Veronica and the Vampire

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  And she, herself, just been saved again. Her rent-a-date had saved her by offering up himself. Sacrificial vamp. What’s more, he had accomplished this with true panache.

  Being saved was just so sexy! Veronica craved Christian’s hands on her. Wanted his mouth on her, anywhere he chose. She didn’t know about pink lace, but was wearing plenty of black lace, tucked right under her dress, covering the derriere he had dragged in here. And her sorry ass wasn’t all of a sudden so sorry.

  Oh, she knew it was useless. She couldn’t touch him really. Sex hadn’t been a part of the deal. Then again, it hadn’t even been mentioned in the contract, so the word loophole came to mind.

  On the white carpet, Charlene had reached Ross, who took a step toward her. Both faced the pastor. But almost in slowed motion, Ross then turned his head, as if to wipe his eye. Charlene turned her head, as if to fix the train of her gown. Camouflage again. Games. As-ifs. It was to Christian and herself that both bride and groom looked.

  The pastor raised the Bible in one hand and a large golden cross in the other. The cross caught a stream of candle light and gleamed, sending a huge golden shadow down the aisle, and over the pews. The light stretched, lengthened, severing the shadows, reaching where Veronica and Christian stood, and flowing over them.

  Christian’s hand, midway down Veronica’s back, stopped stroking. She heard him gasp.

  “Oh,” he said. “Oh, no.”

  Chapter eight

  Veronica felt Christian shiver. Just once. One shiver.

  It wasn’t cold.

  “Is it the twenty-four-carat gold thing?” she whispered, glancing to the upheld cross. “Did the ice queen in the shroud get to you?”

  He tried to smile, but she saw how his facial muscles failed him. Maybe she could rescue him this time . . .

  Surely the rest of the people watching this wedding wouldn’t mind if the bride’s sister just slipped over onto her date’s lap, and warmed him up a little? Maybe their pew-mates wouldn’t notice if she slid her skirt up and did a small hip gyration, just for defrosting’s sake?

  And if God happened to be attending this wedding, well, He’d have to decide who to smite first. With Charlene’s sins all piled up and being flaunted in His face, Veronica doubted she’d be first.

  Problem was, she had never even seen a lap dance.

  A sigh escaped her lips; the faintest puff of scalded air. The scent of burnt silk mingled with the aroma of the candles, bringing images to life that Veronica was helpless to stop. Underneath all that lace Christian thought so highly of, from beneath a mound of crinoline petticoats the color of cotton candy, a naked body emerged in her mind. Hers. Covered in wedding cake. She just couldn’t seem to shake the whipped cream thing.

  “Veronica.”

  Oh, God. Was it God speaking?

  Her eyes flapped open. Big relief. Not God speaking, just Christian. He was searching her face, and he was no longer smiling. His expression had slipped into something less comfortable. His body was tense.

  “I’m going to excuse myself for a minute,” he said.

  “They haven’t said ‘I do’ yet.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back. You will be okay now.”

  “No one will be okay until the vows are in the bag,” she protested.

  Then enlightenment hit. She felt like an idiot. “Oh. Right,” she whispered hastily. “Basement. Third door on the left. Says ‘Gentlemen’ in green paint.”

  What she should have said was: Didn’t know vampires had to use a john. But common sense prevailed. All that blood they drank had to go somewhere.

  Christian raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “Summer camp,” she said. “And Sunday school. Anything with the word ‘man’ on it was destined to get our attention, so I know where all the men go.”

  When he smiled down at her, Veronica’s heart liquefied. It was the most beautiful smile she had ever been on the receiving end of. So again, why, exactly, hadn’t other women been sitting on top of his coffin, counting the minutes until sundown? How could a guy like him, the complete package, possibly have had an opening in his schedule?

  At the front of the church, the pastor was speaking quietly to Charlene and Ross. Charlene’s shoulders twitched. Her sister was itching to turn around, but couldn’t, not with the pastor in her face. Not with Ross clinging to her hand and the heavenly host looking on.

