A Vampire's Fallen Christmas Star (Vampires On Holiday #2)

by M. L. Guida

  She cast her eyes down, too embarrassed to look at him. “Aye. It was because—”she licked her lips—“—the mixture of you taking my blood and…”

  He clasped her chin and forced her to gaze into his eyes. “Me worshiping you?”

  Words died on her lips at his lustful look.

  “Ah, sweet Eleanor. This is only a tiny taste of what I can bring you.” He kissed her briefly on the lips and leaned his forehead against hers.

  She had an orgasm, her first, and a warm glow surged through her. She didn’t want to move, wanted to bask in the sensations flooding her. She had long denied herself this pleasure, believing it would only be passionate for the man. How delightfully wrong she’d been. She realized that Jayden’s hard cock still pressed against her thigh, and she swallowed her selfishness. “Jayden,” she said, as she traced his wet back with her finger. “You haven’t experienced your pleasure.”

  “Ah, but I did. My pleasure was making you glow.”

  Those tender words warmed her heart. This was a man used to satisfying his desire, and yet, he put aside his own pleasure to please her.

  He rolled away from her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To take a cold shower.”

  Would the man ever stop embarrassing her? But his next words froze her soul.

  “The demons aren’t dead, Eleanor.” He headed toward the bathroom. “They’re waiting for me down at the Mountain Grill.”

  He might as well as have punched her in the stomach. After what they’d just shared he still planned to confront a horde of vampire killers alone. She wanted to go back on her word and for his own safety lock him in a dungeon.

  Chapter Nine

  The shower failed to cool Jayden’s desire. He wanted to crawl back into bed with Eleanor and explore her warm body to ignite her passion. He didn’t know how he found himself tumbling in bed with her, fondling a tense virgin. He’d sworn off virgins along time ago. Okay, maybe she wasn’t a virgin, but she sure as hell acted like one. Virgins were too complicated. But Eleanor was different. All his bachelor rules broke around her.

  When he came out of the bathroom, Eleanor sat on the bed. Her hair was rumpled and her lips were swollen where he’d kissed her. Her sweater and jeans hid her luscious body.

  He quickly dressed, avoiding her eyes. When he turned around, she was behind him. He hadn’t even heard her move. She was beautiful. Exotic.

  She reached up and played with a lock of his hair. “You’re not really going are you?”

  “If I don’t, then they’ll think they’ve won. I refuse to live in fear.”

  His tone was too sharp, and Eleanor winced. She lowered her gaze and blushed. His stomach tightened at his callous stupidity. Sometimes he was a total ass. “Eleanor, I didn’t mean—”

  “Aye, you did.”

  He rested his head against her forehead to inhale her sweet breath. “We are going to live in freedom. Not live like hunted raccoons running from a pack of rednecks chasing us through the forest.”

  “’Tis not that easy, Jayden.”

  He could feel her heart beating bunny rabbit fast. She’d lived in fear for so long. But could he blame her? He couldn’t imagine watching his family being murdered and being powerless to stop it. He hardened his will. He’d make damn sure that she’d never experience such terror again and would live in peace.

  “I want you to stay here.”

  “You’re daft.”

  She pulled away. Hating himself, but determined to keep his woman safe, he headed for the front door. She could over power him and force him to stay here, but she turned around, her back rigid. Had he added to her pain? Not his intention. Damn it. “Eleanor?”

  Silence slapped him in the face. He repeated her name and met the same fate. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

  Or at least, he hoped he would. He started for her to bring her into his arms, but stopped. Maybe this was better. She’d be angry and stay here. Like a coward, he stayed rooted, too afraid to face a crying woman. He’d never been good at consoling women. Jacob had been able to soothe them, knew instinctively what to say, but he was all thumbs. He strained to hear a sniff or and watched for her shoulders to shake, but she stood still as marble.

  The alarm clock read a quarter to eight. Nightmare went on stage at eight-thirty. Time to face the band. Alone.

  If Eleanor was hurt and blaming him for taking advantage of her, she needed to stay behind, away from Desmond and Robbie. She’d be safer here. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that he hadn’t taken advantage of her, but that would lead to another argument about why he should stay and hide. Not his style. He was a Kye, and Kye men battled their adversaries.

