Page 1 of Prince with a Chance of Darkness

Part I

The Past

Burger’sLenore

Denn die Todten reiten schnell.

For the dead travel fast.

—Bram Stoker,Dracula, 1897

Chapter One

Vlad

Approaching the Hoia-Baciu Forest,west of Cluj-Napoca, Transylvania, Romania, twenty-two years ago…

Vlad Draculea (Dracula) moved as black mist. He had no body, no weight, only speed—an unnatural force traveling faster than the wind. Faster than any modern mode of transportation could take him. This was something he normally reserved for short bursts because of how it taxed his system. Not something he used to move from one country to another.

Yet, he had.

Vlad had been at his estate in Essex when Jonathan Harker's frantic mental cry for help had hit him with such force that it had nearly brought him to his knees. It probably would have, had Vlad been standing. As it had been, he’d been feasting from the femoral artery of a very willing,verybeautiful blonde woman and her equally as beautiful redheaded friend. The pair had approached him earlier in the week at a nightclub in London and then joined him on the journey to his estate.

Women were always doing things like that—coming on to him, wanting to be with him—stay with him. Their eyes would glaze over, pupils dilating with desire at his mere presence. It had been that way prior to his rebirth as a creature of the night. Prior to the introduction of the powers of persuasion and seduction that the merging with the demon had brought him.

If one believed the rumors, Vlad had been born of the dragon but sired by the devil. Those who spun tales of him claimed he had taken his first breath as something against nature, something evil.

Something dark.

Maybe they were right.

His had not been an easy life when he’d lived—before death came for him and real darkness claimed his soul. Before a demon was forced upon him, merging with him, transforming him into what he was now—a monster. The source of legends.

The Prince of Darkness himself.

Yet, the title could not make him travel faster. Could not assure he reached the source of his distress in time. Already he was too late to prevent the damage that had been done. He had to hope he wasn’t too late to help at all. For all his powers, all his might, even Vlad had limits.

Had he been at his home in Romania, he would have been close. He could have headed off the issue before it became one. He’d have known that the man he saw as his best friend had betrayed him—had thrown his allegiance behind their maker.

A man they both despised.

A true monster in every sense of the word.

Dragos.

Vlad had known betrayal in his lifetime.

Deep betrayals.

Betrayals that cut far beyond the flesh.

It wasn’t always enemies who held the blade.

Sometimes it was the ones you trusted most. The ones who fought at your side, shared your blood—called you brother.

How Lucian could ever assist the monster was beyond Vlad. When they’d been under the madman’s thumb, forced to do his bidding and carry out his twisted schemes, they’d sworn to one another they’d find a way to stop him. While killing him had proved something of an issue, they had found a way to mystically confine him. It had taken the help of others, men who had come to end them.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

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