Christmas With a Vampire

by Merline Lovelace

  “JULIAN…”

  The voice called to him out of the darkness. Not Sienna’s voice. She slept in his arms, her head on his chest—almost as if she trusted him. But he didn’t de serve her trust.

  “Julian!” Impatience sharpened the masculine tone. And he recognized his telepathic caller.

  “Grandfather,” he answered the summons, speaking the words only inside his head.

  “You foolish boy,” Orson Vossimer berated him. “You think you can hide her from me?”

  Boy. No matter the centuries Julian had existed, to his grandfather he would always be a boy. Never a man.

  “You don’t know where we are,” he called the old man’s bluff. He’d been careful to let no thought of their whereabouts pass through his mind—the mind his grandfather had always been too easily able to read.

  “I will,” Orson vowed. “Soon. You better fix this before we find you. I’m tired of cleaning up your messes, boy.”

  Julian winced. “You’re over reacting. Just like before…”

  “And just like before, you’re too arrogant,” his grandfather reprimanded him, “and too careless. You’re not just endangering yourself, but everyone else in the Under ground Society.”

  “She’s no threat and you know it,” Julian challenged him. “Just like her grand mother was no threat.”

  “And her father?”

  Julian sucked in a breath. “You didn’t need to—”

  “Save the Under ground from an inevitable massacre?”

  “You nearly killed a little girl,” Julian said, his arms contracting around Sienna’s sleeping body. His fingers tunneled through her silky blond tresses.

  “If she had died, it would have saved you from making another mess,” Orson said with none of the regret and guilt that haunted Julian. “Like you’re making now.”

  “She’s not a mess.”

  “You’re the mess, boy,” Orson said, “and I can’t keep bailing you out. You’re a liability the Underground can’t afford.”

  “None of this is about the Under ground,” Julian surmised. “This is about the Vossimer name.”

  “You’ve dishonored the family,” Orson admitted. “And by hiding her away, you’ve done nothing to restore the honor.”

  “So I’m a liability to the Vossimers, as well as the Under ground?”

  “A liability neither can afford.”

  Julian shuddered. He’d always known the old man barely tolerated him. But hate him? “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m cautioning you to do the right thing.”

  “Your definition of right and mine are completely different.”

  “We’ve been at odds for years,” Orson admitted. “That’s your problem. You won’t listen. Maybe it’s time you stop being a problem.”

  Julian had no doubt now. Not only would Sienna lose her life if they were discovered, he would lose his, too. There was no changing his grandfather’s mind.

  “You have one option, Julian.”

  Orson Vossimer giving him an escape? “So what is this option?”

  “You have to kill her.”

  “That’s not an option. As long as I live, Sienna won’t die,” he vowed.

  “Then make her one of us,” Orson advised. “One of the undead.”

  “It’s not that easy.” To make her undead, she would have to risk death. She would have to trust him completely, and he’d never turned a human before. Even though he’d already determined it was his only way to save her, he didn’t trust himself to not accidentally kill her. And if he couldn’t trust himself, he couldn’t expect her to trust him, either.

  “It’s quite simple, son,” Orson insisted. “Turn her or you’ll both die.”

  “She still may die,” Julian pointed out. And he’d be the one who’d per son ally killed her. Was that what his grandfather counted on?

  He received no reply. Orson had severed their telepathic connection. And Julian would have to work to block his grandfather’s return to his mind. He couldn’t be found yet—not until he had time to earn Sienna’s trust. His heart clenched as he admitted to himself he wanted more than her trust. He wanted her love.

  He muffled a snort of self-derision. He was the fool his grandfather thought him if he actually believed he could earn anyone’s love. His own parents hadn’t wanted him and Orson had only taken him out of family obligation and honor. And while many women had wanted Julian over the centuries he’d lived, none of them had actually loved him—not enough to want to spend eternity with him.

