Biting Holiday Honeymoons

by Mary Hughes

Julian cringed and looked around.

  “What?”

  “Usually when you say something like that, the next thing that happens is the lights go out and a gang of killer pixies fly in waving miniature meat cleavers.”

  I crossed arms and got surly. “It’s my honeymoon. If the lights go out it had better be my sexy husband getting ready to get it on, not a bunch of freaky little bugs with hair buns and axes. If I don’t get my full honeymoon treatment—the full treatment—I’ll personally kick their glittery asses back to Never Never Land.”

  “Ah. Then I’d better get started.” He uncringed, took my phone and set it aside, then slipped into the hot tub and pulled me into his muscular arms. “How’s your mother?”

  “Good.” I turned toward him and relaxed. Hey, I was with the naked man of my dreams. Maybe not the Wonderful Life Mom meant, but it worked for me. “But I could be better.” I slid one knee over Julian’s hips, straddling him. “Let’s not talk about her or pixies, okay?”

  “Hmm. Shall we discuss this?” His hard-shell briefcase rose to kiss my sex. I never tired of Julian pounding his big gavel on my sounding block. Driving it, hammering it home…this would be the first time in over a month. It’d feel like brand-new.

  “Oh yeah. Discuss away.” I rolled my hips, running my seam along the tip of his cock. He opened me like the slider of a zip bag.

  He nuzzled my neck, all sharp teeth and hot tongue. His big hand ran down my back, hit the sweet spot at the base. Splayed over it, one finger pressing my tailbone. The erotic pressure made my whole spine sing with need.

  Oh, this was going to be so good. I centered myself over him and wriggled until he was poised to enter my aching, hungry vestibule. He opened his mouth against my neck. Penetration in three…two…one…

  He curled his hips, sliding home with the finesse of a jazz clarinet spiraling up a long, slow glissando. He fed me thick cock inch by inch; I gasped at each bump and vein as it went in. I clutched his shoulders and jerked my head back, less an invitation to bite than a command. He chuckled. “Not yet. We have all night.” He teased me with a drag of sharp fangs along my throat.

  The fucker. “We have all night, every night, for the rest of our lives but there will be hell to pay if I have to wait that long.” I grabbed his dark head with both hands and, anticipating sharp bliss, pulled.

  Nothing happened beyond a gentle circling of fangs on my skin. The man has an insanely strong neck. “Nixie, I’m trying to give you a little foreplay on our wedding night. A little romance.”

  “Romance? We’ve had six solid weeks of the twenty-four-hour romance channel. Bite, damn you.”

  Instead he raised his head from my neck. “That’s not a real channel, is it?”

  I groaned. My poor medieval suit-guy. “Come on, Julian. Get to the good part.”

  I’d meant biting and humping. But he pulled out of me and a light entered his eye, as if he’d taken it as a challenge. “The good part, hmm?”

  Oh yeah. I was in trouble now. “No wait—argh!”

  He dived underwater—and clamped his mouth on my pussy.

  The man’s middle name was suction and he pulled then tongued at my clit until the bud rose red and hard with longing. I clutched the sides of the tub as he tugged rhythmically. My muscles grew soft and yielding and I lost my grip on the tub. I threaded fingers into his black hair. He thrust a finger inside me and sucked and I howled and beat my hips against his hard jaw. It was romance at its most primitive and as foreplay, drove me out of my mind. I was clutching and whimpering when he finally surfaced. He grabbed my mouth in a kiss every bit as primal and hot. His hands found my breasts and he pressed me back into the lip of the tub and kissed me with lots of tongue and teeth. Under this lawyer’s three-piece suit was a savage animal, and I loved it.

  I loved it so much I taunted the beast with a long hot lick to one fang.

  He roared, spread my thighs with hard palms and speared me with his cock. He began to thrust violently, driving me against the wall of the tub, raising waves of water that sloshed over the edge. I grabbed the lip and leaned back to enjoy the sight of those hard, rolling abs, crunching and extending as his hips pummeled into me. The thick hot length of him filled me with each thrust. I gasped, closed my eyes and raised my chin, stretching out my throat like spreading a banquet table.

