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Dracula’s Kiss
Copyright © 2011 by JoAnne Kenrick
ISBN: 978-1-61333-139-2
Cover art by Fantasia Frog Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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Dracula’s Kiss
JoAnne Kenrick
A 1 Night Stand Story
~DEDICATION~
For The Bistro in Rhyl, for feeding my addiction for all things rock and goth, and giving me the best years of my late teens and early twenties. And to all the girls who moshed out that tiny dance floor with me, and went shopping for outfits in Aquarius—the only place in town that sold those long, gypsy skirts we loved so much. Yvonne, Caroline, Ray, and Athena. Do you hear that? Sisters of Mercy’s Temple of Love. Must be time to hit the dance floor!
Chapter One
A chill caught Cathela and sent shivers down her spine. She wiggled her shoulders to shake off the cold before moving through the entrance of Slains Castle. Unable to control her wonderment that Bram Stoker might have crossed this very path while writing Dracula, she lingered to savor the experience and placed her hand on the stone doorframe of the sixteenth century structure. After a moment, she shrugged and moved on when residual energy from her favorite writer didn’t mystically hit her. Not that she expected it to. Hoped, maybe. Instead, salty air from the North Sea filled her nostrils, and overzealous music pounded through the ground and into the soles of her feet. Heavy, aggressive, and forced. Maybe I shouldn’t have hired a non-goth DJ.
“I guess this is as close as I’m ever going to get to the Count.” She caressed her throat as she spoke his name. Dracula. Dracula.... A dream-like state washed over her, and the world became a fuzz of nothing and everything all at once. Images of her exposed neck, bite marks trickling with blood, and the presence of a man behind her flashed through her mind. She willed the next scene to reveal his face and complete her fantasy.
A seagull swooping overhead squawked, dragging her back to reality. Could be a sign. Her upturned gaze lit on a gargoyle, chipped and moss-covered, glaring down on her, its cavernous eyes seeming to watch her. A chill raced down her spine and sent goose bumps prickling over her skin. Instinct told her to listen to the warning that someone or something observed her, but she ignored that possibility.
What a silly notion. The only person paying attention to me tonight is Nick, who will be analyzing my every move to make sure I don’t mess up again. “Gawd, I’m such a ninny.”
Her shame settled in her stomach once again, and the swirling butterflies in her gut made her nauseous. She tugged the crushed-velvet cape around her chest, patted the black mesh veil over her face, and chuckled. If not that, then what? Cry? Hide in shame? Not my style.
“I did try to warn you a flimsy, satin dress couldn’t support your tits. You should have worn a bra.” Nick scurried up behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist before giving her a stinging pinch in her side. “We’ll never live it down.”
She squirmed under his touch and pushed him away. “We? Besides, you like my breasts.”
“Not when everyone else is staring, Cath.”
“Cathela.”
“Don’t start. Your name is Catherine Ela, not Cathela.”
“For tonight, I’m Cathela, Dracula’s Bride. And you are my husband during this party. So put your fake fangs back in, why don’t ya, and take me?”
“Where to? The bra store?”
“Fun-ny! If you’re not gonna bite me, then bite me.”
“Ouch.”
“Oh...go be supportive of your woman and fetch me a whiskey. I need something to calm my nerves.” She gave him a twenty and waved him on ahead. When he’d disappeared from sight, she took one final spin to savor the moment and take mental snapshots of the scenery.
The rustling sounds of trees dancing in the bitter October air mingled with that of the waves beating against the rocky heights of the shoreline. It couldn’t have been a more perfect night and venue for the Essex Co-op Bank’s Annual Halloween Ball. Even more so because the event was being held at the very castle that had inspired the setting for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Cliff-edged ruins straight from the most infamous vampire novel ever for a Halloween celebration. Her promotion to supervisor was in the bag! At least it had been until she curtsied to welcome the branch managers and her double Ds broke free. The attention her performance received probably bothered Nick more than it had her. In fact, she’d never admit to it in public, but she found it a thrill to have all eyes on her girls.
She admired all she had organized, glad she had volunteered to make the arrangements. Just as she’d envisioned, from the hundreds of white fairy light sparkling above, to the sconces with flickering, pumpkin scented candles and the secluded seating areas. Determined to enjoy the mood she’d created with her planning and plotting, she pinned her shoulders back and grinned before gliding toward the bodies bumping and grinding on the dance floor. Neither her fella’s disdain nor the glares and digs from leering managers was going to ruin her night. She focused on the history surrounding her instead, and steered toward a magnificent arch adorned with intricate brickwork. The temptation to touch was too great, and she skated her fingers along the stone. Icy vibrations raced up her arm and sent a shudder straight to her bones.
This place had an unnatural effect on her, and every minute she spent in the Scottish ruins brought her closer to her true self. The woman she used to be before Nick, and before she started putting her career first. The idea both scared and excited her.
“The tales these walls could tell, eh?” Nick shoved a whiskey glass in her hand. The amber liquid splashed with the force. Unaware he had returned to her side, she jumped as her heart nearly pounded out of her chest.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that, bloody hell!” She took a deep breath, clueless as to why her nerves were so on edge. Perhaps the show she’d put on earlier had affected her more than she realized.
