A Vampire's Fallen Christmas Star (Vampires On Holiday #2)

by M. L. Guida

  A Vampire’s Fallen Christmas Star

  by M.L. Guida

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dear Reader

  Other Books by M.L. Guida

  Prologue

  Prologue

  Ireland 1641

  The burning farm house lit up the black sky. Flames crackled. Heavy footsteps crunched on the ground. Eleanor Baines clenched her fist. A presence hovered over her. Refusing to be taken again, she opened her eyes and swung and missed. “No,” she said. Although soft, determination trumpeted in the simple word. Blood sprayed from her lips. Her left arm broken, she could only fight with her right. She fisted her hand and swung again at her kidnapper’s long leg.

  “Easy, lass,” a man said. “I am not going to hurt you.” Another Sassenach. But unlike Emmet Carver’s stony voice, his was smooth and glossy like a lazy river.

  He knelt and removed his long coat, casting it over her shivering, naked body. The glow of the fire flickered on his face. He was not one of Emmet’s men. She had never seen him before and would have remembered such a handsome man. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and long black hair graced his broad shoulders. Brows wrinkled, he held her gaze with soft brown eyes. “Who did this to you?”

  “Emmet, Emmet Carver.” Her tone was frostier and crueler than the winds screaming over the cliffs of Moher.

  “I’m sorry.” He looked at her, the concern in his eyes replaced by something more shameful, like he was afraid of her reaction. “’Tis because of me this happened.”

  “Why?” She trembled and fumbled for a rock, still not trusting the man.

  “Your father was protecting me.”

  With his broad shoulders and muscular arms, the man did not look as if he needed protecting.

  He reached out his hand. “I promise I will not hurt you.”

  She shrank, her heart pattering.

  He put his hand close to her nose and regret clouded his brows. “You are near death.”

  His scent of leather and horse wiped out the sickening stench of blood and gore.

  He pushed the hair out of her face, his touch gentle and kind. “I can offer you a chance to repay Emmet for what he has done to you, your family, and your home. Or you can die in peace and join your family in the next realm while Emmet lives. The choice is yours.”

  Hate burned on the back of her throat. “How?” A coughing fit gripped her, and she spewed blood. Her vision clouded, and she fought harder and harder to breathe.

  “My name is Janus Morano. And I am a vampire.”

  A vampire? Had she descended into hell for failing to defend her virtue?

  “Will you accept my gift?”

  Behind him, her father’s clenched hand lay unmoving on the grass. His promise of vengeance rang in her ears—The Angel of Death will strike you down.

  Emmet had only laughed as her father’s eyes shuttered closed, blood dripping from his mouth.

  Eleanor would not deny her father’s dying wish. “I want revenge.” The last thing Emmet Carver would see before he left this world would be an avenging Angel of Death.

  Chapter One

  Summer, Present Day, Frisco, Colorado

  Eleanor Baines ran down the deserted street. Pain throbbed in her arm, and blood dripped down her sleeve. She couldn’t believe the damn vampire killer had nicked her with a blade that was coated with hallowed mud. Usually the assholes sported a tattoo of a dagger stabbing an opened-mouthed skull with long incisors, but this kid didn’t have one. Luckily, she had built a resistance over the years to hallowed mud, but it wasn’t enough. Her muscles were weakening, and her vision was becoming blurry.

  Donna pass out.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The chubby killer hurried after her and would soon overtake her. He’d surprised her at the post office when she went to open her safe deposit box. Her fault. She hadn’t thought he’d be threat—he wasn’t even sixteen. How had he known she would be there at midnight? She had even used a pseudonym.

  Her heart beat hard, and each time, terror thumped between her temples. Nausea gripped her stomach. Damn! The poison was working swiftly, breaking down organs and closing up veins. Only human blood would stop the shutdown of her system. Her mountain home was a mile away, and she’d never make it in time to drink the harvested blood in her refrigerator.

  She glanced over her shoulder to find the damn killer gaining on her. Her legs were so heavy it felt like she was trudging through mud. She turned, but slammed into a brick wall and stumbled. Strong arms gripped her, stopping her from her falling down.

  “Hey, are you all right?”

  Her rescuer lifted her to her feet. She stared into the darkest, midnight-blue eyes she’d ever seen.

  A shirtless man held her arms. He had chiseled abs, and long brown hair that flared over his broad shoulders. God, he smelled good. Pine with a hint of lemon and sage. She panted. “Help…me.”

  “Get away from her,” her pursuer said. “She’s a vampire.”

  The man shoved her behind him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I know it sounds crazy,” her enemy said. “But it’s the truth. She’s going to rip your throat out.”

