by Minda Webber
Touching her brother's arm, she looked up at him. "Will you help me, Brandon? The count has captured Asher. He means to destroy my husband, and not in an easy manner."
"You love Asher?" Brandon asked solemnly.
Jane smiled, transforming her plain features into pretty ones, displaying the love she carried in her heart and soul for her husband. "Yes."
Brandon smiled back. "Then I'll help you, Jane."
"Over my dead body," the major shouted.
Everyone ignored him.
Uncle Jakob spoke for the first time, curiosity in his pale green eyes. "Why would Dracul want to kill another vampire? Is it a territorial war?"
"No. More personal. Asher destroyed his second bride, Yvette, and attacked Dracul with holy water."
"Yvette, huh? So that's how the wicked bitch was killed," Jakob remarked. "I always wondered. Never forget that she killed Great-great-uncle Abraham over a hundred years ago."
Jakob Van Helsing rubbed his chin, considering. "So, your husband was the one who rid the world of that soulless fiend." Looking at his sons, he commanded, "We shall help. Asher destroyed a vampire who killed our ancestor, which means that we owe him a debt. Jane's husband by marriage is now tied to us with a bond of blood."
Three of her cousins accepted their father's command without complaint. Dwight scowled, saying, "I will stake whatever vampire is in front of me, Jane and her vile husband be damned."
Shoving her finger into Dwight's chest, Jane snarled, "If you harm a hair on my husband's head, then I will stake you, cousin or no cousin. Blood relation, no blood relation, I love my husband. And I will not have him hurt!"
Dwight drew back from her anger in surprised irritation. Jane had never been so ferocious. "If this is what comes from mixed marriages, well, then I am certainly opposed," he muttered. "Bloody female, putting on airs."
Uncle Jakob bopped Dwight up side the head, remarking briskly, "If this young pup attempts to hurt your husband, I'll have his head. Understand, Dwight?"
Dwight glared at Jane, and she pressed him: "I'll have your word that no harm will befall my husband by your hand, now or ever."
"Agreed," her cousin reluctantly spat, his father giving him the evil eye.
Resolutely, Jane locked eyes with each and every member of her family. "Agreed," she said.
Down to a vampire-hunting man they all nodded, even the major, with Uncle Jakob and Jane's brother twisting his figurative arm.
When the agreement was in place, Jane revealed her bold and brilliant strategy to rescue her husband and exterminate Dracul. As the plan unfolded, wicked joy gleamed in her relatives' eyes.
Jane smiled ruefully. They all looked like little boys waiting for their presents at Christmastime. Her family and relatives acted as if they hadn't had so much fun in a good long while. She guessed they were tired of hunting the old run of the mill English bloodsuckers; they wanted some foreign undead to chase.
She sighed, guessing that the grass was always greener on the other side of the grave.
As she left her father's residence, she could hear shouts of "Tallyho! Don't stake until you see the red of their eyes." There was definitely going to be a hot time in the old Town tonight, what with the Van Helsings hunting. And heaven help the walking dead who got in their way—with the exception of her husband, who more or less had a lifetime free pass, courtesy of the no-longer-reluctant Jane Van Helsing Asher.
Wanted Undead or Alive
It was a dark and stormy night. The shadows seemed to blend into the air, creating swirling mists of deep blue-gray. Streaks of jagged lightning lit the heavens and illuminated the grim-looking manor house. Dracul's human coachman had led Jane here to meet destiny head-on, just as she had predicted.
The count's estate was a matter of acquired taste, Jane thought with a shudder. It was tall, dark and ominous, with gargoyles lining the front gates and door. The building stood out in stark relief against the bleak landscape of gray and black, and the area clearly hid frightening things that not only went bump in the night, but bumped things off.
Gathering her quickly fleeing courage, Jane raised the gargoyle knocker on the front door and let it drop. A loud clanging echoed out. Bravely she stood her ground, while fear ate at her insides. She had to do this for Asher, though Dracul terrified her. His eyes were so ancient and evil, luring the innocent to their immortal doom.
