Christmas Bite: A Golden Vampires of Tuscany Novella

by Sharon Hamilton

  The fiddle music stopped as several males from the partygoers came within feet of his disgusting frame. Several in the crowd began to moan, and there were a few suppressed screams. Precious seconds passed while the dark vamp and his would-be attackers held the standoff. Lionel scanned the young Goldens and didn’t see any sign of the young Maria look-alike.

  The dark vamp began to grin, his chest heaving. He fingered something around his neck Lionel had missed. It was the colorful shawl the young Golden had been wearing just moments before.

  Lionel didn’t have time to look for his brother. He traced to the creature, hoisting him high up into the sky and tearing his head from his body out of eyesight of the crowd below. He threw the remnants of the vamp’s torso into another bonfire he found several miles away, at a distant farm. Before he let the body loose, he removed the shawl and stuffed it into his shirt.

  Damages, brother? Are you there?

  All is well, Lionel. She is alive, and safe. He was a rogue no coven to back him up. But it has us all shook.

  He won’t be back, Lionel told his brother.

  He traced to the edge of the celebration, then walked through dense foliage toward the circle of fire. They had brought the young Golden toward the heat, and a group of elder men surrounded her, so he could not see her fate. As he pressed himself towards the center, he could see the ugly, bloody bite on her neck and the rivulets of dark ooze descending down her chest, meeting between her breasts. Her eyes were dazed as she rolled her head back and cried.

  Paolo was there, giving her first aid. Lionel sat next to her mother, who brought warm compresses and was whispering questions.

  “Will she be infected, Paolo? She is still mortal and a virgin. Will this affect—?”

  “No, Freya. She’s intact. He didn’t do a blood rape. She’s intact.”

  “Oh, thank God,” the woman sighed, leaning into Lionel’s chest. Paolo gave him a frown.

  “I have Lucius,” said Hugh from the back of the crowd.

  Freya’s daughter stubbornly righted herself and accepted the salve that was applied to her neck taken from the kit Paolo carried with him 24/7. Her eyes swung around, perusing the crowd until she saw Lionel again, and their stares locked.

  Her gaze lowered slightly, looking at something on Lionel’s chest.

  “He’s gone, Madame,” he told her. “He will no longer trouble you, or any of us.”

  But she was still peering at his chest. Looking down, he saw the remnants of her flowered shawl sticking out from the buttons on his white shirt. He drew it out, damp from the mixture of sweat and bloody detritus. He extended his arm and handed it to her.

  She didn’t look at the shawl. As she grabbed the cloth, her eyes were fixed on Lionel like he was her lifeline, her future.

  He was instantly hit with the cold facts of their state. She would most likely be not his lifeline, but a straight ticket to Hell itself.

  Chapter 2

  PHOEBE WAS PLACED in the second seat of a Mercedes stretch limo for the trip back to her parents’ villa. Paolo was with her. She was also being given an IV with her father’s blood, for healing and strength. She’d heard the whispers over her near-sleeping body, about how her turning should be guarded and done soon to prevent another event like this one. It was felt she was now a target for the non-Golden covens. She should avoid tracing with her parents, turned siblings, or friends due to her condition. And no airline flights.

  Since she was still pure and intact as a Golden virgin, it was thought her father’s blood was best, but no one really knew the answers to these questions. Freya told them she’d have that talk with Phoebe. All of them were sure it would help making a turning easier, as she was now introduced to her father’s Golden bloodlines. Acceptance of the new blood was always the trickiest part of the turning.

  Her heart pounded fierce in her chest, and she felt like her breath was sucking all the air out of the limo, then replacing it with her exhale. It was like a body sat on her chest. But upon opening her eyes, she noticed it was only the shawl, tucked up around her ears and under her chin. It gave her courage, for some strange reason, and hope. Her blouse had been removed earlier, she vaguely remembered, so that the shawl was against her bare, mortal flesh.

