by Minda Webber
"Manners be damned. I have a world to save in spite of the earl's—alias Dracul's—good looks and my friend's misguided loyalty."
Somehow she would manage to flatter and cajole Count Dracul, getting him to walk with her into the conservatory. There she would do her wicked deed.
"This time, I won't fail. Finally the major will see me succeed." She only hoped she wouldn't be sick in the puddle that Count Dracul was about to become.
"The die is cast," she told herself firmly. "There is no retreat for a Van Helsing." And so saying, she lurched several steps forward, feeling as graceful as a swan. She felt beautiful and seductive, a siren to be reckoned with. How amazing, she thought. I can conquer the world! If only her obnoxious cousins could see her now.
She tracked the earl through the ballroom, silent and graceful as a cat, idly wondering if Cleopatra the First had been a tippler of brandy. She must have been, to have let herself be rolled up naked in a carpet and delivered to her suitor that way. Had Caesar immediately seized her? It seemed only likely after seeing Cleopatra au naturel.
A short distance away, Lord Asher paced, trying to destroy the feelings that he felt in his heart for Clair. Somewhere, men and women were locked in fiery embraces. Somewhere under the blue-black skies, lovers were kissing. Somewhere in the world, romantic words being written were shared by lovers. "But not for me," Asher moaned. To wait so long for love to arrive, only to discover that his love was fruitless—it was a hard burden to bear.
"I'm becoming morbid. I feel like somebody's walked over my grave, and maybe it's me," he complained as he restlessly stalked toward the balcony. There, the open doors were an invitation to the cool breezes of the night he so cherished. But before he could reach the door, a lady in a Cleopatra costume clumsily barged into him.
He caught her around the waist before she fell flat on her face. She had nice, lush breasts, which felt very nice pressed against him. He did so love large, plump breasts. They were so fun to bite and suck. Although he was still an old-fashioned vampire, the neck being the most erogenous zone for him, breasts were a definite second.
Examining her neck, Asher found it to be very pale and elegant, like a swan's. He'd bet she was good to the last drop. This female was definitely worth a closer look, a taste, a prime bit of blood.
He straightened, then leaned back slightly, his eyes running over her figure. The woman in his arms was small in stature—probably five foot two—but not in form. Her hips were wide, her breasts plump. Her waist, though not tiny, was also not large. His nostrils twitched. The lady had been tippling at the brandy bottle. He almost laughed as she tried to gaze haughtily at him. Her incredible silver-green eyes reminded him of moonlit mist through a wet, lush forest. Although right now they were slightly unfocused.
"I'm so sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen this way at all," she announced firmly, then hiccuped.
Asher hid his grin. "What wasn't supposed to happen?"
"I meant to dazzle you, not fall over you," she explained. Her tone was condescending, as if she spoke to a half-wit. "Don't you know anything? Pay attention!"
The little lady was a tartar, and saucy, Asher mused. "Apparently not. I don't even know your name," he admitted, wondering what the face looked like beneath her mask. Was it as remarkable as her eyes?
"I would never give my name to the Devil," she said pertly, staring at the mask he wore.
In the back of her mind, Jane thought her voice sounded a tad bit slurred. Was she tipsy? Heavens, surely not. A lady never became tipsy—most especially not in public.
The earl grinned lasciviously. "Better the devil you know." He trailed off. "And we could get to know each other oh-so-well."
Jane shook her head. Didn't she appear the epitome of English virtue? In her hazy cloud of overindulgence, she forgot she was supposed to be a siren bent on seduction.
But her prim image was ruined when she hiccuped again, quite loudly.
She remembered her task as Asher chortled. "The vicar at our church always said the Devil would try to tempt mortal man and woman. I can see what he meant. You are a temptation," she said, a small smile playing at her lips. This seductress demeanor was easier to assume than she'd thought. With her woman's intuition, she could tell the earl was falling victim to her charms.
"So, you have to admit you must give the Devil his due," he bantered. His blue eyes were mesmerizing. But Jane fought that off.
