Holidays Bite: A Limited Edition Collection of Holiday Vampire Tales

by Laura Greenwood

  At first, everyone was frightened when our party was joined by a pack of real wolves. But once they heard the story of how these wolves had saved Isleen—told by none other than the pack leader himself, spoken in a fine, high Gaelic tongue—they accepted these beautiful creatures as friends.

  Duine babes played with wolf cubs and no one was hurt, not by tooth or claw. One wolf grabbed a child by the collar and pulled him back when he got too close to the fire. Another wolf stole a plate of Isleen’s cookies, but once we realized they had a longing for sweet treats, we baked a cake just for them.

  During our feast, one distinguished Duine elder came forward, a crest of roses on his tunic. He bowed to me and then took a knee.

  “I am your eldest living Guardian, my queen,” he said. “It has been an honor to serve you.”

  “Then you are my most trusted knight,” I told him. I took my sword, a weapon that had been forged by Faelan to kill me, and I laid it across my Guardian’s right shoulder. “You shall always be called the First Knight of the Roses.”

  Then, when a slender moon rose and our guests had eaten and drunk their fill, Kellen took me by the hand and led me through the forest. Our guests followed us in a single file, each of them carrying a glowing candle. The women sang a wedding song, their voices a lovely harmony that made me wish Caer was here, and that she was singing along with them.

  Be safe, be well, dear sister, I said in my heart.

  I never expected an answer. Perhaps it was born of this magic night. Or perhaps it was a Christmas gift from Kellen’s God. However it happened, I heard my sister’s voice, as clear as if she stood beside me.

  The enchantment is over and my spell has protected you, dear one. And now, you have the love I promised you. This is the man I told you about, so many centuries ago. I saw him in a vision that day in the cave and I made sure your sleep would last until the two of you met—

  My heart swelled and I closed my eyes, remembering how she had stood between me and an eternal darkness, with only her love to protect me. I hoped she was safe and that I would see her again one day.

  I also hoped that one day, she could be set free from Faelan, the evil one.

  That was my vow to her. If it took all of eternity, one day, I would make sure that she could choose freedom.

  We wended through the trees, following a curving path until we reached a place I had never been. It surprised me that there was a hidden hollow on the mountain I had known for so many thousands of years. As we approached, the ground grew warmer and the snow melted. Wildflowers, green grass, and trees with fresh, spring leaves greeted us. This was a magic as strong as any I’d ever seen.

  Kellen smiled, that sparkle in his eyes telling me he was glad I hadn’t known about this place.

  A spring of warm water fed this secret grotto, while tall rock walls sheltered it from the snows.

  My two sons wore Tuatha de Danann skin and blue embroidered tunics that matched my own blue gown with a rabbit fur collar. Isleen wore a long dress of the same material as mine. Kellen wore the brilliant green of his Clan, and for the first time, I noticed a flash of green in his blue eyes. When we finally stopped, we were surrounded by white wildflowers and their fragrance was intoxicating.

  There, in that hidden grotto, we pledged ourselves to one another.

  As was the practice with Duine brides, I vowed to love Kellen and his God. I meant it with all my heart.

  Kellen vowed to love me as a woman, instead of a god.

  My heart skipped a beat when he said those words.

  His eyes sparkled as his daughter Isleen approached, carrying something wrapped in fine linen. He carefully unwrapped it and lifted it from Isleen’s hands, a sweet fragrance rising. ‘Twas a crown made of tiny pink roses. He placed it upon my head.

  “This is for you, Eire. Queen of my heart.”

  I couldn’t speak, for my joy was overwhelming. Instead, I showered us with tiny golden stars. Everyone laughed and tried to catch them. I didn’t tell them, but for each star they caught, I granted them one wish.

  When we had finished the Duine ceremony, Isleen led our family and trusted friends back to the cottage to wait for us. Meanwhile, Kellen and I went to an oak grove and pledged ourselves in the faery way.

  There was no trickery and I made sure he understood what we were doing beforehand. This would not be like my wedding to my dead husband, Fethur, or my sister’s wedding to Faelan. No bride was kidnapped. No House would be made stronger by our union.

  “When you call, I will come,” I said to him.

  “When you call, I will come to you,” he said to me, but he pledged even more. “You will not be lost to me, Eire. No matter how far you wander, not even the ocean of eternity shall separate us.”

  My eyes filled with tears, for I had tried to keep trickery at bay. But being a faery, there are always secrets I cannot tell.

  My husband did not know that he would live almost as long I would. Our union would revive him, every single day. Just as he brought me love, I would bring him life.

  But that would be my secret. He would figure it out himself, in time. I only hoped he would forgive me.

  Then after our final vows were completed, we had one last thing to do before we could join the others back at our cottage. We walked together through the wood, hiding all the trails and paths that led to his home. With a spell here and there, this place would remain hidden. My children and I would be safe from Faelan and his Leanan Sidhe.

  Then we paused for one more embrace, his arms wrapped around me, the heavens full of stars above us.