  A healing vape came over her, not from the salve or the blood being administered, but from the shawl itself. She detected gentle steam pouring forth from it, coming directly toward her nose. She inhaled deeply, taking it all in. With the exhale, she felt her limbs go light, her head filled with twinkling stars that coursed throughout her body from her spine, around to her frontside, descending down to her toes.

  One of the passengers had tried to remove the shawl, but she clutched it fiercely and stared into the eyes of her distant cousin, the kind and gentle Paolo. The man looked stunned.

  She stumbled for words, but then finally came out with, “Please, sir, my modesty.”

  That took the tension off, and immediately the nervous banter continued. Paolo slipped little peeks between comments, carefully monitoring her expressions and answers.

  Before they arrived at the villa, Paolo removed the IV infusion catheter with the life-enhancing blood from her father. “Hold this down hard for a few seconds,” he said as he pressed a gauze pad to the puncture. Her fingers applied pressure until he found a wrap material that held the gauze in place, so it wouldn’t bleed or form a bruise beneath the surface of her skin.

  He checked her eyes, smelled her breath, which seemed odd, checked the sides of her face, her wrists, both ankles and declared she should be seen by the family physician as soon as possible, but that she was healthy and fully recovered.

  As they pulled up to the villa, Paolo recommended, “She shouldn’t leave the house until she’s been checked out, however.”

  “Can she wash up?” Freya asked. “Or does she need—”

  “No, she should wash the wound with soap. Then we’ll apply more salve. You’ll see when she removes the cloth she will have started to heal.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Paolo,” her father whispered.

  While the men stayed downstairs, two household helpers and her mother brought her to her bedroom on the second floor, helping her to climb the enormous darkly carved bannister that switched back and forth to all three levels.

  When they opened her door, the warm fire was already burning. Her bed was prepared and drawn back, and the room smelled of roses and lavender, her favorite fragrances. Everything was as she’d left it earlier in the day. Her hairbrushes were all angled the same direction on her dressing table. Her old baby crib filled with well-worn stuffed toys from her childhood stood in the shadows at the corner. Moonlight shone on the heavily polished wooden floor, giving off a blue cast to any smooth surface.

  “Phoebe, we’re going to undress you and then help you to the shower. Do you think you can stand and wash off, or do you need help?” her mother purred to her ear, making them both buzz. She heard extra inflections, sounds of her mother’s voice in octaves she’d never heard before.

  “I’m okay. I can—”

  But they’d already removed her skirt, and placed it on a side chair, along with the shawl. Fully naked, she removed her sandals and stared into the full-length mirror on the way to her private bath. Her nipples were engorged and bright red, as if they’d been rubbed raw, and her face was flushed. But looking down at her sex, she noticed her lips were swollen and a deep rose-red in color. The sensation as she walked to the shower wasn’t unpleasant.

  “You must be sure to wash your neck with soap, little one,” the maid whispered, then attached a clip to hold her curls up. The sound of the young woman’s voice was like the wind blowing through the trees at the forest.

  She was not left alone in the shower, but she kept her back to her audience, taking the soap and rubbing across her chest and up and around her neck, which was tender and swollen, around her chin and down her arms. As she smoothed the bubbles over her tummy and lower, her breathing hitched. She’d touched
one side of her netherlips, and she was filled with such exquisite pleasure, she felt afraid she might pass out. She grabbed the shower wand and forced water between her legs and felt a tightening of muscles inside her lower abdomen she didn’t know existed before.

  She was handed an oversized bath sheet as she emerged from the shower, wrapping it tightly around her. Her mother lovingly applied more salve to her neck. She removed the clip and shook her hair loose, staring into the mirror.

  Her eyes confirmed what her feelings were telling her: she’d stepped through a doorway. It had nothing to do with the dark coven vamp who tried to take her life, but the vamp who stood in the crowd and took her breath away. Something that was ancient and buried in her heart had risen from a bloody grave and was running loose inside her.

