Dracula knelt before me, spectacular in all his bloody devotion. ❝Everything I am is yours.❞
I pushed the sword tip beneath his chin, lifting his face.
❝I want Catherine.❞
*...
If hearing Chandler's name was irritating, Dracula was doing a good job of hiding it. "She's clever, like you, but she's not as creative--which means we'll find a way to her." Dracula snapped his fingers and Jeeves re-emerged from his smoke-puff, glass and pitcher at hand. He refilled Dracula's drink, bowed to his master, and took the same exit.
"Since we're on the subject..." I drummed my fingers along the table, more from anticipation than anxiety. "When the time comes, I'm going to be the one who finishes Catherine."
"Are you?" Dracula lifted his drink, swirling it to check that Jeeves had it properly mixed. "Because I thought perhaps I should be the one who sends her to the afterlife."
"Then maybe you should stop. Thinking, I mean."
He put down the drink, handsome head tipping sideways. Is she fucking with me?
Ignoring his fascination, I licked the steak sauce from my finger. "Apologies, I didn't realize you were so sensitive, Drake."
His features clouded, eyes narrowing as his love slipped to black. Oh, how he hated my pet names...
I shimmered on command, clearing the path of his super speed. Dracula gripped my chair back, ticked off and turned on by the image of me twiddling my fingers from yards away. Perched at the edge of his dining room table, legs crossed, I ruffled my curls.
"Give it up, Blondie. You're gonna need more juice than that to catch up to me. And Catherine... she's mine."
Dracula flitted to the table edge as I shimmered into the king's seat, reclining in all my sordid satisfaction. I chuckled, despite his sweet-and-sour face. "We spar, all the way, no holds barred. First to submit wins Catherine's head--and one night with me."
"Only one?"
"Ride em' slow, cowboy." I shimmered halfway down the table and called for Jeeves. "We need our dear one at full strength. Be a team player and fetch him a real drink--then send him to the ballroom. Make sure he's armed."
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I was practicing my fencing moves when Dracula caught up to me. He hadn't bothered to freshen up, shirtfront still bloody from his meal, essence of so-and-so fresh on his lips and chin. As always I saw past the carnage, to the eternal, unblemished soul beneath. I loved Dracula all the more for his complexities, but I would slice him open for lying to me.
I released the sword; it stayed put, obedient as I adjusted my sleeves and swept my hair in a bun. My gaze was steady as the arrow's path, never straying from the twisting, gold-flecked walls even as the first and greatest of Vampires circled me like a shark out of water. I turned, squatting in the ready position, sword on my sleeve, the tip focused on my target like the assassin's scope. I would be as heartless.
"What are you waiting for?"
His roar and flex were fearsome as the almighty jetting of his fangs - but I would not be moved. So he came for me.