Shivering, Jane raised her chin, trying to shore up her dwindling courage. She was a Van Helsing, a curse on vampirekind everywhere. She would face Dracul and face him with her head held high. She had no choice. She was the diversionary tactic to keep the count's deadly attention, while her family slipped bravely inside.
A tall skeletonlike butler named O'Hara opened the door. He stared coldly at Jane with dull brown eyes and motioned her forward. He led her into a vast cavernlike drawing room which was decorated in dark, harsh slashes of scarlet and black. A large tapestry was embroidered with Dante's words, which Jane repeated grimly: " 'All hope, abandon ye who enter here.'"
A massive portrait of a dark-haired woman with glowing eyes and a long pale neck was hung over a black-marbled fireplace. Her face was cold and intimidating. Before it stood the Prince of Darkness himself, dressed in a deep blue smoking jacket, his pale golden hair shining in the glow of the fire. Two other vampires sat side by side on a large black settee. One was very tall, cadaverous-looking, which meant he hadn't fed in a long time. He had long red hair that was interlaced with gray and tied in a queue. The other vampire had slightly Germanic features, and a massive burn, long scarred over, on his neck. Holy water, Jane recognized. Both bloodsuckers' malevolent and monstrous eyes bored holes into her.
"Jane, my love, what a surprise," Dracul purred, his eyes glowing. Turning to his two companies, he managed a smile that revealed a hint of fang. "We love surprises, don't we, my friends?"
The two vampires nodded in agreement, their cold, reptilian eyes studying Jane as if she were a particularly fine dessert. It made her flesh crawl. It made her heart beat a thunderous rhythm that must be deafening to the predators, Jane surmised. How she wanted to hide in the corner or stick her head in a very deep hole that totally covered up her neck. If she died tonight, she hoped Renfield would still remember to find Orville a mate. And she hoped the female ostrich would be pretty—Orville deserved the best.
"I wish I could return the sentiment," she managed to say, bold in spite of the wild beating of her heart. "Where is my husband?"
Dracul threw back his head and laughed. "Loyal to the very end," he said. "How Van Helsing of you."
The other two vampires hissed as they glared at her, continuing to dissect Jane with their gruesome stares. Jane knew they were thinking wicked thoughts of what to do to her, since her family was definitely de trop in their social circles.
Again, Dracul laughed his sharp laugh. It was enough to slice skin. "Herrs Blixen and Rudolph appear to lack proper appreciation for your heritage," he said.
Jane shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant as her knees trembled beneath her skirts. "It is a fine heritage," she argued.
Blixen hissed again, this time revealing three-inch fangs.
"Herr Blixen disagrees. Your grandfather marked him with holy water over fifty years ago. He is quite pleased to find you as my guest tonight. What delights we have in store," the count warned in a mocking tone.
At these words, a lady in a bloodred gown entered the room. Jane gasped and stared. It was Lady Veronique, who turned to her and smiled, her fangs showing.
"So this is Jane Van Helsing-Asher," Lady Veronique remarked, licking her lips, her red tongue darting out. "I am hungry, my lord. May I snack upon her a bit?"
Count Dracul laughed harshly. "No, my pet. Jane is for me."
Lady Veronique pouted prettily. "But I am hungry."
"Rudolph will take you out to London later tonight. More tasty prostitutes await in White Chapel." Dracul added, "As I said, Jane is solely for me."
Chin held high, Jane
drew on her inner strength. She would be brave to save her love. "Enough of your boasts. I came here to find my husband," she demanded, if her voice was barely a squeak. I should be on the stage, she thought vaguely. No one would know that right at this moment, she was about to pass out with fear.
Dracul motioned his butler to the upstairs room. "Bring down our other guest, O'Hara. If he is unable to walk, carry him."
The butler moved to obey.
Subconsciously, Jane clenched her fists and sucked in her breath. Asher had to be all right. At least she knew that her husband was still alive—well, as alive as the walking dead could be.
Dracul turned to the taller of his two guests. "Rudolph, go help O'Hara bring down our friend the earl."
The taller vampire complied with the prince's demand, exiting the room as silently as a ghost. Even from where Jane stood, she could smell a touch of the grave about him.
