by Minda Webber
Count Dracul, I Presume
Jane laid her head against the cool glass of her balcony window, feeling the night winds blowing gently against her face. Below, the garden was thick with a soft, grayish fog, and the stars glittered ever-distant in the blue-black night sky.
It was midnight, the witching hour, or if you were a Van Helsing, it was time to pick up your old black bag of vampire tools and go out stalking. Jane sighed thankfully. Those days were behind her.
Moving sideways, she enjoyed the breeze cooling her fevered thoughts—erotic images of Asher thrusting into her, his head thrown back in ecstasy as he poured his seed into her body. She remembered the feel of his hard thighs against hers as he penetrated her, his lips licking and nipping her nipples; and she shivered. How she longed to feel him thus again. But it had been two long nights since her husband had made fiery love to her. It seemed that, on matters of lovemaking, her husband could be quite down to earth when he wasn't actually in it. The stubborn lout was avoiding her once again.
No longer was she a virgin. Now she knew what delights awaited her in the marriage bed, and she only wanted more of the same. But Asher was remote as a marble statue, the silly vacillating vampire.
Jane had seen only a glimpse of him last night, when he had descended the stairs in his long black multilayered cape. He had glanced at her briefly, then left without a word of farewell. It was simply too much to be ignored again; she would not stand for it. She would devise a plan to seduce her husband again and again and again.
She smiled at the thought. She might not be able to have her husband in the day, or to share love's delights in the afternoon, "But I will be bloody well damned if I'm going to give up the nights."
If Asher would only trust her, open up and reveal his past. That would open the door to their future, Jane believed. Trust was essential in relationships. Love would be even better. But she would settle for what she could get. She would love Asher, and he must trust and respect her. "You neglectful Nosferatu, I won't let you win this game of vampire and mouse."
Feeling better, Jane lifted her head and let the breeze caress her face like a lover's fingers. But when her wrist began to tingle uncomfortably, Jane had an inexplicable urge to visit the gardens.
She recognized that the feeling was daft; it was midnight and she was in her nightgown. Shivering, she felt a vague sense of evil as the tingling continued, compelling her to walk downstairs and outside into the fog-shrouded night. Restlessly she stirred, beginning to pace back and forth, resisting the compulsion, until a birdcall caught her attention. The sound was unmistakable.
"The nightingale," she gasped, excitement catching her in its grip. The elusive bird was somewhere close. She had been right that first night when she'd trailed Asher to the cemetery. There was a nightingale in London, as impossible as it might seem.
Once London had abounded with the beautiful birds, but their numbers had diminished as the air grew fouler and smoke from factories had filled the winds. Now they were practically extinct in England, and were found only rarely in the North Country.
"What a discovery," Jane murmured, quickly grabbing her robe and quietly descending the long marble staircase. She could hardly wait to tell the Audubon Society about it.
Outside in the garden, she followed the sound like a siren's call from the sea. Foraging carefully between thornbushes and exotic roses, Jane examined the night sky and the dark outline of the trees, wherever the angelic singing might originate.
As she walked, the fog became thicker, a white-veiled mist among the dark shadows of the garden. Those shadows loomed menacingly, causing Jane to pause right before she entered an area clothed all in solitary blackness, a void where time ceased to exist.
To her right, she heard movement. Startled, she turned, her heart pounding and her fear escalating, leaving the taste of metal in her mouth. Someone was out here with her.
A loud "Ereek!" broke the night. The sound caused Jane to jump, then to laugh giddily. It was Orville's greeting call.
Giggling foolishly, she walked back to the gate and opened it to pet her ostrich, who leaned down to rub his head across her shoulder.
"So, we meet again."
Gasping, Jane whirled. A tall, lean figure emerged from the shadows and fog, making a dark passage, his long black cape flowing out behind him. She could see his fangs glistening in the the moonlight. He was evil personified, the dark, soulless mirrors of his eyes a dark hazard.
"Jane Van Helsing Asher," the figure said formally with a heavy Eastern European accent. "I have been waiting for you." He bowed mockingly. "You might say that you have become my obsession."
