“Treasures! Not just things of high monetary value! What your father has acquired and sold for years are things that are irreplaceable. Many of his sold items have been taken from the generations and generations of Draculas before by the generations of Van Helsings before.”
Christine continued to shake her head, unable to meet the man’s gaze. She did not, could not, believe it. Then she paused and looked up at him in horror as realization dawned on her. If what he was saying was true, then had he just lured her here as a form of insurance?
Chapter Nine
Christine was heartbroken. She had truly felt there was something important between The Count and her. She'd really believed the intimacy they'd shared had been genuine. But now she was finding he'd manipulated her. Maybe he did have some sort of power to influence her decisions and cloud her judgment. Christine clutched her chest, closing the robe tighter around her. She could not believe she had fallen for him in such a short amount of time. She felt horrible for having played straight into his arms when she was just a pawn in his game. He'd fallen for a trap, but now he'd laid out one of his own, and she was the perfect prey.
“Why couldn't I be the Christine everyone knows? I should have been formidable and discriminating but instead... Instead, I am in this situation. I am weak and pathetic,” she thought, mortified. She was ashamed and crushed. She'd allowed herself to get carried away and trusted a man she barely knew, all to learn he'd been using her all along. He took a step forward, and she felt his hand on the back of her shoulder. She winced and walked away, heading toward the door of the library they were in. Her eyes landed on the painting of his father, and it made her feel so much worse than she already did.
“Christine,” he said in the deep voice she found so hypnotizing.
“No,” she said loudly, taking a few more steps away from him. She shook her head and told him, “Don't. Don't try to convince me or make me understand. Now I know. Now I get it. I wasn't just some random woman who happened to catch your eye. You picked me out, hunted me like prey, and used me.”
“Christine, I admit that-”
Christine laughed derisively and cut him, “Then how pleased you must have been when you found just how quickly you could make me bend to your will.”
The Count remained quiet for a minute before slowly walking forward to stand directly in front of his father's portrait. Christine stared at his back as he looked up the painting. She knew he was probably admiring it while silently congratulating himself on besting the Van Helsing who'd taken such a meaningful possession of his. She hated thinking of how amusing he must have found it to toy with her like this.
“But why,” she croaked, “Why did you have to take it so far?”
“Because,” he said without turning to look at her, “My original intention was to make sure I had insurance, and you were there, prime and ready for the taking.”
Christine scoffed, hastily wiping the tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry.
“However,” he spoke a bit louder, “It did not take long for me to get the sense there was more to you than I wanted. You slowly worked your way inside me, Christine, until we ended up together. And after sharing that with you, there is no doubt in my mind that you mean a lot more to me than an insurance policy.”
“Of course you'd say that,” she rebutted, “You can't let the only thing keeping you safe from wandering out of here, can you? You can't exactly risk my giving you up to the very people you're cowering from.”
The Count rounded on her, a flash of anger in his eyes. Christine recoiled, which made him soften at once. It was a genuine moment, but she did not want to give in so easily. She could not just believe him any longer. She did not blindly trust a man she barely knew anymore. It really had been stupid of her to let things get this far.
“I cower from no one,” he made clear.
“Yet you needed to trick me into being your insurance?”
“I am an intelligent and strategic man,” he countered.
“You certainly think highly of yourself.”
He stared at her for a moment before saying, “Christine, think about it. Why would I so openly admit all this? And why, like you said, would I need to take things so far? The time we just spent together-”
The sound of the industrial elevator leading to his loft made them both turn in shock and horror. He sprinted out of the room and down the hall, with Christine not falling far behind. They'd just reached the foyer when the elevator doors slid open, and none other than Mr. Sunderby stepped off it.
He looked at Christine with extreme disappointment before turning to glare murderously at The Count. Christine gulped. She felt her extremities go numb and her blood run cold. That was when her father pulled a pistol out from under his coat and pointed it at the Dracula. Christine quickly covered up a gasp with her hand, but she could not hide her eyes, which were now wide with horror. Despite feeling so heartbroken after The Count's confession, she could not help but feel betrayed by her father as well. After all, he'd kept such a huge and life-altering secret from her for the entirety of her life. Had it not been for the man standing beside Christine, she may have never known about her family's real identities. She felt torn. Who could she trust? Whose side should she be on? Even in the face of the truth, Christine could not deny her strong feelings for The Count.
“Christine,” her father said gruffly, “You know I am not an evil man. This is different. I am not a cold-blooded killer.”
“You're holding a gun,” she whispered, “And you came here with the intentions of killing this man.”
“Only because this feud has gone on for centuries. It is the way things have always been. You've been shielded from it until now, but that does not stop our family's destiny from being the elimination of the Dracula.”
“Shielded from it? You say it as if it's some favor to me that my entire life has been a lie. Everything I thought I knew and understood just doesn't make sense anymore.”
