by Abigail Owen
A woman sat on a cot bed, her arm around two young girls. Two more sat beside her, blankets wrapped around their shoulders. A dark-haired boy squatted on the floor; arms wrapped around his knees.
“Can we light a fire, ma?” one of the girls asked.
“Don’t be stupid,” another replied. “There are patrols about.”
“Is it really Christmas tomorrow?” the first asked.
“It is, darling.”
“Like we used to have. When da was with us, and there were presents and lots to eat and fires everywhere.”
A look of sadness flashed across the woman’s face but was quickly gone. “Just the same,” she said. “All you need is a little imagination. Close your eyes and picture the tree. Red and silver—it’s in the corner almost as tall as the ceiling. A holly wreath on the door. And there’s a log fire in the grate. Red velvet curtains keeping out the draft. Thick rugs on the floor.”
The door banged open, and they all jumped.
A boy rushed in. He looked to be about eight years old, with dark red hair and clear green eyes and a too-thin face. His expression both fierce and scared.
“There are patrols around the castle,” he said. “But I got past them. The Sassenachs canna catch me.” He’d been holding his hand behind his back now he drew it forward with a flourish revealing two dead rabbits. “Happy Christmas.”
Lola blinked her eyes open. Lachlan was on his knees beside her, his hand gripping hers.
“I saw it,” he said. His tone held a sense of wonder.
Well, that had never happened before. Could it be a side effect of him drinking her blood? She wished she knew more.
She looked into his clear green eyes. “That boy? It was you?”
He nodded. “And my ma and sisters.” His lips curved up. The first smile she had seen on his face. But his eyes were sad. “Morag, Maidie, Katrine, and Jessie.”
And for the first time she heard a faint Scottish burr in his voice. The wonder had faded, replaced by a melancholy.
“And your brother?” she asked, remembering the dark haired boy, sitting on the floor.
“Gabe was my foster brother. His family all caught the pox and died when we were four, and my da took him in.”
“What happened to them?” She had a feeling it was nothing good.
He got to his feet, thrust his hands into his pockets. Why did she think this wasn’t going to have a happy ending?
“It was Christmas. We…I was sure there wouldn’t be another patrol.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “The next morning—Christmas day—ma lit a fire to cook the rabbits. The redcoats came. I was out hunting with Gabe—two rabbits wasn’t a lot to feed seven of us. When we got back, the soldiers were already gone. They’d killed them all. Ma still had da’s old musket in her hand. My sisters were children, the youngest was three years old. And they killed them anyway. Bastards.”
She sniffed, her eyes pricking. His memories made her childhood seem wonderful. She would never moan again.
“What happened to you both?”
“We stuck around for a while. It was easier just feeding the two of us. Then we joined one of the clan armies. Gabe’s da had been a Macleod.” He shrugged. “We survived. Many did not.” He gave another shrug of his shoulder. “Hey, it was hundreds of years ago. It’s the past. What does it matter?”
“It matters. It’s not that we die—everyone dies, even the immortals among us. It’s how we meet that end that counts.”
“Maybe. If that’s the case, then it was a shit end.”
“That’s why you don’t like Christmas,” she said. It was so sad.
“Who said I don’t like Christmas?”
She snorted. “You wouldn’t let me decorate the castle. Not even my room. And I wanted to cook Christmas dinner—”
“We’re goddamn vampires. We don’t eat turkey.” He gave her a speculative look, his gaze dropping. “Unless there was something else on the menu.”
Her hand went automatically to her throat. The wound was already healing. She’d been trying not to think about it, but now she had a flashback to the feel of his mouth on her. Her nipples tightened, tingles shooting down to her sex. It had been amazing. She’d had an actual orgasm. More than one. Gina had kept that to herself. Heat flushed her skin at the memory, and she resisted the urge to fan herself.
When she looked back at him, he was watching her, his nostrils flared. His eyes had bled to crimson. For a moment, she leaned toward him, her whole body yearning. Then she snapped back.
Get a grip.
He was a vampire. He was emotionally retarded. And while she now had some idea as to why, it made no difference. He would still love her and leave her, like everyone else.
And she had the idea that this time would hurt more than the rest put together.
Oh, but she wanted him. Like she’d never wanted anything in her life before. But that was probably because she was feeling weak. Not enough blood and too much booze.
“No more blood,” she snapped. “You’ve had enough.”
“There are other things we could do. No blood involved.”
He was the devil tempting her.
She pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache. Her body felt like it didn’t belong to her. Her mind was saying no, but the rest of her wasn’t in agreement. If he pushed a little harder, she would melt. How to stop him?
She raised a hand to her forehead and swayed slightly. “I feel weak. I think I might be going to faint.”
Alarm flared in his eyes. He disappeared and came back a moment later with a glass of water. “Thank you,” she murmured.
She watched him over the rim of her glass as he sank down onto the chair opposite, a brooding expression on his face.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said. “I won’t touch you.”
“You won’t?” That was good. Wasn’t it?
He leaned back, resting his head against the leather, stared into space. “I’d be mad to touch you. You’re a witch—everyone knows witches are evil creatures and not to be trusted.”