  He quietly shut the bedroom door and headed to down the hall. He grabbed his leather coat off the couch. It was snowing outside. He hit the garage door opener and got on his bike. He could have taken one of Eleanor’s SUV’s, but he didn’t want anything from her.

  Guilt boiled in his gut, and he gripped his handle-bars tight, determined to fight for their survival. He peeled out of the driveway and headed toward the open gate. It creaked and moved. Shit, Eleanor must have hit close. Why did she play this game? Stopping and retreating wasn’t an option.

  He pushed on the gas and sped between the bars with inches to spare. He could feel Eleanor’s eyes on him as sprayed snow into the darkness. She knew where he was going, and he prayed she stayed in the fortress.

  Within minutes, he arrived at his mother’s cabin. A porch light lit up the curved, snow covered drive-way. Her dark green Jeep Wrangler was parked to the side. In the window, the glow of the Christmas tree and living room offered warmth and happiness. His mother didn’t run to the window like she normally did when he came home on his bike.

  Strange.

  Maybe she was sleeping.

  Uneasiness slid down the back of his neck, but he shook it off. He was imagining things. Jumping to conclusions. His mother would wake up from the couch, rub her eyes, and ask what he was doing here. He climbed the stairs and stuck his key into the lock, and to his surprise, the door creaked open by itself. His father had drilled into his mother not to leave a door unlocked, especially when alone. Unlike him, she never failed to carry out her husband’s orders.

  “Mom?” He looped through the kitchen to the living room. A purple and white afghan lay tousled on the couch and a pair of furry, sheep-skin sleepers were half hidden under the coffee table. A half empty glass of red wine was on the end table next to a Kindle. He raced to her bedroom and flung on the light. Her bed was neatly made as always. Decorated pillows of red, blue, and purple lined up against the headboard. No wrinkles messed up the comforter, just the way his father liked it. Not a speck of clothing littered the floor. Knickknacks were dusted and set in the exact same location they’d been for the last fifteen years. Panic fired through him like a shot of Jägermeister. “Mom? Where the hell are you?”

  He glanced at a picture of his parents on the dresser. His father’s hand rested on his mother’s shoulder protectively. His mother beamed in the photo, lightening up his father’s grim, tight-lined mouth. His father rarely smiled, and those eyes bore down on Jayden. He could hear his father’s accusatory voice. “I’d never let anything happen to Mother, not like you did. You’re not a Kye.”

  Jayden bolted out of the room, his beating heart threatening to jump out of his mouth. He flung on the light in his bedroom. Empty. He raced to his brother’s. Sometimes Mother would sleep in his brother’s bedroom, clutching his pillow, crying herself to sleep. Let these be one of those times.

  He turned on the light and froze. Jacob’s closet was flung open, and clothes cluttered the floor. One pillow was on the bed, the other on top of a pile of clothes. Mother kept this room clean, more like a shrine. What the fuck had happened?

  He went to leave and froze. On the dresser was Mother’s leather red purse. The house and Jeep keys were next to it. She’d never leave without her purse. She kept her wallet, cell ph
one, hair-brush, lipstick, pad of paper, pen, and God knew what else in that damn thing. Jacob used to tease her that it was like having Hermione Granger as their mom. Something was wrong.

  The last room he checked was his father’s study. He hated going in there. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d had to sit in the tall leather chair and face his father who lectured him on his countless failures. This time would trump them all. He’d let something happen to his mother—his father’s most precious possession.

  A painting of his father wearing his Marine uniform hung above the desk. The white hat shadowed his father’s eyes. On his left breast were three pinned medals, one being the Purple Heart. He had taken two bullets in the back in Desert Storm, one an inch away from his heart. His commander had fallen, and despite an array of bullets, Jayden’s father had dragged the man to safety.

  “I’ll find her,” Jayden said, using the same little boy’s voice he had when he’d faced his father in the court martial chair.

