My arms tightened around him, and I felt his excitement.
He broke the kiss and slowly sat up. He wore the expression of a man who was certain of his sexual charm.
‘Yes. When it finally happens, it will be very good.’ Then he nodded and stood.
I sat up, relieved I didn’t have to enter the murky territory of Alan versus Devereux, but aroused all the same.
Men were so good at disguising vulnerability with sex. He straightened his clothes and nonchalantly ran his fingers through his hair as if he hadn’t just reintroduced me to Mr Happy. The physical contact had done what he wanted it to do: it distracted us from the hurtful topic.
‘I’m going to go home and put on my costume for the ball. Do you want me to come back and pick you up?’
Driving up to the mountains alone was always fun in the daytime, but at night, with more vampires afoot than usual, company sounded like a good idea. Besides, I didn’t have any idea where the ghostly castle was or how to get there. ‘I’d appreciate the ride. What are you wearing?’
He grinned. ‘Guess.’
‘Common-or-garden-variety vampire, or something unique and interesting?’
‘I’ll surprise you. Is an hour enough time?’
‘Sure. I’ll just throw on a low-cut black number, put on some white makeup, false eyelashes and red lips and I’m good to go.’
He headed for the door, and glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Okay, then – it’s a date. Be back in an hour.’
Before doing anything else, I followed him to the door and locked it behind him.
I raced up the stairs, started the water in the shower, then went into my bedroom to discover what kind of long black dresses might be hiding in my closet. It was entirely possible; I’d accumulated dresses that I wore for one professional event or another and had then forgotten about. As I’d suspected, pushed against the far wall of the closet was a plastic bag stamped with the name of an expensive chain store, which contained the perfect black dress.
Finding the price tags still attached meant I’d never worn it, or I’d gone out in public with the tags flapping underneath my arms. Unfortunately, both options were possible.
Well, I couldn’t help it if my inner world was more interesting to me than most of the mundane details of the outer world. Would I trade my expertise in the emotional, psychic and psychological realms to be less socially awkward? No. But I wouldn’t mind giving my Inner Nerd a break. Maybe I just needed a wife? Yeah, that was it, someone to do all the stereotypical things we attribute to wives.
Or maybe a harem. Yum, a male harem.
I imagined Devereux, Alan, Tom, Vaughan the chiropractor, and the cute doctor I’d met in the ER all dressed up in slave costumes. I spun the wheel of various scenarios and envisioned them feeding me grapes, rubbing my feet and carrying me in one of those Egyptian-style chairs. Immediately I became totally distracted by a quick visual of the six of us having a private party in a luxurious curtained bed.
Maybe a cold shower would do me more good than a hot one.
But it’s a good sign that I’m having normal sexual urges, right?
I laughed out loud, removed the dress from the plastic bag and spread it out on my bed.
I even clipped off the price tags.
An hour later my makeup was done and the curls of my hair were combed into a long shining thickness. I was perfumed, high-heeled and poured into a slinky floor-length, cleavage-exposing black dress.
The ever-present, recently life-saving necklace was nestled in the valley.
Not too shabby.
After checking out the pale hue of my natural skin tone against the black of the dress, I’d decided against putting on even whiter makeup. Sometimes having a ghostly complexion came in handy.
Right on time the doorbell sounded and I scoped out the peephole.
I turned on the porch light and felt a ripple of dread fan through my body.
What now?
Standing on my porch was Dracula strolling the streets of London, à la Gary Oldman: top hat, long curls, blue-lensed glasses and a silver-knobbed walking stick.
But there was no mistaking that charming smile.
‘Alan!’ I opened the door. ‘You look amazing!’
He strutted into the entryway, preened and bowed. ‘This time I was prepared for the nightmare energy out there, so I used my vast intellect and a little self-hypnosis to counter its effects.’
‘Really? That’s good to know. I’ll have to teach the mailman to put himself into a trance so I can get my mail delivered. Enter, Count Dracula.’ I swept my arm through the air in invitation, then closed the door.
Adopting a thick Transylvanian accent, he said, ‘Mina, I mean, Kismet, I vant to drink your blood. But I could be persuaded to do something else instead.’
He stepped around behind me, lifted my hair away from my neck and ran his teeth over my skin. He sported the same kind of tiny fake fangs Midnight had worn.
The touch sent goosebumps across my skin and I turned to face him. ‘We’ll never get out of here if you keep on doing that.’
He slid his fingertips down my arms, still speaking in the thick accent. ‘It vould be my pleasure to rip off this incredibly sexy dress and ravage you right here on the floor. Do you prefer to be on the bottom or the top?’
‘Oh, Count, you take my breath away, but I fear we’ll be late for the vampire-staking if we dawdle.’
He lifted my hand and kissed the palm. ‘Then I shall come to visit you in the night.’
We both laughed.
‘Aren’t they adorable, Raleigh?’
Alan and I both jerked our heads towards the voice.
Once again, my living room hosted unexpected visitors. Bryce stood in the centre of the room, his long dark hair resplendent against a blood-red floor-length velvet coat. White ruffles peeked out of the lapels and sleeves. Black leather trousers hugged his well-proportioned lower body.
It had to be some kind of cosmic injustice that such an evil being was so devilishly handsome. He could’ve been a candidate for Vampire Pinup of the Year if it hadn’t been for the struggling human he held under his arm in an effortless headlock.
I recognised Ronald’s auburn hair immediately; he was being held in a chokehold so tight that only grunts emanated from the young man’s lips.
My stomach contracted and I gasped. Could this day get any worse?
As he’d done before, Raleigh laughed maniacally while parading, Munchkin-like, around the room. Instead of the sleeveless muscle shirt he’d worn last time, in honour of the ball he was decked out in a miniature version of traditional movie vampire garb: slicked-back burgundy hair, white shirt and long, sweeping cape with a raised collar. He’d painted black circles around his icy blue-white eyes.
Creepy.
Alan dropped his walking stick, pulled a gun from somewhere under his jacket and pointed it at Bryce.
‘That’s enough. Release him. Now.’
‘Well, well. Things just keep on getting better. I do love a good drama.’ Bryce ignored the gun and, moving faster than we could see, planted himself directly in front of Alan, surprising him. He gazed into Alan’s eyes, which fluttered then closed completely, his chin nodding against his chest.
Alan’s arm fell to his side. The gun slipped from his hand onto the floor with a thump.
‘What a disappointment.’ Bryce kicked the gun aside. ‘Not a worthy adversary after all. Just another squawking blood-sack.’ The handsome demon turned and moved towards me, dragging Ronald along like a crash-test dummy.
He gave his favourite evil smile. ‘But I must admit, I’m surprised to find Devereux’s paramour indulging herself with another man. I wonder if he knows? What a shame I’m so bad at keeping secrets.’ He smiled wider. ‘It will give me great pleasure to be the one to tell him that the pathetic human woman he rejected me for is being unfaithful.’
‘Really?’ My mouth dropped open. ‘All the fighting, violence and drama are because you’re jealous? You want to take over the coven and hurt Devereux because he doesn’t share your feelings? Seriously? Are you twelve?’