by Minda Webber
"She's a madwoman! Running about splashing people with brandy, rambling about spiders, sticking people in the ass with sharp objects! I tell you, Huntsley, she's just not natural."
Ian shook his head. Treading cautiously, he said, "Be that as it may, Miss Paine has been severely compromised by you."
"I was the one who was injured!" Asher snarled. "Talk about ripped clothing, that femme fatale is hell on wheels. Renfield is already quite beside himself."
Ian arched a sardonic brow. "You speak of your wardrobe, but Miss Paine will be ruined. No man will want to marry her after this."
Asher snorted. "As if any wanted to before. Huntsley, that calamity-ridden female is safer on the shelf. Bloody damn! Nothing occurred between the two of us. We did not do the deed—and looking back now, I wonder why I was even tempted to tarry with such a demented mortal."
Ian shook his head. "The world of the living is not unlike the undead one. All society will know of Jane's ruin in less than a fortnight. It won't help your reputation any, either. Her family is well-known, and you know how the combined Councils of weres and vampires feel about bringing ourselves into public scrutiny. They will be livid unless you do the honorable thing and marry her." He reminded Asher, "It was not so long ago that we were all hunted nearly to extinction. We must blend in with society and live our lives like humans, or as humanly as possible. Besides, there is your duty. You have ruined an innocent—"
Asher interrupted harshly, running his fingers through his hair. He began to pace, wincing sharply from the wound in his backside. "She's no innocent. Potty, insane, deranged, but no innocent. Bah! No innocent wields a stake like that. Or kisses like that, either!"
Ian glared at him. "You know she's a virgin. And you were trying to get a little taste when you were caught. Honor demands and depends upon your marrying Jane. You were seen in a state of dishabille with her, a respectable lady of good breeding and background, her gown twisted, her breasts half revealed, her lips red and swollen, late at night. You have no choice, Asher, and well you know it. You could escape the scandal by going to the continent if you refuse to do the honorable thing, but the vampire council will hunt you down and imprison you for four hundred years for drawing attention to the otherworldly."
He waited patiently for Asher to gather his emotions. It was a rare opportunity to observe the earl's cool facade so crumbled.
"The woman is consistently inconsistent," Asher complained. "One minute she is kissing me madly, passionately—the next she is planting a foot of wood in my ass!" He banged his fists on Ian's massive walnut desk, and Ian held his breath, hoping it could withstand the vampire's wrath.
The Earl of Wolverton continued his tirade. "Her mind must be the size of a chestnut to do what she did. Besides, the feral female has a foul temper. I do not want to marry her.
"I don't even know her people," he raged on. "Her heritage. I am a bloody earl, for pity's sake. I am a master vampire with a lineage longer than all my titles. I am descended from kings both mortal and immortal." Asher roared, his fist clenched high in the air as he shook it. "I shall not marry beneath me. Most especially not a madwoman!"
Ian debated telling Asher of Jane's lineage, but decided to wait, knowing he would only be pouring fuel on the fire.
"Marriage is the only route," he said instead, hoping Asher would agree. If the arrogant vampire refused, then Major Van Helsing would surely call him out. The attention would be disastrous. The eyes of the ton would be focused on the supernatural world, and one mistake could mean a revelation that could result in full-scale panic. And mortals always tried to kill what they feared. It would be a war—costly, bloody and devastating to men and monsters alike. "There is no other option. Too many eyes saw you tonight."
Asher nodded, his expression brooding. He said, "I, who have spent hundreds of years as a connoisseur of the beautiful, will be shackled to a female only slightly above ordinary." In his anger, he forgot the sweet taste of her kiss and her mouthwatering breasts. No matter how lush, no tit was worth this tat. And her to-die-for neck was little added incentive.
Ian shrugged. "All cats are gray in the dark," he proposed.
Asher stopped pacing and dropped restlessly into the large Louis XIV chair in front of the desk. A loud groan escaped him. He had forgotten his injury. His pride and backside now smarting, he replied, "When I want to bed a cat, I'll let you know."
