by Minda Webber
Rae watched him ride away, his big horse fading into the shadows with the prince’s close behind. Giving him a withering glance, she then turned to face her sister. “What cavalier treatment from that oafish clod! To think I felt sorry for him.”
“Rae, come along. Hurry.” Greta grabbed her sister’s arm and began dragging her toward the side of the manor with their bedchambers. “If Aunt Vivian discovers that we have snuck out of the house like some tarty maids, she’ll ship us back to England without batting an eyelash.”
“That would certainly be tragic for you. No more vampire hunting, I suppose.”
Greta merely smiled. Again, her sister had supposed wrong. Vampires were a delightfully decadent draw, but Prince von Hanzen had suddenly become her main attraction.
For everyone there is a season and a purpose unto heaven. Greta discovered this as the two sisters scurried toward the back of their aunt’s massive house and Rae explained about the baron overhearing their conversation. Greta said little, noting that Rae criticized herself quite harshly for hurting the baron’s feelings. Perhaps her little sister was finally growing up.
“I just wish the ground had swallowed me whole…or that I had met a vampire, and he took me away to be his undead wife,” Rae said honestly. “I hurt that poor man’s feelings, and if his feelings are as big as he is, that’s a lot to hurt.”
As they climbed up a trellis, Greta whispered, “The prince berated me all the way home. He said that all this vampire stuff was unsinn.”
Rae stopped climbing and glanced at her sister. “Well, I guess being a vampire is a sin. But I don’t think hunting them is.”
“Oh, Rae, you never listened at our German lessons, did you? Unsinn means nonsense. The prince thinks vampires are a figment of very active imaginations. He said I was silly and childish for believing such nonsense.”
Lifting a leg over the balcony rail in a very unladylike way, Rae shook her head. “The prince is the foolish one. After all, he thinks I’m a vain, shallow female and you are a foolish liar. Who cares what he thinks? He’s only a prince. Only a handsome and wealthy prince.” Her words made her feel worse.
Climbing onto the balcony, Greta followed her sister inside. “Who, indeed.” But she was a liar, as the pompous prince had already pointed out.
As she stepped inside her bedchamber, Greta heard Rae’s gasp of shock. Glancing over, she saw a large stuffed mink lying across the Persian rug. Her sister’s words followed: “Good grief, what is Aunt’s stuffed mink doing in here?”
“I imagine Miss Muffet brought her to me,” Greta answered, picking up the stuffed mink and setting it atop the dresser.
“Why on earth would the silly cat do that? Aunt will be displeased to have her mink toyed with and clawed.”
“I believe the cat is mostly blind. She likely thinks she is bringing me a nice plump mouse to admire,” Greta replied, untying her deep red cloak. “So far she has brought me a perfume bottle, a rock, and now this lovely stuffed mink.”
“How fortunate,” Rae replied, wrinkling her nose as she too unbuttoned her snow-dusted cloak. “Still, you’d better put the mink back in Aunt’s collection before she discovers its theft. Why she collects minks is beyond me, but I guess it is better than collecting old pipes, as our father does. I wonder if that hulking oaf smokes a pipe? His cape didn’t smell as if he does.”
Greta stopped pulling off her boots to give her sister a stern glance. “I thought you weren’t going to denigrate the baron anymore? Especially since he heard your last unkind comments.”
“I didn’t delegate anything to him. Nor would I!”
“Denigrate, not delegate, you illiterate creature. It means criticize. It’s a grand blessing that you don’t wish to marry a scholar. You’d drive him around the bend on your honeymoon.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Greta. You know I can’t drive a team,” Rae exclaimed. She halfheartedly threw her half-frozen boot at her sister and, rubbing her cold nose, remarked wearily, “Say what you mean, then, rather than using those fancy Latin words. If you don’t quit these bluestocking pretensions, no man will marry you, even if we do now have new wardrobes and brand-new cloaks. No man wants a lady who spouts Latin at the drop of a hat.”
“You sound like Mother.”
