Holidays Bite: A Limited Edition Collection of Winter Holiday Vampire Tales

by Greenwood, Laura

  “You’re not going to scare us or coerce us into your weird little game,” I said, reaching for my purse to get my phone out.

  The woman mumbled under her breath. “It’s not only your funeral but millions of others’ funerals, too.”

  But she scooped up her money and left.

  Watching the old lady leave, my knees grew weak and my heart beat wildly against my rib cage.

  I don’t even for one second believe that lady.

  She’s trying to scare tourists.

  Right?

  Chapter 4

  Feeling Delilah squeeze my hand, I looked up. “You okay, Lizzie? She’s just crazy, trying to drum up some bad business. Let’s go eat, then go to the parade and see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

  Dinner sobered Delilah quickly enough as the wine wore off. “Okay,” she admitted. “I’m enjoying this food more than I thought I would.”

  “I thought you might. Are you ready to go to the masquerade?”

  “Sure thing, Batman.”

  I snorted and shook my head. “Seriously? That’s what’s going to stick out of all the trip so far?”

  “Yeah. You’re a man. A bat and a man.” She linked her arm through mine, and we headed back out of the restaurant. The old woman was still there, this time with no one else at her table, and she called out to me as we passed by. “Don’t forget. It’s your destiny. You must rise to the occasion.”

  I stared straight ahead but gave a little wave toward the fortune-teller in acknowledgment.

  After all, it didn’t hurt anyone to humor the old woman for a little while.

  I hope.

  The only parades I had ever been to were the kinds where small-town beauty queens sat on hay bales in the back of a pickup truck or rode on a float attached to a trailer of some kind.

  This wasn’t the kind of parade. This one looked as if the people who had swirled around us on the way to the fortune-teller’s had been headed here. They were still twirling.

  They danced down the walkways to a bridge and we followed. There, they all piled into gondolas and rode down the waterway as Venetians threw hot-house flowers to them.

  Flotilla.

  The word wandered through my mind. I knew it wasn’t the right one—a flotilla was a whole army of ships or something. But the word kind of fit. It was fun, anyway, and the word sounded pretty, like gondolas covered in flowers and filled with sparkly ball gowns.

  “Where does the parade end?” I asked no one in particular.

  “At the Christmas Ball,” a man answered in Italian-accented English. “It’s a Venice tradition. La Parata del Sacrificio.”

  “We have tickets to the Christmas Ball.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Delilah, can I see our tickets?”

  She handed them to me, and the Italian man peered at them.

  “You are going to the ball—you must take a gondola.” He gestured down the steps to the canal.

  “Oh, we couldn’t,” I began to protest, not sure he knew what he was talking about.

  “You must. You are guests of the lord. He would insist upon it if he were here.”

  That was when I realized that there were other non-costumed people in the mix, dancing in the parade. Maybe other tourists with tickets to the ball getting on the gondola for the parade?

  “Maybe we should,” I said to Delilah. “If I’m wrong, we’ll just get out at the other end and make our way to our Christmas Ball.

  “I don’t think he’s wrong,” Delilah said. “Look, there are the girls gave us the tickets—the ones who are going anyway.” She pointed to the group, now smaller by two, who were stepping onto the gondola.

  “Jane,” Delilah called out. “Hi!”

  The other girl glanced up and saw us, then began waving wildly. “Come on. Let’s go party!”

  Let’s go party wasn’t really the sentiment I would have applied to a Christmas Ball in Venice. Though I guess it was technically accurate.

  “We’re coming, too. See you there!” I waved at the other girls, then took Delilah’s hand and stepped up to the line of dancers moving down the steps and into the boats. “We have tickets to the ball,” I announced to no one in particular. “Is this where we get on?”

  Without a word, one of the masked revelers took me by the hand and led me down the steps, helping me balance when the stones grew slick. Carefully, I stepped into the gondola and moved to the back to sit down.

