Romania, 1453

Crops and buildings burned, casting an orange glow through the dense smoke, silhouetting the army as they crossed the remains of their latest conquest. Their prince, Vlad, Son of the Dragon, lead them through the ashes. There was a yell from ahead of them, and the scraping sound of charred wood scraping against dry, barren earth. The army stopped.

A single figure approached through the haze, followed by a gasping, wrenching cough, as the man breathed in the smoke. He staggered into view. The young man stood there, dressed in the rags of a farmhand, wielding a thin plank of wood as a sword, his silver hair caked in ash and soot. He coughed again. "You will pay for desecrating our land!" He stepped forwards, before his leg gave out, and he crashed to the ground.

Several archers readied their bows, before their leader raised a hand, signalling for them to wait. The prince got down from his horse, and drew his sword. "You wish to fight me? Go ahead." Vlad twirled the sword around in his hand.

The young man pushed himself off the ground, his white knuckles covered in dirt and shoot. He lunged forwards, and the prince dodged easily, smacking him in the back with the flat of his blade. The farmhand landed face first in the dirt.

"You are brave, young man. And for your courage, I will give you a choice. I can kill you now, and you can die a warriors death," the prince leant down, and looked the young man straight in the face, "Or I can give you power beyond your imagining. The power to rule beside me... What do you say?"

The horses scraped their hooves nervously across the dry dirt. The man raised his head, and feebly... Nodded. Thunder crackled in the distance. The prince grinned maliciously. His pupils expanded, growing to fill his entire eye, and his canines extended. He bit deep into the man's neck, and his screams split through the silence of the empty battlefield...

* * *

Nick Silvermane sat in the interview room of the Metropolitan Police Station in London, staring blankly at the mirrored wall in front of him, pondering his lack of reflection for the first time in what he realised was a very long time. Eventually, a detective pushed open the door, and sat down at the table across from him.

"Good morning, Nicholas," The man nodded, "May I call you Nick?"

"Call me whatever you like if it's gonna get this over with." Nick sighed, leaning back in his chair. The handcuffs linking him to the table dug into his wrists.

The detective smirked, flipping through the folder in his hands. "Do you know why you're here, Nick?"

"Because your lot think I murdered someone." Nick sighed.

"And did you?"

"What do you want me to say?"

The detective shrugged nonchalantly, and leant back in his chair. "I want you to tell me the truth."

Nick rolled his eyes. "No, I did not kill Alice Mavery."

"The evidence says otherwise." Nick looked at the man's badge. Detective Helsin.

"What evidence?" Nick protested.

Detective Helsan pulled pulled out a sheet of paper from the folder. "We have an eye witness, saying they saw this man enter her apartment with her at seven thirty on the date of the murder... And then leave covered in blood a few hours later." The detective pushed a witness sketch across the table.

Nick stared down at his own portrait. "Eyes can be deceiving." He suggested. "Eye witness accounts are the weakest for of evidence. I have a roommate, he'll tell you the truth. I stayed home that night, I swear."

"The murder was a little long ago to remember exactly what you were doing."

"The murder was a little long ago to only now bring me in for questioning."

Detective Helsin looked at him for while. "It took us a while to find you. We ran your sketch through our database. Nothing. No mug shots, license, passport, anything."

"I haven't needed one. I catch a bus to work and I haven't left the country in my life."

* * *

Transylvania, 1897

Lord Nicholas Parargintiu lounged across the crimson padded chair, three women lying around him, their black hair cascading down the sides of their slender snow white faces.

"'Tis a shame, Harkon left so soon," one of them drawled, "I would have liked to have a little fun before. Even if he wasn't fit for us."

"Am I not fun enough for you?" Nicholas asked. The three women giggled.

The doors burst open in front of them. A tall, cloaked figure stood in the opening. "Count?" Nicholas leapt to his feet. "I was not expecting your return so soon."

The count raced past him, throwing his cloak over a chair, and pulling open the heavy curtains. The lights of a carriage wound heir way up the solitary path towards Castle Dracula. "It is no longer safe for us here, old friend," the count said urgently, "For any of us. You must leave. Travel to Paris, to Rome, as far away as the Americas, if you must."

Nicholas looked around the room as the castle doors were forced open downstairs. "What is happening, Vladmir?"

The frantic yells of Englishmen echoed through the halls. Two men burst through into the room, and fired crossbow bolts into two of the women. Their forms crumbled to dust as the wooden bolts pierced their hearts. "Quincey, Helsing, up here!"

The count grabbed Nicholas by the arm and pulled him through into the next room, snatching his cloak off the chair as the door slammed shut behind them. "What will you do if I go?" Nicholas asked with a forced laugh, "You've only made it through the last four hundred years alive with me by your side."

"That's where your wrong," The count smiled as they raced up the stairs of the castles highest tower, "I haven't been alive the last four hundred years, with or without you." They reached the open bell tower and looked out over the forest and small village below. "And I'm afraid if we stay together, neither of us will be around much longer."

