THE CHRISTMAS VAMPIRE
A Short Story
By W.D. Gagliani
Author of:
“The Christmas Mummy” (Tarkus Press); short story
“The Christmas Zombie” (Tarkus Press); short story
“The Christmas Wolf” (Tarkus Press); short story
The Nick Lupo Series
Wolf’s Trap (Samhain Publishing) Nick Lupo 1
Wolf’s Gambit (47North) Nick Lupo 2
Wolf’s Bluff (47North) NIck Lupo 3
Wolf’s Edge (Samhain) Nick Lupo 4
Wolf’s Cut (Samhain) Nick Lupo 5
Also
Savage Nights (Tarkus Press); novel
Shadowplays (Tarkus Press): stories
“The Great Belzoni and the Gait of Anubis” (Tarkus Press); novella
“Starbird” (Amazon Story Front); short story
Mysteries & Mayhem (with David Benton; Tarkus Press); short stories
The Vampire DiariesÒ: “Voracious in Vegas” (with David Benton; Amazon Kindle Worlds)
“Mood Elevator” (with David Benton; Tarkus Press); short story
“Love at First Sting – A Splatterpunk Story” (with David Benton; Tarkus Press); short story
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THE CHRISTMAS VAMPIRE
First E-Book Edition, December 2014
Copyright © 2014 W.D. Gagliani
Cover by ProGnosis
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License Notes
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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This ebook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Oak Creek, WI 53154
http://www.wdgagliani.com
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Twitter: @WDGagliani
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THE CHRISTMAS VAMPIRE
W.D. Gagliani
* *
“Come here often, ha ha?”
Erika Sonnenberg turned slowly on her barstool but really didn’t want to. The voice was smooth and well-modulated. She imagined a slick-haired, smarmy, over-the-hill pretty-boy type, and she was right in the ballpark.
Almost gigolo level, she thought.
“Only when I’m desperate,” she said, her comeback boomeranging on her if you thought about it too long.
“It’s a nice resort,” he said, undaunted. “But you don’t seem the skier type.”
“That makes two of us,” she said, smiling. “LOL,” she added, by way of proving she was joking, when she really wasn’t.
“I only come here for the chicks,” he said and winked.
Unfortunately she believed him. “Well…” Her voice faded as she searched for some witticism, proverb, cliché, or whatever else he might deal in, but couldn’t find any. She said, “Good luck with your search.” And she turned away. Let him hunt elsewhere.
She sensed him hanging out stubbornly, but let her eyes rove.
It was getting louder in there, and the voices were bouncing off the high angled log and stone-block ceiling. One wall was all glass, framing a postcard view of the side of the mountain, floating ski-lift chairs and runs lit by festive red and green spots. Several groups of hardy snowboard and ski types walked in and brought some of the evening’s chill wind with them and a few doomed snowflakes. Erika looked at the growing crowd in the back-bar mirror. Furs, ski jackets, a few leather jackets and trench coats, fluffy hats, healthy glow visible on most faces. Noise, enthusiasm, and good cheer.
She couldn’t relate to any of it.
She’d thought it would be just what she needed, but now… not so much.
And there was mistletoe hanging strategically from log arches and doorways everywhere.
Sigh.
She really wasn’t on the hunt, not for anything at all.
But she was prepaid, still had a drink, and the night was young. More or less.
While she examined the crowd, she heard her unwanted friend behind her finally pack it in and move on to some other potential conquest. Funny, she noticed there weren’t that many people here flying solo. She and her recent visitor were almost the only ones not attached to some group or other.
Most were couples, several large groups ebbed and flowed, and there were a few threesomes that Erika surmised extended into the bedroom – most were comprised of two males and a female, with hands touching each other in unconscious intimacy. Some lesbian and gay couples were scattered throughout, but most couples appeared straight.
She sipped her drink and sighed again.
Maybe it had all been a mistake after all.
Erika was morose. The love of her life, Justin, had been dead a year, and she had come to this resort outside of Aspen specifically to try and remove herself from the environment that reminded her too much of his presence. Her New York loft still smelled of him, and some of his things she’d been reluctant to part with. Now she needed to say a final good-bye and move on. She had tried the good-bye, but it hadn’t worked, so then she had chosen the most opposite type of activity to what she usually did, and that tactic had led her here… where it seemed almost everyone came in couples and threesomes (trios? or was that only for musicians?). God, last night she’d watched them all perform pre-mating rituals throughout the bar, and she was certain later also in the lodge’s well-appointed rooms and condos.
But she remained alone. Stubbornly alone.
Three days to Christmas and here she was, observing again instead of participating. Instead of actively looking, as her bar-mate of a minute ago had been doing. Hadn’t she come here to find somebody, after all? Why was it so difficult?