"Dracul, I presume," Jane managed to say, her throat very dry. She recognized the voice from the night at the Birds of Paradise Club. This was the blond man who was not a man, who had frightened her when he had tried to drag her off. She had felt a strong threat from him that night. She had not been wrong in that, but he was a vampire and not a werewolf.
"You did not know me last time," Dracul bragged, his voice filled with both menace and laughter, a strange combination. "I was quite disappointed to find that a Van Helsing could be so obtuse."
"That is an unjust accusation. I was drugged. Now, what do you want?" she asked, cautiously backing away. This was the monster of nightmares, the Prince of Darkness!
"Why, you're not dark at all," she noted. In fact, he was fair, with hair as golden as the sunlight—which of course hadn't set upon Dracul's head in over six centuries. Why hadn't she told her husband of what happened to her in the smoking parlor? Lust! That's why, she thought critically. She had been so wrapped up in her husband's lovemaking, she had pushed the strange meeting with this supernatural creature to the back of her mind.
Fool! she chided herself. Foolish, lovesick female, worrying about Asher's lack of interest when she should have been worrying about Dracul's.
The evil count laughed. "Dark enough, my little Van Helsing."
Staring at him, her eyes wide with fright, Jane saw that Dracul was quite handsome—a fact she found chilling. He was a vicious monster hiding behind a mask of perfection. "What do you want?"
"Why, I want you, my dear," he replied, his voice slippery-smooth.
"Why?" she questioned, her heart beating a staccato dance, threatening to pound right out of her chest. She had no stakes with her. She was alone, with no one to step in and rescue her. No father, no cousins, no brother—not even her husband, who was probably out carousing with that overblown neck-biting hussy Lady Montcrief. Really, the man was insufferable.
"Did you kill all those prostitutes?" she asked.
"Not all."
"And what of Lady Veronique?"
"She caught the eye of my cronies."
Jane shuddered. "She's a vampire now?"
All my training was for nothing, she thought hazily, gazing into the grisly hellfire in Dracul's eyes. She was going to die, and Asher was more than likely sleeping with some tart of the walking dead.
"Of course," he answered. "And soon you will be, too. Don't you see that there is a dreadful beauty in decay?" Dracul asked, his eyes full of dark insanity. "From destruction comes rebirth. As you will see. And even better, you are a Van Helsing. The major will be most distressed to find his daughter my eternal vampire bride."
Jane shook her head, backing away. "I don't intend to follow in Lady Veronique's footsteps." She came up against Orville's large feathered back. This was even worse than she feared. Dracul wasn't going to kill her: he was going to make her one of his infamous brides. Brides who drank the blood of little children, draining them and then throwing their small bodies into gutters or off castle walls, while the count cheered them on to new heights of depravity. She would spend eternity throwing up.
It was a black contrast to the thought of eternity with her husband. That would be a different matter, a marvelous thing as they explored the wonders of the world and each other's bodies. As they watched time pass and new inventions change the world, as
new thoughts changed the values of the world, as new art changed the esoteric qualities of the world. Perhaps they would discover a new bird species, fly as vampire bats among them, soaring high and free. It would be a never-ending adventure.
Reality brought her back to the ground with a thud. Asher would never ask her to be his eternal bride. He didn't love her, she reminded herself.
"You have no choice as I can see," Dracul said, glancing around him.
"Don't you have three wives already? Wouldn't one more be a bit gauche?" Jane asked, her voice shaky. She took another small step away from the fanged fiend.
Dracul snarled, "I have only two presently."
"Have you lost one?" Jane had heard the three brides of Dracul were as famous as the Loch Ness Monster in the supernatural world.
"That is a question you must ask your husband!" the count snapped, his long white fangs glistening in the night.
As Jane stared at those sharp teeth, she felt a chill wind blow through her soul. Yes, eternity with Dracul would be a fate worse than death.