  Please. She hadn’t ripped anyone’s throat out except for Emmet Carver’s. This young killer had watched too many vampire horror flicks. Eleanor’s legs wobbled, but she drew on her strength. If she fainted, she’d fall into the death sleep with hallowed mud pumping through her system—then she’d never wake.

  Her fangs lengthened as hunger consumed her. Blood. She could smell it rushing through the man protecting her. His back was slick with sweat. She wanted to lick him, then sink her teeth into his flesh.

  The man faced her hunter. “Are you hallucinating?”

  Eleanor swayed and fell onto her hands and knees.

  “Let me finish her—” The smacking of flesh made Eleanor lift her head. The vampire killer lay sprawled out on the sidewalk. She couldn’t believe a single punch had flattened the man, but she was glad, damn glad.

  Running feet came rushing outside. A mixture of worried and mixed male voices surrounded her.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Jayden, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, Desmond. Justin, have your bouncers call the cops.”

  “Sure. Is she okay?”

  Eleanor couldn’t make out who was saying what. All she saw were a pair of athletic shoes, a pair of black cowboy boots, and a pair of loafers. She was lifted into strong arms and carried into a bar. Beer and sweat clung to the air. She laid her head against the man’s naked chest, clamping her mouth shut to keep from biting him. “You’re safe now, sweetheart,” the man said.

  But he wasn’t. He set her down in a bathroom, and she winced at the bright light.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Eleanor Baines.” Her voice was strained. Not nervous wreck strained. But hysterical eye-witness strained. Why the hell did she tell him her real name?

  He examined her bleeding arm gently and frowned. “It doesn’t look deep, but you probably need to go to the hospital and have it stitched.” He grabbed some paper towels and wet them. “I’m Jayden Kye.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she sai
d.

  In the blaring light, Jayden was handsome with high cheek bones and firm chin. Dark eye-lashes emphasized those deep-set eyes.

  “Yeah, sure you will.” He dabbed her wound with the paper towels. “This isn’t going to stop the bleeding.”

  She stared at his lips, and self-preservation took over. Pulling on the last of her remaining strength, she drew on her vampire magnetism. Janus had taught her to put her victims into a trance, take what she needed, and then erase their memories. She didn’t like doing it, and she preferred the blood bags at home, but her life force was draining fast.

  He dropped to his knees, and the paper towels slowly fell out of his hands. The familiar blank stare fell over his eyes. Guilt hit Eleanor. Jayden had protected her from the kid, and how did she repay him? By stealing his blood.

  “Sorry, Jayden,” she gasped. She pushed his hair back from his neck with her shaking hand then bit into his flesh. His blood was hot, warm, and spicy. She sucked hard and grabbed his shoulders. It had been so long since she’d fed from a man. Men still scared her, even though she knew was stronger.

  She licked his neck and healed his wound. He tasted like lemon and sage. She was tempted to lick his delicious body filled her, but she shook her head.

  No.

  She gazed into his handsome face. Voices came down the hall, and she had to get out of there fast before they discovered her attacker was telling the truth. Unable to resist, she kissed his lips, but he was frozen and didn’t respond. Why was she disappointed? He was a handsome man, and she’d met many of those, tasted them. None of them stirred her the way Jayden had. Was it because he’d saved her and she’d been alone for so long? She shook her head and sighed. This wasn’t meant to be.

  Eleanor didn’t seduce men. Besides, kissing had led to clumsy coupling that she never enjoyed. No matter how she tried to forget it, the horrible night she’d been attacked and raped had ruined any pleasure she’d endured from any man, so she stayed away from them. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been with a man, or even desired one. Until tonight.

  But how could she resist this champion? He’d stood up for her and saved her life, even tended her wounds. She glanced at her arm. It had stopped bleeding and was slowly healing. Human blood was a fast a healer. But she needed more.

  “Good-bye, hero,” she said. “Thank you for saving my life. I won’t take anymore from you. I’ll be able to make it back to my car and home.”

  Jayden didn’t move or answer. He stared straight ahead, lost in a trance. She had no idea why she was thanking him and reassuring him that she would be safe—he couldn’t hear her nor would he remember her. But she’d remember him.

  Well, maybe she’d take one more thing from him. She glanced at the closed door and Jayden. Wanting to treasure him, she indulged in her fantasy and licked his chest. It tasted even better than his neck.

  The voices grew louder as men gathered outside the door. Their conversation froze her spine.

  “Desmond, why did your nephew have that damn blade?”

  “It’s an heirloom. Been in the family for years. You didn’t have to call the police.”

  Eleanor shook. Grand. She’d been in the den of vampire killers. Time to get out of here. The doorknob started to turn.

  “Yeah, I did. Keep your nephew on a leash.”

