He knew without asking what I liked. He nibbled on my earlobes as if they were tender fruit, lighting a fire in my nether regions that I knew only one thing would quench. And when he lifted my breast and licked around the nipple, I almost came right off the bed.
He knew how to use his hands and where he touched me, he left behind little pulses that electrified my senses.
“Now,” I whispered, or maybe simply thought and I felt his smile.
“Yes,” he said, and I could feel his heart going like mad. “Yes.”
He plunged into me then and the heat of it was so intense I thought it might fuse us together forever.
I pulled him closer, wanting all of him, wishing I could enter him as completely as he’d entered me and then I realized I could because I was in his mind and there was no boundary between what he was feeling and my own sensations.
We rolled together, and the loving went on and on—no fifteen minutes and then off to sleep. Sometimes he was on top, sometimes I was. We went up Magic Mountain, my back against his chest as he drove deep into me, going way past my G spot and creating a brand-new H spot.
Our tangled limbs wove together in patterns maybe the Kama Sutra could name, but I couldn’t.
I made noises I’d never made before and heard them echoed in his mind.
I didn’t know it was possible to have more than five orgasms in a row and not die. Although I might have actually lost count.
Afterwards, Allard must have sent out some nonverbal command because human-sized fairies came into the tower room with towels and basins of sweet water and fresh clothes for us—ordinary, everyday clothes, which surprised me.
He answered my unspoken question.
“I thought you might want to see your brother,” he said. “I thought these clothes might be more appropriate.”
“You know where he is?”
“I walked into a dream of his,” he said, “while I was waiting for you.”
“Where?”
He touched the tattoo on my hip. “At the place where you received the Ascaris.”
“What is the Ascaris anyway?”
He looked surprised that I didn’t know.
“It is the symbol of the house of Lyrus, hour house. That’s why Lyrus came when you were attacked in the woods. The symbol called to him.”
“Like the bat symbol,” I said. Allard looked perplexed.
Never mind, I said.
My car was still in the little clearing, so deeply embedded into that giant Douglas fir that it looked like two different species were trying to mate. And I shuddered when I saw the crumpled metal and thought how plausible it had been for me to believe Syla when she told me that I had died in the crash.
Allard saw me shiver.
“You are distressed, beloved,” he observed. “We should leave this place.”
Beloved. I liked the way that sounded.
Allard took my hand and kissed it and where his lips touched my skin they left little fiery imprints that I could feel but not see.
In truth, the little pocket of forest looked very ordinary in the daylight and though I’d felt a brief frisson, it was more a reaction to the sudden cold than anything else.
The snow had melted and though it was not raining, the air was fragrant and green as if freshly washed.
Except for the tree I’d mangled in the crash, it was a beautiful place. Still, compared to Allard’s home, it looked a bit drab. Even though I’d only spent a little time in the land of light, it felt like home. I would be glad to return there after I saw Hugh and made sure he was all right.
“Yes,” I said. “We should leave.” I was anxious to see Hugh again and reassure myself that he was in fact, doing fine.
“Paint a picture in your mind of where you would go,” Allard said, “and I will take you there.”
Epilogue
I concentrated on visualizing the Portland tattoo parlor where Hugh and I’d received our birthday ink five years ago.
I could see walls hung with mirrors and framed artwork by PDX artist John Donald Carlucci. I saw the colored Christmas lights draped over shelves of crystals and tiny animal skulls and scented candles and raku trays holding penjing, miniature gardens representing mountains covered by evergreens with tumbled rocks and even a little waterfall on one.
The living tableaus looked familiar and I realized why—they mirrored places I’d seen in the land of light.
Magic, I thought.
“I see the place,” Allard said.
We were already holding hands, so Allard squeezed mine and between one heartbeat and the next, we were standing in front of the tattoo place. It was raining and everyone around us was huddled into their hoodies and rain gear, apparently oblivious to our presence.
“Are we invisible?” I asked Allard.
“For a few seconds more,” he said. “Let us go in.”
I had been afraid that the shop would be closed for Christmas but I guess it was open in case anyone wanted a last-minute holiday tattoo.
The interior of the shop smelled of spiced oranges, which was a relief. I despise patchouli and the scent of white sage that always seems to permeate new agey spaces.
There was a small living Christmas tree in one corner of the entryway, decorated completely in gold and silver stars of various sizes.
Hugh was sitting at a little reception desk inside the door and when he saw me, his eyes lit up.
“Hilde,” he said happily and rose to sweep me into a hug.
He looked good. Healthy. Happy.
Clean, in all senses of the word.
“I dreamed about you yesterday,” he said. “It was wild.”
“About that,” I said, but he was already looking past me to Allard.
“Hey,” he said, “I’m Hilde’s brother.”
“I’m Allard.”
“I saw you in my dream too.” Hugh turned to me. “Let me get Vyx.”
He disappeared into the curtained-off alcove and returned a moment later with the tattoo artist.
Now that I’d been in the Verge, I could tell immediately that Vyx was fairy kind, something I hadn’t been able to tell when we’d first met.
