Free Hotel Transylvania by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

you not leave me be?"
    "These are your guests, Madame. They are in your home. It would be rude of you not to join us when they have expressly asked for you." He reached for her negligee and tossed it to her. "This is appropriate enough, wife. Put it on and come with me."
    Even as she started to obey, some sense in her brought her attention into sharp focus. She knew that there was something terribly wrong, and that Achille was not here for her protection. At the least, humiliation awaited her; at the worst, she dared not guess.
    "Do not delay," he ordered her, his face becoming ugly as harsh lines set in it. "The hour is almost past."
    "No," she said, backing away from him. She did not know what the hour meant, but she knew now that there was danger and that her husband was leading her into it. "Go away, Achille. I am not well. Please excuse me to your guests."
    "They are our guests," he said with thinly disguised irritation. "You must come down. Saint Sebastien particularly wants to make your acquaintance." He pointed to the negligee. "Put it on, Madame. I will not wait any longer for you."
    She shook her head. "No."
    He stared across the room at her, his fists clenching at his sides. Then, with an effort, he walked toward her. "You are my wife. You will do as I say."
    Lucienne Cressie had been frightened by Achille before, but she had never felt terror of the sort that raced through her now. She pulled pillows from the bed and threw them as he came nearer, knowing that this was trivial in the face of his rage. There was a heavy glass perfume jar on the stand by her bed, and she threw that, too.
    Achille stumbled under the impact of the jar as it glanced off his brow, and swayed for a moment on his feet, his mouth working. Then he lunged at his wife.
    Without any hesitation, La Cressie pulled open the window behind her. It was a two-story drop to the garden, and she knew this. Before Achille could grab her, she threw herself out, feeling the night air cold on her body as she fell.
    She realized she had been stunned, because she could hear many voices in the house, now that her mind had cleared. She was not dead. She tested her arms, and found that one of her shoulders was dislocated. She had not felt the pain until she tried to move it, and then it struck her with a hammer blow. Inconsequently the thought came to her that she could not play the violencello with her shoulder thus. She would have to get help, and care.
    She heard voices grow nearer, and in the gloom there was a lantern shine. Now she cursed herself for failing in her attempt at death. She knew for her soul's sake she should repent. She was aware that she ought to thank God for sparing her so that she could make expiation for her sins, for the lust in her flesh, and for her attempted suicide. But the sound of the footsteps was growing louder, and she wished from her heart that she had died.
    "We have found her," said a voice she did not recognize, and she looked up to see a tall, thin man of perhaps sixty years, dressed in the height of fashion. His gray-green eyes were hooded, almost reptilian, and the smile he wore was more frightening than anger would have been.
    Behind him came another, older man whose outlandish clothes identified him as Baron Beauvrai, who addressed the man beside him. "Damme, but you get the luck, Clotaire. She's yours for the sacrifice, then."
    Clotaire de Saint Sebastien chuckled once, and Luci- enne's mouth grew dry at the sound of it. "She can be of use to me, at least, I suppose. We must be sure she is still a virgin. Have Achille and his friend bring her into the library." He knelt beside Lucienne, and ignoring her protests and shock, thrust his hand between her legs.
    "No, no, no," she whispered, and tightened her legs.
    "Madame," Saint Sebastien said coolly, "do not attempt to impede me. I warn you now that I will not tolerate that."
    She started to speak, and struggled against his probing hand. He sighed, and his fingers touched