The scene was macabre in the politest of terms, the news papers would like the murders to that of Vlad the impaler, something the Romanians rarely did simply because most didn't like to revel in their dark past. but there was certainly someone who fancied themselves a vampire. it happened from time to time in particularly so close to Transylvania. it happened from time to time some psycho would find their way to Transylvania and start killing it whatever way they saw fit for a vampire....It was a terrible thing to reoccur in the area, but there was just some sort of unstoppable thrill for serial killers to muder on such hallowed ground.

Zelek smiled at the bodies that hung upside down from the tree in front of him. it was a family of six. he killed their dog for fun, they hung there like an upside down holiday portrait. each one's throat slit and bleeding into a funnel with a tube running down to a large metal keg. The funnels were fastened to their victims via mutant means. the bodies held simular expressions. tears and other bodily fluids ran down the corpses as death set in. Zelek was used to it. the screams of the family as they accepted their fates and died was his favorite part. the family was particularly feisty at first too, swinging about and trying to attack him or free each other.

the young ones were finally running out of blood, so that meant that the older ones didn't have too terribly much longer. He pulled the long tubes out of the top of the keg and secured the lid in place again using his on earthly talents.

He tilted the dolly, dragging the two wheeled contraption and starting dragging hi liquid oxygen home. Vampires, zelek could tell you weren't what teenage romance novels would have you believe, he wasn't interested in dating some plain Washington state girl , that smell unbearably good. his eyes didn't change colors with the emptiness of his stomach, he couldn't survive off of animal blood. He wouldn't if he could. He sure as hell didn't glitter like some bejeweled or sequenced purse. He didn't regret his long life, he didn't yearn for mortality, he didn't yearn to fit in with those destined to die and stop living. He didn't care for wolves but he wasn't about to run from a pack of native Americans. He wasn't pale because he needed to stay out the sun, he was pale because he was dead. because he was of Russian orientation originally and his skin simply didn't have a use for sunlight anymore.

he didn't drink blood because he was thirsty or had a craving for it...well originally anyhow. He drank it because it held oxygen, oxygen that was paramount to his survival. He didn't have fangs, unless of course he manifested them himself. binding some element to his teeth.

He did as he said have a power beyond his need for blood, sexy pale skin, and sultry, husky, chilling voice. he could manipulate matter, his powers had dwindled since the days of the living, but his fathers heart sat in his chest beating to the tune of murder. He was raised by his patron hunter to be bloodthirsty, to relish the hunt, to enjoy every whimper and scream, to draw out the most agony you possible could. misery tasted good, it flavored blood in such a way that most wouldn't recognize. adrenaline and other hormones were released into the blood stream and made him wild for more.

He whistled as he pulled the dark green and battered dolly behind him, his mood was lightened by the tragedy behind him, he wouldn't be suffocating from a lack of blood in his diet anytime soon. It wasn't as if he had much pursuit particularly with the havoc that Romania had been in these past few months, the fool government had provoked the mutants, he was personally saddened by the fact that the people of the nation couldn't defend themselves, no they waited on the Americans. A large number of which he had a bit of recognition of, It looked like the large majority were out of his old home city, He yearned for his old new york city haunts. But he still searched for the elusive Hunter Antonescue, but soon he would give up the man hunt and simply let Hunter find him when he wanted. The little revolt at some remote location where the government had staged their little day camp was a reminder of the fantastic things he was missing back in the city that never slept.

He inhaled deeply, something that was purely for dramatic purposes. He remembered the scent of that high heeled nun in the church. oh and the coffee slinging apron wearer...if he could manage to find those two in new york he could die happy. well after they did anyhow. then there was the medium. and the red head, His love when his heart still beat with his own blood.