The White Fur of Wolves
Dracula’s eyes darkened with lust as he thought of her. Only, he wasn’t thinking of Buffy Summers, the Slayer. Oh, no... his thoughts were fixed on a woman whose hair was the color of the sun and whose eyes were like dark chocolate.
And this woman happened to be the Slayer’s mother, of all things...
Joyce Summers, he mentally remarked. A dark smile twisted itself like a snake onto his lips.
Her smile, her laugh... the way she could’ve been with him in the bedroom – after he drank from her and then sired her, of course.
He looked over at the empty throne beside his, and for a moment, his smile changed into a look of sadness. But then, it reverted back into his well-known trademark smirk, and darkened a bit further at the thought of her sitting in that throne.
A beautiful tiara made of diamonds sitting in that beautiful nest of yellow locks she referred to as hair. Her wearing a dress made of black velvet that would bring out the darkness in her chocolate eyes. Bedecked in the most beautiful jewelry as to be found nowhere else.
Rather than grow weaker and older as the years passed, like the mortals he encountered over the centuries eventually did, she would grow stronger and lovelier instead.
Then the thought of spoiling her as a doting parent would with a child came to him, and he smiled a little at that. Perhaps he could spoil Joyce in that way... maybe.
Where he himself had once gone to in solitude and walked alone, now he would take Joyce with him as a newly married man. She would get a chance to experience being in a new country. And she would get a chance to see with her own eyes what he himself had seen, too.
Tasting the wines of Paris, France. Learning some new dance moves in China as the women moved their whole bodies and their selves to the beautiful notes that would flow through the air while wearing kimonos of every color in the world and had dragons stitched on them.
Spending some time in Africa, where she could hear all sorts of stories about the animals that lived there, as well as the stories of the trickster they called ‛Anansi the Spider’.
Being in Ireland, where she would listen to lovely Celtic music and see the dances, such as the Irish reel. Also there were even more stories that, it was said, had the ability to be heard by and inspire even the most uninspired of writers. Only these stories would be about beings such as fairies and mischievous leprechauns who would guard their pot of gold unless they were caught by a human and then had to give the human their gold, as well as some wishes. The number of wishes given by a leprechaun was usually three, like the genies from the story of Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp, which he had heard about more than once.
All those thoughts and imaginings flew through Vlad Tepesh’s head in only a second. Seeing that the sun was coming, he got up from his throne and headed to his bedroom.
His bed, he knew, would be empty no longer. He knew that he would have a beautiful queen to share it with, who would also be a mate that would love him for all time...