She watched her reflection visibly cringe at the thought. It was one thing to cover her body in the blood of smart, young girls. Elizabeth didn’t kid herself into thinking they were “virgins” or “pure” or any of that rot, but at least they hadn’t pole danced for ogling, drooling, fat-assed men. Or, so she told herself. What, actually, did she know of those she’d helped Vlad choose?

Just that they were intelligent, seeking higher education. Something that escaped Vlad.

She grimaced.

Vlad.

Or so he insisted on being called, though, of course she knew his true identity.

He’d given himself the name of Vlad the Impaler, though he had enough names already. But, fine, if he wanted to be Vlad, she’d go along with it. She had taken Elizabeth’s name, assumed her identity, so he, too, had felt compelled to become someone else.

Always a follower, was Vlad.

But she needed him, just as the original Countess Elizabeth had required the help of others who had been as sadistic as she.

Twisting her dark hair onto her head, she admired her profile, then adjusted a few curls to fall loosely at her nape, to play into his fantasy.

That was the difference between them. She was a practical woman who was only trying to extend her life and her beauty, to keep turning heads and feeling vital. And yes, there was a little sadism involved, but all for a purpose.

Vlad, on the other hand, was into the sensual feel of the killing, the bloodletting, the sex of it all.

Which was fine.

She could get as turned on as anyone, she supposed, frowning a bit as one tendril refused to curl seductively. She caught a glimpse of herself and forced her face muscles to relax. She didn’t need to test her own theory and start new lines from forming, marring her perfectly smooth brow. So far, the blood was working, although Vlad had intimated the blood supply was running low.

What kind of a moron allowed that to happen?

He was afraid, that was it. Balking at ramping up the killings of the good ones, always talking of his “lessers.” For the love of God, he just didn’t get it. But then he couldn’t. As intelligent as he was supposed to be, honestly, sometimes Elizabeth wondered. But he was her partner and devoted and she could twist him around her perfect little finger. All he asked was to have sex with the women before and after death. Yes, it was a tad odd, but as long as he pumped the blood from their bodies, so be it. And he adored her. Was faithful in his heart and head, if not his dick.

Who cared?