That was news to her. “Who’s everyone?”
He ignored her question. “And you’re too young and too immature.”
She frowned as she realized he was listing out all the reasons why he shouldn’t touch her. It sounded like he’d given the subject a lot of thought.
“And you’re impetuous. And I’m supposed to protect you. You’re my sire’s sister-in-law.”
“Does that make us related?”
“No. And you’re needy.”
That was it. “I am not needy.”
“Yes, you are. You want somebody to love you. And that’s not going to be me.”
She gritted her teeth. He was so annoying. Thought he knew everything about her. Well, she knew a few things about him as well.
“You know,” she said. “I don’t actually want you to touch me.”
He frowned. Hah, that had got him thinking. “You don’t?”
“I mean. You did give me an orgasm. I’m not going to deny it. If someone had told me some skanky, Scottish dead guy sucking my blood would make me come, I would have said—hell no. But it happened. Big deal. You know what? I could do the same with my vibrator and without all the drama.”
“Drama?”
“Come on. Car crashes, werewolves… Not to mention the fact that you’re a blood-sucking monster.” No answer. She picked up her empty wine glass. “Is there any more wine? This talking about feelings stuff is hard work.”
She sat back as he disappeared and returned a minute later with another bottle. He poured her a glass and sat down, took a mouthful straight from the bottle. “Go on.”
“Well, you’re Scottish. And you’ve obviously got a huge chip on your shoulder.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak, just raised the bottle to his mouth again. Christ, he was gorgeous—she wouldn’t mention that bit. Just remember—not happening.
“And you think you don’t need any
body.” Could she say this next bit? Yes. Tough love. “Because obviously, it must seem like everybody you ever needed died and left you. And that’s hard. I sympathize. Really, I do. But I don’t need a man with that sort of baggage.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” She curved her lips up into what she hoped was a sappy smile. “I want a nice man. An uncomplicated man. A…teacher or a doctor. Someone…normal. Someone I can watch the sun rise with and not worry about him spontaneously combusting.”
“That’s…nice. I’m sure you’ll be very happy with Mr. Normal.” He raised the bottle to his lips and swallowed.
“Hey, don’t hog all the wine.” She thrust out her glass. Lachlan leaned across and filled it. Their fingers brushed and a tingle of electricity shot through her. She snatched back her hand. Swallowed the wine. Took a deep breath.
“All I’m trying to say here is—you’re right. We’re obviously, totally wrong for each other.”
At his silence, she peered across at him. He was slumped in the chair, and her gaze wandered up over the long, lean length of him, finally landing on his face. His expression was pensive, sort of sad and alone. Was he thinking about his ma and sisters? And maybe all the empty, lonely Christmases in between.
He caught her gaze, and his eyes narrowed, gleaming green from beneath a fringe of dark lashes. He slowly swiped his tongue across his lower lip, and a frisson ran through her from her toes to the top of her head.
Two could play at that game. She loosened her grip on the duvet, let it drop a smidgen, revealing the upper curves of her breasts. She nipped her lower lip, then flicked her tongue across it. His eyes flashed. Hah.
“So,” he murmured in a dark smoky voice, “obviously, we’re totally and completely wrong for each other.” The bottle was empty, and he tossed it away. “But have you considered that perhaps we’re the only two people left alive on the planet? No more Mr. Normal? Just you and me.” He rose to his feet. Took the two steps between them and stood over her.
Heat flowed through her like molten lava.
Was he right? Was it just her and Lachlan together for eternity?
She wanted him. She hadn’t realized she could want something this much. Way more than a puppy.
But that wasn’t what made her put down her glass and get to her feet, drop the duvet so she stood only inches from him in nothing but her underwear. It was that sad look she’d caught in his eyes. And the sudden urge to give him a memory of Christmas to wipe away the earlier pain.
She was totally out of her depth. He was centuries older than her. She was, in fact, way too young. But maybe that’s what he needed. He’d never had the chance to be young. He’d lost his whole family by the time he was eight. He’d lost everything else on the battlefield when he was barely older than she was now. Her chest ached when she thought about everything he had been through, everything he had lost.
“Just you and me,” she murmured and took a step closer, rested her palm on his cool chest. “I just showed you the worst Christmas you ever had.” Another step closer so they were almost touching, and her nostrils filled with the cool musky scent of him. “Let me make it up to you. What do you want for Christmas, Lachlan? Anything. Anything you desire.”
He stared down at her, hands at his side. “Not fair,” he murmured.
“I’m a witch. I never said I would be fair.”
9
Lachlan was lost. Totally lost.
He wasn’t sure when he’d relinquished control of the situation. Maybe when she’d stood up and dropped the duvet, and she was all but naked. Perfection in miniature, all sexy curves and black underwear. Or maybe when she’d listed all the reasons why he was wrong for her, while staring out of those hungry silver eyes. Witch’s eyes.
Or perhaps when she’d looked so sad as he’d regaled her with his miserable crappy childhood. Like she really cared. Or she pitied him—even that didn’t matter now.
Perhaps he’d never stood a chance.
He remembered the first moment he’d set eyes on her. And he’d known he was in big trouble, because she reached something deep inside him. Something he’d locked away so long ago it was almost forgotten.