"Asher will pay for killing Yvette. She was special, that one," Dracul flared, his eyes now a brilliant scarlet. "I owe him for that, and for the time he maimed me with holy water." The vampire ripped open his shirt, revealing row upon row of melted flesh on the right side of his body, starting just below the collarbone and ending midway down his stomach. "He will pay, and dearly!"
In the blink of an eye, Dracul crossed to Jane, yanking her into his arms and away from the ostrich. Orville took exception as Dracul lowered his head, preparing to drink his fill.
Jane screamed and, seeing those long, glistening fangs descend, the ostrich attacked, pecking viciously as only an outraged bird weighing over three hundred pounds can do.
Dracul missed Jane's neck completely, caught off guard by the back-pecking bird. In the confusion, he dropped Jane. Instinct took over and she quickly rolled away, remembering her training. Silently she thanked her father for his many lengthy drills.
Dracul's fingernails became three-inch claws and he drew back to strike the bird. Jane, realizing his intent, threw herself upon his back and stuck her fingers in his eyes. The ostrich leveled a hard blow to Dracul's nose. A shrill howling filled the night as Spot, hearing his mistress's cries, ran from the house. Joining the fray, he leapt at Dracul's privates, latching on with a vengeance.
Dracul lurched backward. The enraged vampire cried out again, slinging Jane off his back, and Spot flew through the air to land in a soft green hedge. Jane herself landed hard on her hip and left thigh. She groaned, aching. Her leg felt as if an elephant had trampled upon it. She tried to stand, knowing she needed to be ready for flight or fight, but the pain was too great. Terrified, she watched in horror as Orville backed instinctively away. The perfidious Prince of Darkness threw back his head and howled in rage.
Apoplectic, his eyes a bloody red, his long claws clicking together in a furious rhythm, Dracul turned to rip the big bird into shreds. But, seeming to notice something from the corner of his eye, a blur moving with incredible speed through the darkness and shadows, the vampire hesitated.
Catching her breath, her fingers searching desperately for some kind of weapon in the grass, Jane watched curiously as Dracul liquefied into a white mist, blending with the fog. "Where's a good stake when you need one?" she grumbled. But soon the vampire vanished, a wisp of white in the brisk winds. Weakly she began to stand, was surprised when a strong hand helped her up.
"Jane?" Asher said, concern in his deep tone. "Are you all right? I heard you scream."
Asher willed his voice to stay strong. He had felt a fear like never before when he'd heard her scream. As he'd hurried to where the sound had originated, he'd kept seeing images of his wife:
The way she held her stake. The way she sipped her tea. The memory of all that… The way she had spilled brandy upon his coat. The way she petted her ostrich, or spoke kindly to his staff. The way she moved beneath him when making passionate, hot love, and how she seemed to understand all without him having to explain. No, no, they couldn't take that away from him. Or at least he prayed they couldn't. He had put all his energy into speed, knowing that it might all be up to him.
Upon entering the clearing, Asher had seen the incensed ostrich, the stunned dog and his calamity-ridden wife lying on the ground, and Dracul dissolving into mist. Asher thought his heart might stop beating forever. But then, like a puff of smoke Dracul was gone, and Jane was left sitting on the ground with an adorable if idiotic look on her face. Shakily, he hauled her up and tightly enfolded her in his arms.
"Are you all right, love?" he asked.
Jane snuggled close, trying to slip inside her husband's cape as she trembled with shock. He wiped a streak of blood from a cut on her forehead with his handkerchief. She was so cold. Did Asher ever get this cold? "Yes. At least, I think so." She was safe now. Safe now in her husband's arms. Right where she wanted to be, although she'd prefer to have no audience.
Knowing now that Jane was all right, Asher cursed, looking at the spot where Dracul had vanished. Bert, Renfield and two of the gardeners hurried to his side.
"Damn that fiendish monster to hell," Asher snarled, his fangs extending. He was beyond outraged. The count had dared attack what was his—and he'd almost succeeded. He drew another deep breath to calm himself down.
"Mistress Jane, you be okay?" Bert asked, worry filling his homely features.
