Twice Bitten

by R. G. Emanuelle

  Desire enflamed her and she kissed Rose more fiercely. Propping herself up on her knees, she withdrew her hand from Rose's bloomers and pulled them down and completed undressing her. She kissed Rose's breasts, taking each nipple in her mouth and sucking on them gently. Then she kissed each side of her ribcage and down the center of her stomach until she got to Rose's nether regions. Soft gasps rose above her erratic breathing as Ursula continued down until she was kissing her right in her center.

  She lowered her hand until her fingers found Rose's clitoris and she gently rubbed it, careful in her ministrations. The world disappeared for Ursula as Rose writhed under her touch. In what seemed an instinctive response, Rose parted her legs slightly, making Ursula's movements easier. When Rose's body began trembling, Ursula leaned up to kiss her deeply and furiously, slipping her tongue into her mouth. Then, Rose arched her back sharply, and lifted off the mattress. Her climax was long, as Ursula had hoped it would be.

  When Rose had evidently reached the point where she could take no more, she pressed her hand on Ursula's to make her stop. Not wanting to move her hand from that special place, Ursula kept it there, pressed gently against Rose, until her breathing slowed down. At last, she brought her hand up and rested it on Rose's stomach.

  Ursula rested her mouth against Rose's ear. "I love you," she murmured.

  Rose smiled and turned her head to face Ursula. "I love you, too."

  The delicious breeze that cooled Ursula's damp forehead also made Rose's bare arms prickle with goose bumps. Or, maybe it was from Ursula's touch. She decided to experiment and ran her fingers along Rose's arm. Immediately, she saw the tell-tale bumps that meant Rose was enjoying her touch. She smiled and Rose smiled back with a blush.

  Rose's lids were slowly closing and Ursula wanted to let her sleep. But she had to tell her something first. In the brief time that they had lain in one another's arms, Ursula had formulated a plan to kill Fiona and she quickly told Rose what she wanted her to do, softly speaking in her ear to make sure she heard.

  Rose mumbled, "Mother's party." That would be the night when they would strike.

  Soon after, Rose fell asleep. Ursula watched her as she breathed softly. She was happy that they'd made love. If things didn't go well, it could possibly be the first and last time.

  ROSE BLINKED A few times, trying to assess her surroundings. Seeing the moonlight streaming through the window, she quickly sat up. The candle had burned down to an inch. She'd been at Ursula's a long time and her mother would surely pitch a fit.

  The wooden floor was cold and she tip-toed to her dress, hanging over the edge of the blanket chest at the foot of the bed. She sat down on the chest and began pulling on her stockings.

  "Are you all right, love?" Ursula stirred in the bed.

  "I'm late. Mother must be so worried."

  Ursula got out of bed and sat next to Rose on the chest. "I'm sorry. I hope I haven't created any difficulties for you."

  Her heart pounding in fear, Rose struggled to pull her dress on. Ursula tried to help.

  Then, like a tide rolling out from a beach, the fear subsided. All her life, Rose had been a good girl, obedient and responsible. She'd always done everything she was supposed to do. And now, having done something that she was most certainly not supposed to have done, she'd never felt happier. The world would say that what she had just done was wrong, but she would disagree. Something that frees your soul and allows your heart to soar cannot possibly be wrong. To say she wasn't at all concerned about how her mother would react would be incorrect, but the thought of it wasn't bothering her as much as it would have yesterday. She would be chastised, certainly. But she would not care.

  She stopped lacing her boots and sat up. "Why did you run out on me?" she asked.

  Ursula looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean? I haven't left this room."

  "No. The other day. Why did you run away?"

  Ursula sighed. "I'm so sorry. I was afraid. I didn't want to lead you down this path and..."

  "And end up like Emily?"

  Ursula flinched. "Yes."

  "Well, I won't. I am not Emily and that will not happen to me." She softened her tone.

  A tear rolled down Ursula's face. "I'd never cared for anyone like that. And no one ever cared for me like that."