Then reality hit him smack-dab in the face. He wanted to scream to the heavens, for fate was quite unfair. As the wily werewolf said, honor was honor, and something no earl or master vampire could ignore. Especially with the Council watching. Being sentenced to a forced sleep for five hundred years wasn't something he wanted to experience. Besides, if he married Jane, with her mortal lifespan, she would only inconvenience his life temporarily.
Clenching his fists, Asher rested his forehead upon them. "I am going to marry a mousy madwoman—a back-staking shrew."
"Tame her," Ian suggested.
"She will cost me a fortune in clothing. And she's not right in the head. Or maybe she just has a morbid fear of kissing," Asher joked to himself sarcastically. Rubbing his backside, he continued following that train of thought. "I fear there's more to this story than meets the eye. She must know I am a vampire, else why use a wooden stake on me? It was the Van Helsing model four, by the way," he added, just to impress Baron Huntsley with his houseguest's perfidy.
Ian knew the time had come, and he was not looking forward to what he had to reveal. He only hoped Asher didn't believe in biting the messenger.
"Don't give me that look. What is it?" Asher asked.
Ian coughed slightly, trying to decide just how to repair Clair's omission. "I myself only recently discovered that Miss Jane knows what you are. She was sent here to destroy you."
Asher's fangs flashed in the candle light, giving his handsome face a devilish look. "Because I am the Master Vampire of London?" he asked.
Ian answered carefully, weighing his options. "It's not so much what you are at this point, but who they think you are." If Asher attacked, he would feint to the right and roll backward towards the hearth. Hanging above the fireplace was his Welsh ancestors' sword. He didn't think he would have to kill the vampire, merely threaten him.
"Who? The suspense is killing me," Asher retorted. "And I've had enough of people trying to kill me tonight."
Ian leaned back in his chair, still watchful. "Dracul. The Prince of Darkness."
Asher fought appalled surprise. "Dracul? Has he come to Town? Here to London? That would be a disaster of epic proportions, most especially for me."
"He holds no love for you, same clan or not," Ian agreed.
Asher took a deep breath. Count Dracul was debauched, deadly and a malignant presence to be avoided whenever possible. Asher and the count had been at odds for over a hundred years. "Yes. Our enmity is long standing. Who thinks I am he? And why?"
Ian wearily ran his hands through his hair. This long day's journey into night was getting longer and trickier. "Certain people, because of certain information. However, Jane is now convinced that you aren't Count Dracul. I daresay she will convince her father of the fact. Especially if you are marrying into the family to save her good name."
Asher's eyes bored holes into Ian. "And just who is her father?" His tone was full of chilling menace.
Placing his hands on the desk, tensing his body for an attack, Ian replied, "Her father is Major Edward Van Helsing."
The breath hissed out of Asher, a low growl vibrating from his throat. The vampire's eyes narrowed to ice blue slits, blazing as they were.
Dracul was a nefarious foe, but the Van Helsings were detestable enemies of every vampire in the world. The family were cunning, ruthless and fanatical about executing members of the undead, and sometimes demons too. Although Asher had no truck with demons, he had lost a few vampire friends over the centuries to a vile Van Helsing stake. It was tough to consider Jane was one of those.
Ian's eyes narrow
ed also. He sat in preternatural stillness, appraising the situation. Tensed, he waited for Asher's rage either to dissipate or escalate. He was at a disadvantage: Although he was a werewolf, he could only change form on nights when the moon was full. He was much stronger several days before and after a full moon, but only slightly stronger than a human at other times. This was one of those other times.
"How long have you known?" Asher ground out, leaping to his feet. Having forgotten his injury, he let out a startled gasp.
Stiffly he turned his back on Baron Huntsley and ferociously paced the room. He was furious enough to destroy anything in his path, not to mention still wounded by Glair's betrayal. He snarled, "I'm furious enough to throw back my head and howl to the heavens, and I'm not even a werewolf!" Only centuries of aristocratic breeding and vampire stoicism kept him from doing so.
"I only learned who Jane is tonight," Ian reminded him.
"And Clair?" Asher's question was edged with fury.
