I do not own NBC's Dracula.

I will own the DVD. If it ever gets here.

Lady Jayne

Lady Jayne Weatherby, the first and only woman head vampire huntsman.

But she hadn't always been.

Once, she was simply Jayne. From a well-to-do family in the English countryside. Sent to live with a spinisterly old aunt to learn London society.

And she had.

Oh how she had loved it. The balls, the parties, the dancing, the music.

A singular beauty was Jayne. Silky blond hair, captivating blue eyes. A tall, lithe figure most women would starve themselves to possess and never attain. She had it all. An open, inviting smile and a laugh that brightened the darkest of days.

She was well schooled in etiquette and proper womanly behavior. Strictly disciplined in ladylike decorum and modesty.

She hadn't minded. Not really. If that was the way real ladies behaved, then so would she.

At age sixteen, at some ball or other, everything had changed.

She had seen him. A handsome man, dark hair, neatly groomed. Hypnotizing blue eyes. Watching her.

Many men noticed her. She was indeed, a lovely sight to behold.

But this one was different. She felt drawn to him. As if he were calling to her.

And so with absolute decorum and propriety, he asked her to dance.

Later on, she could not remember the music, or the movements. Only his eyes. Those alluring eyes.

After the dance, much out of character for proper Jayne, they stole away to an empty alcove.

And he, standing entirely too close for a good lady's preference, kissed her.

She, of course, shied away. Because that was what propriety dictated she do. While her body ached for more.

And as she had pulled away, he growled, growled at her. Baring impossibly long eyeteeth.

She gasped and turned. And ran.

Or at least tried to.

The restrictive dress handicapped her movements and she crashed into a side table, knocking its possessions to the floor in clatterings.

Then he was descended upon her and reaching out her hand, Jayne grasped a broken candelabra. She jabbed its pointy end at her assailant to injure him, scare him off, chase him away.

And cried out as the vampire, for that's what he most certainly was, burst in dust.

Gritty dust blinded her eyes, made them burn. Then through grime-laden tears, she saw him.

Medium build. Dark hair. Black, depthless eyes. The most stern stone face she had ever seen. When he spoke, his voice was calm and even.

"Are you bitten, my dear?"

Bitten? How positively grotesque for him to say! Of course a lady would never be b-

Oh.

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Words, most unmannerly, tumbled from her startled mouth.

"No. But I have ripped my stupid dress. Dreadful thing, anyway. I hated it."

A smile touched the man's eyes then and fleeted across his stone face. As if he were proud of her for some strange reason. And then he spoke.

"Good girl."

Browning. That was his name. Only a few years older than she, but a skilled hunter of most odd caliber. Well-schooled in the art of vampire hunting.

Which would have been laughable, ridiculous, if she herself had not just shown a natural aptitude in that very same craft.

Browning became her mentor. He privately educated her on vampires, their myths, legends, and realities. He taught her to fight, to track, to use her logic and reason to problem solve unusual situations. He introduced her to others that tested her and helped her strengthen her skills as well.

Learning, ever learning. Strategy, ruthlessness, misdirection, manipulation. She would learn to master them all.

She would learn to attain anything she chose. Anyone she chose.

And she would learn how to kill without hesitation, without remorse.

It was Browning, not the various members of her esteemed family, from whom she yearned to garner respect. To make him feel pride. To make him look upon her as an equal.

It was he, Browning, whom she confided in when her family set her up for marriage to Lord Weatherby. He was older than she and she did not even know him.

She was even then, at the age tender of eighteen, already well on her way to becoming a skilled huntsman and she did not want to marry at all. He would expect her to give herself to him and bear his children. Sit in sewing circles and have vapors. Subject herself to her husband's wills and stay in at night while the vampires roamed free.

Browning had gently counseled her to marry. It would provide her with station, wealth, and proper respectability to carry on her huntsman training without suspicion.

And if the situation proved itself to be too restrictive, Browning mused to her, then surely something could be done to alleviate the pressure. Husbands suffered illnesses every day. Especially older husbands.

So she would wed and she would be this Weatherby's wife.

And now here she was, many years past her schoolgirl age.

And still preparing for a party.

She picked up the card and read once more: "Geo-Magnetic Energy Demonstration".

Oh, dear.

It didn't sound any less boring than the first time she'd read it.

She did so hope to discover a bit fun there. She'd much rather be in a warm bath than traipsing off to some intolerably dull demonstration.

Then again, it would give her the opportunity to meet the elusive Alexander Grayson. Rumors of his handsome youth and brash, American charm were very intriguing.

So the evening might not be a complete loss after all.

One could only hope.

And here I said I was fresh out of Dracula ideas. Whoopsie. ;)

Actually, I was watching the season through again (yep, cause that's what I do instead of sleep) and by episode four, I just knew I had to stop and write for Lady Jayne.

I mean, yeah, I hate her and all, sure. But no one can deny that she is interesting.

Thanks to Orcrist1974, deelove1, and sbenton1 for your reviews. I should be paying you both commission or something at this point! ;)

Thanks as well to DragonTamer01 and Orcrist1974 for adding your support as well.

Everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.