The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing (36 page)

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.”

Asher caught Dracul’s look of utter disgust and disbelief. He added, “I didn’t realize it before. Not until Jane came into my life.” His wife was like a breath of fresh air, stirring the dankness crypt’s cold, musty air. He lifted his eyes and looked at her, love filling his eyes.

The count cursed, the ferocity of his rage revealing his profound evil. “You are a fool, Asher! Man is but a breath of shadow, while we are lords of all things. Mankind is a doomed species, and we are its rightful rulers. We shall be here long after their race is dust in the wind. It is our purpose to make them so.”

“That’s blind, Dracul.” Asher shook his head. “Without food, how will we survive? Your vision is shortsighted at best.”

The count glowered at him and motioned Rudolph to secure Asher’s hands above him, to attach him to a long iron hook suspended from the ceiling beams. “You’re a fool, Asher!” he snarled. “A sentimental, human-loving fool. A disgrace to our kind.”

Asher struggled in vain, his strength rapidly draining. His arms were lifted high above his head, and he had to stretch out fully so that they did not bear the whole weight of his body. His back arched from the uncomfortable position.

Once he was in place, Dracul approached him, pulling Jane alongside. For one moment Asher thought he might pass out from pain and loss of blood, but gallantly he managed to shove the encroaching darkness away.

“You shall watch me make her mine,” Dracul jeered, pulling Jane into his arms. “You shall go to your grave forever, knowing your wife is now my consort.” He encircled her from behind, his arms locking hers as he caressed her breasts. Lady Veronique clapped her hands, smiling.

Asher growled, forgetting his chains in his anger. Unable to watch such a creature of evil touch his wife, he tried to launch himself at Dracul.

The attempt caused Asher to lose his balance. He barely managed to keep his feet beneath him as fresh blood leaked from his numerous wounds, adding to the stains already on his white shirt. He hated being helpless. He hated seeing the fear in his wife’s eyes. He should be protecting her, not chained to this bloody hook.

Dracul watched with nefarious enjoyment. “Such lovely, lush breasts—and they shall be mine to suckle from this night forth,” the count prodded ruthlessly. Leaning back to study Jane’s profile, he added, “But no great beauty like Yvette was.”

He was wrong, Asher thought. Jane was the first stirring of breath in his body when he woke from the sleep of the dead. She was the melodic music of the night wind, and the twinkling stars at deep midnight. His wife might be a calamity, but she was his calamity. She might own a great big bird that ran amok in his household, but not every earl had a real ostrich in residence who could save his wife’s life. His wife’s family might be the cursed Van Helsings, but at least they were successful at what they did, and she loved him despite that.

“You are quite mistaken,” Asher said, gazing adoringly upon his wife. “Jane is the most beautiful woman in the world, and quite extraordinary.” How could anyone alive not see that? How had he missed it for so long?

Stunned, Jane raised her eyes to meet Asher’s. What she saw there made her heart sing. Her husband thought she was beautiful. He thought she was extraordinary. Jane felt something break inside her, slowly cracking open to reveal the heart of the woman she really was. Never again would she feel unattractive, for the ugly duckling had at last realized she was a swan.

She felt tears filling her eyes, and at the same time she had an insane urge to laugh. For once in her life, in this miserable, frightening struggle, she felt truly radiant.

“How droll. She must be an acquired taste,” Dracul mocked, his voice laced with condescension. “Perhaps, she will be at least be tasty—a fine vintage from the age-old keg of Van Helsing.”

“You wish you knew,” Asher muttered, his blood heating to the boiling point, the point of explosion, as Dracul’s hand’s roamed over his wife’s voluptuous form. He would break the count’s fingers one by one. No vampire touched what was his and lived to tell the tale.

Lady Veronique retorted smugly, “I bet she won’t taste as sweet as I did, Count.”

Dracul laughed again. “Oh, but she will. Revenge is the sweetest taste of all.”

Lady Veronique frowned at her lord and master as Jane struggled against her foe’s humiliating hold, trying to break free, her hands outstretched to touch her husband. In this stronghold of fear, Asher was her protection against Dracul’s dark obsessions and dangerous liaison.

The count smiled again, an expression devoid of all kindness. “Stop that, Jane. You are mine now. Soon your loyalty to him will be bestowed upon a much worthier object.

“So let the games begin. We will let Asher play with Lady Montcrief. She has confided to me that she owes your husband for four long months spent in a coffin without a hint of fresh air or blood.” Dracul laughed, clearly enjoying the fear emanating off Jane and Asher’s helpless bodies. “Can we guess that she was not a happy vampire, being locked in a coffin for months without being fed? Such a harsh punishment for such a trifling offense,” the count mocked.