"They have been friends for quite some time," Ian admitted.
"So, your wife invited a vampire murderer here to your estate with me as a guest as well," Asher said. He turned his face away, hiding the intense pain he felt, a taste of bile so bitter he thought he would choke. Asher had loved Clair and she had betrayed him. It was unforgivable, even if it was most likely one of her preposterous plans turned upside down.
Ian could sense the waves of hurt. Though he didn't like Asher's interest in his wife, he felt a stirring of pity. He explained, "If it makes you feel any better, Clair was trying to play matchmaker. You see, she had this plan…"
Asher snorted loudly, his expression grim.
"I know," Ian went on, "Clair and her plans usually go astray. But Clair truly believes that you and Jane are the perfect pair. That you and Jane will find great love together—once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. For an immortal that's pretty significant."
"Perhaps she should have told Jane of this plan," Asher snapped. "Your wife is a menace to society. She is as wildly demented as her friend! They're two mad hatters, hopping around, creating havoc, pandemonium, mayhem and attempted murder!"
Ian grimaced. He didn't like slurs on Clair, but this time his wife had outdone herself. When the vampire was right, the vampire was right. "Clair cares for you as a dear friend," he said. "She would never willingly see you hurt. She only wants your happiness."
Asher halted abruptly. "I truly think your wife has run mad. I'll be a pincushion in less than a week. Damnation, Huntsley! My supposed bride-to-be a bloodthirsty Van Helsing, the scourge of vampire kind?"
"Not after she marries you. She will be an Asher, the Countess of Wolverton."
Asher's usual savoir faire having long deserted him, he violently shook his head. "What an utterly horrifying thought. I shall wear mourning clothes for the rest of my life." If he had to marry the treacherous, conniving, vicious vixen, he would make her pay dearly for as long as she lived—which in the mood he was in right now, would be until just before sunrise.
"A wife's duty is to her husband," Ian remarked, "and Jane is a stickler for duty. She intensely disliked being a vampire hunter, but the major left her no choice."
Again, Asher shook his head. More slowly this time. "A Van Helsing by any other name would still be a Van Helsing."
Ian waited, silent.
"I cannot marry her. I'll be the laughing stock of vampires everywhere. A master vampire married to a bloody butcherous Van Helsing?"
Ian raised both hands imploringly. "You have to marry her. Imagine the consequences. Besides, being married to a mortal is only until death do you part. It's quickly over. Why, it will be a drop in the bucket to you, the years speeding by on your way to eternity."
"Ha! Every night will seem like an eternity shackled to that monstrous menace!" But he found himself a bit swayed. If she quickly died… But, no! He steeled himself. "Besides, her father will never agree. He loathes vampires. He wants us all to bite the dust. I presume he would rather see her dead first than married to me." Realizing what he'd said, Asher quickly added, "Not 'then married to me.'"
"Major Van Helsing thought you were Dracul. You're not. Jane can dissemble and maybe say you aren't even a vampire. If the Van Helsing spies got the identities of you and the count confused, they could also be wrong about what you are. Right? Besides, Major Van Helsing has little choice."
Asher glowered. "How surprising. I would never peg you as an optimist. Do you really think Jane would lie for me? She staked me, Ian!"
"And she's terribly upset about the whole thing," Baron Huntsley volunteered.
"She's 'terribly upset'?" Asher mocked. "I have a hole in my arse, and not where one should be! Bloody hell!"
Ignoring the vampire, Ian explained his plan of action. "I'll send two messengers out early in the morning. One will carry a note requesting Major Van Helsing come here immediately. The other will be for your man of business to attend to the special license, since you can't possibly ride in your condition." Ian's lips twitched. "Besides, you couldn't make it to London before first light anyway." He was glad to see that Asher's fangs had retracted.
"How thoughtful you are," Asher mocked him.
"Clair says Jane has cried herself sick. And… Jane remarked that if you hadn't scared her by trying to give her a little love bite, she probably wouldn't have staked you at all."