"Only if you like extremely hot and sulphurous places to spend eternity," she replied. She almost added that he should be particularly worried about spending an eternity in hell at the moment, because he was an immortal creature and by all accounts quite amoral too. The earl reputedly had more than three mistresses in his keeping, not to mention his three brides. Not only morally corrupt, the vampire must also be exhausted, Jane mused, making another black mark in her head against the earl. Add gluttony to the list for all his bloodsucking.
And yet, Jane's eyes welled with tears. This lovely creature was immortal now, but by tomorrow he would be dust in the wind. All he'd be was dust in the wind. The thought saddened her tremendously.
"Poor, wicked, devilish earl," she said, gazing up at him sadly. Who would cry over his coffin? He would be buried in—or swept into—unconsecrated ground. After tonight, she would never see those handsome features again for as long as she lived.
She wondered if the earl was tired of being undead, and if maybe would like to be permanently un-undead? That would be a good thing. Really, what did one do for surprises in life after one had lived for centuries? It had probably been decades since he'd walked in the bright golden daylight, watched green things grow or birds taking majestic flight, the sun glittering off their wings. The enigmatic earl was probably bored silly, and would quite likely welcome the grave. Well, maybe. If he did, it would certainly ease her guilt, she decided. Her nose became stuffy. Poor,, poor, wicked earl. He would soon be a slushy spot on the terrace.
My, it was hot here, she realized suddenly. As hot as Hades. It would melt her chocolate, if she had brought any. How clever of her to have left her bonbons at home. Delicately, she wiped her brow.
Lord Asher watched in amusement as the tiny woman in his arms clumsily mopped her brow. He wondered if she was more affected by the brandy she'd consumed or by his presence. It would not be the first time or the last he had made a lady swoon, his fiery glance sending their senses and passions spiraling heatedly out of control.
"What need have I to fear hell?" he asked. "I, my dear, have been there so many times that I could make my way out blindfolded," he went on smoothly.
Jane laughed. "How delightful! We could all play a game of blindman's bluff and skip merrily to the Devil. And when you felt like it, you could lead us back." My goodness! What was she saying? The vicar at her church would be appalled.
Asher smiled. This mysterious lady in green, besides being slightly bosky, also had a sense of humor. "Maybe we should start a little slower. I could introduce you to the music of the night. That in itself is daring enough."
Staring into the earl's eyes, Jane wanted to fall into those icy blue orbs. Desire swept through her, catching her by surprise with its fearsome strength. She wanted to run into the night with him, to let him show her the heights of the underworld.
Mopping her brow again, Jane fought her attraction. Where had those thoughts come from? Must be his vampiric powers, she decided foggily. But being the Van Helsing that she was, she wouldn't let it show.
"I'd like to introduce myself," he said.
"I know who you are. The Earl of Wolverton." Jane hiccuped delicately, pondering her strange feelings for this fickle fiend of forever. Perhaps she had sipped a bit too much brandy.
The earl bowed elegantly, a gesture that was second nature. "Neil Asher, but you may call me Asher. And who are you?"
"That's for me to know and you to never find out," she responded, wondering why there suddenly seemed to be two earls standing in front of her. "Er, you don't have a twin,
do you?" she asked.
"Pardon?" Asher said, looking surprised.
"It's nothing," she managed, waving her hand in the air. "I am not going to tell you my name. You could burn me with fire, cast me into a lake, hang me from ceiling rafters—"
Asher interrupted. "I get the picture." And he did, Ceiling rafters, what fun! She would be naked, of course, and he would kiss every inch of her delectable body before he had his midnight snack.
The woman continued, "You could drag me behind runaway horses, or carry me into the bushes—"
Asher grinned wickedly. "I could?"
Jane nodded solemnly, standing unsteadily, hoping the room would quit spinning. What vampire magic was this? Still, the crafty, devious undead earl must not find out her real name. That would be a total disaster.
Grabbing her arm, he hurried her out and down the terrace stairway, into the night where the soft glow of the moon had turned the formal gardens into a beautiful fairyland.
