The deep night had fallen, not a sound disturbed the moor save for the beat of a ravens wings. To Solomon it was both a curse and a blessing. Nighttime was vampire time and it was only his faith in the wards that he had laid that allowed him to doze even fitfully. Even this was disturbed when, near the early hours of the morning, he heard the sound of hooves, and the soft knicker of his horse. Someone was coming. 

He glanced quickly around the hovel. He rose swiftly and pushed together a small heap of sticks and other wooden debris that has been left by the previous inhabitants. He sprinkled fire dust on the pile and sparked it to life. A bright white flash and then a small fire was burning on the floor. It was not much, but it was enough to illuminate the space. He returned to his place by the wall and leaned back again, sword in one hand, another resting on a small collection of globes carrying holy water. He waited.

The ghoul, or whatever it was, slipped soundlessly into the hovel through its only entrance, it was a hovel after all. Solomon, still leaning against the wall, watched the creature through hooded eyes from beneath the brim of his hat and had to resist the urge to snort in derision as it tiptoed toward the prostrate form of Emily. The wardings he had placed around him so carefully the night before easily illuminated the ghoul in a soft golden glow, though it did not prevent the undead creature from throwing a deep shadow over whatever it passed across. 

His hand was already resting on the hilt of his sword, the silver inlay ideal for killing a vampire, but this was a ghoul. A common creature he had faced countless times. Not that it mattered really, every creature, no matter how evil, could not survive its head being hacked off. Except trolls. Those were trickier, thankfully they were as dumb as fence posts.

Solomon waited as the ghoul crept further into the hut, almost comically slow as it went. He had been preparing to attack the thing when it occurred to him that there was only one reason why it was so interested in Emily and not him. Edward was nearby. He could wait.

The ghoul gathered up Emily in its arms and began to move quickly toward the door now, making small noises, and for an instant Solomon was concerned that he had waited to long and sprang to his feet. At that instant Edward himself burst through the door with a snarl, shattering what little wood remained like an enraged bull, crashing head first into the ghoul. The creature reeled back, dropping Emily as it did so. 

Solomon wasted not a moment and swept his longsword out, hacking the ghouls head from its shoulders. The body crumpled to the floor even as he whipped out a small globe of holy water and hurled it onto the corpse. The creature, whatever it was, began to smoke and shrivel at once, burning with the righteous fury of God. The small fire that Solomon had lit was beginning to burn low. 

Vampire Prince and Vampire Hunter faced each other across the small dirt floor, Emily between them, her muffled cries coming from within the cloak. Edwards claws were still red from his battle with the Vampire Hunters, his clothes sodden with the nighttime dew, and anger raced across his features. With a start, Solomon realized that the undead fool might actually love the girl at his feet. Someone had clearly never explained to him that she was going to die long before he was. No matter. They would both die now.

"Prince Edward! Welcome! So nice of you to join us!" Solomon crowed as he drew a wooden stake from his belt, silver glinting on the tip. He took a step forward and drove his sword toward the Vampire.