"Ha! Measure for measure it's a lie. Jane is a bloodthirsty wench. She's a bloody backstabbing betrayer. I can see myself introducing her to my vampire friends: 'My good fellows, meet my wife—she or her family have probably slain one of your kin'." Asher shook his head slowly. His anger was gone, leaving him curiously detached. He felt all alone, afloat in the vast dark universe, where stars and events spun crazily out of control. He hated Miss Paine in the Ass; she was his enemy, an enigma and an eccentric. But, then, what could one expect from such a lineage? And to think, his exalted personage and hers would be linked in unholy matrimony. His ancestors would turn over in their graves, then rise and come yell at him.
"What a farce this all is. A tempest of dire proportions."
Baron Huntsley smiled grimly. "You made your coffin. Now you have to lie in it with Jane," he said.
Asher glared intensely at the man who was neither his foe nor really his friend. "You know, Ian, you always had a morbid sense of humor. But if you make sport of me right now, I feel I will have to do murder. Then Clair would despise me—if my beloved fiancée didn't stake me first."
Ian coughed, covering his chuckle.
Asher clenched his fists, longing to choke the breath out of the man. But that would start a vampire and shape-shifter war. Clair would never forgive him.
Honor was now a suit of armor so heavy he was afraid he'd come crashing to earth, right into a muddled puddle. Such was his look.
Resigned to the frightening, fantastic farce his life had suddenly become, he said morosely, "I guess what Shakespeare said is true. 'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.'"
And it's all a pain in the butt, Ian agreed mutely. Wisely he kept his amusement to himself.
Father of the Vampire's Bride
Knowing that a gathering of eagle-eyed Van Helsings awaited her filled Jane with trepidation as she sought out the Huntsleys' sun filled parlor. The messenger sent for her father had returned early, with both the major and her brother, Brandon, in tow. The major had departed London before the messenger had even reached there, meeting him along the way and riding hell-bent for leather to reach Huntsley Manor. As for why, both Jane and Clair were in the dark.
Jane hadn't seen either her brother or her father yet. Not twenty minutes earlier, Asher and the major had been closeted in the library with Baron Huntsley. Their voices had been raised, yet their remarks were undistinguishable. Jane and Clair had tried listening at the door, but to no avail; they could only make out a word here and there, but not sentences.
Girding herself for one of her father's tirades, Jane straightened her spine, lifted her chin and entered
the large room. She found the major sitting on the rose brocade settee in the corner before the fire. His right leg, slightly swollen with gout, was resting on a stool cushion of matching rose and green hues. His expression was indignant, his face ruddy, his eyebrows arched in blatant disapproval.
Brandon, Jane's brother, stood to his father's right, in one hand a glass of brandy, the other hand on the mantel. In spite of the terror and shame she was feeling, Jane was glad to see he looked his usual handsome self. His brown hair, the color of polished walnuts, was longer than usual, tied back in a queue. His eyes were almost the same shade as her own, except his held more green and they stared at her in sympathy. His smile was fleeting but heartfelt.
Jane started toward her brother to welcome him back from the continent with an animated hug, but he solemnly shook his head, his eyes darting to their father. Abruptly she halted, tormented contemplation tightening her chest further, making her want to run screaming from the room. With great resolve and trepidation, she held her ground, ready for the dressing-down that was soon to come.
"Well, Jane, what dustup have you gotten into now?" the major asked grimly. "What am 1 to do with you? How could you bungle such a simple stratagem? If I didn't know your mother, I'd think you were born on the wrong side of the blanket."
Jane blanched, moving apprehensively to her father's left side. The major was going to ring a peal over her head that would put the great St. Paul's Cathedral bells to shame. Not that that was unwarranted, just unwanted. Her future hung in the balance. Her whole life was turned upside down. She needed a sympathetic shoulder to cry upon—someone to tell her all would be right with the world. Someone to hold her tight and offer the comfort of knowing she was loved in spite of all the bad and scary things that would happen.
She lowered her head, hiding her tears since the major despised watering pots. Besides, she had spent the past day and night crying her eyes out. She was surprised that there was a single drop of water left in her overwrought body.
