantly.

"Because it is crucial to know, WHY this creature was in your house tonight. I can't believe it was there because of my assistant. That'd be most illogical."

The inn-keeper just glared at him with wide-opened eyes. For a moment he seemed to fight an inner fight, but then Abronsius could see his defenses break. Chagal drew a stool to himself and sat down, sighing. Since he could not handle the accusing look of the scientist, he spoke to his hands.

"He picks one every year. Either from here, or from the other seven villages that belong to his countship. Sarah has reached the age at which they usually disappear. I mean – just look at her. Such a beauty. Of course he wants to have her. But he won't get her if I can prevent it," he added determinedly.

Abronsius nodded. He had guessed something like this.

"He will be back," he said, and Chagal looked distressed. "Whenever these creatures have chosen a victim, they will not rest until they succeed. That far my studies have prospered already. He will be back – but we'll be ready for him."

TBC