[ It hurts. He can feel the skin of his scalp start to tear away from his head at that long cut from yesterday. Dracula's speaking an inch from his throat, now. He's going to die. He's going to die and leave the two of them alone to deal with Alucard's insane fucking father without him.

And then there's a bang from the Saint-Etienne and Dracula recoils. Consecrated silver bullets are consecrated silver bullets, even to him. His grip loosens enough that Trevor's hair can slip through his fingers and he topples to the ground, pressing a hand tightly to the dressing on his head.

Dracula's nails extend into long claws as he draws himself back to his full height, and Trevor stumbles to his feet to put himself back between those claws and Sypha, but he only uses them to pluck the bullet out of his shoulder. He extends his hand, holding the bullet between his claws at arm's length as if it were something extremely smelly until Trevor finally gets the message and takes it from him, pocketing it. ]

Very well.

[ He is unimpressed. But the appeal to the effect of Lisa's death upon their son, at least, seems to have saved them both from death. ]

You both live until he has the chance to make his own case for your survival. But I do not leave his side, and so he does not go by daylight.