A carriage pulled up to the large castle, the sounds of the horses whinnying their resolve against their bits echoing off the tall stone walls. From behind, three more solo horses rushed to join it, their hooves making a clacking sound against the cobblestones.

"Sire, you have company," Logan said from his place at the window.

"Who this time?" the Count asked from his chair near the fire as he stared into the orange and yellow flames.

"I am unsure," Logan responded as he watched a man and woman climb from the carriage. The three on horseback were all men and he quickly flicked his emerald green eyes over each of them. "There are five of them, whomever they are. Should I go down to greet them?"

The Count scoffed from his place by the fire. "Let me guess, three men and one woman. I assume the final is also a man, shorter in stature."

Logan frowned, glancing over his shoulder to see if the Count had moved with vampire speed to one of the other windows, but the raven-haired man still sat in his chair, his back to his fledgling as he stared at the fireplace. "Yes, my lord," he answered at last. "Do you know them?"

"No, but we are about to," Count Dracula responded as he got to his feet with a stiffness Logan had only seen from his maker twice before. The grand elder picked up his goblet of blood and took several long gulps from it. He jutted his chin to the door and began to make his way towards it as his hands crossed behind his back atop the black robe.

Logan followed obediently. He fell into his sire's shadow and trailed behind him to the grand staircase, his steps silent. The two descended just as the double doors of the castle opened.

The first man to enter was tall and dressed in attire similar to the British military. His dark russet hair was tied back from his face, and Logan immediately noticed the saber and pistol at his waist. His guard went up, glancing at each of the other men to see they were also armed. Two of them were similar in height and hair color, the woman had a strut of self-importance in her expensive gown, before his eyes finally rested on the shortest of the men with his black hair and peasant clothes at the back of the group. He squinted, reading his stature. The way he kept his eyes on the tallest man in the front, Logan guessed he was a fledgling.

"Lord and Count Vlad Dracula Dex," the tall man at the head of the party greeted, immediately bowing his chin and at the waist in a nod of respect. "My name is Thorne Winslow, of the elder vampire bloodline founded by King Geraint Winslow. We seek an audience with you for guidance and brotherhood over the turning tides of war amongst vampire-kind."

"'King' is a strong title to give a man who has done nothing but play marauding hero for the past seven centuries," Dracula responded, his heavily-accented voice cool, as he descended the stairs. "What have you any use for me?"

Thorne cleared his throat, his eyes squinting to take in the Count. "It is whispered that you know more about the coming conflicts amongst our kind, that you alone can see the past, present, and future of our covens." He glanced at his siblings. "We have all come in search of company with you to best prepare the shadow world for these coming tidings."

"It takes all of you to hold this meeting?" Dracula asked, his dark eyebrows rising as he took in each of them.

"My siblings and I are in accordance to make this move. We have been branded the Circle of Darkness and are in partnership with a Wolf king from the old Viking lands of Norway within the province of Scandinavia, as well as a witch from a French coven. And we would like to extend an open invitation for you to join us."

"You mean the war with the followers of the Moon Goddess," Dracula said, still not showing the visitors any emotion beyond mere annoyance.

"Yes, Count," Seren Winslow replied. "The enemy has declared death to all of us of the Old Religion. They have named us, 'Shadow Stalkers,' and claim we are too afraid of the new world order in the moonlight, that we would rather skulk in the shadows rather than take our rightful place on the food chain. They want to enslave humans as simple produce for picking, and see death to all supernatural species that oppose them. They plan to turn this world into a place of blood and violence, which is not the ways of the Night Goddess who has given us our immortality."

Dracula nodded a few times, his dark eyes turning to look at the remaining Winslow siblings. "And they are?"

"My brothers, Hadrian Winslow, and Seren Winslow, as well as my sister, Lady Kendall Winslow," Thorne introduced. "And my progeny, Captain Bartholomeu."

"My fledge, the Blood Warrior," Dracula finished the round of introductions, his hand flourishing to mean Logan on the step behind him. "If we are to discuss what is and what is to be, then I suppose we'd best move this out of the foyer." The immortal continued to move down the steps and passed the group standing in his doorway. He strode off to the left where another set of double doors waited. He walked in as a steward pulled it wide, bowing at the waist in respect for the Count.