“Not sneaking. I think the whole castle heard me coming with these stupid faux-leather pants creaking with every step. Drink up, then it’s time for damage control.” He gripped her waist as she sipped the single malt. A sharp sting caught the back of her throat and burned her insides as the liquid slid down. But Nick’s heartless words hurt more.
“No cola? Damn it?” She tsk’d and retaliated by shoving the empty glass at his chest. The song changed to a tune she knew well; Sisters of Mercy’s More from the early 1990s. The dark, sensual lyrics always got to her, and she swung her hips to the beat. More had been her mantra for so many years. “Stick it. I’m going to dance.” Nick wouldn’t follow her. All he knew how to do was the goddamn foxtrot and box step. She needed ten minutes to herself, and he seemed like he needed space from her, too.
She slipped her fake
bridal veil over her face and slunk into the blur of bodies bumping and grinding. Some were fake moshing, others stood like ducks out of water. She’d show them, she thought, allowing her body to move without prejudice or control. A sense of freedom enveloped her. And her limbs, liquid and balletic in their movement, expressed her elation. She swayed her head and gyrated her hips.
The heavy bass, sensual deep thrums, and rasped lyrics rattled her, awakening her old self. The part of her that cared not about what people thought or about the future. She swayed her arms to the beat. Lost in the darkness, and in herself.
Mid-flow, she remembered the gargoyle from outside, and an urge to gaze into the farthest corner of the vast space took her over. A shudder snaked down her spine and a tingling of excitement coated her. Compelled by curiosity, she peeled back her veil and squinted to study the darkness. A stunning image rewarded her when Dracula stepped from the shadows. Dracula? Had Nick spiked her drink? Top hat, rounded glasses, and piercing eyes. He tipped his topper and curved his mouth into a subtle, sexy smile with gleaming, pointed canines.
“The area manager is a bit out of place. Go, dance with him. Show him your...erm...moves?” Nick rested his hand on the curve of her back and edged her in the direction of the short, bald, fat man she should be sucking up to. But dance with him? Not a chance in hell.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
“Figured it was time to poke you before someone else noticed how spaced out you seem tonight. Now, go dance with Mr. Clunes.”
“Nick, you’re out of line. I messed up. Deal with it. The promotion has passed me by, so why don’t you chill out and enjoy the evening.”
“Babe, have you forgotten our plans? We need that promotion so we can get a great rate on a mortgage to be able to afford our own place with the little we’ve saved up.”
“The way you’re going, babe, we’re not going to last the night never mind the distance. Give me some space, why don’t ya?”
“Cath?”
“The things I’d have let you do to me, if only you’d gone to that much trouble.”
“What things? Gone to what trouble?”
“See that dude over there? Well, that’s how to do Dracula.” If only I could do Dracula, too. Nick, why are you such a bore?
“Is that why you were staring over there? Were you eyeing up a vamp?” He shook his head and snorted.
“No, I was admiring his costume. Isn’t it fantastic?” Resentful of the accusation, she pointed toward where she had seen the delectable sight. The Count had disappeared.
He glanced over. “I see Cousin It, nobody else. I can do that.” Nick took his glasses off and scraped what little hair he had over his face before replacing them in their usual spot half way down his nose. “What sexy things are you going to let me do to you now that I’m Cousin It? Play peek-a-boo?”
“Just take me to the restroom and bite me before my mood dissipates.”
“Don’t be daft. I’m not gonna bite you.”
“Bite me, fuck me, take control of me. I want to lose myself in the act of making love...to you...now
“Language, Cath? Seriously, the last thing we need is to be caught banging in a porta-potty. Have you lost the plot or what?” He rolled his eyes.
“No real plumbing is a major downside to partying it up in castle ruins. We could find a dungeon to fool around in. That could be fun.” She had to quench her growing thirst to do it in Dracula’s castle. “Don’t tell me you’re not into it. I can see your hard on. I can feel it, too.” She grabbed his cock and gave it a teasing squeeze.
“Quit it.” He swiped her hand away. “The ghost story is going to start in a minute. Come on.” Nick scurried toward the back of the room and into a cozy alcove where other guests were gathering. She dragged her feet and followed him. Mavis Wright, the horror author Cathela had arranged to terrify the partygoers, sat in an armchair by the fireplace with her latest novel resting in her lap. She looked nothing like an author of creepy stories. Not even close. She had imaged an older lady with gray hair and a woolly cardigan. Mavis, cute in a banker type way, was a poser who had definitely drawn Nick’s attention; long, glossy, and dead-straight hair, typical Wicked Witch of the West costume, but no green face.
“That explains the stiffy. You’ve got your eye on her, haven’t you?”
He pivoted to stare her down. “You fuck off, Cath. I’m sick of your stupid vamp fetish. I’m never going to be enough for you, am I?”