Now, the reasons didn’t matter. Maybe this was the end of the world. And they were all the other had. And right now, she was enough. More than enough. Everything he had ever dreamed about, before even his dreams were snatched away.
Vampires didn’t sleep, they died, and they never dreamed.
He reached out and cupped her cheek, her skin was silky soft under his touch. “Anything I desire?”
Did she realize what she was offering? Because he desired everything. Every last atom, every drop of her blood, every tingle of desire. His. Only his.
He tilted her face up to his, lowered his head and took her lips. She tasted of warm wine, and desire, and a sweetness he’d never encountered before. He held himself in check, because she was young and this was going to happen—she’d offered herself to him, and she wouldn’t stop him now. But more than anything he needed this to be good for her. He wasn’t totally altruistic. If she ever found her Mr. Normal, she would remember this night.
He sank to his knees, gripped his hands at her waist and pressed his lips to the soft curve of her belly. She had a tattoo above her right hip. A raven in flight. As he stroked his tongue over the lines, he gently pushed her back so she sprawled onto the sofa behind her. He moved quickly, spreading her thighs, nipping the mound beneath her black lace panties. It wasn’t enough, and he ripped them from her, then sat back on his heels.
She was beautiful. Black curls and dark red lips glistening with desire. She wanted him, and that was the last piece needed to fuel his own desire.
He glanced up the line of her body. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. A pulse throbbed in her throat and his gums ached.
Lowering his head, his fangs grazed her upper thighs, the spot where the blood pulsed close to the surface. He could make her come with just a tiny sip. But another time. Instead, he kissed her gently, felt her tense beneath him. His hands gripped her hips as his tongue snaked out to taste her, teasing between her pouting lips. Stroking her, drinking in the sweetness. As he pushed his tongue inside, she went totally still. He stroked up toward the little bundle of swollen nerves, circling it so her hips jerked and pushed up against him. He touched her lightly with the tip of his tongue and she moaned.
He was so hard now he thought he would burst, but he held himself in check, stroking his tongue over her, sucking the small bud into his mouth and biting gently. Her spine arched, and she pulsed against him. He kissed her again, held her hips as she came so sweetly for him.
His turn.
He rose to his feet, pulled his T-shirt over his head. Kicked off his boots. His hands went to his waist, then his gaze dropped, she was watching him out of hungry eyes. His movements slowed, and he flicked open the button on his jeans and deliberately lowered the zipper. Her gaze dropped, and she watched as he pushed his jeans down over his thighs, and then off, to stand before her naked.
He fisted his cock as he took a step toward her. He wanted this to last, but knew it was unlikely. He had an idea this was her first time. It was none of his business, except he needed to slow things down.
He could see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, still beneath the black bra. He reached behind her, unfastened the clasp and peeled the material away, baring her breasts. They were small, but full, the nipples tight, dark red peaks. He trailed a finger over them, and her skin puckered. Lowering his head, he took one in his mouth then suckled. She tasted so good, and his dick twitched and jerked.
He needed her. Now. He needed to be inside her. She shifted so she lay stretched out on the sofa, then raised her arms to him. He sank down onto her, holding his weight on his elbows. He was big and she was small.
As he lowered himself, her thighs opened for him. He pushed inside, and her legs wrapped around him. For a moment, he lay, his face pressed against her throat, breathing in
the sweet scent of her. His fangs ached, but he ignored the sensation.
Slowly, he pulled out and her legs tightened around him, drawing him back.
He ground his hips against her, rubbing circles, and she moaned in his ear.
Out and then in, the exquisite sensations building inside him. In his balls, his dick. He raised himself up so he could stare down into her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, eyes dazed.
“Don’t stop.”
He had no intention of stopping.
Cupping her face, he held her gaze as he increased his speed. She was moving with him. He ground against her and saw the moment she came apart for him. Her eyes widening, her spine arching, her mouth parting in surprise.
And he released the last of his control.
He pushed into her hard and fast, closing his eyes and concentrating on the sensations that flooded his body.
Nothing had ever felt like this. And then he was flying. The pleasure ran through his cock, through his body, bathing him in fire. He hadn’t realized how cold he had been.
On and on. He’d think it was over, then she twitched her hips, tightened her thighs, and he was coming again.
Finally, he collapsed, burying his head against her breasts.
A hand stroked his hair, and he closed his eyes.
“Happy Christmas,” she murmured.
10
He was heavy.
Had he passed out? Was he asleep? Did vampires sleep? Didn’t they just die? Ugh.
She had a dead body on top of her.
She shoved hard, and he groaned, then rolled off, and she managed to scramble out from under him. She was naked and sticky and more Ugh.
Except it had been magical.
She grabbed the duvet from the floor and wrapped it around herself, then sat on the chair opposite and studied him.
She could feel herself softening again. How did he do that? She hardened her heart. It was no good sitting here, thinking sappy thoughts about happily ever after. She wasn’t sure such a thing existed. And she was convinced Lachlan didn’t believe in love. And if he did, he’d made it very clear that she was everything he did not want in a woman. Except for sex.