He'd come for her in the darkest of nights, his fangs sinking into the delicate flesh of her throat. He'd looked into her eyes then, his being demanding that she be his for ever after. And she'd said yes, even as the blood drained from her veins and her canines lengthened. Corpse like, she'd pulled him close, the vampire's teeth coming loose as he embraced his lover, the woman pulling him, her tresses falling across her face. He'd brushed them aside, thin, bloodless lips pressing against her own. Even though both cold and lifeless, the two undead felt such heat, their passion for one another fueling the fires of their souls, even if their humanity had long since left.

But something remained in a tiny spark of morality. They'd run that night, his wings rising up around his body to push up from the roof top. She'd sunk her head into his chest, enjoying the feel of his black silk shirt against her face, an exotic scent washing through her senses speaking of danger and the great unknown. It'd been beautiful, like a large red and black rose flowering; its harlequin colours speaking of a great many dark things even if it was a truly beautiful sight.

And the black rose had thorns.

She'd waged war against his needs, his demands, his fiery spirit quelled as she refused the blood of innocents, her face contorting as he tried to make her drink, to sustain herself. He'd laughed when she went after livestock, her own sense of right and wrong remaining, that tiny spark.

And he felt it too. For all his darkness, the Count felt that tiny spark igniting in his chest. His mirth had subsided; for her, his contempt would never have a place.

Love was a truly beautiful thing.

The dark forest rushed by beneath his feet as he pushed to return, his spirits lifting as he sighted the lone castle which hung over the barbed, worn mountains, the forest trails leading up to the nearly impenetrable rock wall which barred the way into his own personal abode.

The Count smelled of the city, his robes covered with the stench of exhaust fumes; the busy streets staining his clothes. With it had come a longing; he knew she'd be waiting, by the highest window. And he could see it, the single glowing portal in the castle's tallest tower; her shape silhouetted in the light; The Harlequin Rose.

He took her in a hard embrace, exploding through the window, gathering her up in his arms. Strong and desperate, he pulled at her silk bodice, falling down into the soft cotton sheets.

The Count then became aware of an incessant bleeping noise. With an annoyed growl, he raised his head, leaving his surprise lover spread across the bed. She made a face and took his hand in hers, pulling him down into her arms once again.

"My love? What's wrong?"

"Dearest…what exactly is that thing in the corner?" He gestured toward a large cylindrical pot where black and purple lilies spilled forth. Beneath it, a large silver and gold package was whirring rather alarming. It was a perfect cube, adorned with several silver ribbons and produced a rather annoying beeping noise.

"It arrived today; I must confess I haven't had time to look who it was from…I thought you should be the one to open it." She smiled sweetly, adjusting her tresses before whispering huskily into his ear.

He grinned and took her in his arms. In the corner, beneath the ornately carved walls, the red wax candles and the many gargoyles…who were sticking their fingers in their ears with rather pained expressions.

The nuclear bomb caused the two vampires hunters' brown coats to flap in the wind as the shock-wave caught them. The bomb blew the castle to smithereens with such force that debris shot high into the air leaving burning ribbons flowing out behind them much like comets, falling down into the forest below. The leader, his face half covered by a thick pair of blackened glasses which took away the worst of the glare, chewed his lip as his face was lit up by the fiery mushroom cloud that rose up above them. Behind him, her peroxide blond fringe pulled back in a rough bun, the single pale face woman rolled her eyes and sat back onto a boulder; the only other occupant of the hillock with her arms folded.

After another flame filled moments thought, a stick was raised, the hot wind now scouring the grass off the single hillock the two were stood upon.

There was a single marshmallow stuck on the end.

"I don't think 'Overkill' is the right word. More like; Holy fucking mother of god Wrathwell," The woman comment wryly "What did you do?" The sugar had already blackened to a crisp before the woman had finished speaking, the leader sticking the now nuked sweet into his mouth and chewing with a look of mild appreciation on his face.

"Did you really have to do that? And where in hell did you get a tactical nuke from? It's not something you tend to find lying around!"

"It was left on a train. And yes, vampires are a goldmine when it comes to arcane research. Hundred more ways to kill a vampire and what a fun way to spend my year off. Marshmallow?"

She took the offending article after a while staring at its now glowing exterior.

"I still can't believe marmite can be a killer."

"…and Hershey bars." There was a horrible pain filled howl from somewhere within the firestorm. He barely flinched, chewing on a rather reluctant charred sugary lump. "Wooo, still alive. The easiest thing to kill in the world and yet they gain so much acclaim. I wonder if they survive the blast; the radiation might make them sparkle. That'll make a few people more than happy."

"I guess."

She shook her head before with a great degree of care, fished a large pair of binoculars from her pocket.

"Would you look at that." She commented after a while looking through the rather beaten lenses "They are still alive…oh wait…they're on fire. And screaming…ooh…I think one just lost an arm…wow, silk does burn rather well." She took the lenses away and gave the man another look. He'd attached another marshmallow to the end of his stick and was once again toasting it in the burning air "That kills them right?"

"Think so." He tugged the sweet free and turned it over in his fingers, admiring the green sparkle the thing now had. "Nuclear fire always seemed a bit hard to come by…good to see we cleared that question up."

"You scare me Wrathwell. And that's saying something…I scare myself."

"Feelings mutual. All I've done is mix things up a little, put a cat amongst the pigeons."

"A bloody lion that fires lasers from its eyes and has a chainsaw for a mouth into a crowd of well stuffed cuddly toys more like. Next time we get sent out, I'm doing the kit checks."

"Awww!"

"Anyway. Lets leave conversations about nuclear holocausts and vampires to the morning as well as that rather pissed off telephone call from Top Brass." The woman rose to her feet and shouldered her large, ornate sniper rifle. "I can now safely say we've been dosed. I'm going home before I'm having to pick my hair off the floor along with most of my face. You coming Wrathwell?"

"Nah." The was a faint rustle within Wrathwell's brown coat "I've got a whole bag to get through before I head off tonight."

"Well, don't make yourself ill. I'd love to see you try and regenerate new teeth when you get gum disease."

She left in a cloud of ash. The flames rolled back in as the black sky was obscured by the violent gray shades of debris and nuclear radiation. It was every once in a while, disturbed by the crackle of plastic, as marshmallow after marshmallow was quickly toasted in the burning air. Wrathwell barely flinched as the trees split and whined in the fire, branches falling and whatever leaves that remained replaced by cascades of embers which were torn away on the winds.

"Wrathwell?" The woman was back, her face grim as she glared at the single tall shadow on top of the mound "You don't by any chance, happen to have another bomb?"

"Maybe."

"You aren't, perchance, heading to a rather isolated pine forest in North America in a few hours?"