  He raced to the gun cabinet in the back of the room and spun the dial. He had to spin it twice because his hand shook so badly. Shit, there was only one explanation. Desmond had taken his mother. She would have gone with him, trusting him. He’d been a third son to her. She’d have no idea she was being used as bait to trap and kill her last son.

  He loaded a Colt .45, stuffed it into the back of his jeans, then jammed a Boeing hunting knife into his sock. Both of them he knew how to use. His father had taught both he and Jacob how to defend themselves with guns, knives and hand-to-hand combat. He’d always thought his father had been a militia nut and had always prepared for the worst. Well, the worst slammed him in the gut.

  With murder on his mind and his incisors lengthened, he headed out of the study. His iPhone vibrated in his back pocket and AC/DC’s “Got You By the Balls” blared. It was an unknown number. He whipped it out. “Carver?”

  “Jayden?”

  Relief released his tension. Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill his best friend. “Mom, where are you?”

  “I’m with Desmond.”

  “Where?” His voice was harsh and commanding like his father’s.

  “I’m not sure. I’m…having…trouble…thinking. Room…spinning.”

  She slurred her words and wheezed. Jayden couldn’t breathe. The air trapped in his lungs. Had the bastard poisoned his mother? “Are you okay?”

  “He gave me something to calm…” She didn’t finish the sentence and silence sliced into his thundering heart. She was his last remaining relative. The loneliness and fear of losing his mother slammed into him, and tears formed in his eyes. He needed her.

  “Mom, answer me, damn it.”

  “Jayden, oh, I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Desmond said you were hurt…Something wrong with you…Said you were…dangerous…Thought you would harm me…”

  “And you believed him?”

  “No…but you’ve been different…ever since you met Eleanor. He said she’s evil. Jayden, I don’t feel well. Have to sit down.”

  “Mom where are you?”

  “In a room.”

  Shit, that could be anywhere. “Mom tell me where?”

  “Someone’s coming. Have to go.”

  “No, wait.”

  He stared at the phone and thought about calling her back, but fear had resonated in her voice. She was scared. If he called, the bastard would know she had phoned. Damn Desmond. They were Cain and Abel. But this time, Abel would kill Cain.

  Jayden used vampire speed. Within moments, he rode his zooming motorcycle to the Mountain Grill. He didn’t care if he hit ice, skidded and crashed. He was immortal. A pissed off immortal, lusting for blood.

  If Desmond had hurt his mother, the world wouldn’t be big enough for him to hide. His father’s voice echoed in mind. Lose your cool and lose your control. He gripped the handle-bars tight and counted back from a thousand like his father taught him. Tonight, he’d rely on his father’s teachings. He inhaled and barred his emotions. His father said to lock up emotions and turn into a machine. Machines didn’t possess emotions. He’d become one with his weapons.

  By the time he pulled into the Mountain Grill’s back parking lot, he was as cool as a scoop of gelato.

  He scanned the parking lot and detected no beating human hearts. Good. No surprise attack here.

  The fully loaded Colt .45 pressed against his backside, and the hunting knife was cold against his skin. He had vampire speed and could get to his weapons before Robbie and Desmond could stab him with hallowed mud.

  Inside the Grill, he headed for the dressing room, his vampire senses on full alert. Voices drifted down the hallway. One of them was Robbie. Rather than busting into the dressing room like Wolverine, Jayden strolled inside as if it was everyday that his mother got kidnapped and drugged.

  “Hey, Kye,” Michael said, guilt glistened in his eyes.

  “Aims.”

  “I can’t believe you actually showed up,” Robbie said, a sneer on his chubby face.

  “And why wouldn’t I?”

  “Hey, man,” Derek said. “We’re not going to do a repeat of the other night.”

  “What?” Robbie glared, his pupils two burning balls of hate. “Stab a vampire? Look at him. He’s the walking dead. I keep telling you.”

  “Vampire?” Jayden asked. “Is that what you think I am?”

  Derek shook his head. “He’s been tripping all day, man.”

  “Yeah,” Michael agreed, as he twirled his finger around his temple and mouthed the word crazy.

  “I’m not crazy, you asshole,” Robbie said. “And I’ll prove it.”