  Rose sat down and took Ursula's hand in hers. "I care for you like that. Please don't ever run out on me again. I don't think I could take it."

  "I won't." Ursula pulled on her hand and leaned in. Their kiss felt warm and safe, and Rose knew that her life would never be gray again. Not as long as Ursula was in it.

  Ursula moved her other hand to Rose's breast and squeezed gently, making Rose groan.

  Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this feels so good.

  "I really must go. Mother will have me skinned." She got up and looked around for her hat and gloves.

  "I'll call for the driver."

  Before walking out of the room, Ursula looked her in the eyes. "You realize what we need to do is serious."

  "Yes." As much as she didn't want to think about Fiona, she knew she must, and she must prepare for it.

  Ursula stepped past her and went downstairs. She finished tidying herself up and went downstairs, as well. Ursula met her at the front door. While they waited for the Lundberg carriage to pull around in front, Rose watched Ursula's face. She looked worried. But determined, too. As if ready for a battle.

  Just as the carriage came to a stop in front of the house, Ursula whispered in her ear, "Do what we discussed. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Rose nodded, and went to the carriage. The entire way home, she wondered if Fiona would be foolish enough to allow herself to be killed. And if Ursula was strong enough to kill her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE SOUNDS OF preparations for her mother's party wafted up the stairs in Rose's house. Rocks were tossing around in her stomach as she sat on her damask bench, nervously pinching the fabric of her party dress. She'd chosen a purple velvet with a red embroidered train, the boldest, most colorful dress she had. The way she saw it, this was the beginning of a new life for her, and so this, in a way, was her coming out party. Why not do it with a splash?

  Besides, the possibility existed that she would be killed later during that night's events. And even if she survived but she and Ursula failed in their task, she would die, anyway. Or, rather, she would cease to exist as a human being, because Fiona would surely complete the job she'd started. Rose would start her new life as a vampire. The thought horrified her and again made her wonder if this was all just a terrible, terrible dream. But all she had to do was look at the fading wounds on her neck, and she knew it was not.

  In the two days that had passed since making plans with Ursula to kill Fiona, she'd gone through every emotion, but the one that was the strongest was not fear but anticipation. The note she'd sent to Fiona after returning home that night said that she was ready to meet her again to discuss the next step in "helping" Ursula. And she'd told Fiona to meet her in the park, so she could quickly return home without being missed.

  Attending her mother's party was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to. Not attending would not only draw attention to her, it would end up in an argument with her mother. Doing her social and familial duty would allow her to escape later without fuss hopefully.

  Soon, the sounds of the bustling servants getting things ready were replaced by knocks on the door and chipper voices rising up in greetings. Rose was actually anxious to have the party start so that she could get on with the task of making her appearance, doing the necessary rounds and pleasantries, and making the proper inquiries as to people's health, families, and businesses. Oh, and, of course, commenting on the Society's activities. Once all that was done, go back upstairs, change her clothing, and sneak out.

  Melodic notes from Lizst's "Love Dream" danced into her room through the crack in the door. The band her mother had hired was doing an exceptional job combining piano with strin
gs, making it a lively version. She let her mind wander for a moment as she admired the music, and regretted that she'd never been able to quite master that particular piece. Or any piece, for that matter. She had learned the notes and could play the tunes, but she could never quite convey the emotion of the pieces. There was something lacking in her playing, a soulfulness that she just didn't have.

  A higher volume of laughter and tinkling glasses brought her attention back. The guests had all arrived. It was time to go down.

  The young men whom she knew her mother had invited for Rose's benefit seemed captivated by her as she glided gracefully down the stairs. Some of them had stopped with their cups in midair, thwarted from quenching their thirst by the sight of a beautiful woman. Well, she'd never considered herself beautiful, really, but she had taken extra care with her appearance this evening, and she knew that, at least for tonight, she looked pretty. Her hair was pulled back in a trendy chignon, rolls of hair framing either side of her head, and ringlets falling down at her temples. She'd actually smiled when she'd looked in the mirror. If either she or Ursula or both of them should die tonight, at least Ursula's last image of Rose would be a good one.

