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.
"For I am a dead thing," Asher said, his eyes alight with the fires of love.
"Yes, I know that," Jane replied, bewildered.
Asher shook his head, explaining, "Jane, I am quoting poetry to you."
She stared in horror at him. "Now? In the midst of all this bloody danger, you're quoting poetry to me? Are you insane from blood loss?"
Asher ignored her. " 'I am every dead thing, in whom love wrought new alchemy. For his art did express a quintessence even from nothingness.'"
"Shakespeare?" Jane questioned, intrigued in spite of their dire situation. Her husband was not just quoting poetry; he was quoting love poetry.
Asher shook his head. "Donne."
"You're done?"
"No. John Donne," Asher said.
"John's done doing what?"
"John Donne, the poet!" Asher snapped.
"Are you sure? It sounded like Shakespeare to me."
"Of course I'm sure!" Asher retorted in a huff. No one should question his ability to recall the written word, not even his wife. Why couldn't she get it through her thick skull? "I said that it's Donne and it's Donne."
"Fine. It's done. But it sounds like Shakespeare to me," she replied. When Asher started to speak, Jane shook her head. "I can't believe we're arguing over poetry now, when Count Dracul is preparing to make me a bride and put you six feet under."
"I'm used to it," he joked.
"Not these six feet you aren't," Jane argued, glancing back at their amorous enemies, who were fondling each other. Revulsion covered her face at such behind-closed-door antics being conducted in plain view.
"I didn't know you could do that standing up," she said curiously.
Asher rolled his eyes. "Jane, pay attention here. I don't suppose you have a plan?" he asked. Then he added, "And of course you can do it standing up. I'll show you later if we make it out of here alive. Now, about that plan?"
Jane smiled. "My family is coming to rescue you."
That he would dearly like to see: a Van Helsing rushing to his rescue. "When elephants fly," he muttered.
Jane blushed a becoming pink, remembering the night she lost her virginity. "Why, I believe the elephants must be forming an air force."
She could tell from her husband's heated gaze that he was remembering as well. He tried to reach out and touch her, but the chains kept him bound.