Blood Line

Dracula's Castle, Romania

The Castle Dracul had undergone major renovations since the new Prince of Darkness moved into it's medieval halls, early in the twenty first century.

Modernized plumbing, a state of the art sound system, and a fully stocked BDSM torture chamber replicated all the comforts of Silicon Valley, but the Lord of the castle was disheartened and dispirited.

Lucius Deville lounged listlessly in a luxurious water bed after a lavish night with one of his disposable whores. 

Once again he had over fed, becoming bloated and sluggish. Rolling over he pressed a call button summoning his butler.

A century before, after defeating Vladimir in a bloody coup he'd gutted the ancient stronghold moving the bed chambers from the drafty, cold dungeon into the light, airy turret. His furnishings were an exquisite mix of modern New York leather, old world period pieces. Barbarous iron maidens containing his native soil securely surrounding him with the modern comforts of the grave.

He lived for the night, watching porn transmitted by a newly constructed satellite tower, hoping it would make eternity's endless time pass.

Bloated and depressed, he hadn't hunted for his own food in years. He realized how much of a mistake he'd made embracing this undisciplined lifestyle. With every meal handed to him on a platter, he'd become increasingly impotent. Once he'd been lean and hungry, a wolf in winter, now he could be as easily targeted and overthrown as his dark predecessor. Disgusted, he knew he'd become fat, lazy and domesticated.

Sighing, he longed for the time in his immortal death when he'd felt relevant. In the year 2017, it didn't matter how much money he had, how many people he killed, tortured or terrorized.  He was a myth in the eyes of millennials. Dracula was dead. Unknown. An irrelevant, forgotten fairy tale.

He rolled over, kicking the dead blond from his bed. One of the mortal servants would dispose of her body in the furnace. The castle's amenities, such as heat and running water, were mostly for the human staff. Handsomely paid and fearful, he knew they were more easily controlled when addicted to lavish lifestyles. Another Royal Immortal in his territory was always a threat, so after he claimed the castle, he'd disposed of Dracula's soldiers one by one.  Now he was alone in his empire.

He turned when the blond male servant of indiscernible age entered his chamber for the morning cleanup. The butler approached him nervously, with greater caution than usual.

He'd never killed one of these servants, but they treated him as fearfully as a python when feeding time came. They understood not to let his seemingly sedentary nature lull them into relaxing their guard.

"Lord Lucius, I have news of the forgotten one's crypt. The casing's been shattered. She's gone."

Lucius sat up more alert than he'd been in the last hundred years. "How did this news come to you, Fabio?"  He found it hard to believe that Dracula's daughter could have risen." He'd commissioned her entombment in the statue himself through special channels in the Vatican. She'd been the last obstacle to him securing Dracula's home and his legacy.

"One of the workers saw the tomb. He said it wasn't vandalism as the police reported. The grave was undisturbed and nothing was stolen. Just the statue was missing. He said it was as if she'd gotten up and walked away." The servant shuddered.

Lucius snorted. "That's exactly what the bitch did!"

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