Why had she come here? What was she looking for?
She spotted a few men who seemed to be solo, but in every instance they were soon met either by other male ski-types or by groups, or women.
She sipped her drink and tried to not feel the self-pity that always seemed ready to spring up and take over. But things conspired against her. The top-notch sound system was delivering Rat Pack and other 60s Christmas music, which she just happened to find the most nostalgic. She remembered all those, sung by Frank and Dino and Sammy, as well as Tony and Andy and Perry. She’d been forming her musical tastes then, and those songs had stuck. There was some big band style Christmas music peppered in throughout, as well as kid-approved songs about Rudolph and Frosty and Santa. She was reminded not for the first time that Christmas is a child’s game and grown-ups who want to enjoy it have no choice but to approach it the same way.
I’d like to unwrap one of these packages under my tree, she thought.
And she could, too. Her outrageously expensive condo not far from the main lodge bar and restaurant did have three full-size Christmas trees spread through its expansive square footage, and even though she wasn’t religious, they didn’t offend her sensibilities.
But they lost some o
f their higher-end luster when you had them all to yourself.
Erika swiveled slightly and stared at the crowd of well-wishers, hoping to home in on one or two prospects.
Desperate enough for one-night stands, now, are we?
Sadly, yes.
There, two men whose flamboyantly-flirty behavior marked them as a couple. And there, a couple of women were playing footsy and locking lips as if no one else existed.
For them, no one did.
Erika was insanely jealous, so she looked away.
She saw a trio who were so chummy, two men with the same woman, all hands and smiles and sexy touching, that again she was certain their closeness extended to the bedroom. And there were plenty of traditional couples, too, whose happy glances glinted in the silvery holiday lighting, catching the diamond fire of the gently falling snow outside.
Erika almost wanted the gigolo-type back, just to have someone. Did she need someone? Maybe she did. She had to figure out what she was looking for, if anything.
* *
From the corner he watched her.
Erika.
The desk clerk had been ever so helpful, though he probably didn’t know why. Her rental condo was the last one up the long, tree-shrouded path toward the top of the mountain. The views from there would be breathtaking, but then so was she.
He had come not to mourn, but to celebrate by himself – but the celebration had quickly turned to something like mourning anyway. He was caught between the past and the future – aren’t we all? – and though it wasn’t the first time, this time he felt some sort of strange resentment.
Perhaps it was resentment at all the happiness on display, even though he knew for certain some of it was feigned.
He was adept at feigning, so he had no trouble fitting in.
His seat was where the bar ended and to his right was a log wall that extended only to the short divider that made up an alcove, and from there he was almost invisible because the people to his immediate right were a group that spilled over from the bar stools. He let them shield him from her view.
And he watched.
Until he felt his legs slide off the stool and take him in her direction, methodically approaching from her blind side as she looked wistfully at the opposite side of the room, the wall of windows. The new blanket of snow was forming rapidly outside. The night skiers would be thrilled.
Her hair was a raven cascade over her shoulders as she faced away from him. He avoided staring, not wanting to alert her. He liked the taste of her name.
Erika.
* *
She sensed someone behind her and assumed it was the gigolo-type from earlier, but when she turned it wasn’t him at all. It was a rather good-looking guy, tall with salt-and-pepper hair swept back into a slight duck’s tail and piercing Paul Newman eyes. He was indeed staring at her, although he hadn’t been there a moment before.
He inclined his head at the stool next to her. “Mind if I sit?”
He does have a nice smile, she thought. But maybe it was too nice. Too cool. Too aware he was all that, and more.
She sighed. The bar was filling up and he was grabbing the last available stool, so she might have to suffer his company if she didn’t want to leave, and it was just too early. The day skiers hadn’t all come in yet, and the night skiers were probably getting ready – they’d be in much later.
“No,” she said, with a tiny shrug. Your call. She didn’t want to encourage him, though.
He really did have eyes as blue as mountain lakes. Perfect hair. A long, straight nose marred only by a tiny bump. Finely-shaped lips, and slight dimples in his cheeks. Somewhere between thirty-five and forty-five, she guessed. Definitely a better prospect than the gigolo-type from before.
She smiled then turned away, ready to forget about him.
But he spoke to her.
* *
Erika.
What a wonderful name. He wanted to taste her, not only her name. He had come here knowing there would be rich, good-looking people he could engage intellectually before… before disclosing what he was really here for. He had spotted her when she’d arrived earlier in the week, but he wasn’t sure about her until after he had her name. And now, seeing her seem so lost in this crowd of revelers, so distant and closed-off, he knew he was on the right track.