  Still, Veronica didn’t feel safe. She’d be totally vulnerable in this pew alone, without Christian to amplify her courage. But her companion got to his feet, and she had to let him go. This wasn’t kindergarten, where a person had to wait or hold up fingers to be excused.

  Really, though, anything could happen up there in front, with the finale still to come. The white ghost could turn on her heels, scamper down the aisle and grab Christian, or any other man, for that matter. Like in that movie The Graduate, her sister could make an escape with any unsuspecting Homo Sapien possessed of male genitalia, right up until the last minute. After the sacred ‘I do’s,’ this couldn’t happen. Invisible chains would make it difficult for Charlene to run fast.

  Plus, if her sister ruined this wedding or disgraced their mother in front of her friends, Charlene was dead meat. Not too much sympathy there.

  Veronica felt herself starting to hyperventilate.

  When she looked up, Christian was gone.

  Fear isn’t rational, she told herself. Panic attacks are simply the mind playing tricks.

  Yeah? What about racing heartbeats? Clammy hands? Shortness of breath? Tingling hair follicles? Because that’s what she was feeling. Familiar Davis family stressors had started with patent leather shoes before she could walk. Dance lessons at six. White gloves at Easter. Poise lessons at nine. Not to mention makeup sessions at age thirteen. Things not designed by Mother Davis to make her daughters well-rounded individuals with business acumen and high levels of self-esteem, but rather to ensure they would, like Mother Davis herself, be married by twenty and off the Davis payroll. Somebody else’s problem. Tossed into the world salad with the force of a Kitchen Aid blender on stun.

  Both Charlene and herself had rebelled against all this stressful attention to detail, each in their own way. Charlene had preferred sexual escapades. Veronica had chosen education. Then Charlene had suddenly jumped onto their mother’s chartered course and gotten herself engaged. And she hated Veronica for it. Like this was her little sister’s fault. Like this was reasonable.

  No one had any idea how badly Veronica wanted a relationship of her own. Aside from all the pressure and dysfunction of her family, nesting urges were singing her song. She just hadn’t found the right guy. She’d really tried.

  Christian Dale was more than likely not the man to help her achieve a blissful home life. Christian was the human translation of the word sex. Not necessarily husband material.

  Still . . .

  She desired him. She wanted to be queen, even for one freaking night.

  With her heart thumping faster, due to Christian’s absence, Veronica glanced to the spectacle up front, to see that the pastor had finally lowered the cross. The golden gleam was gone, and only candle light remained to lighten the old building’s shadows.

  Charlene and Ross stood framed in a giant heart made of white and yellow flowers. As Charlene turned her head toward Ross for the speaking parts, tiny flashes of light dappled the room, the ceiling, and the people in the pews, coming from the gems sewn into Charlene’s voluminous veil.

  Dots of rainbow-hued sparkles flew everywhere, an entire gathering of tiny Tinkerbells. Like a spreading plague, those shiny dots flitted across the front of Veronica’s black dress. Prisms of light, originating from her sister, made the interior of the church a freakish, flying polka dot fantasy. There was no escaping the little colored things. Veronica felt sure she would scream.

  The room began to swim in front of her, as though the rainbow dots were stirring it up. Slowly at first, then faster, and around and around the room went, takin
g her stomach with it. She couldn’t protest, couldn’t speak. If she opened her mouth, the dots would get inside. She would swallow or inhale them.

  Her only option was to run.

  She pushed off the floor, lunged from the pew, and came up against something hard. Strong arms kept her from crashing to the white matrimonial carpet. A pair of very dark eyes, flecked with gold, brought the spinning to a halt.

  Veronica didn’t know if anyone was watching, and didn’t hold up any fingers to signal a trip to the loo. All she could think of was the acronym V.A.M.P. Inc.

  As in —

  Vamoose, And Make (it) Pronto!

  Chapter nine

  Next thing Veronica knew, she was in the church foyer, and couldn’t figure out how she had gotten there.