  He focused on Sienna, studying her beautiful face as she slept. She turned, arching her neck against the pillow. He leaned forward and nuzzled the delicate skin of her throat, breathing in the sweet fragrance that was her very spirit.

  If he were smart, he would forget about her trust and her love, and he’d take her now. He’d take the choice away from her and turn her into what he was. Undead. But if he failed, she’d die….

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A SCREAM BURNED Sienna’s throat when she opened her eyes to blackness. As memories rushed back, panic pressed down on her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. She had been trapped under twisted metal, shut in darkness even during the day, for hours before Julian had pulled her from the wreckage. Ever since then, she’d suffered an anxiety attack any time she was in the dark again.

  She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, and steadied her racing pulse. As she calmed down, she noticed the blackness was not complete. Flames, from candles burned low, flickered faintly—dispelling tiny circles of night.

  She didn’t need light to know that she was alone. Julian was gone. She lifted a hand to her neck. Running her finger tips around her throat, she noted no puncture marks—no sticky blood clung to her skin. He’d kept his word; he hadn’t hurt her. Yet. Could she trust him?

  She lifted the blanket, and cool air rushed over her bare skin. She was naked. Despite the room’s low temperature, heat suffused her body—with embarrassment and vestiges of the passion he’d drawn from her—from her soul. She’d never responded to any man the way she had to him.

  But he wasn’t a man—at least not just a man. He was so much more. More than she could handle.

  Hands shaking, she jerked the sheet from the bed and wrapped it toga-style around her. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness now, she searched the hardwood floor around the bed but could not find her dress. So she opened the doors of the antique wardrobe, but only a few men’s shirts hung from the rod. She dropped the sheet in favor of one of the shirts, thrusting her arms into the long sleeves and doing up the buttons. The tails reached nearly to her knees, and she had to roll back the cuffs several folds in order to see her hands.

  She continued her search through the drawers of an antique bureau, finding only a few boxer shorts and socks. From the sparse furnishings, she would guess this was not his primary residence. Where had he brought her?

  Fumbling around in the faint candlelight, she found some thick drapes, but when she drew them back, she revealed only more aged brick wall. No window. No escape but for the door. Before she rattled the knob she knew it would not turn. A lock held it closed, trapping her inside. And him out?

  Could she believe him? Was he only intent on protecting her? Or seducing her? Since he’d already done that, he didn’t need to keep her. Unless his body, like hers, ached for more….

  Her knees weak, she returned to the bed and sank to the edge of the mattress. He hadn’t caused her reaction; it wasn’t desire for him making her weak and vulnerable. It had to be hunger. He wasn’t wrong—she hadn’t been taking care of herself much lately.

  Actually, she hadn’t taken care of herself at all. If she had, she might not have fainted in his arms and wound up trapped in a dungeon—albeit an elegant, romantic one. The darkness spurred her panic again, but she fought it back, refusing to let fear control her. She couldn’t let him—and her desire for him—control her, either.

  She had to find a way out. Noticing the bedside tabl
e she had yet to search, she yanked open a drawer. Despite the candle burning atop the table, she didn’t have enough light to see inside so she had to fumble through the contents. She pulled out a phone charger but could find no phone, only some papers she held near the candle to read. Take-out menus for restaurants in the downtown Zantrax area. The city in Michigan, which was even larger than Detroit, was hours from the suburban town where Sienna had lived with her grandparents.

  How long had she been out that he’d had time to bring her here? Had he drugged her? Was that why she, who was always so cautious with men and especially with her heart, had made love with him so soon after meeting him?

  Yet it wasn’t soon. She’d known him a long time. And despite what he was, he was still her hero. Or he had been. She wasn’t sure what he was now, nearly twenty years after pulling her from the wreckage. A photograph slipped from between the menus and fell picture-side-up on the tabletop. Faces peered up at her from the yellowed snapshot. Familiar faces. Julian’s handsome face and one that was eerily similar to hers, but the picture was aged. The embracing couples’ vintage clothing and the antique car behind them, that was at least sixty years old, dated the photo.