As she stumbled down the stone steps after him, Jane realized that her father's plan might yet be a smashing success—if only the earl would slow down. And the sooner the better. Her stomach was reacting strangely, and she felt very sleepy.
For once, fortune seemed to be smiling on her; she and the earl were alone. All she had to do now was throw the holy water in his face. Well, maybe not his face. After all, he had those remarkable blue eyes. They reminded her of the ice caps, so pure a blue as to be almost white, with a darker hue encircling the pupils. And his smile… Well, that smile could easily speed up a heartbeat—like it was doing now.
She debated whether throwing the holy water on his chest would still dispatch him. Face or chest, face or chest? she asked silently. The decision had to be made.
And soon, from the way things were advancing. The earl had stopped and was pulling her toward him. If only she knew which image before her was the true Lord Asher.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she opened them again to find one of the faces a bit vaguer than the other. The second must be the true earl. "If only the world would stop spinning," she commented dizzily.
Taken aback, Asher stared at the woman in his arms. "I think you've had a bit too much to drink, my queen." Perhaps the night was not going to end as he'd anticipated, with him pumping hard into this sweet Cleopatra's hot, lush valley of the Nile. It seemed he'd ended up with a sphinx.
Anxiety and guilt ridden, and quite inebriated, Jane jerked the first thing out of her pocket that she could find. Unstoppering it, she closed her eyes and prepared herself to do her father's task. She flung the contents at the earl. It splashed onto his chest, saturating his superfine jacket.
"Hi-ho!" she exclaimed. Then, opening her eyes and glancing down at the flask in her hand, she gasped in horror when she saw that the container was silver. Her wits befuddled, Jane still knew something was wrong. The holy water was in a brown bottle, not a silver flask. The thing in the silver flask was brandy. Mortified, Jane gaped at the earl as alcohol fumes hit the air. Dark liquid trailed down her foe's chest.
Astonished, Asher stared down at his ruined coat. Renfield, his valet, would be quite up in arms. His mysterious Queen of the Nile was potty in the head. Just his luck. Dryly, he remarked, "By deuce, if you didn't like my costume, you could have just told me!"
Taking one long look at her brandy-drenched earl, Jane shook her fist in the air, tears in her eyes. "Curses! Foiled again! I'll never live down the embarrassment."
Not if any of her kin heard of the night's fiasco, not to mention that the handsome earl was now thinking her the Queen of Fools. Some vampire slayer she was.
And yet, she could not but be a bit relieved he was alive. He and his beautiful blue eyes. Without further ado or fanfare, Jane turned, her dignity in tatters, and teetered off into the dark, cold night.
Lord Asher cocked his head, raised an aristocratic brow and studied the small figure hurrying unsteadily away. His mind sought out the lone stranger. "Bloody hell! Who was that masked woman, anyway?"
The Best Laid Plans of Van Helsings on Vampires
Morning came, a gray, rainy, dismal day as Jane walked into her father's study. She found the major standing by the ornately crafted fireplace, on the moss green Persian carpet that once again she was being called onto.
"Not the old failure-is-not-an-option speech again," she mumbled under breath, praying to escape it.
Major Van Helsing was dressed with his usual military precision in a green hunting jacket, forest green waistcoat and doeskin breeches. Jane wanted to cringe at his foreboding expression as she stood and faced his steely-eyed glare.
The major made Jane feel ten again, back when she had traded her silver cross for a beautiful blue hair ribbon. The major had lectured her quite severely, throwing the brightly colored ribbon into the fireplace. Jane's other punishment had been to have her hair shorn just below the ears. It had taken years to grow out, and the incident had been traumatic for her, who at ten had only just started noticing her looks. Even then, she had known that her freckles weren't very attractive and her lips were a bit too full. So her straight hair, which hung to her knees, was her crowning glory. The shade a dark blond, her locks were her mother's pride and joy as well as her own. Her mother hadn't spoken to her father for four months after the incident, and neither had Jane.
"Your conduct is unbecoming, Jane! You are a disgrace to the Van Helsing name. This is a grave new disappointment in a long line of disappointments, I might add," the major pronounced harshly, his round face rigid with disdain.
