“Oh, John, must we go to Count Vascular’s Castle tonight? It’s so foggy this evening and you know that the dampness wilts my hair,” Prissy whined.

  “I’ll have none of this caterwauling, Pricilla! Count Vascular has been a generous patron to this town and we must all show our appreciation,” John asserted as Pricilla’s lower lip immediately went into a pout.

  “But, John, the Count leaves me with such an uneasy feeling. It’s disquieting. Don’t tell me you haven’t felt it! All the women in the Garden Society tell me that he watches them in a most disturbing way,” Pricilla stated as she looked off into the air and ran her fingers up the side of her neck and then back down. When she focused again on John, a shiver ran through her body.

  “Prissy, you women must cease all this foolishness at once and attend to your household duties! I’ll never understand a woman’s need for flights of fancy!” John bellowed. “Now, if you please, get dressed and do whatever it is that is necessary for you to be presentable at the Count’s gathering.”

7 p.m. Sunday Evening

  “Ah, so very kind of you to come to my humble home, Deacon and Pricilla, is it not?” Count Vascular inquired as he took Pricilla’s hand in his, lingered over it for a moment and then brushed his lips over her skin while looking into her eyes deeply.  When he released her hand, it seemed to stay suspended in the air as the Count continued to command her with his eyes.

  John was oblivious to all that transpired between Pricilla and the Count and after a cursory bow, John took his leave of the Count to discuss town politics with the Councilmen who were gathered around the huge fireplace.

  “So, tell me, Pricilla, do you have a fondness for roses?” the Count asked as he stared at Pricilla’s ample bosom and then let his gaze move up her slender neck.

  “Oh, yes, Count! Roses are my favorite flower,” Pricilla answered, her voice low and throaty.

  “Would you like to come into the garden where I can show you the most luxurious blood red blooms on this earth?”

  “I would love to, Count,” Pricilla barely finished speaking when the Count intertwined his arm in her’s and led her through the room to a French door leading to the garden.  They followed a stone path until they were well away from the house and deep in the fog.  In the distance, Pricilla could see two bright lights attempting to illuminate the road in front of the Count’s mansion. She watched as townspeople dressed in full-length capes to protect against the dank fog, making their way to the Count’s door.

  Again, the Count ushered Pricilla further into the fog away from the lights and people. Finally, they came to a stop and the Count’s hands held each of Pricilla’s upper arms as he pressed his body against hers. Pricilla was filled with wanton desire as sexual energy ran the full length of her body causing her knees to give out. The Count picked her up in his arms and carried her to a little cottage that seemed to appear from nowhere.

  Pricilla had never felt such desires course through her body. Physical contact with John had been limited to a once a week copulation in their wedding bed with John assuming the upper position and doing the deed efficiently and quickly. It never occurred to Pricilla that she should derive any pleasure from the act.  In fact, on her wedding night, her mother had advised that Pricilla lie still so that what was necessary for a man to do, was over quickly.

  Her mind tried to understand what was happening, but when the Count started to undo the buttons of her gown, she no longer cared why. All she could process was that she wanted this stranger with the dark eyes to touch her and keep touching her till she no longer could think. The Count seemed to read her mind as his hands and lips excited nerve endings that had come screaming to life all over her body. Pricilla found herself acting as wanton as a Jezebel, but didn’t care.

  The Count laid her on a feather bed and continued his exploration until Pricilla cried out for him to take her. She could stand it no more. The Count looked into her eyes as she writhed on the bed next to him in the throes of sexual ecstacy and his long slender hand went to her neck. He bent slowly over the , milk white skin and kissed it gently, then slowly ran his tongue over and over the same area driving Pricilla into a frenzy.

  “Be still my little rose,” he whispered into her ear, as he gently sucked the area with his lips.

  “Oh Count, do not torture me so!” Pricilla moaned.

  “No, I shall not torture you any longer, my little flower,” he whispered as he brought her torso up from the bed in both arms. Her head hung back exposing her lovely neck to him  and the Count could no longer resist. In one quick and seamless movement, the Count sank his fangs into Pricilla’s jugular vein feeling her vibrancy fill his body. Pricilla's body went totally limp and it appeared as if she had died. The Count continued his blood feast and then closed his eyes and withdrew from her, gently laying her back on the soft bed. His tongue gathered the remaining droplets of Pricilla's blood that remained on his lips and he bent and licked the place where he had bitten her. He raised his head and smiled as he watched the puncture wounds disappear.

  The Count clapped his hand loudly twice and twelve women came out from various doors within the cabin.

  "Attend to your new sister. Bathe her quickly and dress her before she awakens. We must get her back to the gathering before she is missed!"

  The women did as the Count requested and only once did he have to reprimand one of the group who would have bitten Pricilla had he not been watching so closely.
When Pricilla was dressed, the Count carried her outside into the fog and placed her on the ground.

  "What...what ...hap...happened?" Pricilla asked as she came to and found herself on the ground with the Count hovering over her with a concerned look on her face.

  "You fainted, my dear. Here, let me help you up and we shall go back to the manor house where one of the servents will get you some warm brandy to fortify you," the Count replied in his most solicitious tone.

  "Oh, I feel....feel so weak. Perhaps I am getting ill," Pricilla murmured.

  "It's just the fog and the dampness, my dear and with your delicate constitution, it is understandable."

**********************************************

  "Pricilla, you looked so pale , my dear. Perhaps, we should take our leave," John said when he saw Pricilla enter the room with the Count.

  "Yes, Deacon, your wife fainted in the garden. I was quite concerned," the Count crooned and he handed John his and Pricilla's capes. "My carriage will bring you home. Take care of your wife, John, she is indeed precious!"

  When John and Pricilla made their exit, the Count's eyes locked with the elder councilman's wife and he made his way through the room to her.

  "Johanna, isn't it?" he asked as his eyes penetrated to her very core.

  "Yes, Count, my name is Johanna," she replied in a throaty and breathless voice.

  "Do you like roses, my dear?"