  “You made me believe in love again,” I told him with a sigh.

  He kissed me then and I vowed in my heart that I would never stop believing in something as wonderful as this again.

  * * *

  The End

  Enjoyed this story? Be sure to leave a review! You can also purchase the Audible version of FairyTale Christmas. And if you love vampires, check out Merrie Destefano’s award-winning Shade: A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein—Frankenstein meets Dracula in this Gothic retelling of Mary Shelley’s classic tale.

  About the Author

  The former editor of Zombies magazine and Haunted Legends & Mysteries magazine, Merrie Destefano left her 9-to-5 editorial job to write novels instead. Today, she’s an award-winning author who writes lyrical tales of magic, mystery, and hope. Her traditional books have been published by HarperCollins, Entangled Teen, and Walter Foster, while her indie imprint is Ruby Slippers Press.

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  Read More of Merrie’s Books

  Fathom

  Fury

  Shade

  Lost Girls

  Valiant

  Afterlife

  Undead

  The Plague Carrier

  A Vampire’s Christmas Concerto

  Joe Quackenboss

  About A Vampire’s Christmas Concerto

  All Isom could think about was blood. He could smell it everywhere. This new existence was a daily struggle. One that he was not sure he would survive. With the Christmas season coming to early 20th Century Boston, Isom finds himself alone.

  With only the remnant memories of his past life as a prodigy violinist, this new vampire must strive to adapt to his new immortal existence. Though, this isn’t easy.

  A series of unfortunate circumstances places him in the position of being drawn to the perfect prey. Can he overcome his darkest desire on Christmas Eve?

  Chapter 1

  Boston, MA –
December 1901

  “Isom, are you sure you’ll be fine on your own?”

  Madeline’s words were suffused with a worried tone that I found mildly offensive.

  “Of course. It’s been several months now,” I reminded her, as if she needed a reminder of when she welcomed me as family.

  Madeline’s instructor, Dr. McDonald, had asked her to travel by train to New York for an important medical symposium. As the newly graduated and outwardly youngest doctor at the school, Madeline couldn’t very well refuse the honor. Honestly Dr. McDonald chose her because he knew Madeline was familiar with New York, and he had a terrible sense of direction. Madeline never could resist an appeal for help.

  “I could say you’ve fallen ill.”

  She began running through the sorts of illnesses serious enough to be considered an excuse for her to beg off the trip.

  “No,” I said sharply.

  Instantly I read the hurt on my adopted mother’s face as she tried to understand my anger. I consciously softened my voice as I tried to explain.

  “I know that I still… struggle.”

  That was an understatement. Every time I caught a whiff of human prey my mouth would begin to water, which had to be choked back lest I start drooling like a rabid animal. The thirst was a constant ache. I would not have trusted myself to be anywhere near humans a month ago, but time marches on, and with Madeline’s help I had been able to make short excursions into town. Her presence helped me to restrain myself from draining every human that walked by.

  Madeline nodded understandingly, without a trace of condemnation on her ageless face. It is what I both loved and hated about her, that constant saintliness. Long ago she had conquered the beast within. Nearly eight-hundred years she had lived this life. I, on the other hand…

  “I’ll likely always struggle,” I admitted grudgingly. “But it is better now. I am better now. Allow me to prove it. Trust me just this once.”

  I was not playing fair. I knew how Madeline anguished over the risks of taking me out into society. I also knew the depth of her consideration for my feelings and how she tried hard not to seem overbearing or dictatorial. I often caught glimpses in her actions that pointed to those harsh memories of Egypt and the British. They ruled their domain with an iron hand. Madeline didn’t want to be like them.

  I contemplated reminding Madeline that keeping me imprisoned in the house was exactly the sort of thing the English crown had done to my family during our time in Cairo but stopped short. What sort of a creature had I become? A pang of conscience struck me to the core. I knew from our time together Madeline’s feelings for her relationship with the British Army were conflicted enough without my interference.

  She gathered herself and watched me with a timeless gaze. I found myself looking down at my feet instead of meeting that piercing stare as she came to a decision.

  “You are right, Isom. I do trust you. Please forgive me for ever giving the impression that I do not.”

  She was sincere, and I could tell that she was beginning to berate herself mentally for a fault that didn’t exist.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” I said lightly.

  She smiled at me. “Ever since I saw that young prodigy on the stage of the Opera House playing The Four Seasons by Vivaldi, I knew you were strong and could do anything you could put your mind too.”

  Walking past the music stand that dominated our front parlor, I blushed. Or would have if blood still pumped through my body. I leaned down and picked up the leather satchel at Madeline’s feet, careful not to crush the handle as I lifted it.

  “Go on, New York is waiting,” I told her as I handed it to her. “And so is Dr. McDonald, assuming he made it to the station without getting lost.”

  Madeline smiled, gracious in defeat, and took the satchel.

  “Thank you, Isom.”

  I helped her on with her heavy wool coat, a necessary prop when venturing outside among the humans who felt the cold and bundled up against it. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and placed her favorite black earmuffs over her ears.