Logan waited for the guests to file after his sire, watching each of them carefully. He glanced at the other fledge as the man held back to walk beside him.

"You must be Logan Mezdor," the man named Bartholomeu said, his voice calm. "Nathaniel Bartholomeu, of Sussex," he introduced himself more completely than his sire had previously.

"Norfolk?" Logan asked.

"Yes, my lord," Nathaniel said with a nod.

Logan nodded in acknowledgement and gestured the man ahead of him to stand within the large lounge room off the foyer. He gestured to the household servants to bring refreshments. He took up space just inside the door, his body rotated to take in all of the inhabitants within the room and the windows.

Dracula found his other favorite place within the castle in his large armchair that faced the room, its shoulder to the fireplace that crackled with a dying fire. He snapped his fingers twice and whispered something in his mother-tongue of Romanian, a Latin-derivative language. The flames roared back to life, filling the room with sputtered sizzling. The Count steepled his fingers together as he watched the guests stand. He unfolded his hands and gestured to the furniture. "Sit."

"Thank you, my lord," Kendall Winslow answered, moving between her brothers to find a place on the edge of a Turkish divan. She sat in one smooth, graceful motion, her back erect in perfect posture as she perched there. Her dark red gown complemented her olive skin, her golden-brown hair shimmering in the firelight. "Tell us, do you prefer to be called 'the Count,' or do you desire 'the Impaler?'"

"Behave, Sister," Thorne warned as he came into the room to take up space just shy of the Oriental rug. He sat down in a wooden chair. He nodded to his brothers as the two moved into the room to also find a seat.

"'Dracula' will suffice," the Count responded, his tone still cool. "No one desires to see 'the Impaler' any longer. The world has evolved from that time and age... What do you come in search of, beyond my opinion of the war ahead?"

Seren Winslow cleared his throat, uneasy. "We know that there is a telling of the Night Goddess," he started to explain. "One that mentions of a savior that could unify the shadow world. We aim to find that savior and influence this world to the one the Goddess would proclaim."

"The prophecy?" Dracula asked for clarification. His dark, reddish-brown eyes passed to his fledge before returning to the visitors.

"There have been whispers that one exists, yes," Thorne said in reply. "We were told that you would know more."

Dracula's long, white fingers folded together once more as he listened to their words. He considered whether or not the children of Geraint Winslow, king of vampires, were worthy of hearing the future of the world he had once glimpsed.

"And if you do not know, we will move on to the next," the second-eldest brother named Hadrian spat from the back of the room where he had taken up an isolated position near the windows.

Dracula smirked, amused by the challenge in the man's voice. "Yes, there is tell of a savior, an archangel from the heavens of Night," he baited them, watching as three of the siblings immediately leaned forward from their positions, listening carefully, like children with a bedtime tale.

"Dear god... Then it's true you have seen the future," Seren said, his voice full of awe.

"Yes," Dracula said calmly. He paused when the page brought him a glass of dark red wine before beginning to pass out the remaining glasses to the Winslows. "I have seen the world that has yet to be."

"And the savior?" Thorne asked.

"The Dark Child," the Count corrected, using the redeemer's true title.

"They will come to stop this war?"

Dracula nodded again as he relaxed within his armchair. He took in each of the siblings carefully. "I do not know the true ending, but this I do. They must defeat the Bright One's chosen champion. The gods shall decide their victor."

"Are you saying that the Moon Goddess's followers will also have a savior they will claim?" Seren asked, highly intrigued.

"So as I have seen," Dracula said calmly, feigning indifference as he took another sip from his glass. "But if you choose to bring this prophecy to life, you will need to begin assembling the pieces... Or wait for Fate to decide when she wishes to save your coven."

Seren glanced at his brothers before turning to look at the Count again. "Will you aid us in this quest?"

The Count seemed to shrug a shoulder, indifferent. "I s'pose you will need my help if you are willing to tempt Destiny..."