Holiday with a Vampire

by Maureen Child

  As she walked, she occasionally shot a glance over her shoulder, searching, but everything appeared to be in order and she wrote off the man in the shadows to her imagination. Maybe she had been wishfully thinking about getting another look at the handsome devil who had stepped out of the luxurious brownstone earlier that night.

  Get ahold of yourself, Connie. Anyone who looks like him and lives in this pricey area is well out of my league. She was definitely one for pretzels and beer, not caviar and champagne. The thought brought a rumble to her stomach, reminding her that she hadn’t had a chance to grab a bite to eat before beginning her Santa shift.

  Her mouth salivated as she passed a Chipotle restaurant. Although she was Cuban, she could eat Mexican food every day of the week, but with the winter chill, her favorite burrito bowl would be ice cold by the time she got home. Not to mention that she was trying to lose a few pounds to make up for those she would surely gain thanks to all the upcoming holiday meals and festivities.

  Her hips were already too rounded to withstand that extra weight.

  It will be a diet TV dinner for me, Connie thought as she swiped her way through the subway turnstile and hurried down to the platform. A few other passengers waited there, students at nearby Hunter College, judging from the looks of them.

  With a slow-building rush of air from the tunnel and a rumble beneath her feet, the subway announced its imminent arrival. The loud squeal and hiss of brakes grated against her ears before the train came to a stop in the station.

  She boarded and was soon on her way to Union Square. The area had become upscale several years back, although Connie’s studio was a few blocks over on Fourteenth Street and in a part of town that wasn’t necessarily so upscale. Yet. Gentrification was quickly moving her way.

  The small studio suited her just fine. It was a good investment until she could make partner and maybe find someone and settle down with a house and children in the suburbs. A predictable life, but then again, such predictability matched her nature.

  She had always been the go-to girl. The one everyone counted on to be stable and responsible. Others might find that boring, but she found it reassuring.

  It took barely fifteen minutes to reach her stop and another ten before she was slipping the key into the lock for her studio condo.

  As she opened the door, a familiar meow greeted her.

  Her black cat Osiris eagerly waited inside. When she entered, the cat meowed once again and proceeded to twine sinuously around her legs in welcome.

  Connie bent, scooped up the cat and hugged her tight, earning a growling protest. She released the animal, who followed her into the kitchen.

  Osiris’s gaily decorated ceramic food bowl sat empty. The automatic water fountain sputtered angrily from a lack of water. Clearly these were the reasons for the vocal welcome.

  Connie filled the two bowls first before popping her frozen dinner into the microwave and changing into her warm, comfortable sweats.

  Then she pulled out the sofa bed in the living area and turned on the television. The late night news was on, but she flipped through the stations until she located reruns of one of her favorite law enforcement dramas.

  Something about the eternal good-versus-evil fight always intrigued her. It was why she had become a lawyer. Although a year in the district attorney’s office had shown her how misguided her decision had been. After plea bargaining more cases than she wished to think about, she had opted to continue her career in a law firm where at least she knew what kinds of people she was representing.

  The microwave beeped, pulling her from her thoughts.

  As she did every night that she wasn’t working late on a case or meeting colleagues for a drink, Connie grabbed her dinner and slipped beneath the sheets of her bed. As she ate, her mind was half on the television drama and half on the man she had seen earlier.

  Scooping up a bit of the low-fat—translation: low-taste—macaroni and cheese, she wondered why he had stayed on her mind for so long. She wasn’t one to let a pretty face sway her. She was too sensible for that.

  Maybe it was the anger in the dark, glaring gaze he had turned her way. Anger and maybe even pain.

  Melodramatic much? she kidded herself. Despite her generally sensible nature, she had always been a bit of a dreamer, devouring countless romance novels and romantic movies. Yes, she thought, there was a soft side to the tough cookie lawyer she presented to the rest of the world.

  The tough cookie lawyer who spent way too many hours at the office, preventing much of a social life.

  If Connie was honest with herself, that was the real reason for her fascination with the unknown stranger—she’d had no one besides her cat to warm her sheets in quite a long time.

  The cat jumped up on the bed and settled herself at Connie’s feet, padding the space with her paws and circling around until she was comfortable enough to bed down. A contented purr soon vibrated up Connie’s legs and warmth built slowly at her feet.

  A sad and inadequate replacement for the hard heat of a man’s body.

  Connie finished the TV dinner and sank against the pillows, careful not to dislodge the cat and double checking to make sure her alarm was set. If she saw the handsome man tomorrow, she might just do something about changing her current situation.

  Chapter 3

  H er warmth surrounded him, slick and welcoming, as Hadrian pumped into her, rousing her passion.

  She moaned and clutched at his shoulders. Dug her nails deep and raised her hips to bury him within her. Her soft cries spurred him on, but he knew that when her release came, there would be only one thing he would want.

  Only one thing that would bring him some small measure of satisfaction.

  He watched her intently. A fine flush had spread across her ample breasts, which bobbed gently from the force of his thrusts. Her light caramel-colored nipples were beaded into tight points from the earlier caress of his mouth. He could still see the slight dampness of his kiss.