“Bite your tongue,” Rae retorted as she picked up her boots to go to her room. “You know, I apologized wholeheartedly to the baron, Greta, for all the good it did me. He barely spoke. And I even invited him to call.”
“He declined?”
Rae stopped by the dresser a moment but didn’t turn her head. “He declined, the big oaf—and I’m not denigrating him, just stating a truth. He’s utterly huge, and a stupid man.”
“I thought him quite well spoken when I heard him jest tonight with others before Herr Mozart began playing. He has a sharp wit, and seems a fine man with a fine character. He did not deserve your scorn, and I would have stopped you had I known he was listening.”
This time Rae halted just outside the bedchamber door. “Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves.”
“I know. I will long remember every word that Prince von Hanzen spoke about us.”
“Well, anyone who knows me knows that I often say things I don’t mean, and a shallow woman’s words have little import, anyway,” Rae remarked. “If Baron Schortz was as clever as you say, he would have ignored my little outburst and would still be worshipping at my shroud.” And with those words, she burst from the room.
“That’s shrine, my dear,” Greta said to the closed door, her voice filled with soft laughter. “Methinks the damsel doth protest too much. The baron has gotten under her perfect fair skin.” Which was a feat in itself.
Even more surprising, Rae felt remorse for something she had done. Greta was heartily glad for this change in heart, and appalled that Baron Schortz, who seemed a good and fine fellow, should have heard her sister’s thoughtless remarks. “This time, Rae, I think the shoe is on the other foot. I much doubt that the baron will become one of your besotted lapdogs.”
“My, oh my, the Black Forest really is a place of magic,” Greta said to herself. For the magic had touched her as well. She had ridden with and been held by a handsome prince who was neither charming nor gallant. But he did make her feel dizzy whenever he was near. Mayhap gallant was not all that it was cracked up to be. After all, who wanted perfection—besides Rae?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Best Little Whore house in Prussia
Not so long after—in fact, only minutes had passed since they provided escort for the sisters Grimm—and not very far away, the two noblemen rode their horses from the cemetery. They were traveling in the direction of an exclusive brothel called Thor’s Hammer, where the two planned to spend a night indulging in wine, women and song. Thor’s Hammer would provide this more than adequately, for it was a place a man could feel at home by getting drunk and fornicating all night long. Or playing cards and fornicating all night long. Or just plain fornicating all night long. Like most brothels, the place was big on fornication.
At first both men were quiet, deep in thought; the only sounds were the footfalls of their horses crunching through the hard-packed snow. But finally Fen broke the silence. “Do you think it’s a vampyr?” he asked. “If it is, it’s most likely one of Dracul’s brood. They hunt in territories not their own.”
Rolpe studied the snow-crusted landscape before them. “I don’t think it’s one of the Nosferatu. I believe it to be simple grave robbers.”
“But there haven’t been any grave robberies here since those infernal Frankensteins moved to England.”
“I rather liked old Vic Frankenstein and his son, in spite of his mad starts.”
Fen shook his head. “They were queer in the head. Remember the dinner I held where all Vic and Victor talked about was reanimating dead flesh? My poor guests. Dr. Frankenstein’s conversation definitely put them off their feed.”
Rolpe chuckled. “I remember it wasn’t a con
versation suited for the dinner table or mixed company. But you must admit he and his family are intriguing characters, and I believe that Vic might someday be successful in his attempts at the reanimation of the dead.” The prince admired Dr. Frankenstein for his great intellect and devotion to a cause. “Frankenstein is an honorable man.”
“Why bother with robbing graves and working on corpses or even running about in thunderstorms trying to get lightning to strike?” Fen asked. “The Nosferatu are already the animated dead.”
“But vampyrs require blood to survive. Look at Dracul’s brood: they always kill their victims…unless they turn them.”
“Nasty nest of Nosferatu,” Fen agreed. “They really should be all put down—for the sake of all otherworldly species, not to mention humanity.” He had no liking for the undead, as he had fought a small army of them in his lifetime and found them both exceedingly cruel and merciless. He much preferred the company of shape-shifters and an occasional witch or two.