"Now, my dear," the count began, turning his attention back to her. "Did you come to rescue Asher?" He moved closer. "And remember, anything you say can and will be held against you. I plan to hold quite a few things against you."
"I came to see if I could bargain for my husband," Jane lied, hiding her anxiety under a streak of bravado. Silently, she quoted, He whose ranks are united in purpose will be victorious.
"You aren't afraid I will destroy you as Asher destroyed my bride?"
"You can try," Jane retorted bravely—and stupidly, she decided. He could squash her like a fly.
The count laughed. "Such courage. But don't push me, or I won't compare you to a summer night," he mocked. He clearly intended to insult her. "The least Asher could have done was marry a beauty."
Jane's eyes narrowed. "I've been insulted by better vampires than you," she replied. She and her family could not fail in this, their greatest mission. She would get Asher out of here alive. She swore it.
Ignoring her courageous but useless words, Dracul examined Jane from the top of her head all the way to her feet. "No, you are not Asher's usual type of woman," he said, trailing one long finger down her cheek. Jane shivered, repulsed by his touch. She felt her blood run cold. The thought cheered her up. Maybe if her blood got too cold, the Count of Nasty would be too disgusted to drink it. Did he prefer hot blood?
"No, not his usual style at all," Dracul continued, slowly studying her. "Yet, I can see the attraction. Such lovely eyes… and that neck." He paused and leaned closer to lay a kiss on her pale skin. She shuddered in horror at the icy touch of death. She felt the wet damp of the graveyard in his kiss. Terror filled her veins.
Jane drew back rigidly, returning Dracul's gaze with one of loathing. He stiffened as he tried to mesmerize her with his stare. Then, ungracious in defeat, he snarled, "So it is true. I had heard it, but did not believe. Van Helsings do not fall wholly under our spell. But that is because shape-shifters are immune to our vampiric gaze."
Stepping back, he circled Jane like a stalking cat. "Very dangerous to our kind. Don't you agree, Asher?"
Jane gasped as she spotted the bloody figure of her husband being dragged into the room, supported by Rudolph and O'Hara. She was just in the neck of time.
Her husband was wrapped in silver chains that had burned partially into his chest and arms. His face was whiter than a sheet, blood covering his jacket and the left side of his face. Jane darted forward to reach him, but was jerked back by Dracul's grip on her arm.
"No, Jane. You don't belong at his side anymore. Now you are mine—my war trophy, so to speak." Dracul taunted both his captives, his eyes glowing with unholy fire. "You will become my third bride tonight with Asher as our witness." The count laughed cruelly, while Jane's husband struggled in vain to break free of the tall vampire and the butler.
Asher's cry of rage filled the air. He felt as if his heart was ripped from his chest. Dracul had Jane, his Jane. Dracul would make her his immortal bride, and Jane would be tied through eternity to a monster of unequaled depravity and cruelty. Her kind, courageous heart would be destroyed by living with such a monster.
Jane tried wrenching her arm free, needing to place as much distance between herself and the Prince of Evil as possible. But his grip was like a vise, holding her in place.
Lady Veronique was gazing at Dracul. "I want to be your bride," she snarled.
Dracul quickly backhanded her with his free arm. "Quiet, Veronique! You are to be Rudolph's consort—as well you know."
Lady Veronique cringed at the anger in the count's eyes. She submitted with a small tremor. "As you say, my master."
Asher's vision was blurred; he had lost too much blood to have any strength, yet still he struggled, trying to reach his wife. He had always had a weakness for lost causes. Staring at Jane, he realized that he was ashamed. This woman had come to him in his greatest hour of need, risking her life. All this after he had treated her with barely concealed contempt, humiliating her in front of society and ignoring her in private.
Suddenly Asher despised himself for his misplaced affections and liaisons. For hundreds of years he had been searching for true love, a special woman to be his eternal bride, and Jane had been placed right in front of him. Perhaps he had been living in dirt so long that he couldn't understand anything above it, but true devotion was before him now: his wife in Dracul's cunning clutches, a shining example of beauty, kindness and true good. She was one of the few in the world who listened to her heart and followed through, no matter the odds stacked against her.
