A cruel shifting transformed the smooth, pale perfection of Vlad’s face into a rictus; sharp canines appeared, the tips blushing red with a hint of molten fury. His eyes, so deeply human, flashed virulent green and yellow, like cat piss, narrowing into saber slits. And then, shuddering, the moment passed, the rage gone as quickly as a cloud flowing across the sun. He’d been interrupted, his thoughts jolted. Yet Izolda knew precisely how to tame the ire.<br/><br/>She was his dancer, his graceful muse, and her barbs well suited his temperament. Her personality, as much as her beauty and heritage, had merited his transforming her into one of his brides. One of the few living creatures he would consider gifting and cursing with eternity. The common folk might whisper stories of Vlad spreading his demonic curse to those who broke curfew or lied, but such was not the case; go out at night and one might become dinner, but he certainly was not interested in creating a race of his vampiric kind. Why share the glory, the agony, the opportunity, with anyone he didn’t absolutely love with all of his heart?<br/><br/>And he loved Izolda.<br/><br/>Smiling now, the fleeting moment of ire forgotten, youthful mien a pleasantly angular, if somewhat effeminate, mask above the monstrous substrate. One dark brow, sculpted to frame a thick-lashed eye, lifted slightly as he reached out, fingers moving gracefully through the air to pluck the flower from his bride’s waiting fingers. He leaned down, delicate nostrils flaring as he took the scent in.<br/><br/>A being of undeath, a transformed God, he and all of his kind had extraordinary senses and the direct assault of the flower’s beatific odor soothed him, soothed him precisely as Izolda always had.<br/><br/>“I have a present for you as well, my darling,” Dracula murmured as he glanced around. “Seeing as your sister is not here, it would seem that you will have the first opportunity.” The man’s rolling Romanian accent was a liquid confection, undulating with sexual undertones. Such was his nature: sin, death, madness, it was all part of the mantle he wore. “There is a couple coming, a couple with a daughter, as I mentioned. The wife is in my thrall and soon to become my slave. The man, the man you may have as you see fit. He will not survive his daughter’s transformation, I am afraid.”<br/><br/>The handsome, eternal creature smiled a cold, cruel smile, expressive lips twitching back up above sharp canines. “I would very much enjoy him watching as we take his daughter, but if he does not survive that long…” his thumb nail slid up along the stem, slicing a thorn cleanly off, as if by a knife, “alas.”<br/><br/>Turning toward the entry, the man narrowed his eyes. “Melissa has seated our guests. I must visit them. Why don’t you attend as a shadow and toy with the man? He is my gift to you, and your other sister, whenever she arrives.”<br/><br/>That said, he turned from his bride, presenting her with his broad shouldered back, narrow waist, and perfectly delectable, somehow vulnerable (though properly clothed, of course) ass. It was his nature to tempt Izolde, no matter how many years they’d been together as lovers.<br/><br/>A few minutes later the handsome, seemingly young man with dark hair framing his pristine face, swept into the high-vaulted dining room, his accent whispering past his lips, yet clearly audible to all.<br/><br/>“Welcome to my home. I trust you had a fine voyage?” His gaze slid across and around the table, the mental link he had with the older woman growing only stronger at this first intimate contact, though the Count cared little for her. It was the redhead who fascinated him. The redhead who would be his.<br/>