“True, they are devious and utterly without conscience, which is why I do not think the woodcutter’s mother vanishing from her grave is connected to one of the undead,” Rolpe replied. “I caught no scent of them at the cemetery, nor did the doctor who examined Frau Choplin mention that she was drained of blood.”
“Rolpe, you’ve been away too long in your travels. The good doctor is a drunk. Frau Choplin could have been dry as a bone—unlike himself—and the doctor wouldn’t have noticed.” Fen shifted slightly in his saddle. “He did mention that she had lost blood from the cuts on her arms and legs.”
“Exactly,” Rolpe replied. “Too messy for the undead. When they attack, it’s only one or two bites.”
“Unless it’s one of Dracul’s brood gone mad. Or mayhap he is trying to throw us off.”
“Nein. I believe Frau Choplin suffered an accident with the falling woodpile, as the evidence suggested. This does not feel like a vampyr attack. Nor do I think she was turned into one and rose to haunt the town. No one has seen anything remotely like the woodcutter’s mother running around in her shroud—and after the countess’s comments, believe me, the people of Wolfach are watching.”
“Still, Countess DeLuise was very specific. She said the undead were overrunning the town.”
“The countess is…a trifle eccentric.”
“That she is.” But Fen did not give up. “If it is a vampyr, we can’t let him hunt in our territory.” He glanced at the forest: snow-gowned, white and glittery. The icicles’ color at night, a vivid blue, reminded him of Miss Rae Grimm’s lovely eyes.
“Agreed,” Rolpe admitted. “No one shall hunt in our territory, especially the Nosferatu.”
Fen nodded in satisfaction, then asked the question that had been bothering him for most of the ride. He found it annoying that he cared what Rolpe thought about the shallow creature who was the younger Miss Grimm; yet he did. “What do you think of the Grimm sisters being there?”
“A complication I don’t need: two nosy females sniffing out mysterious happenings in Wolfach. And ’tis obvious that the elder Miss Grimm believes in the legends of the Black Forest and will probably continue to hunt for them.” Greta Grimm was a complication indeed, for Rolpe found her far too alluring for his peace of mind.
“If it is one of the undead doing these things, then the Grimms could be digging their own graves. They are searching out legends, and they might meet the Grim Reaper.”
“The same might happen if we’re dealing with grave robbers. There’s good coin in bringing corpses to medical universities for study, and with coin involved, the type of men who rob graves…Well, there would be danger.”
“Yes. It’s dangerous and a stupid thing to do, to haunt cemeteries at night. Most females wouldn’t dare.” He still couldn’t believe it of the flighty Miss Rae Grimm.
“Miss Greta Grimm isn’t like most females,” Rolpe pointed out. “No, I rather believe she is of a different cut altogether. If we are lucky, she will soon find a husband. That will keep her occupied with weddings and other such nonsense.”
“The elder Miss Grimm doesn’t seem as interested in capturing a husband as the fairy tales of our region,” Fen remarked.
Rolpe nodded, his expression stern. The elder Miss Grimm would be a problem.
His sternness softened somewhat as he recalled how delightful she’d felt in his arms. She might be a trifle slender, but she had a very womanly shape, with well-rounded hips that he had brushed against while placing her on his horse. She was a tasty handful, and he would have already had a nibble if she were not an unmarried woman of virtue.
“Yes. She’s clever, and she has a sharp wit. A curious cat,” he remarked. A cat with such remarkably fine eyes, irises of pewter gray with slivers of icy blue entwined within; they were eyes a man could stare into forever.
Startled, Rolpe almost dropped his reins, wondering where that last thought had come from. Miss Grimm was merely an annoying acquaintance, he quickly reminded himself.
“Yes, the elder Miss Grimm does seem to have a fine head on her shoulders—nothing like her younger sister,” Fen said, his tone clipped.
Taking note, Rolpe glanced over at his boon companion. They were just pulling their horses up in front of a large manor house a little over a mile from town. “Do I detect a note of discord? I thought you were interested in the younger one.”
