The Bite Before Christmas

by Heidi Betts

  Still, Angelina’s keen fashion sense was the only reason she wasn’t fidgeting with her own dress and accessories right now. While she’d stood there pretty much like a department store mannequin, her friend had held gown after gown up to her, quickly accepting or dismissing colors and styles.

  After trying on a handful of the acceptable choices, Angelina had given an enthusiastic thumbs-up to a red strapless number that even Vivian had to admit was spectacular. It was simple, but sexy, and a few well-chosen pieces of gold-and-diamond jewelry—well, cubic zirconia, she could afford the real stuff if she wanted, but didn’t see the point in wasting money on a necklace and earrings she would probably never wear again—pushed it over the line into va-va-va-voom.

  Rather than making her feel empowered and desirable, however, the outfit threatened to depress her even further. The only person she wanted to wear something like this for was Sean, and he was nowhere around to see it.

  “I’m not here to meet someone,” she informed Angelina. Not that she hadn’t told the woman roughly the same thing nine hundred and fifty-seven times before. In the past two days alone.

  “Sweetie, if that man were going to come back to you, he’d have done it by now. I have to say, I’m regretting ever changing him, given how ungrateful he’s turned out to be.” Her fuck-me red lips—nearly the same shade as Vivian’s dress—twisted into a pouting moue. “You would think a man who’d been given a second chance at life and at a beautiful woman who loves him would be a bit more appreciative.”

  Vivian’s stomach tightened at her friend’s flippant remark. Yes, Sean was gone. And in time, she would come to accept that. It shouldn’t take more than two, maybe three hundred years, tops.

  But even so, even if her broken heart never mended, she truly did take comfort in the knowledge that he was out there somewhere, healthy and alive and—she hoped—happy.

  “But since your Sean seems incapable of showing a bit of simple gratitude, you need to get over him and move on.”

  At that, Vivian’s stomach didn’t just tighten, it threatened to revolt. Angelina meant well, she knew that, but it didn’t make her unsympathetic remarks hurt any less. And she was sooooo not ready to move on.

  If Sean had walked out of her apartment and her life centuries rather than only weeks ago, she still wouldn’t be ready. Not while her chest felt as though it were filled with rusty nails and the image of his handsome face still came to her so clearly when she closed her eyes.

  Before she could voice as much, however, Angelina wrapped a manicured hand around her elbow and steered her through the crowded ballroom. She was introduced first to the party’s hosts, Connor Drake and Jillian Parker.

  Though Angelina mentioned that Jillian was an events planner, and almost solely responsible for the evening’s gathering, it was clear the petite brunette was more than that to Mr. Drake. They were standing too close, and his hand at her waist was too proprietary for them to be simply business acquaintances. Add to that the fact that she was literally the only human in a roomful of openly vampish vamps—without being hog-tied in the middle of a dinner table with an apple in her mouth—and the nature of their relationship was obvious.

  Connor’s younger siblings, Liam and Maeve, were also in attendance. While everyone else was dressed in their holiday finery—classic suits and elegant cocktail dresses—they’d opted for T-shirts and leather. Although the girl’s tights were red and green, and her top did have a sprig of mistletoe embroidered on the front with a sad-looking black cat sitting beneath.

  From there, Angelina dragged her from unattached male to unattached male, whispering, “Trust me, darling, this is what I do” more than once.

  Vivian didn’t care that Angelina was a professional matchmaker. She didn’t care that she was good at her job, or that hundreds of vampire couples were now living their Dark Shadows-meets-The Brady Bunch happily ever after because of her.

  If she were in the market for a romantic setup, Angelina would have been her first phone call, without a doubt. But since she wasn’t, her friend’s interference—as well-intentioned as she knew it was meant to be—was simply annoying.

  Once Angelina got something into her head, though, there was no shaking her off…or so Vivian realized after her introduction to Undead Bachelor Number Five.

