"Sire..."

Her voice was hesitant and unsure. He found it cute, in a horribly twisted sort of way.

"They're asking for you."

He finally lifted his head. Warm blood was running down his jaw and neck, staining the collar of his white shirt. He looked at her through a fringe of black hair and saw that she was shifting her weight nervously between her feet. It elicited the smallest of smirks.

"Of course they are," he said. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Some of them are quite angry, sire."

"Angry? Are they, really?"

"Well, it's just..."

She looked down. The old geezer was still wheezing for breath, and every now and then his finger would twitch. He had fight in his eyes but not in his bones, and he wasn't concerned.

"... some of them are still religious, sire."

"Are they? How ironic."

He looked down and gave him a wide smile full of needle-sharp teeth. The sight of it had his little heart beating even more frantically, spilling precious lifeblood from the wound on his neck.

"One would have thought we'd have evolved past the need for respect for this pathetic charade," he said. "Find a way to placate them, Lenore. I'll be out when I'm finished with my meal."

The Pope wheezed and trembled and reached vainly out towards Lenore, whose nose wrinkled in disgust.

"At once, Your Majesty," she said, bowing low and leaving the Vampire King to feast in peace.