“It was a favor to you! I just wanted you to live a normal life.”
“I'm a Van Helsing too, aren't I? And if you're so big on our family's destiny, shouldn't I have been a part of it?”
“Christine, I told you, I just wanted you to have a normal life.”
“How is my life normal in any way? It doesn't matter how much you wanted to change it because the truth stays the same. And you know what? It doesn't matter how much you supposedly wanted to protect me because you are still the same. I can't believe you'd actually be capable of taking another man's life. You are not the person I thought you were.”
“Christine, please,” her father said, but still he would not lower his gun.
“What of the Dracula name?”
Mr. Sunderby and Christine turned to look at the Count, who had been silent until now. She looked at him curiously, but her father looked enraged. It was as if he could not believe the Count would dare speak and interrupt a conversation he was not a part of. But he was a part of it, at least in Christine's opinion.
“If Christine were to live a normal life-”
“Don't you dare speak about my daughter!”
“Dad!”
There was tense silence before the Count asked, “Do you want this to end now? Is that your intentions? You want Christine's life to be normal, so you think killing me will be the end of centuries of rivalry and slaughter. Yet, that doesn't make sense. You are simply perpetuating what has gone on all along.”
Christine's father lifted the gun in his hand, aiming it directly at the Count's forehead. Christine felt sick. She clutched her stomach and debated stepping between her father and the man she undeniably if inexplicably, loved.
“I have every intention of ending the Dracula bloodline before you have the opportunity to spread your evil seed. If I get rid of you, will there be anyone who notices or cares? If I rid the world of you, then the Dracula will come to an end and so will the war that has waged for so
many centuries. So the one who is wrong here is you.”
Dracula looked at Christine and then at her father and smiled. It was sinister in nature. It was purposeful so the father would realize the very thing he wanted to prevent, the very thing he feared, had already come to be. Christine had a brief moment of panicked wondering... Had the Count lured her for this purpose as well? Just how far did this betrayal go?
And, once again, as if reading her mind, he quickly turned to her and said, “I promise, what I said earlier is the truth. Christine... That was never part of the plan.”
“But it helps that you have insurance and got to screw my family over this way, right?”
“Christine, it's not that. It really isn't.”
“Christine! Did you- did you... Really?”
Christine turned to look at her father, who was staring at her in shock and disappointment. She knew the moment to make a choice had arrived. It was time to decide who to believe. Both her father and the Count had betrayed her. The wounds were real, but she did not want to just walk away. It was too involved for her to let go. Christine looked at her father and then turned to stare at the Count. After a long pause, during which she weighed her options, her heart won out.
With an apologetic glance toward her father, Christine moved to the Count’s side. She placed her hand on his chest and shut her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. She'd been drawn to this man from the start. Even when she'd looked down on him, thinking he was a deliveryman, Christine had found him physically attractive. He'd been alluring from the start, even if she hadn't wanted to admit it until she found out he was the highest bidder at the auction. He'd pulled her in, deeper and deeper, against all reason. And, so, she decided to continue down that road.
“Daddy, I love him,” she said quietly and genuinely.
She needed to ignore the fear of admitting this out loud. It pained her to disappoint her father but he, too, had upset her. She was not doing it to get back at him– she was just following her heart.
Her father shook his head, horrified.
“No,” he gasped, “No. Christine, please, no...”
There was a moment of tense silence during which Christine’s father was forced to choose what path to take. She could see him weighing his options, and it broke her heart to know he'd even consider killing the man she loved and the possible father of her child, all in the name of a feud. But it seemed he had the same sentiments as her. He, too, followed his heart. His love for his daughter won out and, shaking his head, he stumbled back into the elevator. With one last, sad glance at his daughter the elevator doors closed and he disappeared from view.
Christine looked at the Count. She opened her mouth to speak but realized it was best to say nothing. Some moments did not need words. He stepped forward and cupped her face between his hands. Christine ran her tongue over her teeth. Looking into his eyes, she slowly opened her mouth to reveal a flash of vampiric teeth in her mouth.
The Count smiled and pressed his lips to hers. Now, the Van Helsing name and the Dracula name were one in the same.
Mail Order Bride: A New Life
Bridget Lowe
A New Life
Copyright 2017 by Bridget Lowe
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.
Part I
Chapter One
“Hey lardo, you got yourself a nice accent there. Really matches your tie!” Christopher cackled, gesturing at his brother’s shirt. “You’re almost forty, bud. Maybe it’s time you learned how to use a fork!”
Some of the other family members chuckled, and Jon looked down at his top. Immediately he saw the gravy stain over his breast and felt himself blushing. He picked up a linen napkin and began to dab at the blot, causing it to smear.
“Oh, nice one!” Chris taunted, stuffing a forkful of potatoes into his mouth and Jon was grateful for the few seconds of silence the motion bought him.