  She was filled with terror.

  She was also filled with erotic fantasies of pure pleasure.

  She knew there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Phoebe slipped on a white gown and allowed her hair to be combed by her mother, who sent the others away.

  “Phoebe, I know you heard some of what’s been discussed between your father, Paolo, and I,” Freya began.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “I want you to just put all that out of your mind right now. We’ll get your evaluation done and see to it that everything is on a firm footing before we make any decisions.”

  Freya slipped around the stool to face her seated form. Her warm, lined face showed centuries of compassion. She tenderly held Phoebe’s cheeks in the palms of her hands as she kissed her forehead and sighed.

  “Your face is hot. Are you hot all over?” Her eyes bore into Phoebe and would not be denied.

  “Yes, Mother.” She worked to make her voice sound compliant, but her heartbeat had not slowed. She asked the question that had been lingering. “What is this sensation?”

  “Your father’s blood is strong in your veins. As a fully turned male vampire, even though he’s your father, it’s bound to affect you in special ways.”

  Phoebe wrinkled her nose and turned away from her.

  “Nothing to worry about, Daughter.” Freya touched her chin and turned her, so they could see each other straight on. “You are mortal, but not quite human. Do you understand this?”

  She nodded yes.

  “Your bloodline is sensitive to the vampire side of you. It seeks it as a natural protection, since it would be normal for you to seek a male vampire to protect you and help you bring young into this world who would be healthy. It is part of the selection process.”

  “But he’s my father!”

  “I’m talking about your yearning. Perhaps you have come into close proximity with another—someone who could bring you into the circle of fating. He may be distant, not even in this town, but he could be close by, perhaps.”

  “I would be that sensitive to it?”

  Freya bowed her head and then smiled at her daughter. “It happens differently for different people. If it is beginning, it will be glorious. The most magnificent thing you’ve ever experienced in your life.”

  Her eyes twinkled with the extra moisture lingering there.

  “This conversation has to remain confidential, just between the two of us, Mother. I don’t think father would understand.”

  “Nonsense, Phoebe. Men don’t understand many things about women, but they do understand the fating.”

  “But you need to promise me.”

  “All right. Now, come. Time for bed, Phoebe.”

  “How did it start for you?” Phoebe asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I had to wait nearly two hundred years for your father. I used to worry that my early turning, before I’d found my mate, interfered with the sensors, or the fating, in some way. I thought I’d be barren, childless. And then when I met him, everything exploded onto the scene, and our romance was such a whirlwind. All those years and years of waiting were over in mere seconds it seemed. We got to work and right away got pregnant with you, then your two brothers.”

  “Yes, Mama. I’ve heard the stories.”

  “We never had any time to just become friends together, he and I. We had to live our lives completely different. We had to spend all our waking hours protecting all of you.” She glanced out the window, biting her lower lip.

  “And I’m grateful for all you’ve done.”

  “This is such a special time for you.” She grabbed Phoebe’s two hands in hers. “It will be confusing, but it will be worth it. Now, with all these coven leaders fighting each other, the beautiful parties, dances, balls, and galas are problematic. I wish you could have lived in those days. Now, we have to be so careful.”

  “Yes, Mama. I understand.”

  “So what I’m saying is that it might take a hundred years of protection, or more, until you find The One. This could be just a close encounter, a whiff of someone drifting by—someone you will meet years from now. We never know.”

  Phoebe wanted to tell her mother she had felt some kind of a shift but wasn’t sure she should. Instead, she asked, “Will it be very obvious when it happens? Will everything shift in an instant?”

  “Yes, my dear. But what I want to guard you most about is getting your hopes up too high. It doesn’t mean anything if it takes a century or two or a few hours. You have to be sort of ‘on call,’ and yet that could last centuries. And still, you have to be ready, emotionally and physically, for when it comes.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Freya looked down at their entwined fingers. “But have you thought about the turning, Phoebe? How it might make things easier for—for all of us?”