Asher spoke with a hint of his old hauteur, in spite of the gravity of his injuries. “She tried to kill me, the master of her nest. You know full well I could have put her to the death for that ‘trifling offense.’”

Again the Prince of Darkness shrugged. “It is lucky for me that she didn’t succeed. I do so love torture. And I have such fine things planned for you,” he added mercilessly. “Don’t we, my pet?” Dracul directed the last statement to Lady Montcrief, who had just entered the room. Lady Veronique’s frown grew grim with jealousy.

Jane flinched when she saw the treacherous vampiress. Lady Montcrief wore a revealing black gown, better suited to the boudoir than this place, with a décolletage that plunged nearly to her waist. The wicked vamp was accompanied by two others of clearly Slavic origin.

As the vampiress approached, Jane saw Lady Montcrief’s hand rise to slap Asher. The blow knocked Neil’s head to the side, and her palm left a vivid red print against his pale cheek.

“Stop!” Jane cried in terror and anger.

Ignoring her, Lady Montcrief lifted her hand and touched the blood dripping down Asher’s face. He jerked back.

She laughed, a shrill sound, and turned around, slowly licking his blood off her fingers. She kept her vile gaze focused on Jane, enjoying the anguish and disgust she evoked. Raising her hand, she lifted her fingers. “Care for a taste?” she asked.

Jane’s stomach rumbled in reproach. She knew she would be mortified to cast up her accounts, but all this blood was sickening, even if it was her beloved husband’s.

The blood-tipped fingers moved closer and closer, and soon were a mere inch from Jane’s face. She swooned, only to be revived a few moments later by Dracul’s cold hand on her head and his grotesque comment: “Jane, wake up and smell the blood.”

Finding herself in the count’s arms, with Lady Montcrief and Lady Veronique watching anxiously, Jane shuddered. Where were the troops when you needed them? Where were her annoying, barbaric cousins? She was going to kill her entire family if they didn’t arrive soon, and if this army of the undead didn’t kill her and her husband first.

Stiffly, she pushed away from the Prince of Darkness. Lady Montcrief leaned in, running her fingers over Dracul’s lips. He kissed the blood from them.

Becoming utterly entranced, Dracul released Jane. She immediately and with great relief eased away, moving nearer to her husband in careful, tiny steps, while Lady Veronique turned to Rudolph and ran her fingers over his chest.

Asher leaned toward Jane as Dracul continued sucking on Lady Montcrief’s fingers, whispering, “Never let them see you sweat.” He laughed deliriously.

Jane gave him a frosty look. “Of course not! Ladies don’t sweat. And I’ll have you know that I was brought up to be a lady, even in the face of death.”

“In the very midst of life, we are always just a step away from death,” Asher said.

“You can say that again!” Jane agreed. Looking around the room at the many frightening faces of the undead, she gave a sigh of defeat.

Asher cocked a brow. His hauteur looked ridiculous with all the blood on his face. “Oh, don’t give me that look of icy disdain,” Jane complained.

“I do that look best,” came Asher’s protest.

“How well I know. But now is not the time,” Jane said, her hands on her hips. “You know, Asher, sometimes you can be a real pain in the neck.”

Asher smiled, amused. Yes, for once in his depraved life, Dracul was correct. Jane was definitely an acquired taste—a bit funny, a bit spicy, a bit unsure of herself, a bit cowardly. But a lot of brave. Yes, she was a fine vintage indeed. His cup ranneth over with love for her.

“Actually, my love, I think that will soon be true of you too,” he teased. “I hope when I am dead and gone, and you are out sucking down little children, you’ll remember what a good guy I was,” he added lightly. Then he paused to watch Lady Montcrief unbutton the count’s dark breeches.

How uncouth, he thought, to copulate before an audience! But, then, Dracul was like that; whenever an urge took him, he acquiesced. Asher remembered one time the count had fornicated in front of a whole regiment of English troops. Over in the corner, Lady Veronique was sucking on Rudolph’s neck while he caressed her bottom.

Jane started to seek out what had caught her husband’s attention, but Asher shook his head. “Don’t look now, Jane.”

Accepting his words, she leaned in close, scolding her husband quietly, “If you die tonight…” Then, realizing what she had said, she quickly amended her comment: “I mean, really die. I will never forgive you. Never, ever.”

Asher smiled. Jane meant every word. She had risked life and limb to save him. Her loyalty was to him alone. What a fool he had been! If he had tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, he would let his dearly beloved wife know just how much she meant to him.