Pride prevented Fen from telling Rolpe about the conversation he had overheard between the two sisters. Instead he said, “At first I found her to be enchanting—quite the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, even more lovely than my dear departed Fiona. But you were right. She’s too shallow, and I doubt she would make a good stepmother for my children.”
Rolpe leaned over and slapped him on the shoulder, dismounting from his horse. “Glad to see you’ve come to your senses. You are much too good and generous, my friend, to end up leg-shackled to someone of that caliber.”
Fen nodded, but his heart still felt dark as he handed his horse over to one of the stable boys. Even knowing what Miss Rae Grimm thought of him did not ease his desire. She popped into his mind at odd times, though he fought the intrusion. Hence, the visit to Thor’s Hammer this very night.
Rolpe laughed, a sharp, brisk sound, as he clasped a hand on Fen’s shoulder. “Come, the rest of the night is for wein, weuband and gesang.”
Fen managed a lopsided grin. “Indeed. And I hope the wine is warm, the women hot, and the songs…I can do without.” He would get that blonde-haired vixen out of his mind one way or another.
As the madame of Thor’s Hammer greeted them effusively, Rolpe glanced over at the group of ladies present for his selection. Without realizing it, he was looking for a female with remarkable gray-blue eyes. When he did realize it, he cursed himself silently and picked a voluptuous redhead with a jade gaze instead.
Smiling, he took her hand as she led him toward the stairs. “You’re lovely,” he complimented, eyeing her nearly bare breasts with less hunger than normal. He found that totally exasperating. Yet hope sprung eternal, and he hoped that this particular soiled dove would make him forget vain peacocks and dodos of the Grimm family.
Fen and his chosen companion followed a scant few minutes later. Unlike Rolpe, who had tried for someone very different from the elder Miss Grimm, Baron Schortz had picked a voluptuous, blue-eyed female with extremely long blonde hair. Upstairs, the blonde undressed quickly, letting the baron eye her large, firm breasts, but she sensed he was not as interested as he might be in her ample charms.
“Like what you see?” she asked.
“Of course,” Fen remarked, his cock rising to attention. Yet in his mind he was wondering what Miss Rae Grimm would look like standing naked before him. Grunting as he pulled off his boots, he chided himself for even thinking of the maddening female.
Unbeknownst to Fen, Rolpe was experiencing much the same dilemma. But arrogant and self-assured as he was, the proud prince did not let it stop him. He did not curse himself for being intrigued by
the elder Miss Grimm; Cupid’s arrows might be deadly sharp, and lust’s heat as consuming as hellfire, but he was too wily a wolf to be trapped by a pair of fine breasts, eyes and an unseemly curiosity. Yet after he’d climaxed, Miss Grimm’s features filled his mind.
His crude German curse was heard throughout the cathouse, and it woke a good number of those sleeping in nearby beds. Next door, Herr Dumpty was reminded of what had happened last fall, and he came apart. And none of the Thor’s whores, and none of the king’s men, could help to put Dumpty together again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cock-a-Doodle-Didn’t
One winter night a short time later, with snowflakes a-falling, a grand and aging prince gave a ball to proudly display his great wealth and treasures. The sisters Grimm and their aunt were of course invited, since the elderly prince had wedlock on the mind with the younger Miss Grimm.
Inside the ballroom, Greta was demurely if anxiously standing near a massive mirror that covered half a wall. She had been standing there for over an hour, declining to dance as she observed the many guests both in the reflection of the glass and upon the dance floor. Suddenly, Rolpe appeared behind her and addressed her in a haughty manner.
“You will grow roots if you stand here much longer.”
As usual, whenever the pompous prince popped by, Greta’s heart beat faster and her stomach felt as if a thousand butterflies were vomiting there. Prince von Hanzen made her yearn for hearth and home, made her forget momentarily her quest for the vampire in their midst.
“I am resting,” she said.
“You haven’t even been dancing.” Glancing from the mirror and back to her, he smiled wickedly. “Strange, I didn’t realize you shared your sister’s fascination with mirrors,” Rolpe remarked, his blue eyes gleaming.