  He whipped out a switch-blade, stained with mud and lunged. This time, Jayden was ready. He grabbed Robbie’s wrist, gripping the blade, and with his other hand, he seized his neck. He slammed Robbie against the wall. Pictures fell onto the floor. Glass shattered and plastic frames fractured.

  “Jeezus,” Michael said.

  Robbie’s eyes were huge, and dribble dripped from his mouth. “See, see what I told you? Look at his eyes. He’s a vampire.”

  Fear reverberated from Robbie. His rapid breathing rivaled a runaway steam engine. “Not so tough without Desmond, huh?” Jayden closed his fingers around Robbie’s wrist, bones cracked, and sweat trickled down his jowl. “Drop it, or I’ll snap your wrist in half. Or maybe I should break your fat neck.”

  “Come on, you guys,” Derek said. Always the peacemaker, he put his hand on each of their shoulders. “We’ve got a show to do. This has gone way past insane.”

  Michael shook his head. “Yeah, Robbie, quit threatening to cut his heart out.”

  “Is that what you’ve been saying?” Jayden asked, not able to resist flashing his incisors at Robbie. “You want to cut my heart out?”

  Robbie licked his lips and mumbled, “I don’t have too. We have your mother.”

  Jayden growled and turned his upper lip into a sneer. Blood drained from Robbie’s face and rushed through his jugular vein like a runaway river.

  Robbie screamed and shook his head back and forth. “He’s going to kill me. Don’t let him kill me.”

  A firm hand squeezed Jayden’s shoulder.

  “Kye, release him,” said Derek. “He’s yanking your chain. He doesn’t have your mother.”

  Jayden released Robbie.

  He dropped to the floor landing on his gut, arms and legs spread out. “Don’t let him hurt me,” Robbie said, bellowing like a fat hippopotamus.

  Michael knelt next to Robbie and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “Will you chill, man? You’re acting like you’re in a grade-B Dracula movie.”

  His breath coming out rapidly, Jayden fought control of his emotions and vampire powers. He wanted to rip out Robbie’s throat and drain him until he was nothing but a dried up condom.

  “Kye?” Derek clasped his arm. “Are you okay?”

  Jayden turned his head, not sure if he could look at Derek without scaring the tattoos off his skin.

  “Kye, did y
ou hear me?”

  Jayden closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to push back his anger. He ignored Robbie’s blubbering. Michael continued to talk to Robbie, trying to convince him that Jayden’s wasn’t a vampire. He blocked out both of their voices, fighting to remain calm. His heart beat slowed and his fists unclenched. Jayden opened his eyes and faced Derek, back in control. “I heard you. And no I’m not okay. The bastard’s telling the truth.”

  Michael shoved Robbie hard, and Robbie looked around at each of them as if he was about to ready to get his tongue ripped out of his throat.

  “Robbie, is he telling the truth?” Derek’s voice had lost its compassion and was now laced with horror and judgment. His own mother had been raped in front of him when he was a child, and he’d been powerless to do anything.

  Robbie wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his palm. “You don’t understand. He’s not human.”

  “Where is she?” Jayden asked.

  Someone knocked on the door. “Is everything all right in there?” Justin Hammer’s worried voice silenced all of them.

  Robbie opened his mouth.

  “We’re fine,” Jayden answered. He glared at Robbie, promising him what would happen if he uttered one more scream.

  Derek shook his head and whipped his finger across his throat, making the silence or else signal. Robbie lowered his head in defeat, and his hair hung in front of him, hiding his face.

  “You’ve got ten minutes,” Justin said. His heavy footsteps moved away from the door.

  “What do you want to do?” Michael slowly stood.

  “Where is she?” Jayden kicked the bottom of Robbie’s cowboy boot.

  Robbie squealed like a hurt rat.

  “I don’t know. Desmond didn’t tell me.”

  “This is surreal,” Derek said. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because he thought he’d squawk,” Michael said.

  Robbie lifted his head and leaned against the wall, his face pale. “I wouldn’t tell.”

  “Look at you.” Michael flashed his gaze over Robbie’s lumpy form. “You’re shaking harder than Santa Claus’s gut.”