Nicholas looked out over the ledge, a lump forming in his throat. "My-my powers don't extent to that of yours, my lord. I can't transform-"

"Neither can I, without this." The count held out the faded cloak, which Nicholas threw around his shoulder. Footsteps echoes up the stairs behind them.

"Farewell, Lord Nicholas Parargintiu." The man said, thin lips twisting into a sad smile.

Nicholas embraced his friend. "Farewell, Count Vladimir Dracula." The two broke apart, and the young man leapt from the tower, the cloak flowing behind him as his form morphed into that of a large bat, and the screams from castle Dracula filled the air, and then were silenced...

* * *

"Even so," Detective Helsin shrugged, "We couldn't find anything. No school I.D, no library cards."

Nick scrambled for a cover story. Luckily, he didn't need one. The door behind the detective opened, and another officer leant in the doorframe. "We gotta release him. This guy can vouch for his alibi." The cop stepped aside to reveal David standing awkwardly in the hallway, rocking back and forth on his heels. Detective Helsin leant over and unlocked the handcuffs binding Nick to the table.

The vampire stood up and massaged his wrists. "Apologies for the inconvenience, Mr. Silvermane." Detective Helsin smiled, forcefully.

"No troubles, detective. I hope you bring the real killer to justice." Nick nodded at the man as he left, joining David as they continued down the hallway. "Thanks." The redhead just nodded quietly until they left a building. "I can flag us a cab back to the apartment. God, I'll be lucky if I don't lose my job. They'd understand, right? Taken in for questioning about a mur-"

"I can normally tell if people are lying," David said, steering his housemate around the curb, "Their pulses accelerate."

"I can sense it too, welcome to the-"

"The problem with you, Nicholas, is that you don't have a pulse." The ginger cut him off.

Nick looked the man up and down. He looked like he'd cleaned himself up before he'd left the house. He'd shaved, and attempted to comb his hair, which hadn't really worked. "What's with the tough guy act all of a sudden?"

"There's no act, Nick,"

"Pulses accelerate."

The two men stood there for a minute on the sidewalk, a light rain slowly soaking it's way through their clothes. "Listen, I-I'm going to ask you one question," David stammered, "And I want you to answer it truthfully. Did you kill that girl."

Nick was silent. "Dave—"

"Did you kill her?"

"Yes." Nick whispered, finally taking a step back and staring at his feet. "But you knew that, didn't you."

David seemed to deflate slightly. He nodded. "It was the night before we met... Come on." He grabbed Nicks shoulder and directed him down the street.

"Where are we going?" Nick asked.

"The pub."

"It's eleven in the morning."

"I had a rough night."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm having a bit of a rough morning."

"Perfect!" David smirked, "The Winchester it is then."

David pushed open the door to the pub as the two stepped inside. It was a small space, with a few booths, a small stage at one end, and a pool table on the wall opposite the bar. A tall redheaded woman played the guitar on stage for the few lunchtime patrons.

"Morning Dave." Grunted the bartender, an ageing man with grey streaks in his brown beard.

"Harold." David nodded, as he and Nick sat down at a booth.

"How often do you come here, exactly?"

David swallowed. "Monday through Wednesday, every week." His eyes widened. "It's uh... The cheap lunchtime specials." He nodded at the chalkboard above the bar, which indeed displayed the lunchtime specials. Nick also noticed the chalkboard beside the musician, that read 'I Play: Monday to Wednesday, and Saturday Nights'.

"And I'm sure it's nothing to do with her."

Any confidence David had outside vanished. "W-what are... I mean... I didn't even notice that sign..."

"Sure you didn't." The vampire smirked as David signalled to the barman for two drinks. "So, what her name?"

"I uh... I don't know." He admitted.

"You mean you have asked her?"

"I haven't spoken to her." Nick laughed as he leant back in his chair, a waitress placing two glasses in front of them.

The woman finished her song, and leant closer to the microphone. "We're gonna be taking a short break here folks, and I'll be back shortly." She grinned to the small crowed, before hopping off her stool and practically skipping over to the bar.

"You should go talk to her." Nick urged.

"What?" David asked, swallowing a mouthful of his drink, "Ask her if she wants to go to the pub?"

"I'm serious mate," his friend smiled, "While your wolf-ish adrenaline is still going and you might not entirely screw this up. What the worst that can happen?"

David sighed. He looked from his glass, to Nick, to the musician. "You're right." He shook his head, standing up.

"'Atta boy, Dave!" Nick smirked, sipping his own drink. He regretted it. It tasted like sawdust. He watched as David leant on the bar beside the musician.

"H-hi there." David said quietly. "You uh, you played really well up there."

The redhead smiled, turning from her plate of chips to look at him. "Oh, thank you!" She smiled, finishing her mouthful. "I'm glad you liked it. Do you play?"