Vyx looked different than I remembered and then I realized she had been identifying as a male five years ago.
“Hilde,” she said, and held out her arms for a hug. She was tiny, not much more than five feet tall, but she gave a good hug.
She pulled away to look at me earnestly. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.
Then she looked at Allard and said, “Allard.”
Hugh and I looked at each other. “You know her?” I said.
“I know Vyx,” Allard replied carefully, “but I had not met him in this female guise before.”
Vyx smiled and her features rearranged themselves subtly to become more masculine. She quirked her eyebrow at Allard, then allowed her face to melt back into her new female form as if to say, “Ta-da!” Hugh did not seem particularly surprised by this accomplishment and Allard was not fazed at all. He stepped forward and swept her into his embrace. He was nearly twice her size and looked like a bear hugging a doll. “It gladdens my heart to see you,” he said to her.
“I thought you were dead,” she said, “and I mourned you.”
She went to the door and locked it, then invited us back into her parlor for a talk. I told Hugh about my adventures and about Lyrus and his open invitation to visit any time.
Hugh looked uncertain. “I can’t even deal with dad right now,” he said. “Not sure if I’m ready for another father.”
Vyx wrapped her slender fingers around his fist and brought it to her lips to kiss it. “The land of light is beautiful,” she said. “I would like to see it again through your eyes.”
There was a new tattoo on Hugh’s arm, a portrait of Vyx framed in an intricate design that twined our family sigil with another fairy rune. I realized the fairy had both claimed him and put him under her protection with that image.
I appr
oved.
“He is not ready to leave,” Vyx said to me, as if Hugh was not there, “but he is healing and he will be well soon.”
I took my brother’s hands and I addressed him in that secret language we’d used when we were children, the one I now knew was the language of our fae parents.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I am. And you?”
“Wildly happy,” I said.
“You know we can understand you,” Vyx said with a mischievous glance at Allard.
“Then don’t listen,” I said.
Allard gave her a wry look. “She can be a bit of a tyrant,” he said.
She smiled at him. “She loves her brother,” she said. “But so do I.”
It should have seemed very strange to me but somehow it didn’t. Once you got past the reality that you were part fairy, there really wasn’t too much else that can throw you off-center.
I turned down the offer of a free tattoo and promised I would visit soon, and Allard and I left.
It stopped raining just as we closed the door behind us.
I could feel myself smiling all over. “Thank you,” I said to Allard.
“For what?”
“For my happiness.”
“I love you,” he said.
I replied by kissing him, ignoring the passersby. “Am I the stone of your heart’s fruit?” I asked when we finally came up for air, teasing him just a little because I knew what he would say.
“Yes you are.” He thought for a moment and then added, “Or to put it more plainly, I love you with all of my heart and soul.”
Such pretty words. I wondered if he knew how I craved those words because he could see my dreams.
A vision of Parker floated through my mind. “I would like to meet this Parker,” Allard said.
No, you really wouldn’t, I thought.
“It seems to me that he is a man who needs to dream more,” he said darkly. “I could oblige him in that regard.”
It was tempting to let Allard plague Parker with nightmares. He’d certainly given me one or two bad nights, but I was too happy to have thoughts of revenge.
“Maybe some other time,” I said, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss him.
“Shall we pay a visit to your father now?” he asked.
Now that was going to be some visit.
“In a minute,” I said because I’d spotted a Voodoo Doughnut across the street.
I took his hand and pulled him toward the curb. “Have you ever eaten a donut?” I asked him., wondering what his reaction would be if I ordered one of the shop’s signature treats, the cream-filled, chocolate frosted cock-n-balls option.
He leaned toward me and whispered in my ear, “Mine taste sweeter.”
It was going to take some getting used to this mind-reading thing.
About the Author
Internationally bestselling author Kat Parrish is a former reporter who prefers making things up. Her short fiction has been published in numerous anthologies, including the charity anthologies Once Upon a Fact and Death in the Drowned Lands She is the author of the “Shadow Palace” trilogy, the three-part La Bruja Roja series, and a collection of urban fantasy tales, L.A. Nocturne. She lives in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Follow her on Twitter @eyeofthekat, connect like her on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/eyeofthekat/). and subscribe to her newsletter: http://kattomic-energy.blogspot.com.tr/p/blog-page.html
A New-Fashioned Holiday
J. A. Cummings
About A New-Fashioned Holiday
A group of vampire friends come together to celebrate a modern holiday.
A New-Fashioned Holiday
The snow was falling heavily, and even though he’d only walked a few blocks from his brownstone to the pub, Daniel still had at least an inch of the fluffy white stuff on the shoulders of his black woolen coat. The sign in the door said that it was closed for a private party. Apparently tonight was not a hunting night. That was fine with him.
Daniel went inside. He was the last of his group to arrive. The other vampires were all sitting at the bar, drinking the warm blood that Sashabelle was serving from behind the bar. A quartet of humans were lying unconscious on tables, and repurposed blood plasma donation units were draining them dry. He looked with admiration at the bottles full of the Pure as he sat down with his friends.
