Vincent did not budge as the shadow fluttered from the canopy onto the ground. Nothing of him except for his gaze moved to follow the shadow – that and a small curl of his lips in what was almost a sneer.

The just-seconds-ago transparent shadow shed its misty form and shifted into a slender human shape full of jutting hipbones and high cheekbones. An ivory-skinned male, easily ten years Vincent's junior stood at the side of the bed. The stranger's eyes were red and accentuated in deep black liner making them look like they would pop out of his face.

"Gods above, I did not picture you as a robe-wearing sort," said the man in a posh London lilt as he adjusted a fur around his shoulders. "Silk? Is silk still in? All the fellows are wearing satin down in London now."

Vincent's guest was clad in white. His coat and tails were shimmery satin, nearly opalescent. The lord knew it was simply to tease anyone who saw him in believing he was some sort of angel. With that thought, Vincent scoffed. "Cobin." He gave the other a raise of a brow in greeting.

"Style above all, good man," Corbin uttered to no one in particular while bushing dust only he could see off his shoulders. "I always feel so dirty after I shift."

"Then perhaps you should not," Vincent emphasized as he rolled on his side and rose.

Sitting on the bed without invitation, Corbin crossed his legs. "Pfff."

Vincent wanted to tell Corbin to get off his bed but the two men went back centuries so he let it slide. "Was it you?"

An arch of a perfectly plucked brow. "Was it me what, little brother?"

"I was sleeping then I heard a sound."

Corbin raised his hand. "Guilty."

"I thought you stopped dropping into people's homes unannounced. You know you should not..." Crossing his arms over his chest, Vincent shook his head. "What if I had been in the altogether or doing something you should not be witnessing?"

Vincent's words made Corbin giggle. "First of all, I have seen you in the," he raised his hand and waved it around, "altogether before and though you were a delicious sight to behold, I see you only as a friend." Corbin mock-pouted and mouthed, Sorry. "Secondly, if you were to do anything I hope it's with that delightful little treat you have tucked away in my old room." Covering his mouth to stifle another giggle, Corbin looked at Vincent.

A frown ghosted over the lord's face. "Don't speak of him that way."

"Oh, stars above. He is not merely a treat, is he?"

"You were in his room."

Corbin let the fur slide off a single shoulder. "I was in my room."

"It has not been your room for twenty years," Vincent hissed.

Waving his hand around, Corbin sighed, "Details. But I will apologize. I did not know you had a guest until I was in. Honestly, I had no intention of gallivanting around your place unannounced, I know how you get all huffy about that but I found out you were back home and I wanted to surprise you. I did miss you, you know. Did you miss me at all?"

Although Vincent rolled his eyes he uttered a yes. "Even though you often drive me mad, I did miss you. After all, you were the first vampire friend I ever made and one of the few I know that I do not wish would dig a hole and crawl in it for good."

Pulling up the fur, Corbin said softly. "Not friend, brother."

"Brother." Vincent nodded in agreement. "You kept me from stepping out into the sun when Esme –"

Corbin interrupted, "You would have done the same."

When Vincent had lost his beloved wife, it had been Corbin who stayed by his side and listened to his grief. Corbin spent months holding him together when he was brutally falling apart. When Vincent would refuse to go out to hunt, it was Corbin who offered him his wrist, something frowned upon in the vampire community and often rewarded with death. Through the immense pain, it was the red-eyed vampire who made Vincent carry on. The two ended up living together for two centuries until the call of Corbin's feral nature got too loud for him to ignore. Upon seeing his brother would not end his unlife, Corbin left. Though he would always return after a handful of years, it was not until twenty years ago that he returned to his native London and fell in love with the brothels and opium dens of Limehouse.

"Anyway, I came to let you know that since your departure to Germany I have moved back here. I've got a quaint little place, a stone's throw away."

Vincent moved to a velvet settee and sat down. "Did London bore you?" He asked with genuine surprise. "I thought the Limehouse area had entrapped you in its web."

"I am not a fly. Besides," Corbin said, "he is here." Leaning back on his hands, Corbin let out a dramatic sigh."

"He? Who is he?"

Ignoring Vincent, Corbin leaned back until he was laying on the bed as though it were his own.

"Corbin Stoker, who is this he you are talking about?"

Sitting up with a huge smile on his lips, Corbin ran his fingers through his ashen hair and sighed again before replying, "Dracula."