  Christian had hold of her arm, and was hurrying her toward the basement stairs.

  Down the steps, into the underbelly of the church, with the pastor’s booming tenor eventually receding, they finally turned a corner. Christian brought her hard up against a bulletin board studded with thumb tacks that were instant acupressure for her rigid back. Sucking in air, trying to catch her breath, Veronica whispered, “Flying dots. Millions of them. Didn’t you see?”

  Christian stroked her damp blonde bangs. “My first thought was that the pew ejected you. Did something happen while I was gone?”

  Adrenaline still pumping, Veronica said, “Sparkles from hell. Couldn’t breathe. Had to go.”

  “You’re not going to faint, are you?”

  “Yesssss.” She doubled over.

  “Let’s get you some air,” he said, gently pulling her off the tacks. “But has anyone suggested you might be a nut?”

  “Pot calling the kettle back?” Veronica tossed back, wincing, trying to regulate her breathing.

  Bypassing the hand holding, Christian moved right to a pick-her-up-in-his-arms action. Like on a romance novel cover, Veronica’s legs dangled over his forearms and her head rested against his chest as he headed toward the exit sign.

  “Maybe your agency will be more discerning after tonight,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “Discerning about what?”

  “Their clientele.”

  Christian kicked open the unlatched upper door with his foot and took her out into the June air. Night scents came rushing at her: newly watered trees, damp pavement, planted flower borders. No crushed rose petals here, thank heavens.

  “Are you breathing?” Christian asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Keep it up.”

  He carried her beneath the trees, and deep into the churchyard, away from the light. No dots followed, only the sensational outdoor scents.

  “Can you smell that?” she asked.

  “More dots?” he asked warily.

  “Night smells.”

  “Ah, progress. Describe them to me.”

  “Well, the grass you’ve just walked on has a green smell, damp, luscious, almost bittersweet. If you put your nose down into it, I’ll bet the scent will be so intense, you’ll sneeze.”

  “You speak from experience?”

  “I sneezed a lot when I was a kid.”

  Christian smiled. Though they were skirting the church illumination, Veronica could see his expression, which was intent, but no longer tense.

  They were on a path beside an old dry stone wall smelling of mildew. On the other side of the wall lay a stretch of lawn punctuated by tall gray slabs.

  “Graveyard,” Veronica announced with a shudder.

  “Completely dotless, I swear,” Christian said, stopping in front of a rusted iron gate. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Immensely.”

  “Would you like to go back inside?”

  “No thanks.”

  Veronica could have sworn she saw the tiniest flash of relief cross his features.

  “I estimate we have about five minutes, tops,” he warned.

  Veronica nodded. “They’ll probably know I’ve ditched by now. I’ll have to have a good excuse handy.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t think they’ll go for a sudden whipped cream craving, do you? Maybe indigestion would do?”

  “Always a good one.” Christian looked down at her, his expression way too sexy. “Whipped cream?”

  “Now is probably not the time to go into it.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Trust me, it isn’t.”

  “Then I’ll just take you back.” He turned, took two steps in the direction they had come from.

  “No!” Veronica protested vehemently. “Please!”

  Christian paused, rather smugly, she thought.

  “Do you feel an explanation coming on?” he said.

  “I don’t usually share my inner workings. Tends to frighten people off.”

  Also, Veronica thought, she didn’t know much about how to tempt a man, or flirt for sport. Inner fantasies were her forte. Christian Dale, all hunky, muscled, chiseled bit of him, was as foreign as another planet, even if there were, in this day and age, female astronauts.

  “I’ve already heard about dots,” he said.

  “Dots are nothing. Tip of the iceberg.”

  She changed the subject. “Vampires are at home in graveyards?” she asked, wanting to know how far Mr. Dale took his own fantasies, wanting also to wipe that uber-sexy expression off his face that was making her damp all over.

  “And vampires truly have special abilities?” she went on, blushing at the many layered meanings of the question, and at which layer she had picked.