  A booming, Dr. Phil–like Texas drawl sounded in her head, How’s that working’ for ya?

  Definitely not well. So if balking at Angelina’s demands that she climb back up on the dating horse weren’t working, she needed to change her strategy. Either that or risk being paraded around the rest of the night like a high-priced call girl up on the auction block.

  And so, when her friend trotted her over to stand in front of Undead Bachelor Number Six—also known as Ben—Vivian pasted a bright smile on her face and acted delighted to meet him.

  “Hi, Ben,” she greeted him. “I’m Vivian.”

  They shook, and his grip was firm, his skin warm…undoubtedly from the fresh B-neg cradled in his other hand. She asked what he did for a living. Contrary to popular belief, vampires did not all reside in dank caves and spend their waking hours terrorizing humans; very few of them did, in fact. Instead, most of them held down normal—albeit nocturnal—jobs, the same as anyone else.

  Most of them also tended to be fairly well off, since they were able to squirrel away money year after year, decade after decade. She imagined banks weren’t too keen on having an overabundance of immortal customers, given the interest that could build up on such hefty accounts after that amount of time, but that didn’t keep them from accepting her kind’s business.

  Ben was in real estate, and quickly launched into a lengthy discourse about the state of the market and some of the properties he currently represented. Vivian couldn’t have been less interested, but pretended to hang on every word while humming along with “Holly Jolly Christmas,” the carol currently playing over the sound system in her head and randomly reciting lines of poetry by Keats and Poe.

  It was ironic, really, that mortals had such a dark, mysterious, larger-than-life impression of vampires. Little did they realize that blood drinkers could be just as boring and self-absorbed as humans…more so, even, because they’d been around longer and had so many more lame-ass stories to tell. She was sure that if she asked, Ben would be able to tell her ad nauseum about the housing market back in 1842, as well.

  Taking a sip of her eggnog, she slanted a glance at Angelina. Her friend was watching her, carefully monitoring her body language and facial expressions. Still smiling, Vivian gave a small nod, relieved when Angelina beamed and slowly started to back away, leaving her alone with Ben.

  An hour later, she was caroled out, and there wasn’t one more line of poetry on the planet for her to run through. If Jolly Old Saint Nicholas himself had burst through the ceiling to run over her with his sleigh and all eight reindeer, she would have welcomed the distraction.

  Yet when Ben kindly asked her if she’d like a ride home, she accepted. Not so much because she wanted to spend more time in his company, but because she didn’t think she could stand another second stuck inside Drake Manor with all these shiny, happy people.

  It was a lovely home and a lovely party; very traditional and Christmasy, which she gathered had been Connor’s purpose in hiring his new party-planner-turned-love-interest in the first place. And if she’d been in a different frame of mind, she was quite sure she’d have enjoyed herself.

  But at the moment, she just wanted to go home—without Angelina snapping at her heels and hounding her to “move on” every step of the way.

  So she let Ben collect her wrap and lied through her teeth when she whispered to Angelina that she and Ben had really hit it off and were going back to her place. Judging by the vamp-who-ate-the-housekeeper grin spreading across Angelina’s face, the fib had just bought her at least forty-eight hours of being left the hell alone. After the holidays, she would confess to her friend that she’d made it all up and ditched Benny Boy at
the curb.

  Twenty minutes later, Ben’s sporty little car purred like a kitten as he pulled up to said curb. Before he could cut the engine and offer to see her safely inside—no doubt for a nightcap that he fully expected to lead to more…yeah, fat chance, buddy—she had her door open and was stepping onto the sidewalk.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she told him, ignoring his dropping jaw and whatever he might have tried to say if she hadn’t slammed the door in his face.

  Her heels clicked on snow-dampened cement as she hurried up the walk, silently cursing Angelina for making her go out on the coldest night of the year in a dress that barely covered her ass, and a wrap that did next to nothing to protect her bare shoulders and chest. Maybe she should rethink this whole “Angelina is my friend” business.

