One Month Ago

Nick Katzenberg sat alone at the corner of a dingy dive bar, nursing a half-finished beer. His fingers trembled as he lit another cigarette, the match briefly illuminating the deep bags under his eyes. He’d tried to push the images out of his head—the faces of the others who had crossed Drake. Their tortured expressions haunted him.

Nick didn’t need to see it again to know what his fate would be if he failed. Dracula—or Justin Drake, as he called himself—had made his point crystal clear during their first meeting.

Nick shivered. He’d seen tough guys reduced to sobbing wrecks after encountering the man. And those were the lucky ones.

The bartender set a fresh glass of whiskey down in front of him. Nick hadn’t ordered it.

"Compliments of the gentleman in the corner," the bartender said.

Nick’s stomach dropped. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. He grabbed the glass with shaking hands, downing it in one gulp before finally turning his head.

There he was. Justin Drake. Tall, composed, and with an air of authority that made Nick’s skin crawl.

Dracula approached, his movements smooth and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He slid into the booth across from Nick, his pale fingers steepling together.

"Mr. Katzenberg," Dracula began, his voice low and calm. "I trust you’ve made progress?"

Nick nodded quickly, pulling a folder from his bag and sliding it across the table. "Y-yeah, I got what you asked for. Everything you wanted to know about Susan Storm-Richards. Her schedules, her charities, even her favorite coffee shop. It’s all there."

Dracula opened the folder and began to review its contents. The dim bar light reflected off his dark eyes, which seemed to glow faintly as he studied a photograph of Sue smiling at a gala.

"She is... radiant," Dracula murmured.

Nick **** a nervous laugh. "Yeah, sure. Real looker. But, uh, you’re not planning anything too crazy, right? I mean, she’s got a family and—"

Dracula’s gaze snapped to Nick, silencing him instantly. "Do not concern yourself with my intentions," he said coldly.

Nick swallowed hard, nodding. "Of course. Whatever you say."

Dracula closed the folder and leaned back in his seat. "You have done well, Mr. Katzenberg. But let me remind you—failure to deliver would have been... unpleasant."

Nick’s mind flashed back to the last meeting, to the screams of the unfortunate souls who had disappointed Dracula. He nodded again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I get it. Loud and clear."

Dracula rose gracefully from the booth, slipping the folder under his coat. "Your cooperation will be rewarded—for now. Go home, Mr. Katzenberg. Rest. But do not forget whom you serve."

Nick watched as Dracula strode out of the bar, his presence leaving a palpable void in the room. Nick slumped back in his seat, his nerves frayed. He didn’t know what Dracula planned for Sue Storm-Richards, and he didn’t want to know.

He just prayed it wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

******************

From his perch on a rooftop overlooking the Baxter Building, Dracula watched the lights in the Richards’ apartment. He could sense her presence even from this distance, her vitality like a beacon calling to him.

"She is strong," he mused to himself, "but ****. A perfect blend."

The folder Nick had provided was useful, but Dracula was a patient man—or rather, a patient monster. This was not the first time he had claimed a mortal of power, nor would it be the last.

In time, Susan Storm-Richards would be his.