  For now, she had to pretend to be happy that she was making a good image for these young men and for the other guests.

  "Rose, you're a vision of loveliness," one of them said.

  "Too beautiful for words," said another.

  Several had proffered cups of punch and she took one. From whom, she didn't know. She didn't really care. She just smiled, danced with a few men, tolerated the stupid gossip of the ladies, and ate as many of the hors d'oeuvres as she could inconspicuously. Although she was, in fact, too nervous to have an appetite, she knew she needed her strength, and she couldn't stuff herself at dinner. It would be noticeable, and her mother would have words with her later. Besides, she didn't want to be sluggish just before escaping.

  The dinner seemed endless, made even longer by the fact that her mother had ordered six courses. Finally, dessert was served, and everyone went into the large parlor for games. Rose desperately wanted to make her escape but she knew that if she left now, Marianne would torment her and make it very difficult for her to leave. Rose decided to put in a couple of hands of cards, just to be safe.

  The guests were debating jovially about what game to play. "Well, poker is the name of the game!" one guest said, laughing.

  "No," Marianne said. "I will not have any guests of mine pretending to be riverboat gamblers. Really!" She stuck her nose up dramatically, eliciting laughter from her guests. There was another moment of joking, then they all broke up into groups and sat around various card tables that the household staff had set about the room.

  "Well, Mother," Rose said as gaily as she could, "you know how atrocious I am at card games, so I will not burden anyone with being my partner. I'll just retire to my room." She turned to go.

  Marianne, evidently not ready to release her daughter from the festivities, grabbed her arm. "Then I think you should entertain us. Play something on the piano."

  Cheering from the others made it impossible for Rose to decline. Her heartbeat quickened at being delayed, and she didn't know if she could play well enough with her heart pounding in her chest. She sat down on the bench and lowered her fingers to the surface of the keys. Her fingers shook and she waited a moment for them to settle. She pressed down on the keys and began playing a Gilbert and Sullivan tune, something from H.M.S. Pinafore, but even as she played it, she couldn't remember what the tune was called or why she had chosen it.

  To her own surprise, she played well enough that the guests called for more. So, she played another tune, and another. With each request for another, her frustration grew. At last, she said, "I'm sorry, every one of my fingers is tired. I guess it's to be expected from the weaker sex." Everyone murmured in agreement and Marianne gave her an approving nod. She was finally able to move away from the piano.

  After-dinner brandy and sherry were served and soon, all the guests had settled down to their chosen games. She took a glass of sherry and glanced over at her mother, catching her eye. Marianne made a sour little pucker, probably imperceptible to anyone but Rose. She averted her eyes, looking instead at the man sitting across from her, and took a sip, sure that Marianne was watching her. She decided she should play a couple of games, just to appease her mother.

  After a couple of rounds of whist, Rose was ready to take her leave. She excused herself from her table, and the gentlemen jumped to their feet, expressing their dismay at her leaving. She graced them with a smile and glided to her mother's table.

  "Mother, I'm sorry," she said, placing a hand against her temple. "I'm afraid I have a headache. I think it was the sherry," she added sheepishly.

  "Well, serves you right, my dear. You're much too young to be drinking sherry."

  Marianne's light chuckle didn't fool Rose. That had been for the benefit of those seated at her table, to make it seem as if scolding her daughter was just playful teasing. But Rose knew her mother's looks and tones, and she knew she was angry. But it didn't really matter. She had the excuse she needed to leave the party.

  Rose turned to face the majority of the guests. "Good night, everyone." Calls of "good night" followed her out into the vestibule. As she began ascending the steps, she caught Bridget watching her from the entrance of the kitchen. Her stark stare was unnerving and it took Rose a moment to unglue herself from the spot.