“Hey,” Sashabelle greeted. Down the bar, Ivar saluted with a hand that was clutching a shot glass. The blood inside looked like it was watered down. Beside Ivar, Julius sat with doctored wine. As the oldest of them, he could get away with mixing more human beverages in with his blood. He was strong enough that he wouldn’t get sick. Daniel was the baby of the group, and if he tried to do anything but drink the blood straight, he’d be barfing for days.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Happy Hanukkah.”
She laughed. “Merry Christmas.”
Ivar drained his shot. “Glad Jul.”
Paulina poured a shot for Ivar out of her own glass, something that made Julius side-eye her. The three had been in a twitchy polyamorous group for the last fifty years, give or take, and Julius sometimes got jealous.
“Bonne Noel,” she said brightly. She leaned over and kissed Daniel on the cheek. Her lips were almost as cold as his skin.
Sitting in the middle of the group, Barney harrumphed into his tumbler. “Bah. Humbug.”
Daniel frowned. “What’s wrong with him?”
Paulina laughed lightly. “He’s grumpy.”
“Damn right I am.” Barney drained the last of his drink and put the tumbler down with a clack.
Daniel felt like he should have been shying away from the old vampire’s bad temper, but he had to ask, “Why?”
“It’s Christmas.”
That really didn’t answer the question. “Yeah… and?”
“And suddenly it’s all Tiny Tim and fucking Victorian carolers and Christmas puddings…” Barney grumbled, his voice gaining volume as his words picked up speed, falling from his mouth like aggrieved snowballs.
Sashabelle rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”
Barney turned to Daniel and poked him in the chest with his index finger. “Do you know what Victorian England was? Poverty. Dirt. Tuberculosis. That’s what it was.”
Sashabelle tried to soothe him. “Barney….”
He wasn’t having it. Sometimes the ancient ones got crotchety. “But it’s all Santa and twee little children singing and supposedly being cute. And it's It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol and “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” and everybody being maudlin and nostalgic for homes and families they really hate.”
She tried again. “Barney…”
He wasn’t done. “It’s stupid and it’s dishonest and Christmas is a lie anyway.”
“Barnabas,” Sashabelle sighed. “Would you like more blood, maybe with some holiday spice in it?”
“Of course.” She served up the mulled blood, which smelled like a human covered with cinnamon sticks. Daniel kind of liked the smell. Barney drained his glass. “Fucking Christmas.”
It was a complete non sequitur, and he knew it, but Daniel chirped merrily anyway, “I’m Jewish.”
Paulina laughed. She was always in good spirits as long as the blood held out. “Good for you.”
Julius peered at him. “So?”
“So, I mean, I don’t get offended by that stuff because it really means nothing to me. Right?”
“I’m offended,” Barney grumbled.
“We know.” Paulina patted the older vampire on the arm. She grinned at Daniel. “Happy Hanukkah.”
They made quite a group. Julius was the oldest, followed by Barnabas, who was only a few years younger. The rumor was that Julius had Turned Barney, but neither of them would confirm or deny it. Ivar was next oldest, the Viking in the bunch, which meant he was wicked fun to be around. Sashabelle was Turned in Dodge City in 1904, and Paulina was from Paris in 1939. That left Daniel, who was the youngest.
He’d been Turned in New York City ten years ago.
Daniel took his coat off and draped it over a chair. Sashabelle poured him a glass of Type O, then set the bottle under the victim’s plastic tube to refill. He sipped. “Oh, that’s nice. There’s a little twist of something…”
“Weed.”
“Ah! I thought there was a certain greenness to the blood.” Daniel nodded. “I approve.”
Sashabelle grinned, her long fangs gleaming. He thought she had beautiful fangs. “Nothing but the best for my favorite customers.” She kissed Barney on the forehead. “And you’re still one of my favorites, even if you do drive me crazy with your bellyaching.”
Barney grunted but said nothing.
Daniel told them, “The only thing that bothers me about being a vampire at Christmas now is that I can’t eat at Chinese restaurants on Christmas Eve anymore. Garlic, you know?”
The assembled vampires all nodded. Julius added, “Try being Italian.”
Ivar rolled his eyes. “You’re Roman.”
“Rome is in Italy.”
“I’m from Sweden, but that doesn’t make me ABBA.”
Julius looked at the Nordic vampire. “You make no sense.”
Ivar grinned and drained another shot. “Nope. Not a bit.”
They laughed together, companionable and comfortable in their long acquaintance. Daniel was grateful that they’d all welcomed him into the fold. They were so old, and therefore so powerful, that they could have kicked him to curb quiet easily and nobody would have said boo about it. For some reason, they’d brought him in. He suspected that Julius was behind that, but he had no proof. He had no proof for anything.
Barney spoke up randomly. “Do you think we could drink eggnog?”
Paulina grimaced. “Why would you want to?”
He shrugged. “I was just… I mean, eggs are the beginning of life, right? So there’d be life force in them, like there is in blood?”
Curse of Christmas: A Collection of Paranormal Holiday Stories Page 37