  Moments later, Delilah joined me.

  Chapter 5

  As the rest of the boat filled up with revelers, I leaned over and grabbed Delilah’s hand. “This is the best vacation ever. And I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun. Thank you so much. It’s an amazing Christmas present.”

  Delilah squeezed my hand, and the two of us turned to face what was now the front of the boat as it headed out into the canal and through the flowers raining from windows, balconies, and especially the bridges.

  There’s something inherently romantic about being pelted by flowers while you’re drifting along in a boat in the dark, I realized. Not that it was terribly dark—even between the bridges, lights glowed from windows, and the buildings were festooned with holiday decorations and Christmas lights. They all reflected on the water, turning the canal into a kind of universe of its own, as if the lights were distant stars shining from the depths.

  At the other end of the canal, there were more masked figures waiting to help us out of the boat. I had lost track of where exactly we were. Sure, I could have pulled my phone out and checked, but I didn’t want to do anything that would interfere with the magical night we had somehow stumbled into.

  I wasn’t at all certain how it was possible, but there were even more people at this end of the parade than the other, throwing more flowers as the masked and unmasked partygoers wended their way toward a Venetian building.

  At this end, though, the crowd seemed more Italian and less touristy.

  Flowers showered us, and I caught a rose in my hands. “Ouch,” I exclaimed. “This one still has thorns.” I held out my finger to show Delilah the drop of blood that welled up.

  “Looks like a terrible wound,” Delilah laughed.

  But Delilah was too busy cashing in on hugging all the younger Italian men who were handing flowers to her to pay much attention to me.

  Until one young man grabbed her arm. “Please don’t do this. Don’t go into that house. You’ll never come out.”

  Another guy, also Italian and slightly older than the one who currently held Delilah’s arm, stepped forward to pull him away from her.

  The older man spoke harshly to the younger man in Italian, then turned to us. “Forgive my brother,” he said, managing to bow with a flourish, even while keeping a tight hold on said brother. He came up from the bow with two beautiful red roses in his hand. He handed Delilah the first flower, and the second he gave to me. “The DiCarlo family thanks you for your sacrifice.”

  Sacrifice? What sacrifice?

  When the beautiful Italian man let go of his brother, I could have sworn he gave me a slight push back into the stream of people flowing into the building.

  Again, I was spun around, whirling until I was dizzy.

  All of reality flickered around me. One of the masked dancers turned toward me, and I saw her gold and white mask splattered in blood, her golden ball gown drenched in red.

  With a gasp, I turned away, only to see an entire field of bodies scattered before me. Behind the masks, glassy, sightless eyes stared at me. Some of the people had fallen but not died and those reached toward me, their arms stretched out.

  I glanced around frantically, hoping for help. To my sides and behind me, the Italians still cheered and threw flowers.

  Each flower landed on a body and melted into a puddle of blood, soaking their clothes thoroughly and splattering their beautifully painted masks.

  Except for the ones who still lived.

  One of the ones who was still alive stretched hi
s arms toward me, then suddenly began arching his back as if pulled up from above. Blood spurted from his neck, his arteries severed and spilling blood onto the ground around.

  From behind, someone shoved me, and I tripped forward, almost falling into the field of bodies.

  I stumbled to a halt—and when I stopped and lifted my eyes toward the building again, the field of bodies was gone.

  The hairs on the back of my arms stood up and a thrumming noise buzzed in my ears. The high-pitched noise got louder as Delilah pulled me through the sea of people. Instinctively, I pulled out of Delilah’s grasp and put my hands over my ears. Delilah gave me a weird look and mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

  I shouted, “You can’t hear that?”

  Delilah moved my hands away from my ears and held me by the wrists. “What’s going on?”

  “That sound is driving a knife through my brain. I can’t stay here any longer. It’s like a dog whistle of some sort.”

  Delilah looked concerned, “We can go if you want.”

  Before I could respond, the taste of blood filled my mouth.