“Nicky bear, language.” She thrust out her lower-lip, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
“Don’t Nicky bear me. I’ve had enough. You’re twenty-four years old, woman. Wake up and smell the coffee. Yes, I said coffee, not blood. You’re too old to be running around like some goth wannabe. You look ridiculous. I should never have—”
“What? You should never have what? Convinced me to settle down with someone I thought I could trust? Someone like you? Ha! It’s me who messed up. What was I thinking?”
“I was going to say I was stupid to let you go ahead with this party. I should have known the whole Dracula connection would have you vampire crazy.”
The cheek. He’s the one making eyes at an unoriginal witch.
Nick stormed toward the excited partygoers and took up residence at the author’s feet. He gazed up at her, his expression resembling a lovesick schoolboy. Rubbing salt in the wound, he turned in Cathela’s direction and frowned before returning attention to his new crush. She could no longer see his face, but she could guess what dirty little thoughts ran though his mind at that minute—missionary-style, with socks on.
Who am I kidding? Nick and I have no future together. God, I’ve been dense to think someone like me could map out her future, lead a somewhat normal life with a mortgage and premium bonds, and stick to it. Stupid girl.
She perched on the edge of a rustic stool at a prop bar made from wood and plaster casting with great paint effects. The art department from the local college she’d hired on the cheap had done a fantastic job. It was pretty realistic except for the missing bartender.
“Hello?”
“Hello tae ye.” Dracula popped his head up from behind fake antique bottles displayed on the bar, and the shock nearly knocked her on her ass. You’re bloody gorgeous. His glasses, too large for him, slid down his nose and drew her attention to his eyes so pale they were like clear glass or the color of the sky painted over with thin, white clouds. He pushed his shades back into place, covering up the objects of her fascination. She wanted to yank his funky shades off him so she could gaze into his oceanic pools a while longer.
“Where did you come from?” She sighed.
“Just cleaning some glasses. I’ve got a cold-water barrel an’ that’s it. Makes mah job a wee bit stoaner, ye ken?”
What the hell did he just say? “Uh, huh. Exactly.” Cathela plonked her elbows on the bar and rested her chin in her hands, forgetting about Nick, and gazed at the fantastical vision before her.
“You take your job seriously. Your costume rocks compared to what the rest of the staff is wearing.”
He grinned. “What can I get ye?” He spoke slowly, like he talked to an idiot. Then again, at least she’d understood what he had said. I should get out of England more often, broaden my horizons...and listening skills.
“Something for Halloween. Do you have a suggestion?”
“How about a Dracula’s Kiss?”
“I’ve heard of that before. Alcoholic cherry-cola sounds perfect, and what a name. I love that suggestion, thank you.”
She watched him fill a tall glass with the nectar of Dracula, or rather, she ogled him. The end result was nothing short of spectacular, made up of layers of rich crimsons.
“That is so pretty. How do you get the bottom to stay red and not blend in with the cola?”
“It’s mah secret.”
She loved his thick Scottish brogue, and made a mental note to come to Scotland more often. She loved Braveheart. Mel Gibson in a kilt. Fr
eedom. Maybe she’d spot a man or two in traditional wear tomorrow when she explored the area. If she could lose Nick, she might even get to find out if the underwear rumors were true about Scotsmen.
“Give over.” She laughed then covered her mouth. Quit the stupid schoolgirl giggle. Act sexy and vamp-like instead. She adjusted her boobs and fluttered her lashes. Who am I kidding? I’m way out of practice.
“I have tae coat the glass with Grenadine, and then comes the black cherry vodka and cola. It’s all in the pouring, see?” He made another drink and plopped a few maraschino cherries on top.
“Clever, but where are my cherries?”
“I forgot.” He took one from his server tray and moved it toward her mouth. He raised a brow and paused for a second, seemingly testing the waters. She battled not to flinch or react in any way so he would continue. He slid it over her painted lips and Cathela sucked in a breath. Anticipation nagged at her to lick her lips to seduce this sexy barman, but the monogamist in her begged her to stand back. Her cheeky side won, and she welcomed his flirtation with hopes Nick would see and get jealous. It would serve him right. She smacked her lips around the syrup-coated treat and his fingers. With her tongue, she pulled the prize from his grasp and flicked his fingers away. He winked at her.
“Thank you.” She grinned and spat the stem into a napkin. Very ladylike. She took a sip of her drink. Cola tickled her tongue and fizzed down her throat. A lethal blast of black cherry followed and tempted her to guzzle it. “Hmm, this stuff is addictive.”
“Another?”
She glanced down at her already empty glass then over her shoulder at Nick staring up at Mavis. “Yes, please.”
“Right away, Mrs. D.”
“Mrs. Dee?”
“Dracula’s Bride, right? Mah wife.”
“Oh, yes, I see. It was just, for a minute there—” He popped a cherry in her mouth mid-sentence. I’d be called Mrs. Dee if I married Nick. Her heart dropped. Although he got on her nerves sometimes, she’d spent four years with him and had planned for their future together. She glanced at her bare left hand. That says everything, doesn’t it? Four years and still no ring. Said he didn’t want to waste the money on something that didn’t matter.
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