  “It will only be for a few days. We’ll visit the butcher’s shop when I get back. Perhaps we’ll even visit the nearby farms for a cow or two?”

  Madeline would be thinking that finding a nice meal would be just the thing to get me in the mood for Christmas. She worried that I was losing touch with human traditions which once meant a lot to me. The problem was my family had never been one to celebrate Christmas. It was not that we hadn’t been religious, only that Christianity was a new introduction to Egypt. Even still, growing up my Mother and Father had been recent converts to the western religion.

  Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes at the thoughts of celebrating a holiday I didn’t much care for, I merely nodded. Madeline had missed her calling as a mother hen. I was twenty-five years old when I died, not ten. She however, thought of me as an adopted son. A ward, you could call it. Truly, I was grateful for this. My own family had died during the sacking of Cairo. I would have died, if not for Madeline.

  With a last glance over her shoulder, she left through the front door. I stood at the parlor window and watched her trudge down the lane through the snow until her form disappeared into the Boston fog.

  Blessed silence.

  Or as silent as it got for a vampire. I could still hear a family of mice moving restlessly in their sleep in the attic above, the tiny amount of blood in their bodies not nearly as attractive as the siren call of human blood.

  The wood frame house creaked a bit and icicles dripped outside from the eaves. In the distance a neighbor’s herd of cows lowed every so often.

  My mental landscape, however, was silent save for my own thoughts. Walking over to the music stand, I picked up the violin I had left there. It was my third since coming to Boston. I ran my hand over the neck, careful not to press so hard when playing. Wood was ever so fragile.

  This was my passion. Closing my eyes, I could still remember the rows of seats and smells of wood that had been the Khedivial Opera House in Cairo. I had played there many times. The crowds silent as I pulled my bow across the strings. That had been before the war, before the religious zealots had overthrown the government and threatened the western powers in the region. War had been the worst thing. It had destroyed all semblance of normal life, of my life.

  It had been the war coming to my home that made me this way. I did not blame Madeline for my transition. If anything, I thanked her for giving me a second chance. More than fate had brought her to my bedside as I lay dying in a British Army hospital. She had recognized that young violinist from the Opera, and whispered in my ear…

  Using the violin’s bow, I pushed aside the sheets of Christmas music the ever-hopeful Madeline brought home a few days ago, pushed them aside just like the memories I did not wish to confront just now. I settled on Concerto in D major by Tchaikovsky and filled the house with music. All night and well into the next day I played, skipping from Beethoven to Bach, Mozart to Dvořák.

  Eventually even music palled, and I walked outside, not bothering with a coat. The clouds were grey and threatening. It seemed it might snow again. How very seasonal for this country.

  The sound of a horse drawn wagon came to me. It was one of our neighbors on their way to town no doubt. I retreated to the house rather than allow him to see me outside in my shirtsleeves and wonder at it.

  I watched through the window as the heavy wagon went past. Mr. Ames was in a festive mood. He’d tucked a sprig of holly in his hatband and was humming a Christmas carol as he drove down the lane.

  I wondered at the decorations this year. Madeline had told me people in America would go all out with garlands on the porch railings, wreaths on the doors, and Christmas trees visible in every window. I had never experienced such an event in the desert.

  My sisters had celebrated Christmas before Cairo fell. I could still remember when the zealots had ransacked our decorations. Both had cried and I had tried to comfort them. At lea
st I think I had. I couldn’t remember what I had said. The memories of my life before Madeline were fading. It was like looking at tintypes of the great grandparents I’d never known. The dress and clothing were a curiosity, nothing more. I knew my parents treasured those photographs, but to me they were just pictures of strangers.

  The girls died before I did, the first casualties on our block. The war had struck our street hard. I knew that no one had survived the purge of the Christian neighborhoods by the zealots. That was one of the reasons for the British crackdown that had affected so many.

  Walking into the kitchen, I sat down at the pine table to practice what Madeline called human mannerisms. We were trying to live among them, so had to practice and humans sat after standing for a time.

  A part of me wondered if the people living in my old neighborhood were Christian. Would they be celebrating this holiday? Perhaps they even would decorate like the Americans.

  Madeline had tried to interest me in getting a Christmas tree. I crushed her hopes by refusing. What was there to celebrate after all? Why decorate? It is not as if Madeline could invite anyone from work over to our home so there was really no need to deck the halls. I couldn’t be trusted in an enclosed space with helpless prey. It was one thing to walk around town with Madeline at my side, ready to whisk me away if I moved to strike. It was quite another to be trapped indoors with my natural food source and not eat it.

  The first months after Madeline turned me, time went without either of us noticing it. She had taken me from the Army Hospital in Cairo, to a ship at Alexandria that would set sail for America. We had stayed in our cabin far from the other passengers, with nothing but ocean beyond. After arriving here, Madeline found us this cottage on the outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts. It was just outside the city limits. Our neighbors were farmers who kept to themselves and left us alone.