  His breath was suddenly rolling over the skin of my neck. He wasn’t purring and he was thumping me bodily into the hot tub with uncontrolled passion. I was poised at the edge of climax but it occurred to me to wonder and maybe worry about what I’d unleashed. I live life at the edge and past it, but vampires are a whole dimension beyond.

  I slit eyes. His gaze was riveted on my pulse, which was fluttering frantically now. I tried to swallow. “Is something wrong?”

  “I love you.” His breath was hot on my neck and he lisped it slightly, sure indication that his fangs were huge, filling his mouth.

  “I love you too. But is something wrong?” Every other word was accented because he was still driving into me hard enough to make me stutter.

  “Yes. No. We’re going to make a baby.”

  The thought of him and me becoming an us sent me over the edge. Even without a bite, fireworks boomed in my skull and my pussy started contracting around his still-thrusting cock.

  He roared again, thrust home and began shooting climax into me. Almost as an afterthought he sank the tips of his fangs into my throat.

  Pure lightning lit my veins. I screamed. Fireworks became explosions of color and light and sound rocketing from clit to crown and back again, burning everything in between. He howled and started coming harder, chugging like a locomotive.

  I rolled my hips under him and moaned. Each hard spurt rang inside me, a hot hammer to the anvil of my cervix. The purity of it, the sheer bliss, overwhelmed me. My world became a field of white, noises softened to a hum.

  Gradually the white dimmed and the ring subsided to a quiet hiss with lub-dub accents of a hammering heart. Julian’s arms were wrapped around me, his tongue loving my throat. My beating heart slowed enough that I could hear him swallow between licks.

  Eventually I lazed back. My eyes opened. “That was amazing.”

  “Mmm.” After some time he pressed his tongue against my neck to seal the bite. Eventually he released me, turned in the tub to retrieve our champagne glasses and handed me one.

  I clinked my flute to his. “A toast. To the first night of the rest of our lives.”

  “To the rest of this night.” His eyes nailed mine, blue irises banding wide pupils, red flames dancing in them. “To taking you every way known to man or vampire—and more.”

  Whoo-hah. I drank. After a toast like that, with the images of the full honeymoon treatment, I needed the cooling. I set my glass down and reached for him. “Good. Great. Round two?”

  He smiled, his eyes heating again to that sexy violet. He reached for me. “Certainly—”

  “Help! Please, someone help!”

  Stab me with mistletoe. It was my honeymoon so of-fricking-course someone needed rescuing. “Paper cut?” I asked hopefully.

  “Human female.” Julian’s face went hunter-mode, his skin plating, his eyes blazing red. “And with the human…a vampire.” He looked to me for permission.

  That was nice. After all, it was our wedding night. But if a rogue vampire was involved, only Julian could handle it. I kissed him. “‘Go get ‘em, tiger’.”

  His faceplate faded, replaced by confusion.

  I sighed. Julian was wicked HxC in the sex department, but when it came to pop culture he was centuries out of date. Mega flashing-twelve syndrome.

  “Spiderman 2. Go.”

  “Ah. Thank you.” He dissolved into mist and went.

  I hoped he picked up his pants on the way.

  I dressed and followed. The sound of blows led me to the end of the hallway. I thought I’d find Julian tangling with a gaunt rogue vampire, a beautiful woman crumpled at their feet.

  But no
.

  The vampire was dressed as Santa Claus. He was getting the cookies beat out of him by a Mrs. Santa of a woman with white hair, a green London Fog coat and red high-heels. She thrashed Santa with a giant roll of prancing-reindeer wrapping paper.

  I’d have laughed but she also bashed at Julian, swinging that gift wrap like a sledgehammer. Julian dodged a particularly nasty crotch shot while he tried to subdue Santa—which put Julian right in the path of her backswing. She cracked one of his kneecaps. Vampires feel everything more, the good and the bad. Julian fell to his uninjured knee with a grimace.

  Instantly Mrs. Santa turned back to Santa Vamp. She was just human, but she kept wailing on him until he cringed like a henpecked old elf.

  Then she turned her deadly gift-wrap fighting stick on Julian, and this time she aimed for his head.

  Julian needed an assist so I ran in to help. Yes, the Clauses outweighed me by a couple hundred pounds, but I’m tricky. I hit the floor and rolled. The Little Bowling Ball That Could. They toppled.