The tall vampire slammed Asher against the wall, causing stars to appear before his closed eyes. Sharp pain stabbed him. He hurt, and he knew he was wounded badly. They had kept him chained and thirsty to keep him from healing.
"Jane," he whispered sadly. Why had she come? Why had she risked her life and soul? The answer hit him straight in the heart like a bolt from Cupid's quiver: His calamity-ridden wife loved him.
Asher felt bloodred tears well up in his eyes. His wife loved him! He had never felt more depressed or happier, in his whole life. Blinking back sorrow, his determination to live to see another night with Jane at his side grew and expanded within him. Nothing could happen to his wife. He wouldn't let Jane be Dracul's eternal consort. She would be his own consort, and his alone. Somehow he would get them out of this dreadful debacle, and spend eternity by her side. Although things had never looked worse, things also had never looked better, because he was in love with his wife.
If he hadn't been so stubborn and idiotic, he would have recognized that the lust he felt for Jane was much more than that. The hunger he felt for her whenever he was in her presence, or out of it, was not only a hunger for blood and to lose himself in her body, but also for conversation, for the way she cocked her head when she was troubled. He loved how she played with her big bird and spoke to Spot, and the all-aglow smile she wore after he made love to her—a smile that said she had just discovered the secrets of the universe.
If he and Jane survived this night, he would swear by the heavens and stars that, in love, he would never go hungry again. "Jane, forgive me," he uttered, lifting his head and staring into her beautiful eyes.
"I do."
Oh, how the mighty had fallen. He had been waiting forever, it seemed. Waiting in the darkness for light. Jane was that: his glowing joy, his reason to get up and rise out of his coffin each night. She would be a companion for his youth and his old age, a woman of remarkable character and generosity of both spirit and nature. And he was the lucky man she'd married. They could have a wonderful future together of watching birds and the starts of sunrises, sleeping like the dead and watching the changing of the guards, art, music, literature, inventions and customs—everything as the centuries passed by. A world of words, spectacular surprises, ships perhaps sailing underwater, men flying and not as bats. If only he could remain alive beyond this one night, with Jane as his eternal bride, wedded in undead matrimony…
"Jane will be a replacement for the bride you murdered," Dracul stated with fiendish delight. "After all, I have
always said that revenge is a dish best served at body temperature."
"I had no choice, and you know it. Yvette was killing children," Asher cried, his body wracked with pain. The skin near the silver chains on him was starting to char and blacken.
Dracul shrugged. "As if I care about that. Their lives meant nothing. Small, insignificant mortal children—they are nothing before us. You sacrificed someone I cared for because of mere human weaklings," he sneered. He was clearly enraged, his clenched jaws seemingly cut from marble. "To destroy one of us, for a mortal. Us! We are like gods. Vampirekind is the superior race. Mortals are mere food. To be toyed with, tortured, used, abused, discarded and drained."
Asher shook his head, hearing some of his own words coming back to haunt him. He knew humans were weaker, but hearing the base count spew such biased filth, he felt ashamed. His wife was human, as was Clair Frankenstein Huntsley, and both women were as remarkable as people could be.
"I enjoyed Yvette's body and mind," Dracul continued. "She always envisioned the best tortures. And you destroyed her!" Dracul spat, pointing a long, elegant finger at Asher. "For humans, who are mere insects to be squashed beneath our feet!"
Asher winced, feeling trickles of blood running down his back. They had struck him with thin, silver-barbed whips. His wrists were raw and swollen where his chains slowly ate into his flesh.
"No. They are more than that," he replied, shaking his head. He had once believed fiercely in the superiority of his race. Humans had meant little to him besides sex and food. They fought and died for greed, lust, revenge and power, killing each other much faster than his own race could cause their extinction. Yet… "I have met men of honor and truth. I have known both good men and bad, just as there are good and bad of our own kind. Man is as complex and as special as our own race. What gives you the right to judge? Nothing. Only a fading belief in your own omnipotence."