“Johnny, stop rubbing at it!” his mother chided, shaking her head in exasperation. “You’re only making it worse.”
Obediently, he stopped, suddenly unsure of what to do. His cheeks aflame with embarrassment, his dark brown eyes rested on the kind gaze of Chris’ wife, Elyse.
“I’ll get you some club soda, Jon,” she told him, standing from the table.
“He can do it himself, Ellie,” Chris snapped, his smirk fading as she turned away. She barely glanced her husband as she disappeared into the kitchen.
“I’m closer,” she replied as the swinging door closed behind her firm backside. She was six and a half months pregnant but still as agile as she had been the day she had married Christopher five years earlier.
“Your wife is a keeper,” Jordan commented, eyeing his brother-in-law’s partner with more interest than his own wife liked. Jon and Chris’ sister, Tristan glared at her husband but said nothing, her attention suddenly diverted by her toddler daughter who had discovered the cat. Tristan’s dark expression caused a riff at the dinner table despite her silence. It was not Jordan’s fault per se. Elyse was a beautiful woman. It was not simply her Patrician beauty, but she had such an unpretentious air, it was impossible not to feel comfortable in her presence. If Jordan had finer filters, he would have been able to contain his shameless ogling, but alas, Tristan’s high school sweetheart was not known for his tact.
“Yeah, she’s something else,” Chris agreed, taking a sip of wine. Jon felt himself cringe, recognizing the devilish drunken haze in his oldest sibling’s eye. He knew what was coming and not for the first time, he wished he was as much of a drinker as every other member of his family. He glanced somewhat enviously around at the tipsy people in his midst, wondering what it was like to be able to silence inhibitions on a whim.
“Now we just have to find Jon a woman even a fraction as good as mine!” Chris continued, shooting his brother a coy smile. It was not so much a desire for his sibling to find happiness which Christopher longed for as it was a need to humiliate him as frequently as possible. The boys were only two years apart and should have been best of friends, but it became apparent at a young age that Chris and Jon had very little in common. As teens, their mother insisted that it was healthy sibling rivalry, but as the two grew into adulthood, Chris’ jabs became more constant and hurtful. Jon finally recognized that his brother was ashamed of him. Who could blame Chris? As the oldest, he had been athletic, popular and charismatic while Jon had always had his nose stuck in a book, battling his weight and struggling with social anxiety. Chris got married in his last year of college and had his first child when he was twenty-two while Jon attempted online dating once every six months, only to end up feeling incredibly rejected and retreating into his shell. Chris never gave up an opportunity to make his younger brother feel inadequate, and he had years of experience. As a result, Jon tried desperately to avoid spending time with him, but of course, Christmas dinner was not an option when Mary-Anne Hewson was the matriarch of the family.
“He loves you, Johnny. You can’t take everything so personal. You have to learn to grow thicker skin,” Mary-Anne told her son firmly.
“Yeah, well I’m almost forty, mom. I don’t think I’m doing any more growing,” he replied dryly.
> “Well, I certainly hope not around your waistline. Honestly, Johnny, you need to find someone to cook for you. You’re eating fast food all the time, aren’t you?” She stared critically at him, and Jon hung his head in shame. It was not hard to see where Christopher got his personality. Despite Mary-Anne’s well-meaning intentions, her words could be just as cutting as her oldest son’s. It seemed to Jon that since the passing of his father five years earlier, Mary-Anne had become an even darker person, never stopping to weigh the impact of her “advice” before she spoke.
Elyse returned from the kitchen, a can of club soda and another linen napkin in her hand. She waddled gracefully toward him and instantly began dabbing at his shirt.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Ellie, he can do that himself!” Chris barked, his face red with anger. His fork dropped to his plate with a clatter, and he balled his fists in protest. Again, Elyse ignored him and continued what she was doing while Tristan, Mary-Anne, and Jordan stared open-mouthed.
“Nice, Ellie! Hitting on Uncle Jon!” Kevin, Chris’ seventeen-year-old son piped up and was quickly reprimanded by his father with a backhand to the head.
“Ow, dad!” Kevin yelled, rubbing his blonde head and glaring at his father. “What the hell was that for?”
“Show some respect to your step-mother!” Chris yelled. “Elyse, stop that right now.”
Albeit unperturbed by the outburst, Jon’s sister-in-law ceased what she was doing and smiled warmly at him.
“Now it won’t leave a stain,” she told him. Blushing furiously, Jon nodded, unable to speak. She reclaimed her spot beside Chris and resumed eating her supper as if there had not been any interruption.
“So, uh, Johnny, how is work going?” Tristan asked after a moment of awkward silence. He turned gratefully to his sister.
“It’s busy. I have a lot of projects on the go,” he answered truthfully, about to delve into the world of web design. His work was his pride and joy, his escape from the deep depression which was his life. Before he could continue, however, Chris snorted.
The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance Page 44