  Unfortunately they fell on me. While I gasped for air, Julian twisted up—his knee already healed—pulled Santa Vamp off me and planted his patrol blade in his heart. Santa Vamp tried to pull the knife out but Julian grabbed furred wrists and kept him from it.

  As the two vampires battled, the woman scrabbled to her feet and ran away. I dragged in sweet oxygen.

  “Stop her,” Santa croaked. Julian’s knife protruded from his chest. It wouldn’t kill a vampire, but it would make circulation and breathing difficult.

  “I think not.” My husband, ever the lawyer. Why use one word when three would do?

  Santa Vamp expelled his last breath. “Le…stats.” His head thumped back to the floor.

  Julian and I exchanged an uncomfortable look. We had nailed the wrong bad guy.

  “I’m an undercover agent for the Ancient One in Virginia.” Santa Vamp’s voice was deep and rich when he didn’t have a knife in his chest. We apologized for the knife (and ruining his dry-clean-only costume). Since vampires heal fast—and his costume was red anyway—he said no harm done.

  I sat on the double king-sized bed, trying not to think of what I should have been doing on that mattress. “Doesn’t the Ancient One live in Iowa?”

  “There’s more than one. I owe allegiance to Nicodemus.”

  I filed that away. I knew there were vampire factions—Julian fights for Team Iowa against Team Nosferatu for control of the U.S. Midwest. But this was the first I’d heard that there was more than one scary ancient. “There’s a Team Nicky?”

  “Huh?” Santa blinked at me. Not a Twilight fan apparently.

  “What are you doing in Meiers Corners?” Julian gave me a brief “no” headshake. As in, no confusing the nice vampy guy before we got the full story out of him.

  “I’m tracking an incredibly dangerous mistake.” Santa sighed. “You’ve got to understand, Nicodemus is a brilliant scientist. He likes things orderly.”

  “Life is seldom orderly,” Julian said.

  “Especially human life. Nicodemus finds humans…messy. He invented a compulsion device.”

  That surprised me enough to forget mattresses. “I thought vampires could already compel humans.”

  “To some degree. But the hypno-resonator is irresistible.” Santa paused. “Even to vampires.”

  Julian stiffened. “Younglings? Or all of us?”

  “If you’re five thousand years or so, you might resist it. Otherwise, you might as well be a slave.” Santa grimaced. “He tested it on me. It wasn’t pleasant.”

  “So he’s a despot?” I said. “Trying to take over the world?”

  “Not the world. Just his corner of it.”

  Julian growled. “Not all people would limit themselves. Where is the device now?” He must’ve been getting the same fate-pantsing vibes I’d felt.

  Santa said, “That woman stole it. Carol Newman.”

  “Carol Newman? Snarky.” In spite of everything, I laughed. “That’s the name of Mrs. Santa in The Santa Clause 2.”

  Both Julian and Santa stared at me. I said, “She looks like a Mrs. Santa and her name is Carol Newman, just like in the second movie, get it?” They continued to stare. Apparently their IMDb was offline.

  Finally Julian managed, “There’s more than one, um, Santa Clause?”

  “Three. I’ve seen them all.” I paused. “Nothing to do with me crushing on Tim. My mother made me watch them. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.” I snapped my fingers as a thought struck me. “But this Carol’s a human, right? Steal the hypno-gadget back.”

  “She’s human,” Santa said. “She’s also a minion of—and supported by—the Virginia Lestats.”

  “Whack me with an elf. Lestats?” That was a violent gang of rogue vampires in nearby Chicago, at war with Team Iowa, id est, i.e., that is, us. Apparently just like human gangs there were Lestat branches elsewhere too.

  And apparently they were at war with other good-guy vamps as well.

  Quick timeout. Vampires drink blood for their veins, not their stomachs. Good-guy vamps get their blood by living in harmony with a small group of humans in the know. Bad-guy vamps hunt humans and mind-wipe. Rogue vamps kill. But nobody wants the general population to get wise to the existence of vampires. Despite their strengths, a few billion humans armed with fear and tanks could wipe them out.