David visibly relaxed. "Not guitar, no. But I used to play the violin, actually. I'm David."

The musician went to say her name as she shook his hand. That was when the gunshots started.

* * *

Mediggo, 1918

Bullets whizzed past their heads as soldiers clung to the dirt walls of the trenches. General Nicholas Graystoke poked his head over the edge of the sandbags as he watched his fellow soldiers charge onto the battlefield, only to be mowed down in rows, their bodies falling to the ground amidst their brothers.

"Any ideas, sir?" One of his infantry men asked him from his left.

The general sighed, lowering himself back down as he loaded his rifle. "Ideas? Well personally if I was a religious man, I'd start praying."

The soldier, nodded, his fingers encircling themselves around a small cross around his neck. "Are you religious, sir?"

Nicholas stared at the ground. "I used to be, but now it's a little more... Complicated." He popped up over the trench and fired a round at the enemy soldiers advancing towards them.

"We're going to die up there, aren't we sir?" The soldier asked, looking over as the general returned to his level.

"Only if they order us to advance." Nicholas sighed. He could hear the dread in the man's voice, even over the gunshots. A shudder when through the man's lungs. The general placed a hand on the man's shoulder, "You alright lad?"

"It's just sir..." The man sniffed. A single tear began to carve a path through the dirt and grime on his cheek. He was a few years younger then Nicholas. Maybe eighteen or nineteen. "I-I don't want to die, sir. I never... Never thought..."

In that moment, something changed inside the general. A spark inside him reawakened after centuries of darkness, if only for a moment. The realisation of life. How pure it was at the basic level. For the first time in four hundred years, General Nicholas Graystoke felt what it was like to be human, once again. And in that moment, it was as if the screams of all those he had killed echoed around in his head. The first time he had felt human, was the first time he realised he was a monster.

There was a call through the trenches, as men readied to advance onto the battlefield. "It's been a pleasure, serving its you, sir." The troop beside him whimpered, readying his rifle and drawing his pistol in the other hand.

"To die, is to realise what it's like to live." The general told him, as they stepped onto hastily made ladders, side by side, "And to die beside men, for the betterment of mankind... Is something I could only wish for."

The soldier looked at him for a moment, utterly bemused. A thin smile made its way across his lips. "For King and country."

"For King and country." Nicholas repeated. The whistle blew, and the final line of men charged over the protective walls of the trenches, and directly into the haze of smoke and bullets...

* * *

Nick leapt from his feet, throwing himself towards the bar as the bullet soared right past Davids arm and sunk deep into the arm of the woman at the bar. She screamed as she toppled to the floor, and more rounds were fired into the pub. Men and women ducked behind the bar and under tables, as Nick threw a stool at the two men in the doorway. It connected with one of them, and he stumbled back out.

"David we have to go!" Nick yelled over he noise.

"She's hurt, Nick, we can't just-"

"We have to! Someone else will help!"

David looked at the musician on the ground, who'd knocked herself out when her head hit the tiled floor. "The bullets can't even hurt—" a shimmering projectile sunk into Davids back, and he let out a howl of pain.

"That one!" The gunman, yelled, pointing at David. He went to reload his gun.

"Come on!" Nick's eyes went black as he grabbed David by the collar, dragging him into the doorway. The gunman turned back to them, and panicking, fired a round into Nicks chest. The young man barely even noticed.

"A vampire?" The man laughed, "Even bet—"

Nick punched him in the face, and the crumpled to the ground. He snatched the man's pistol off the ground as he and David, who was now beginning to spasm, rounded a corner. Another few bullets hit them as they turned into an alley.

It was a while before Nick was confident enough he'd lost their pursuers before he took David, who was now unconscious in his arms, back to the house. He threw open the front door, much to the surprise of Genieve and Riley, who were in the middle of a rather heated game of scrabble.

* * *

London, 1986

Nick Silvermane walked through the small house behind the real estate agent. "I hear you've recently returned from California, Mr. Silvermane?" The agent said in an overly cheery tone. "Did you have a nice time?"

"Not as pleasant as I'd hoped." Nick shrugged.

The agent stopped. "So, what do you think?"

Nick considered the old house. "It seems... Almost perfect. Which makes me wonder why it's so cheap." He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes..." The agent tapped his clipboard. "The previous owners are leaving due to... Well, as they put it... Hauntings."

"Hauntings? As in... Ghosts?"

The real estate agent nodded. "Yes. Although, there's no proof mind you. And as far as we can find, nothing has happened in this building for... Well, over a hundred years. Other than a few odd events." He smiled. "So... Final verdict?"

Nick stood in the living room for a moment, eyeing the set of furniture that came with the property. "I'll take it." He said. There was a rumbling from the plumbing upstairs.

"I'm sure it's nothing." The agent smiled, gleefully handing Nick the clipboard. He seemed all too pleased to be able to leave the house...