  Chapter 6

  The vision of dead bodies filled my thoughts, even if I couldn’t see it any longer. The contents of my stomach were fighting to stay down. I dropped to my knees in agony from the screeching sound and the vision of bodies lying lifeless on the ground, even as people flowed past.

  A hand touched my shoulder and every fiber of my being screamed as if I were on fire. Voices garbled in and out. Shaking my head to make sense of it, I heard a warm, soothing voice as it broke through. “Miss, are you all right?”

  My eyesight still focusing, I found myself staring up at a chiseled Greek God.

  Well. Okay. An Italian God, anyway.

  He was beautiful, with dark, wavy hair and eyes that sparkled. Slight crinkles formed around the edges as he smiled.

  He is totally lickable.

  The creases at the sides of his eyes and mouth deepened, almost as if he had heard the thought and I found myself blushing.

  “May I help you?” His voice was deep and cultured. It wasn’t unaccented, but it sounded almost British to my ears. Not like most of the Italian men I had spoken to. This man had probably learned English in England—or was English and had been in Italy long enough for his normal accent to change a little.

  He would make the perfect Mr. Darcy.

  Again, the smile deepened, and this time, it was enough to show dimples. “Come, my dear, let’s get you inside.”

  “Yes, please,” I murmured, barely catching myself before I actually called him Mr. Darcy aloud.

  I wobbled a little as we took a step forward, but I placed my hand in his trustingly, prepared to allow him to lead me wherever he wanted to. His voice soothed my inner turmoil and whatever psychotic episode I thought I was having. His British accent made my pulse race.

  I had a thing for hot, tall, proud-looking British men because they all reminded me of Mr. Darcy.

  I glanced up at him out of the corner of my eye. He had a cleft chin and stood tall and proud.

  Yep. Definitely Mr. Darcy.

  Maybe he’ll kiss me.

  Instead, he offered his hand, and once I touched it, a flood of emotions coursed through my mind and body, all ranging from embarrassment to arousal.

  I turned crimson when I realized I was drooling and thinking impure thoughts about the man before me. He lifted me up with ease and I felt like a wisp of air as I floated gracefully to my feet.

  I nearly fell back down as I stared into his eyes.

  A loud “Ahem” broke me out of the spell.

  Turning to face the source of the irritated ahem, I came face to face with Delilah, who was clearly a little agitated or embarrassed. I couldn’t quite tell which.

  “She’s fine, we’re going to a party. I can take it from here,” Delilah spat out.

  I can’t believe she’s breaking my moment with the hot British guy!

  The man smiled. “I can escort you both to the party.”

  “Well, thanks but no thanks. We don’t take rides from strangers.”

  I shot daggers at Delilah and turned back to the man. I laid on my sweetest voice. “We’re going to the Christmas Ball and we’d love for you to escort us.”

  The man turned to Delilah. “I promise I don’t bite.” He smiled and his dimples appeared. “But even if I did, it wouldn’t be too hard.”

  I giggled like a schoolgirl, imagining him doing all kinds of things to me.

  And it isn’t biting. Well. Not much, anyway.

  Then without warning, the vision of the bodies invaded my thoughts again.

  I felt the blood drain from my face, and the world dissolved around me.

  When I came to, I was lying on a velvet chaise in an ornate room, decorated as if I had gone back in time to the eighteen hundreds.

  The room was ornate. Navy blue and gold brocade papered the walls.

  I ran my fingers along the chaise, marveling at the softness of the rich velvet beneath my touch. There were end tables on either side. Across from me, in a matching wingback chair, sat my Mr. Darcy—the man who had tried to rescue me from my own visions and the crowd outside.

  He leaned back against the headrest on the seat, his eyes closed, and the long, pale column of his throat exposed.

  What an odd thought. Like I’d care if his throat is showing?

  God, I was even beginning to think like someone out of a romance novel.