  “Okay,” I said. “So Virginia ancient Nicky, represented by you, is in a faceoff with the Virginia Lestats, repped by human minion Carol Newman. And we’re worried because this bad gal has stolen a hypno-thingy that can mind-fuzz even v-guys. Although, come on. ‘Carol and the Lestats.’ Sounds less like an übervillain and more like a fifties girl band, am I right?” When that earned me another blank look I skipped to the punch line. “What’ll she do with this hypno-whatzit?”

  “Hypno-resonator. Like your Lestats here, our Lestats hunt for blood. As such, their supply is extremely limited. They want to use the hypno-resonator to expand, to take over area blood centers. Eventually they’ll try to take over the entire country.”

  “Not again.” I thumbed my temples. These vamps were one-trick ponies. Always after control of the blood. Although to be fair, in the vampire world blood is power, like money is to us. Where people would steal cash, vampires stole blood. Come to think, they were both kept in banks. Heh.

  Julian frowned. “How? Each center has a master vampire protecting it.”

  “They’ll hypnotize the masters into destroying themselves,” Santa Vamp said. “Once dead, the Lestats can take over at their leisure.”

  Julian and I shared a look. Meiers Corners’s blood center was in trouble. Julian leaped to his feet, but Santa waved stop-sign-red mittens. “They have the machine. But they don’t have the activation key.”

  “There’s a key?” I asked, the same instant Julian said, “Where is it?”

  “Nicodemus hid it inside something innocent-looking, then sent it to Iowa’s Ancient One where it’d be safe. But he couldn’t send it directly.”

  “Because the Virginia Lestats would know its route and intercept it. Yes, that was wise.” Julian went for his jacket, the black leather he uses for both motorcycle riding and vampire patrol. Unlined, chilly for most folk for an Illinois December, but as a v-guy Julian has conscious control over his body’s thermostat. “So where is this key? As if I couldn’t guess.”

  “Nicodemus mailed it to the nearest master in the Iowa alliance. That’s Bo Strongwell here in Meiers Corners. The idea was that Strongwell could drive it to Iowa.”

  I scrounged for my own outerwear. “But..?” Murphy’s Law insured a “but”.

  “The address got smeared. The package went to City Hall instead.”

  “Which is where we come in.” I rolled mental eyes. First my mother, then this. Even Murphy would have snapped a crayon or two. “Naturally the key got lost here on my wedding night.”

  “You were the one who said nothing more would interrupt us,” Julian said. “A direct challe
nge to the fates. But it still seems pretty clear-cut to me. Go to City Hall, retrieve the package.”

  “Seems clear-cut.” I slipped into my first outer layer, a hoodie with the sleeves ripped out to show off my tats. “Which means it’s a fair bet fate’s been aiming money shots at the soup.”

  Santa Vamp blinked uncomprehendingly at me.

  “You know, money shots, like guy porn stars do—”

  “What my wife means…” Julian flashed me a for the love of God stop face, “…is that there’s a problem, right?”

  “Oh. Yes, one problem. The mayor of Meiers Corners opened the package. And the innocent item was a red ball Christmas ornament.”

  “That’s two problems.” Then, as I got one arm into my down ski jacket, it hit me. “Holy Spanish Inquisition! Three problems.”

  “Nixie?” Julian caught my agitation, if not the Monty Python reference. “What’s wrong?”

  In answer, as I tugged on the jacket, I went to the window where I yanked open the drapes.

  Moonlight sparkled on the two-story municipal Christmas tree in Settler’s Square—and its seven hundred red ball ornaments.

  The door burst open, splinters flying. “Thanks for the tip to find the key. Now you die!”

  Three rogues blasted in, pseudo-military types with buzz cuts and shit-kicker boots. Two came in high and one low. They were trained, they were organized—and they were carrying bazookas.

  I gaped. “Really? You’re going with that corny ‘Now you die’?”

  “Down!” Julian hit me with a flying tackle, body covering mine as a small rocket whizzed over us. The rocket shattered the window. Shards of glass tinkled, hitting sidewalk. The whump next to us was much louder.

  I twisted my head. Santa lay motionless, a plate-sized hole in his chest. Better than the lump of red meat the rocket would’ve turned a human into, but I still gagged.

  “Nixie.” Julian’s breath warmed my ear. “When I say run, head for the door. I’ll distract the rogues.”

  “Julian, you can’t! You have one fighting blade. That trio’s armed with bazookas.” A new meaning to three-hole punch.