When she sensed him and turned, he felt a tiny spark pass between them, and he was immediately aroused. Her eyes were dark, mysterious, and immensely sad.
He asked, “Mind if I sit?”
If she said yes, he would regroup and change strategy.
She said no, she didn’t mind.
He was in.
* *
Before she could turn away, he said: “You seem to be the type who wants company and came to a place like this—” his arm wave encompassed the whole mountain and the resort, as well as the bar, “—both because there is company available and because you’d still rather observe than join in.” He smiled as if to take some of the sting out of the comment. As if trying to prove he was joking, after all.
“Hm,” she said, feeling her temper flare a little, “if you can read me so well in so little time, I must be pretty transparent.”
He settled onto the bar stool, delaying a response.
“Oh, I don’t mean that as an insult,” he said, backpedaling. “It’s just you’re here during the holidays, but so far I’ve only seen you alone. You watch people, but carefully, so it doesn’t seem as though you’re examining them.”
“You sound as if you’ve been watching me,” she said. A little bell went off in the back of her mind.
“I’m a little bit the same, I guess,” he said, shrugging in a more European way than most Americans. “But I bet it’s just the way you are, careful and observant. Are you perhaps a psychologist?”
Good stab in the dark, she thought. He was more interesting than she had first thought.
“Psychiatrist.”
“Ah.” He tented his hands. They were long, strong-looking but delicate hands, she noticed. Maybe he was displaying them. He said, “Can I buy you a drink? You’re low.” He indicated his glass, too, which was mostly melted ice.
What the hell, why not?
Erika half-nodded. “It’s B&B, neat.”
“Very warming. I think I’ll try that, too.” He waved at the nearest bartender and ordered.
They waited for the drinks silently, as if they’d agreed to hold off conversing.
I really am observing, aren’t I?
She decided to play along, see where this led. It might be more stimulating than she had thought just ten minutes ago. Drinks arrived and he paid without looking.
She raised her glass. “My name is Erika,” she said. “Sonnenberg,” she added a beat later. “Thanks for the drink…”
He clinked her glass with his. “Stewart Manning,” he said, wincing. “Sounds pretentious as hell, doesn’t it? But my parents… well, they were pretentious as hell.” He laughed and she joined in.
“So what are you doing here, Stewart?” she said finally. She was better at asking questions than answering them, usually.
“You mean two days before Christmas? When the world looks its best and life is most worth living?” His smile slipped.
She was startled. “Yes, I guess that’s what I meant. But I didn’t think…”
“No, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I just tend to be cynical. Until I saw you, anyway. You lifted my spirits, Erika.”
“Because I was more despondent than you?” Ouch. “That didn’t come out quite right, sorry.”
He chuckled. “No, it’s okay. This is typical of me.”
She inclined her head, allowing the moment to fade.
Is this the beginning of something?
And if so, what?
Her eyes tracked the occupants of the loud room, and again she noted the mistletoe hung in strands everywhere. Some couples (and trios) were taking advantage, their hands roving over each other while their lips
met in various kinds of kisses, ranging from sweet to obscene.
Erika shivered.
Maybe what she’d wanted was here, after all.
Consciously, she turned completely on her stool to face him.
“Stewart,” she said, leaning forward, eyes locking with his. “Let’s start over…”
* *
Their embrace was impassioned. It was later, one more drink later. Neither was drunk. His body felt good against hers, smooth muscles and sharp planes, and she imagined her breasts felt good to him. His cologne or aftershave was intoxicating, something peppery and full of citrus notes tickling her nostrils. She clutched him to her and nuzzled his ruddy neck, feeling his lips on her own neck simultaneously. He held her closely, his arms like a steel band around her.
A tightening steel band.
He was very strong.
Had she made a mistake? Should she have insisted they continue to hang out in public?
But no, that was ridiculous. She knew it even as she considered finding an excuse and leaving him speechless, that she couldn’t. Her body wanted his, her lust burned brightly down below.
She lusted for him, she wanted to taste him. She hungered for contact, and more.
She was nuzzling his neck and now she opened her mouth wide, her red lips marking his skin, and her teeth tingled the way they always did at this moment.
Just as she sank her teeth into his neck, she felt the tips of his fangs starting to break the skin of her neck.
They both bit down, hard, and then pulled away, sputtering.
“No!” he said loudly. “I don’t believe it. You’re—”
“A vampire…” she finished for him. “Yes, I’m afraid so. And so are you.”
“Damn it, I sure wish it was easier to sense each other, like in the movies.”
“I know, me too,” said Erika. She was still holding him. After all, his body did feel good. And she’d been without a mate so long…
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