Glancing back at Dracul, Jane went on, "My husband does have a warped sense of humor." Turning back to Asher, she shook her head. "Really, Asher, how could you not have told me? You know how I adore his plays."
Asher wanted to laugh. Here they were in a life-and-death-and-undeath situation, and all she could do was scold him? She was such a feisty, unpredictable handful. But with Jane's passion, he would never, ever grow bored.
"Enough! No more interruptions," Dracul said, gathering Jane back into his arms. From above, a loud crash reverberated. The noise halted Dracul's advance, and he gazed upward to the second floor of the Gothic manor house.
"Check out that noise," he commanded Rudolph. The tall vampire stood to leave, but another crash sounded from the back of the house, a sound that definitely demanded his full attention.
Glancing at the short Baltic vampires who had entered with Lady Montcrief, Dracul commanded, "You! See what caused that sound!"
Then he turned to O'Hara, Lady Veronique and Herr Blixen, and pointed, stepping away from Jane. "Check the back of the house too," he snarled at them. His eyes had turned a bright scarlet.
Jane wanted to weep with relief, and she quickly moved back toward Asher. The cavalry had arrived! The major was here. Her barbarian cousins hadn't let her down. She had never been gladder to see anyone in her life, for she spotted Dwight and Douglas come through the door, followed by her grandfather, crossbow in hand, yelling the Van Helsing battle cry.
Dracul turned, his fangs flashing and his eyes glowing. He raced toward the eldest Van Helsing in a movement so quick, Jane had trouble following it. She gasped in fear, knowing she was about to see her grandfather slaughtered.
But in one quick move, displaying an amazing agility for one so old, honed through years of hunting the undead, Ebenezer Van Helsing lifted his crossbow. Using it, he shot his arrow straight and true. It pierced Dracul's chest, embedding itself in his cold, black heart.
The count was so startled, he glanced for a moment in stunned silence from Jane's grandfather to Jane to Asher, and then down at the wooden arrow-stake protruding from his chest. His eyes widened as blood gushed from his mouth.
"Impossible! No human can kill me!" he muttered, sinking slowly to the floor. "For me, tomorrow never dies." He gasped, but his form began to crumble to dust as if he'd been in living daylights.
Asher watched, unmoved by the death of his foul foe. "Never say never."
Jane, who had a perfect view to the kill, added, "You should have lived and let die." Her heart was racing, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her grandfather had used the goldfinger vampire-execution move, and with remarkable aplomb.
She shook her head in shock. The world was not enough for someone like Dracul, who so craved power and destruction. His death was a gruesome sight, yet a necessary one. Everyone was again safe from the evil Prince of Darkness. Light had crept back into the shadows, erasing them. Jane sighed in relief.
The emotion was short-lived, however, as Herr Blixen and a Slavic vampire rushed to attack her grandfather for killing their prince. It seemed everything slowed down, and she watched in horror as Herr Blixen leapt to within a few feet of Colonel Ebenezer Van Helsing.
But before he could strike, Blixen was melted. He was doused by holy water that Jane's eldest cousin, Dwight, threw. And a stake through the back stopped the other evil vampire's attack, courtesy of Brandon, who'd raced into the room like an avenging angel. Jane's brother had first countered an offensive move against his grandfather with a well-practiced stake-and-shake called the Thunderball, invented by the first Jakob Van Helsing in the seventeenth century.
With vampires dying right and left around her, Lady Montcrief screamed in rage. Grabbing a chair, she swung it against the wall to break it into pieces. With one broken leg in hand, she leapt toward Asher, who was still bound in chains and hanging from the hook.
Seeing what was about to happen, Jane yelled to her grandfather. Her Catching Flying Stakes class had come to mind immediately. In one smooth motion, her grandfather threw her a stake. Grabbing it from the air as if by magic, Jane turned and plunged it into Lady Montcrief's chest.
Heedless of anything but the fierce desire to destroy Asher, Lady Montcrief continued forward, her own momentum propelling the stake through her. The timing was perfect, and Jane recognized that the many long hours of practicing in the grass had not been in vain. She might hate the sight of blood; she might hate the thought of stabbing anything other than a vampire dummy. But this time her husband's life was at stake—and she was, after all, a Van Helsing.
With a #4 protruding from her chest, Lady Montcrief fell to the floor, crying out, "You stupid bitch! How could you?" But as she fell, her face began to disintegrate. Pieces of her skin began to turn to parchment, and she was soon left a pile of white and black ashes.
Life was odd, Jane thought, staring down at the blood on her hands. Her whole life she had been pushed and prodded toward goals that were not her own. She had shed many a tear in dismay and loneliness. The road traveled had been a rocky and difficult one. Yet, from her vampire hunting beginnings she had become who she was, and that person was strong without being aggressive, caring without being cynical. She could be sad without being melancholy and happy without being a fool.
Yes, from her past Jane had garnered a solid iron core that was strong enough for her to do her duty when it needed to be done, even if that duty was a despised one. And if not for that despised duty, Asher would now be dust, a hunk of wood through his heart. Life was filled with wonderful irony, and with tiny miracles joining together to make big ones.
In a daze, she abstractly noted that her cousins George and Jemeny were lifting Asher off the hook. Suddenly Jane began to tremble, and her knees felt shaky. She sank to her knees as tears ran down her cheeks, and she vomited. Her first true staking, and she was so sick she could die.
"There's no crying in staking, Jane," Dwight scolded.
She only cried harder.
"Stop that! There's no crying in this game, Jane. No crying at all," Dwight admonished.
"My wife can cry if she wants," Asher growled, dropping to his knees beside her, concerned by the pallor of her complexion. He handed her his soiled handkerchief. "Jane, Jane, never have I known you to have a handkerchief when you need one." She smiled faintly.
He felt as if he would burst from pride, and he hadn't even had any holy water spilled on him. As the sounds of battle faded in the other parts of the house, he gazed at Jane with pride. "Wife, you saved my life. I think I am the luckiest vampire in the world."
He would never forget the way she looked tonight, with blood on her dress, her hair mussed and courage in her eyes. She was magnificent, and she was his. His lady in red. He was a very lucky vampire, he decided happily. Very lucky indeed.
She shook her head. "I know. But I have never killed a real vampire before. And I never want to do it again."
Asher leaned his head against hers. "I don't want you to, either. I like my friends just as dead as they are," he teased.
Jane managed a small smile. "Bite your tongue."
"No, I believe I will let you do that," Asher argued. "And other places as well."
She shook her head. "You are insane. We have just been rescued from the jaws of death—" Jane began, looking over at what was left of Dracul slowly disintegrating on the Persian carpet. She shuddered at the gory mess."—and you are thinking of bedroom matters. And to think, I used to think you were so proper and stiff."
He smiled wickedly. "I am stiff. In the mornings, nights, and in point of fact, anytime you are near."
Jane blushed. "Asher!"
He continued to grin as her grandfather came and knelt down beside him, took out wire cutters and began to cut his chains. Asher winced in pain as the silver was pulled free of his flesh.