  She yanked open the front double doors and stomped inside, ready to get upstairs to her apartment where she could be warm and dry and out of the three-inch heels that were beginning to give her both blisters and bone spurs. Letting herself into the penthouse, she relied on her excellent night vision rather than turning on the lights as she kicked off her shoes and crossed the sprawling living room area.

  Stars sparkled in the clear black sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, and here and there across the wide expanse were red and green Christmas lights dotting the blanket of black.

  She dropped her wrap over the back of the sofa, then padded to the windows, admiring the view while she reached beneath her skirt to remove the annoyance of her pantyhose, then behind her back to unzip her dress.

  “Nice,” came a low voice from the other side of the room, scaring her half out of her panties. “If I’d known you were going to strip, I’d have brought more one dollar bills with me.”

  TYPE AB

  Vivian yipped…actually yipped like some frou-frou pocket Chihuahua…and spun around to find Sean standing in front of the fireplace.

  Even though the room was dark, her exceptional night vision let her see him clear as day. He looked as if he’d just come from a party, too. He was wearing dress slacks and an expensive blue silk shirt, hair slicked back in a style she’d rarely seen.

  The lights from the Christmas tree in the corner were reflected on the shiny surface of his leather jacket and on either side of his tall frame, old-fashioned red-and-white stockings hung from the mantel. She wasn’t exactly Suzy Snowflake, but she’d thrown up a few decorations to make it feel more like the holidays inside her private, lonely space.

  “Geez,” she swore, pressing a hand to her chest where her heart was still pounding. “You scared me half to death.”

  His brows lifted at her turn of phrase, and she rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. What are you doing here?”

  “Hoping you’ll keep going with your little striptease,” he murmured with a crooked, suggestive half-smile.

  Normally, that grin would have shot straight to her core, warming her and making her want to climb him like a monkey in a mango tree. But not now. Not with a million questions swirling through her brain and her emotions so rattled, she felt like Sybil on a bad day.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked again without a trace of humor.

  After the way he’d left, she hadn’t expected to ever see him again. Hadn’t let herself hope to ever see him again. Yet here he was, in her apartment, standing no more than ten feet from her.

  She licked her dry lips, waiting for him to respond. Maybe he was here to kill her. You know, to exact revenge for her part in turning him against his will.

  Or maybe he was here for more vampire lessons. As far as she was aware, he didn’t know any other immortals, at least not personally. He might be planning to use her as a real-life Encyclopedia of the Undead, A to Z.

  She wasn’t sure how she would feel about that. About seeing him and talking to him on a regular basis, but not being able to be with him. It would be just like before, when he’d been her boss and she’d been his personal secretary, so it would certainly be something she was familiar with…but she didn’t know if she could go back to something platonic, something meaningless after what they’d shared.

  “I came to see you,” he replied after a moment of tense silence.

  Yeah, she’d gotten that much. If he’d wanted to see the Dali Lama, he’d be in a completely different apartment.

  “Bet you didn’t know I could pick locks, huh?” he said, flashing her another amused glance. “Chalk it up to a misspent youth.”

  When she didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and stepped forward. Moonlight spilled over his face, illuminating his green eyes and strong, slightly stubbled jaw.

  “You were out,” he murmured. “At a party?”

  He wanted to talk about the party. Her ears were ringing, and she felt as though she’d stepped through the looking glass, but he wanted to talk about where she’d been.

  She nodded stiffly. “Christmas party. Angelina made me go. Said I needed to get back on the horse.”

  He raised a brow at that. “Horse?”

  “You left. I was upset. She thought meeting someone new might help.”

  “A man, you mean. She was trying to set you up with another man.”

  She couldn’t tell if he sounded jealous or amused, so she simply shrugged. “She is a professional matchmaker. It’s kind of what she does.”

  “That, and turning people into vampires,” came his flat reply.

  Vivian sighed. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her hold on the bodice of her dress loosened until the material began to slip and she quickly grabbed it tight again.