  Her grand mother and Julian had had a relationship? The thought churned in her empty stomach, and she pressed a hand over her mouth. Her palm held in the gasp that escaped when the door rattled open. She caught just a brief glimpse of the hall before he closed the door with his back, his hands busy with the tray he carried.

  “You’re awake,” he said, his voice rough with a trace of disappointment. He’d pulled on just his pants, leaving his heavily muscled chest and arms bare.

  “Yes…” She swallowed hard, fighting down the instant desire that he inspired in her. “I— I’m awake.”

  “And unharmed,” he told her, his lips curving into that wicked grin again. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  She nodded, agreeing that he’d said the words, but she still wasn’t convinced he would honor his claim. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked. “To seduce me?”

  “I’m not sure who seduced whom,” he teased her as he settled the tray onto the mattress. Fresh fruit over flowed a bowl; frothy whipped cream filled another. Champagne bubbled in flutes.

  She gestured toward what he’d brought her. “I think it’s pretty clear…” That he wanted to seduce her again. She crossed her legs, trying to fight the pressure that was already building inside her.

  He shook his head. “No, it isn’t…” He leaned forward and skimmed his fingers along her jaw. His voice low with awe, he murmured, “You are so beautiful…”

  She lifted the photo she’d found and held it next to her face. “I look like my grand mother.”

  He didn’t even glance at the picture, his mesmerizing gaze intent on her face. “You’re even more beautiful.”

  Nana had always claimed the same thing; Sienna couldn’t see it, as she studied the old photograph again. She only saw Julian’s arm wrapped possessively around her grandmother’s slender shoulders.

  “Were you…” she choked on the word, but finally managed to utter it “…lovers?”

  “No,” he said, his voice firm with sincerity. “She was already engaged to your grandfather when we met. She would not betray him—no matter what I offered her.”

  “Immortality,” she said, remembering the rambling story Nana had told on her deathbed. “I thought it was just the drugs talking…”

  “If only it had been,” he remarked, “if only I hadn’t been so arrogant…”

  He had every reason for arrogance. He was more hand some than any man she’d seen before—even on movie screens. “So you did…offer her immortality?” she asked.

  “I never actually said the words…”

  “But Nana knew,” Sienna realized. “She just knew things. Grandpa said she had a gift.” A gift Sienna wished she’d inherited so that she might be able to reveal Julian’s true intentions.

  “I wish my grandfather had believed that.” He pushed a hand through his long hair, tangling the glossy strands. “But he didn’t believe mortals have gifts.”

  “So he’s a…?”

  His mouth lifted, again, in that wicked grin. “You still can’t say the word.”

  She still struggled to accept that she was awake, that she wasn’t dreaming the whole thing…especially making love with him. The intensity of passion and plea sure…that had to have been a dream. But even now, the attraction simmered between them, causing her skin to tingle and her pulse to quicken. And he hadn’t touched her again except with that dark gaze of his. “Everything seems so unreal,” she admitted. Especially him and her attraction to him.

  “I’m real,” he assured her, as if he’d read her mind. “And to answer your question, yes, all Vossimers are.”

  Vampires.

  DESPITE ALL THE trouble his arrogance had caused, Julian had to know, “Is that why your grand mother turned me down?”

  Sienna’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “Her rejection stung?”

  Regrettably that was all it had done. At least if he’d loved her, all the tragedy that had followed wouldn’t have been so sense less.

  But Julian had never loved anyone. Maybe he wasn’t capable—none of the Vossimers he knew had been. His parents had abandoned him to his grandfather when he was just a child. And Orson Vossimer hardly oozed affection. The man had always considered Julian a burden. Maybe Julian’s problem was that he just wasn’t lovable himself.

  Sienna must have picked up on his thoughts for she leaned forward, her hand on his forearm. “Did you love her?”