"Chin up," Jane whispered. Dejectedly she stared at her overweight, overwrought father, wondering if he cared that his grave disappointment could have resulted in his daughter being gravely disposed—in a real grave, that was, if Dracul had retaliated.
"Jane, what am I to do with you?" he asked. "Don't you know that you don't make holy water out of wine? And whiskey? You could have been badly bitten. You must take more care. Our work is the work of angels. Last night you came home reeking of brandy, your dress a mess, babbling about ruined jackets and handsome devils. And to make matters worse, the Earl of Wolverton is alive and well." The major shook his head and grumbled, "Well, as alive as the undead can be. He wasn't a spot. I was to see the spot, Jane. To see the spot. Don't you see, Jane?"
Jane remained stoic as her father berated her. Once again, she had besmirched the Van Helsing name. She was a twenty-three-year-old family member who had never executed a bloodsucker. She was a complete washout. And there was nothing to be done about it.
As usual whenever Jane got rattled, her mind began operating on two or three different levels, leading her to blurt out comments that were unrelated. "Where's Spot?" Was her faithful dog around? "Are there any chocolate bonbons in the study?" Chocolate was her comfort food.
"Bonbons, at a time like this? Get hold of yourself soldier!" the major demanded, giving her a withering glance. "Failure is not an option when we are the last thing between the world and the dastardly undead."
Yes, here it came: the old failure-is-not-an-option speech. Jane silently groaned and rubbed her forehead, massaging the ache there. Never again would she consume so much brandy. Courage was one thing, a headache the size of the Tower of London was quite another. How her brother and cousins could literally and physically stand the mornings after their many indulgences, she couldn't conceive.
"I'm sorry, Papa. But I am no longer a girl in the nursery." She thought she might defend herself a tad.
"I didn't raise you to get bosky! And your mother raised you to be a lady!" he ranted.
"You only remember me being a lady when it's convenient. I am sorry that I failed you. That is all."
All in all, last night had been a disastrous farce, with her in the lead role. The earl was a worthy foe, and she had made a complete ninny of herself. Never had she been so gauche. Never had she sucked down so much courage-replenishing brandy. But, then, never had she tried to melt the face off of the most breathtaking man—make that vampire—she
had ever seen. As she recalled the features of the tall, elegant earl, it was hard to believe he was undead. He looked very human, even in his demon mask.
"Are you absolutely sure the Earl of Wolverton is what you think he is? Who you think he is? I have never seen a vampire look so human," she said nervously, wondering if vampire bats were cute. She had never seen one. What would a vampire do for clothing when he changed from a bat into human form again? Would he run around in the altogether, exposing himself to whomever happened to be unfortunate enough to be passing by? Or perhaps, in the earl's case, fortunate enough to be passing by.
The thought made Jane blush, and she tried to discover where the odd feeling had come from. Was there some corner deep within her heart that hid such naughty, carnal thoughts? Feeling wanton, she quickly glanced up at her father, suddenly glad that Van Helsings didn't have mind reading abilities along with their innate stalking ability.
The major glowered at her in disgruntled silence. His look boded ill. Jane wondered what complaints and tirades she had missed while dreaming of the earl's post-bat physique.
Her father's stiff disapproval made Jane wonder if he was going to order her to polish all the silver crosses and chains used to bind vampires in their dungeons? It was an all day affair and one of her least favorite punishments, what with all the slimy silver polish getting on her clothes and hands.
"The earl just looks so… human," Jane explained, feeling meek and stifled and oppressed.
Her father gestured wildly, knocking a small porcelain figurine onto the floor. It was of a slayer raising a coffin lid. "Sometimes, Jane, you are as dim-witted as those birds you watch! Sometimes I fear that in spite of your remarkable breeding, you wouldn't know a vampire when he bit you on the neck. You don't think the Prince of Darkness, the Count of Contempt and Corruption, could fool you with illusions? Of course he looks human! Have you lost your senses? Have you forgotten your lessons? The more powerful the vampire, the more human he looks."