  So that’s why he was here. Not to declare his undying love for her, or even to tell her he’d come to terms with his new immortal existence and wanted to remain friends.

  Friends, blech. She didn’t want to be friends with him. She wanted to be his love toy…or have him be hers. Not that she wouldn’t take plain old friendship if that was all he was willing to offer, but “friends with benefits” definitely wasn’t at the top of her Wish List when it came to being with Sean.

  No, he was still pissed about being turned to begin with. And apparently he felt the need to come back and rub her nose in it a bit more. Like her guilt wasn’t already the size of Godzilla destroying the city.

  “Look, Sean,” she finally said, opening her eyes and pulling her shoulders back. She was so tired of this, she literally could not take any more. “I’m sorry for what Angelina did. I’m sorry that I confided my feelings for you to a friend and that she took it upon herself to turn you into something you don’t want to be. I didn’t ask her to do it and would have tried to stop her if I’d known what she was planning, but there’s nothing I can do now.”

  Taking a deep breath, she barreled on with words she really didn’t want to utter, but knew needed to be said. “If you hate it so much, you’ll just have to do something about it. Walk into the sunrise, throw yourself on a chair leg, whatever. It will be quicker than the tumor was going to take you, that’s for damn sure.”

  Her chest was tight as she stood there, barely breathing, her stomach sinking by degrees like an elevator car in slow motion. With every second of heavy, awkward silence that passed, the elevator dropped another floor.

  Finally, Sean shifted, his leather jacket squeaking as he crossed his arms over his wide chest. “Are you finished?”

  Not quite the response she’d expected, but…“Yes.”

  “Good,” was his firm response. Then he dropped his arms and crossed the carpeted floor to stand only inches in front of her.

  She could feel the heat of his body…a nice, sizzling warmth that told her he must have fed—or drunk—recently. His hand came up, his fingers brushing through the hair at her temple, and her eyes drifted closed again.

  Oh, lord, he smelled good. And felt good. And looked good. He even sounded good, his heart beating strongly in his chest.

  “I’ve done a lot of thinking these past two weeks,” he said softly, still stroking her hair and the side of her face. “I can’t say I was t
hrilled when I woke up here and you started telling me about how I’d been changed, what my life would be like from that point on. But I’m kind of used to it now. I’ve still got a lot to learn, I’m sure, but sunbathing or committing hari-kari isn’t something I’ll be contemplating anytime soon, believe me.”

  With his other hand, he lifted her chin and waited for her to open her eyes. When she did, his own beautiful, sea-green eyes were staring down at her, and she had to bite her lip to keep from sobbing.

  “What we have is amazing. The way I feel when I’m around you is something I’ve never felt with anyone else. You make me feel stronger, better, more alive than ever before. And I mean ever. Before your friend bit me or after.”

  He chuckled at that, and the elevator stopped. Stopped drifting down to the soles of her feet and started slowly moving upward instead.

  “I was worried that was the newly formed vampire side of me talking, though. When I woke up—after the transformation—everything was louder and brighter and sharper. How could I know that what we shared wasn’t just another aspect of that? How could I be sure that hot human sex didn’t simply translate into even hotter vampire sex?”

  Well, that wasn’t very flattering, she didn’t think. But he was touching her and whispering softly, and whatever he had to say, she wanted to hear.

  “So after I left your apartment, I decided to find out.”

  Oh, that was nice of him.

  Wait.

  What?

  She took a step back, pulling away from his warmth and the stroke of his hand. Whimper.

  “What do you mean you ‘decided to find out’?” she demanded. “You went out and slept with other women?”

  She shouldn’t be upset. She had no right to be, even if the thought of him with other women—in bed or out—made her want to bite their necks and not bring them back from the brink of death. Rip out their intestines and use them to make macramé plant holders. File some pieces of driftwood into nice, sharp points and play a round of pin-the-stake-on-the-bimbo.