Jane smiled faintly, nodding at the bird keeper. Even with Asher's arms around her, she couldn't seem to quit trembling.
"What happened?" Renfield asked, his sharp eyes scouting the area.
Asher looked toward Bert and the gardeners. "It's all right. You go on back to sleep. I'll take care of everything. Bert, take Orville with you."
The men all obeyed, although Bert looked as though he wanted to argue.
"Bert," Asher called, cradling Jane in his arms. "Feed that big beautiful bird anything he wants. He saved his mistress's life."
Bert grinned a crooked grin and lovingly patted Orville on the head. "He's a fine, big fellow, my lord. You got it. Ol' Orville will have a feast fit for a king."
Jane began to shake harder as Asher picked her up. Her husband said, "I'm taking her inside, Renfield. She's had quite a fright and a lucky escape."
The valet said shrewdly, "Dracul?"
Asher nodded. No one was going to steal his wife, even if he didn't want her. Well, if he hadn't wanted her. He did want her now. In various and sundry ways. "This means war!" he cried. Immortal warfare—a deadly, dangerous game for all involved. Oftentimes it was a real bloodbath. What fun.
Renfield shook his head, knowing this was not good news. In fact, it was the worst news he could think of. Dracul had instigated war with Asher, and vampire wars always sucked. There could be only one winner, and Dracul was stronger and more hard-bitten.
The valet sighed morosely, watching Asher carry his wife back to the mansion with Spot trailing at his heels. It had taken over thirty years to train his master in maintaining his wardrobe, and they still had a way to go, especially with Lady Jane for his wife. He shook his head—he was really too old to be starting over with some new vampire master.
Staring down at Jane, who looked so pale, pretty and vulnerable, Asher silently declared that no one would ever steal her away from him. She really wasn't so bad, as far as wives went. Over his shoulder he called, "Renfield, I want you to find Orville a mate. I owe that ostrich my wife's life, and I want to reward the big bird."
The valet shook his head indignantly. Didn't he have enough to worry about. Asher ruining his jackets, his new mistress trying to discover the master's coffin? Now he was to be a procurer of an ostrich?
You Only Live Twice
Asher laid his wife on the bed, anxiously studying her. However, his spark of concern changed to something warmer as her robe fell open, revealing her soft white thighs. She looked so pretty in the moonlight.
"Why did you go outside to the gardens?" h
e asked.
Jane frowned, thinking back to those moments before the attack. "I heard a nightingale. But before that I had the strangest urge to go to the garden, almost as if someone was calling me," she answered, unconsciously rubbing her wrist.
Watching her closely, Asher took her hand and examined it closely, noticing two small nicks on her wrist.
He snarled, causing Jane to jerk back, eyeing him with alarm. "What's wrong?"
"He marked you. Not fully a bite, but a mark," Asher explained, looking pointedly at her wrist. "When? Where have you met him before?" His tone was glacial, matching the icy fury in his eyes. He would dispatch Dracul just as soon as he could find the marauding cretin. No one would touch his wife but him! As a boy he had never learned to share his toys. As an adult he'd grown no better.
"I met him at the Birds of Paradise Club. He wore a mask, and I didn't know who he was. But I was terribly frightened of him. He tried to get me to go outside. Fortunately, one of the other soiled doves and her customer came upon us, and I broke away. Shortly after that I encountered you," Jane answered shakily. "I felt a small sting, but I don't remember anything like a bite."
Asher shook his head. "It was a nip. Only a vampire as old as Dracul could have done this—marked you without a full bite. Only vampires over three hundred years of age can even call someone once they have been bitten. But, with Dracul, well… his powers are very strong." He sank beside her on the bed. "You recognized him tonight, didn't you?"
"Yes." Jane took her husband's cold hand in hers, warming it. Basking in his concern, as well as his touch, left Jane feeling slightly euphoric. In some ways she knew Asher intimately. In other ways, he was a great, wondrous mystery. Perhaps he would always be. That thought made her feel sad. She wanted her husband to need her as she needed him. She wanted him to want her as she wanted him.