  “Four and a half minutes, and counting,” Christian said, but he looked interested in where this was going.

  “Not enough time,” Veronica protested.

  “For what?”

  “A proper fantasy or two.”

  “Fantasy?” His eyebrow went up.

  “Oh, like you don’t have any?”

  “Ah.” Christian grinned, his gleaming fangs slipping over his lower lip. “Back to the whipped cream thing?”

  Another rush of heat scalded Veronica’s cheeks. “Yes, well I have a very healthy inner life. No big deal.”

  Christian’s scrutiny remained intense. His eyes continued to shine. “You know what I am, my sweet, sweet Veronica?”

  “Okay. Look. The color of my hair may be natural, but I do not have blonde mentality. I have a Master’s degree. I work at a law firm. I might have fantasies, but I’m perfectly able to separate them from reality.”

  And if he believed that one, she had a bridge to sell him.

  “Then tell me about the dots,” he said.

  “There’s a perfectly good explanation for that. It will come to me in a minute.”

  His grin widened. “Why don’t you have some nice young man waiting for you?” he asked.

  “How do you know I don’t?”

  “He would have come along, no matter the ordeal.”

  “Boy, you are so not with it,” Veronica said. “Relationships these days aren’t solid, aren’t comprised of quality, and certainly don’t hold up in the face of adversity.”

  “Maybe you’ve never had a real one.”

  Veronica considered arguing, but couldn’t, because he was right. She’d never had a real one. Plus, the position she was in made her feel more vulnerable than usual.

  “You can put me down now,” she said.

  “I don’t think I will.”

  “I command you to put me down.”

  “Oh, do you?”

  “I’m queen,” she reminded him. “You said so, yourself.”

  His laughter rolled through the church grounds like a sultry summer fog; laughter filled with mirth and lightness and fun. As it rippled over the grass, Christian took off again, ignoring her directive, carrying her to yet another sculpted gate. Beyond the gate, Veronica saw that the slabs she’d noticed were actually gravestones, some of them slightly askew, out there in the dark.

  The gate swung inward on creaky hinges, making a sound like
a magnified cricket. Or a haunted house.

  So, okay, Veronica thought. She had behaved poorly in wanting to escape this wedding, and now her mysterious date would try to spook some sense back into her. He’d give her something to be chicken about so that she would want to get back to the others. What better place for a proper spooking than a graveyard? A dark graveyard. With a vampire in it.

  Well, she could show him a thing or two about spooking. She’d give him a dose of his own medicine. Get the bottom of this vampire thing.

  “Maybe we could talk about your fantasies,” she suggested. “Take the pressure off me.”

  When he opened his mouth, Veronica reached up and yanked on his fangs, like a kid on Santa’s lap tugging at the long white beard everyone knew was fake.

  Strange thing, though. The fangs didn’t budge. Not even a tiny wiggle.

  Veronica’s heart skipped a beat. Then two beats. “Geez,” was all she managed to say.

  Chapter ten

  When the cemetery gate clanged closed behind them, Veronica thought she would jump right out of her skin.

  “So,” she said faintly. “You had the fangs professionally installed.”

  They were between two gravestones now. She suppressed a shudder.

  Christian shook his tousled head. “I didn’t think you believed me.”

  Veronica said, trying to sound casual, “You mean they’re real? You didn’t have a dentist do anything to make them this way?”

  Well, all right. Admittedly, she was a teensy bit spooked. But concentration was difficult when there were a bunch of tall gray marble things stuck in the ground beside her, with dead people underneath.

  “If it wasn’t a dentist, was it some other plastic surgery related kind of treatment?” she pressed.

  “Time’s up,” Christian said.

  “You said four minutes and counting.”

  “You said fantasies, and mentioned whipped cream.”

  “That was before the graveyard.”

  “No, that was before pulling on my teeth.”

  “Fangs,” she corrected.

  Christian stepped over a sprinkler that Veronica knew she would have probably fallen over in the dark, had she been walking. He was agile, and very strong.