  He shook his head.

  “That’s what she chose over you,” she explained. “Love.”

  “Over immortality?”

  “She didn’t regret her decision, not even at the last.” Her face paled as if she was about to faint again as she added, “Not even when she was suffering so much…” Her skin cancer had metastasized, spreading to all her organs.

  “I’m sorry,” Julian said, covering her hand with his. “I’m sorry she had to suffer.” His grandfather, who could not only telepathically communicate, could also some times predict the future. Julian suspected that was why Orson had let Carolina Briggs live as long as she had—because he’d “seen” her suffering. “That must have been horrible for her…and you.”

  She nodded as tears shimmered in her beautiful eyes.

  “Here,” he said, gesturing toward the tray, “I brought you something to eat.”

  The tears dried, and the amusement returned. “And champagne. Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  He’d brought the champagne to celebrate…when she agreed to become his bride. But for once his arrogance deserted him. While her grandmother’s rejection had only stung his pride, he worried that Sienna’s might hurt more. He couldn’t ask her yet—not until he was certain of her answer.

  And her love.

  While he wasn’t convinced he could love, he was confident that…if he had time…he could make her think she loved him. Then, by the time she realized, like everyone else had, that she didn’t really love him, it would be too late.

  If only Orson and the rest of the Under ground would give him the time….

  “I’m not trying to get you drunk,” he assured her. “I’m trying to take care of you.”

  “And I told you I can take care of myself.”

  From the dark circles beneath her eyes and the thin ness of her slight body, he doubted it. So he reached for the tray and held up a straw berry to her lips.

  Instead of continuing to argue her self-sufficiency with him, she opened her mouth and sank her straight, white teeth into the ripe berry. Juice squirted out and trailed over her chin, down her throat.

  His heart slammed against his ribs as his hunger over whelmed him. He had never wanted to taste anyone with the urgency he wanted—needed—to taste her. He pulled the berry away and replaced the fruit with his lips, pressing them to the sweet ness of hers. Her mouth opened agai
n, her tongue sliding across his lip to touch his. The kiss wasn’t enough to satisfy his hunger. He slid his mouth over her chin and down her throat.

  Her fingers clenched in his hair, and she shivered. “Please…don’t hurt me…”

  “Never,” he promised, even though he feared it was a vow he would eventually have to break. His fingers shook as he fought the buttons free on the shirt she wore—his shirt. Possessiveness gripped him, filling him with satisfaction. She was his. He parted the shirt then pushed it from her shoulders. His breath left his lungs in a ragged sigh. “You are so beautiful…”

  Despite her thinness, she had generous curves. Full breasts, dark pink nipples tilting up from the honey-hued mounds. Soft hips sloped from a tiny waist. He skimmed his fingers down her sides, over her silky skin. She shivered again.

  “You’re cold,” he said, cursing the fact he’d had to hide her here—under ground. Even if he wasn’t hiding her, he’d have to stay here…as the sun was bound to rise soon. Consignment to life in the dark, that was the curse of his existence. Could he ask her to share it?

  She shook her head. “I’m not cold.”

  But he lifted the tray from the mattress, setting it atop the bedside table where she’d dropped her grandmother’s picture. He hadn’t kept it all these years to remember Carolina Briggs; he’d kept it to remember his own foolishness in asking anyone to become his bride.

  When he reached for the blankets to pull them over her naked body, she caught his wrist, her nails nipping at his skin. “I’m not cold,” she repeated, “I’m hungry.”

  Before he could retrieve the tray, she reached for the snap of his pants. A laugh rumbled first in his chest, then his throat. The vibration eased his urgency, calming his anxiety over their predicament. He hadn’t laughed in so long.

  Then she planted a palm against his chest and pushed him back on the mattress, and his laughter ceased, the tension and urgency returning to his body with painful intensity. But it wasn’t fear driving him; it was passion.