  Well, at least my brain fit with the room’s decor. Because the rest of me certainly didn’t. I was still in my skin-tight, black party dress. Still in those damn heels.

  I was the only thing that didn’t fit in with the room, however. Mr. Darcy was dressed in a suit that could have come out of an eighteenth-century television drama—black pants tucked into tall black boots, a black vest over a snowy white linen shirt, the whole thing completed by a cravat.

  For some reason, some men could just get away with wearing ruffled white shirts. This was definitely one of them.

  “You’re awake. Welcome back, my dear.” That voice of his again, this time sending shivers down my back. Yes, I was definitely the only thing that did not fit in this room.

  “You gave your lovely friend a scare.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t remember a thing after that last vision.

  Then panic gripped me. “Where is Delilah?”

  “Have no fear. Your friend is mingling with my guests and enjoying the Christmas Ball.”

  Chapter 7

  “Your guests?”

  “Yes. The Christmas Ball is an old Venetian tradition and one that I carry on. I have hosted the ball for many years now.” His shrug seemed particularly European—it seemed to imply that hosting the Venetian Christmas Ball was both nothing at all, and at the same time, a heavy burden he bore.

  His voice played havoc with my emotions. I was torn between leaving to find Delilah and staying behind to tackle him on the sofa and make out with him.

  As if reading my mind, he placed his lips on mine. My pulse raced.

  He slipped his arms around me, certain, self-assured.

  He wasn’t wrong—I did want to kiss him.

  When he pressed his lips to mine, I was surprised to find them dry, slightly cool.

  Technically, the kiss was flawless. Perfect. And while he did send a frisson of feeling through me, it wasn’t exactly passionate.

  I’m not afraid of him. My brain insisted on it.

  But something about his touch made my stomach twist—and at least initially, did nothing for the rest of me.

  You’re just nervous, I scolded myself silently. I haven’t been with anybody since Joe. That’s all this is. A little bit of feminine performance anxiety.

  Mr. Darcy’s mouth curved against mine as if he were smiling.

  As his hand slipped up to caress my waist, I began to feel a more usual response.

  Mr. Darcy deepened the kiss, and I considered stopping—just to ask his real name—but then I
opened my eyes and found him staring into me.

  Normally, I would say that opening one’s eyes during a kiss was a terrible idea. But in this case, his gaze captured me, pulling me into him, deeper and deeper.

  All the tension in my body released, and I sank into him.

  As soon as I relaxed, he closed his eyes again. So I closed mine, as well.

  His hands began to stroke, sliding upward toward my breasts.

  There was a physical response this time. It sent shivers running from the top of my spine down to my toes. Lightning sparks like small firecrackers went off in my stomach.

  Much better than fear.

  I’d imagined the words in Mr. Darcy’s voice.

  Well, if I was going to be playing with a sexy Italian-British dude while I was here, maybe it was better if I didn’t know his name, after all.

  I arched my back a little as his thumbs brushed over the fabric between his skin and my nipples.

  Moaning into him, I was ready to give all of myself to him.

  Then I hit the brakes. Pulling away and trying to get up from the chaise, I almost fell onto the floor.

  “I promise, I don’t bite too hard. You’re safe with me, Lizzie.”

  “What? Wait. How did you know my name?”

  “Your friend, Delilah, she said your name was Lizzie. Short for Elizabeth? Sang your praises after I wore down her defenses. She spoke highly of you and went on to say you and I would make beautiful children.”

  “Wait, she didn’t!” I was mortified.

  He threw his head back in laughter. “No, she didn’t, but I believe that we would.”

  I felt my face blaze red, not because he was laying it on thick but because I would be down with trying to make babies with him. I coughed and sputtered in embarrassment.

  “Come. Let us dance and enjoy the ball, and I shall get you a drink.” He smiled, stretching out his hand. I stared at the blood-red ruby ring on his finger and followed it up to his eyes. My knees went weak like jelly as I took his hand.