  Melissa appeared, trying to scoot past Bridget with a tray of drinks in her hand. When she had crossed Bridget's path, she saw Rose on the stairs and stopped, that scared rabbit look on her face again. She turned her face toward Bridget, who gave her a withering stare, and then continued on into the other room, shoulders hunched meekly. Bridget looked back up at Rose. There was something very strange going on in this house, but she didn't have the time to sort it out.

  Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Rose continued up the stairs, but watched Bridget from the corner of her eye. Bridget's gaze followed her up, her hands wiping themselves on a towel, as if they had minds of their own.

  Bridget had raised her, and she knew Rose's whims. Evading Bridget had been the hardest part of the past few days. It seemed like every time she entered or exited the house, Bridget was there, scrutinizing her, her eyes searing Rose and then when Rose walked away, she could feel them boring into her back.

  By the time she'd reached the top landing, Rose's earlier composure had cracked. Her hands were trembling and she had to sit down on the settee in her room. Breathing deeply, she tried to restore her courage, but the thought that Bridget might know something... but how could she? She'd been careful about making sure Bridget didn't follow her when she went out. And she'd certainly not said anything to her about Fiona or Ursula.

  Well, it didn't matter. Ursula's safety...and her own life... depended on her carrying out her part of the plan. One last draw of the cool air in her room reenergized her. She got up and went to the wing chair in the corner, where she'd laid out the clothes she needed. The riding costume had been given to her as a gift by an eccentric aunt, and her mother had wholly disapproved of it. Riding, as far as Marianne was concerned, was undignified for a lady. Because of that, Rose had never taken riding lessons, and so the outfit remained unused in her closet. It was finally going to be put to use. With one modification.

  Before she'd fallen asleep in Ursula's arms the night before, Ursula had mumbled something sleepily. She'd said that women ought to be allowed to wear trousers when going about killing vampires. All those skirts and petticoats were simply too cumbersome.

  Rose had made note of this. Earlier in the day, while her mother and the servants were busy with party preparations, she'd snuck into her father's wardrobe and stolen a pair of his riding breeches. They were a little too big, but she found that with the help of one of his sets of suspenders, they would do just fine.

  But there, again, had been Bridget. As she slipped out of her father's room with his breech
es rolled up in her arms, Bridget was down the hall, standing by of one of the guest bedrooms, fresh linens in hand. She stood in the doorway, watching Rose. She'd looked at the breeches in Rose's hands then stared at her right in the eyes, her own full of questions. Rose hurried down the hall to her room and shut the door behind her.

  She hoped now that she could escape the house without Bridget's watchful eyes on her.

  The breeches felt wonderfully comfortable on her legs, yet strange. They weren't at all that different from pantaloons, but a skirt covers pantaloons. Nothing covers trousers, and she felt oddly naked. But as she ran around her room, making herself ready for the night, she marveled at the freedom of movement the trousers afforded. She was certain of one thing, though: Marianne would be horrified.

  After she'd changed her clothes and gathered up everything she needed in an embroidered bag, she went to the window. The height was no less now than it had been the night she'd contemplated going out the window to meet Fiona, and her fear was no less daunting. But this time, she had more at stake.

  She pulled open the window and leaned over the ledge, staring down at the ground. It was dark out but the lamp lights from the park illuminated the side of the house enough so she could map out her course down to the ground.

  A knock on the door almost sent Rose flying out the window without the benefit of a plan. As if her heart weren't beating hard as it was, it pounded now, thunderous against her chest and constricting her breathing. She froze, partly from wanting Bridget to think she was asleep and partly from not knowing what to do. Her eyes began to hurt from the pressure of the blood rushing to her head.

  "Miss Rose, 'tis me." Bridget's voice was barely audible through the sounds wafting up from downstairs.

  Rose brought one hand to her chest to tame the staccato beat of her heart and one hand to her stomach to quell the churning that she feared would result in something worse.