  It wasn’t what she was expecting.

  “You mean I could defend myself better, mother?”

  “Yes. Partly that. But don’t you have a feeling, a knowledge deep inside of what form you wish to take? Do you want to be a mortal woman or a Golden Vampire? I mean, one is weak, the other, well, stronger. Capable of protecting herself. Do you want to spend your life worried about the dark? About strange people and not being able to defend yourself?”

  She nodded. She was going to tell the truth. “I’ve thought about it some, but not deeply. Mama, I’m unsure what form I want. I haven’t made up my mind.”

  “If you turn now, by the time you find your mate, you will still be young and able to have children. If you take the turning at an older age, that comes with a different set of rules. Do you understand this? You risk the possibility of some injury or disfigurement to your body. Right now, dear Phoebe, your body is perfect. You have unsullied Golden bloodline in your veins. You’d remain this way forever.”

  “Yes, I see. And it would be more difficult to live alone, wouldn’t it?”

  “You want to leave the family?”

  “I want to travel, Mother. I want to go to all sorts of places I’ve never seen. I’d like to live on the beach, in a cabin in the mountains, somewhere in the jungle—I want to explore so much.”

  “And you can do all that as a Golden. Your choices are so much more limited as a mortal. Not to mention how vulnerable you’d be.”

  “I know. But this is all I’ve known so far. I like who I am right now. Do mortals think about this? Worry about all this?”

  Her mother chuckled, “All the time, my child. You know so little about them. Vain, doing all sorts of things to their bodies to cheat death. But luckily for their race, most of them are not like that. They accept that death is their partner. You, however, can control death. Send him elsewhere.”

  “Except I still will need protection when I have children.”

  “Yes. That’s why we have the dark covens and others we hire to help with that. They live to take care of us, now, don’t they?”

  “Our protectors.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Like tonight.”

  “Well, yes. The dark security detail Paolo brought to watch over his son—he’s the one who first noticed you and alerted others to get you to safety while he dispos
ed of the garbage. He’s a perfect example.”

  “So I would have a protector, like he is, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what about one as a husband?”

  Freya’s head shot up, her eyes blazing. “Not as a real husband. Never that!” She softened a bit and then stroked the sides of her daughter’s face. “Sweetheart, I can see I have not explained things to you properly. You can respect and even befriend them on a temporary basis before you are attached. But as far as a life partner, that is not allowed, my dear daughter. You will remain with your own kind, for the purity of the bloodline. We don’t think a healthy child could ever come from such a union, even if it were possible, and the stories say it could never be.”

  “But what about Lucius?”

  “He has no dark coven blood. Some witch and God knows other things, but no other coven blood. Paolo would never mate with a dark coven female.” Then she added, “But Paolo was very lucky. His boy could have been deformed. We have seen some of these come into the world, recently. Horrible creatures.”

  She pulled the covers up.

  “Come, you must rest. A good night’s sleep will do you some good. Dream of a handsome Golden prince coming for you when you least expect it. It will be a glorious warm summer day, and you’ll have flowers in your hair. You’ll be partaking in the sacred ritual generations of Golden women have gone through. We don’t wring our hands, complaining about our lives, our men, or our families. We embrace it with all the life and light we are given. It is our birthright, Phoebe. Yours too. Who knows? Perhaps you could have the double gift of having your fated mate turn you himself.”

  She hugged and kissed her, adjusting the cool sheets over her, touching her hair. As Phoebe lay back on the pillow and peered out at the stars from the open window, she watched her mother leave the room, closing the door behind her.

  Then she remembered the shawl. Dashing out of bed, she searched the pile of clothes on the chair near the bathroom door and found it. She wrapped it around her neck and shoulders, dove back into the sheets and fingered the silky fabric as she watched the night sky again.