  Bending his head, he sucked her nipple into his mouth once again and she mewled her pleasure at the strong tug. She fisted her hands into his hair to urge him on.

  He felt it then, building inside of him. The lust of the demon. Human lust had long eluded him. The man within had been dead for far too long.

  Around his erection, the throb and tightening of her body told him she was almost there, almost ready for him to take his final pleasure.

  He intensified the motion of his hips, dragging a gasp from her that was part pleasure, part pain. He didn’t like the pain, but life had taught him that the two were irrevocably intertwined.

  He jabbed into her again and it began. He heard it in the way her heart skipped a beat and her blood rushed through her body, bringing her release. She screamed her pleasure, her head thrown back against the pillows, her heels digging into the mattress to increase his penetration.

  It was time.

  As he continued to pump his hips, drawing out her climax, he nuzzled the neck she had bared to him. He could smell the muskiness of her arousal. Beneath his lips he felt the wild rush of blood, singing through her veins.

  Dragging his fangs from his mouth, he brushed those fangs along her fragile skin and she stiffened, aware that something wasn’t quite right.

  It would be the last thing she would remember in the morning, he thought, sinking his fangs deep into her neck and feeding from the passion-laced blood surging through her body.

  She cried out in pain, but as the vampire’s kiss swept over her, the cry became a long moan of pleasure. The human responded to the demon’s call and she held his head to her neck and begged for more.

  It was only then, with her blood beginning a wild ride through his system, energizing him with life, that he could experience pleasure.

  Time and time again Hadrian plunged into her as he fed. Soon, he knew he had to stop. If he fed even one more drop, she would not survive. Ripping himself from her neck, he thrust into her one last time and released his seed.r />
  Dead seed unless he turned her. Only then, with the sire’s kiss running through her veins, could that seed bestow life within. Only then, and only if she was at the peak of her fertility.

  Tonight, she was just another empty vessel, pleasuring the demon with her blood while the man trapped within remained dead.

  This was the way of his life now. Cold. Empty. Barren.

  As he left the body of the woman, now growing limp beneath him from loss of blood, anger surged through him.

  For some inexplicable reason, the anger brought the remembrance of the Santa, cheerily ringing in the holiday. He imagined how he might silence that Santa and smiled.

  Bah, humbug.

  The weather had taken a drastic drop into the low twenties, and with the wind chill, the temperature hovered in the single digits. By nighttime, there was a threat the temperature might even drop below zero.

  But the weather hadn’t stopped Connie from accepting her turn at the collection kettle. She had prepared herself that morning with a visit to a local sporting goods store, where in addition to the purchase of some Mets jerseys and T-shirts for her brother-in-law and nephews, she had grabbed some space-age undergarments that promised to ward off even a subzero chill.

  It helped that the collection kettle was positioned in the sun. The weak winter rays had created a nice bit of warmth when she had initially taken over the station. Likewise, the large building on the corner stopped the worst of the wind. Keeping in constant motion helped the most, however. She marched back and forth on the sidewalk and kept her arm in constant motion, ringing the bell, summoning the pedestrians who braved the cold and occasionally offered up a donation.

  When one arm grew tired, she switched the bell to the other. The passersby seemed to understand the strength of her determination on such a wicked winter day. The greater part of the contributions had been dollar bills, providing her with incentive to keep on with her task despite the growing numbness of her fingers and the sting of the wind on her cheeks.

  Night fell more quickly that day. Or maybe it only felt that way since as soon as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared, the cold bit deep through the Santa suit and her thermal underwear. She quickened her pace along the sidewalk, hoping the increased speed would warm her. The bell rang in time with her footfalls.

  One step, two steps, ring the bell. She tried to keep a rhythm and bring warmth to her increasingly cold extremities.

  One step, two steps…

  “Stop that.”

  Connie had been concentrating so hard that she hadn’t registered the approach of the man.

  The first thing she noticed was his expensive black shoes blocking her path. She moved her gaze upward past stylish charcoal-gray slacks and a camel-colored cashmere overcoat.

  A scarf with an unexpectedly wild pattern—Maximillian’s signature colors and design—led to a strong chin and full lips constricted in a grimace of displeasure.

  The handsome man from the day before.

  He had slipped into her dreams more than once last night. Erotic dreams filled with naughty imaginings of what they might do within the walls of his luxury town house. Definitely sexier than her studio sofa bed.

  Moving her gaze up the final few inches, it connected with the dark intimidating features she had recalled. Annoyance was still stamped on his masculine face.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, slightly irritated by his command and the way in which he’d stepped into her path, invading her personal space. He stood barely inches from her, his presence unusually dominating.

  “Can you please stop that infernal ringing?” At his sides, his hands fisted open and closed.

  “It’s part of the job, the bell-ringing.” She motioned to the collection kettle sitting unattended just a few feet away.

  “I think the Santa suit and pot are enough of a clue as to what you want. There’s no need for the bell.”

