Hunters

Chapter 2

Mortals were so stupid. The newest trend was buying Dracula's Dust. There was no such thing as Dracula.

Vlad shook his head and stroked his moustache. It reached past the corners of his mouth, just like his brother's had. If anyone saw him now, the panic caused would be considerable. He chuckled at the thought.

The resemblance to his brother was overwhelming. The same bulging eyes, straight, aquiline nose, thin mouth and shoulder length brown hair. The only difference between them was that his brother had been dead for over five hundred years.

The great ruler rises again. Oh, how the mortals would squeal and run. They'd think Vlad the Impaler was back from the grave to seek vengeance. Vlad sighed. That would never happen. The world was stuck with him. The fake Vlad. He'd impersonated his brother for so many centuries, he couldn't remember his real name. So, fake Vlad he would always be.

He'd tried so hard to save this land, to be his brother, but, instead, he'd started these moronic vampire rumors. The real Vlad had been a hero, fighting to the death for the country he loved, trying to break it free of the Turks. He, instead, even if he tried to keep the country afloat after the real Vlad's death, had been betrayed and imprisoned in this castle he now called home. His condition had stamped 'vampire' all over his beloved brother's forehead.

Stupid, stupid mortals who couldn't tell the difference. Of his past, this was the only still hurtful memory – having his brother dishonored like that. He should walk down the street, in clear view of the human idiots. At least that would give the gossip some foundation.

Vlad turned back to the room. More important thing required his attention. He had no time for a stroll down memory lane. He took in the peeling white walls of the room he'd made his office. Except for two massive wood cabinets, a long, sturdy table and a couple of chairs, it was empty. Just like most of the castle. He cringed at the memory of humans taking his family's possessions away. But he could do nothing about it. Yet.

"My Lord!"

Stroe, one of his oldest, most faithful vampires rushed through the door, wringing his hands. He knelt before Vlad, his copper locks hiding his thin face.

"Rise." Vlad waved his hand lazily. "What has happened?"

"Iaroslav has been killed, my Lord," Stroe mumbled, his chin stuck to his chest.

Vlad's eyes widened. "Iaroslav? One of the heads of Prague?" That vampire was older than dirt, which made him very hard to kill. "How the devil is that possible?"

"Hunters, my Lord."

Vlad curled his hand into a fist and his jaw tightened. Of course. Hunters were involved. Nothing except Hunters and thirst could kill a vampire. And with a pool of over a million people, a vampire of Iaroslav's caliber would never starve, which made the news even more unsettling.

"There are no Hunter teams in Prague. We exterminated the lot of them from the Czech Republic over a century ago."

Stroe trembled. "We do not believe they are a local team."

Vlad raised his eyebrows. "Someone dared leave their region uncovered? I didn't believe any Hunter teams would wander away from their bases seeing as there's so little of them left."

"These are new, my Lord."

"New?" Vlad scoffed. "There haven't been any new teams, let alone ones powerful enough to kill a vampire like Iaroslav, in over a century. The only reason Hunters are not extinct is because they hide so well."

"That is what our sources in Prague say. They are angry the American clans did not send warning that some of their Hunters had left the continent." Stroe straightened and produced a folder from behind his back. With a trembling hand, he passed it to his master.