  “We have a permit—”

  “I don’t care what you have. How much will it take to silence that damn ringing?” Hadrian asked, his voice escalating with anger at each word. Surely the Santa standing before him had a price for his silence. Everyone had a price after all.

  The Santa eyed him up and down, as if taking his measure. Then the Santa met his gaze with determined blue-gray eyes framed by exceptionally long, thick lashes. “It wouldn’t be right…”

  The wind whipped up as the Santa spoke, displacing the beard and muffling the last of the response. With annoyance, he said, “Can you take off that hideous masquerade so we can speak like civilized individuals?”

  As the Santa whipped off the hat and beard, Hadrian realized what a major mistake he had made. Beneath the costume was a woman. A rather beautiful one at that, stunning him into momentary silence.

  He should have realized it was a female beneath the costume from her slight build and the higher pitch of her voice.

  She raised her face to peer up at him. She was several inches shorter than his over six-foot height.

  That blue-gray gaze settled on his face, cheeks pale from the chill. Lusciously pouty lips slicked with some kind of gloss tightened with disapproval. With careful precision, as if she were speaking to a child, she repeated her earlier statement, “It would be wrong to take a donation to stop ringing the bell.”

  “It would be wrong because—”

  “You should give freely from your heart. Not because you want something in exchange,” she said and inched up her chin a determined notch.

  “Because the holiday spirit is all about giving,” he replied, his tone saying otherwise, although the determined young woman before him didn’t react to his sarcasm.

  She narrowed her gaze, creating a deep furrow between perfectly waxed brows. “Are you a Scrooge?”

  A Scrooge. He’d been called worse things in his long existence and by people far more powerful than the little chit standing before him. If earthly incentives wouldn’t help silence the bell, there were other ways. Vampire ways. He was an elder, after all.

  “You will not ring the bell again tonight.” He raised his hand as if to stay hers and called forth a smidgen of his immortal’s power to control her.

  To his surprise, the young woman battled him, slowly raising her hand even as he increased the force of his vampire thrall.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, every muscle in her body straining to defy him.

  “You will not ring the bell,” he repeated, but even as he did so, he sensed the purpose of her will, pushing back at him. Amazing him. There were few vamps who could fight the thrall of an elder and here she was…

  A young, vital and desirable woman showing him more spirit than he had experienced in a long time.

  Maybe ever.

  Raising both hands, he reached deep inside himself and summoned more of his power. He focused it on her and the bell in her hand, and sent his command to her telepathically.

  Put the bell down and come with me.

  Surprise slammed into his body as she mentally replied, I don’t want to.

  Redoubling his efforts, he repeated his command. This time she slowly bent at the knees and placed the bell on the ground. As he walked across the street, she followed, but in his brain he heard her complaint.

  You can’t control me forever.

  With a laugh, as they ascended the steps to his brownstone, he said, We’ll see.

  Chapter 4

  O nce inside, he shut the door behind them with a sweep of his hand and faced her.

  With the brisk winter wind gone, a slightly sour aroma permeated the air around her. He wrinkled his nose and motioned to the Santa suit.

  “Take it off.”

  Her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides and once again, he felt the pull and push of power between them as she defied him.

  Interesting.

  He took a step closer and raised his hand to the neck of the Santa suit, where he found the pull for the zipper. As the back of his hand skimmed the slick black shirt beneath, he
r body trembled.

  “Don’t tell me you’re a virgin,” he said while slowly drawing down the zipper on the suit, revealing the ample curves of her breasts beneath the shimmer of the tight-fitting fabric.

  He suddenly itched to touch those breasts, but contained himself.

  Before pleasure came punishment for her defiance.

  To his continued surprise, she tilted back her head and with only a slight hitch in her voice to give away her discomfort said, “Just because I’m not a virgin doesn’t mean I’m not virtuous. I dislike being pawed by the likes of you.”

  Hadrian chuckled as he completely unzipped the top of the Santa suit. “The likes of me?”

  “You won’t get away with this.”

  He laughed again, amused by her spirit. “Who will stop me?”

  He picked up his hand and once again had to fight the urge to cup her breast. His human desire confused him. It had been quite some time since he had felt it. Instead of giving in to it, he cradled the side of her face and leaned close until his nose barely brushed hers.

  “Who will stop me? You?”

  “Yes, me.” Her voice exploded against his lips, the spill of her breath warm and all too tempting.

  A harsh laugh escaped him this time as he met her gaze. “How will you—”

  “There are laws—”

  “And I suppose you know all those laws,” he said and inched his hand downward, but not to her breast. Instead, he slipped his hand beneath the fabric at her shoulder. With a forceful nudge he sent the offensive Santa suit to the parquet floor.

  “I’m a lawyer,” she said, reaching for his hands as he moved to the drawstring at her waist.

  His laugh this time was sharp and unrestrained. “A lawyer. There are some who might say there is not much difference between the two of us.”

  Her eyebrows narrowed once again before she thoughtfully asked, “And why is that?”

  He unleashed the demon, transforming into a vampire. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with the low rumble of the beast he had let loose.