  Jayden’s blood had replenished her enough to escape. The door opened, and she flashed out of the bathroom. She was faster than the human eye and sped past the surprised men. Lord, she recognized Desmond Carver. So, Emmet Carver’s family still possessed blades designed to kill vampires. Desmond sported the dreaded tattoo on his shaved head—a dagger stabbing an opened-mouthed skull with long incisors. The mark of a vampire killer.

  Chapter Two

  Frisco, CO

  A few weeks before Christmas

  “It’s my fault he’s dead.” Jayden Kye drained his glass of wine and slammed it onto the wooden table.

  “Be careful, that was your grandmother’s.” His mother examined the crystal with a critical eye. “And you’re wrong, Jayden. It’s not your fault,” she said, and he heard the heartache come into her voice.

  She had aged since his twin, Jacob, had died a month ago. Dark circles rimmed her green eyes, and her cheeks had lost their rosiness. Before his brother died, his mother had always dressed in slacks and a pressed shirt. But now, her attire consisted of sweats and tennis shoes. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. He wished he could turn back the calendar and stop his brother from fracturing her heart.

  “I’m aware of that, Mom.” His voice slurred. He glanced at the fireplace. His father’s painting glowered at him, failing to put him in the Christmas spirit. “Dad would say Jacob’s death was my fault.”

  His mom shook her head. “Jayden, you’re father would never blame you for your brother’s death. Your dad loved both of you.”

  Jayden snorted. “Yeah right.” He’d never measured up to his dad. No matter what he did, it was never good enough. When he received straight A’s in college, Dad still hadn’t been satisfied. He’d accused him of taking easy classes. Statistics was easy? But when Jacob had received all B’s, Dad gave him the highest praise. “How could Dad prefer one of us over the other? Maybe if Dad had given me a crumb of praise, I wouldn’t have been so angry with Jacob—”

  “Jayden, stop. Just stop. I’m not going to listen to you bash your dad again. You’re problem is that you never understood him. Didn’t know what he was trying to do.”

  “Tell me what a disappointment I am again.”

  She smacked him in the arm. “I said stop. How many glasses have you had?”

  “Not nearly enough.” He was tired of living here, tired of bearing her pain, tired of burying his.

  “Jayden, you’ve got to quit blaming yourself.” Usually she straightened her curly strawberry-blond hair, but lately, she let it dry as it wanted. Waves of unruly curls stuck out everywhere as if she were a flower child from the 1960s. She shoved a loose strand behind her ear. “Jacob was always headstrong.”

  “We’re both headstrong,” he said. “Or I should say were.”

  Stubbornness and arrogance had run deep with him and Jacob. They had been cut from the same gene. Twins. Neither had bent. Neither had admitted when they had been wrong. Neither had thought of consequences before they acted. This time it had ended badly.

  He grabbed the bottle of wine and refilled the goblet. His mother gave him a-you-better-stop-drinking glare. He didn’t care. He wished she had something stronger, but this was his parents’ cabin in Frisco, not his, and they only stocked wine. In his town home, he had a liquor cabinet full of scotch, tequila, vodka, and gin. But he couldn’t leave his mother alone. She was still too fragile.

  “Jacob should have listened to you. If he had, he might not have died.”

  “If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t be rotting in a grave four weeks before Christmas.” His voice came out louder than he wanted, and the drunken words stuck in his closed throat.

  Her face blanched. Crap, he couldn’t stand rethinking every word or every sentence, afraid he’d send her to another bout of crying. He hated himself for resenting her. He had to get out of here before he did or said something else stupid.

  He headed for the closet door, ignoring the fuzziness of his brain, and snatched his leather jacket and gloves.

  She followed him, his constant shadow since Jacob’s death. The scent of anise clung to her clothes, and he felt like he was drowning in it. All afternoon, she’d been making a double batch of pizzelles—Jacob’s favorite Italian Christmas cookie. She had asked Jayden over and over to try one, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat any. The smell reminded him of his brother’s teasing grin, and guilt burned in his gut.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, nearly bumping into him.

  Her high-pitched desperate voice scraped his nerves. “I need time alone.”

  “You’re drunk, and it’s snowing outside.”

 
; “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You’re weaving on your feet.”

  “Well, you stop fussing over me. I’m not taking my bike out. Just need a break from inside this Christmas-stuffed cabin. I can’t stand the smell. It’s suffocating.”

  “I didn’t realize you didn’t like it. Jacob always loved the smell.” Her eyes flooded with tears, and she hung her head.

  “Mom, I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug, then kissed the top of her head. “I don’t hate the smell. I’m missing Jacob. Pizzelles—”

  His voice cracked. He cursed himself for not finishing the sentence, failing to be the cornerstone for his mother to draw her strength.

  “I know. His favorite cookie. I miss him, too.” She patted his chest then glanced up at him and wiped her eyes. “We’ll get through this.”

  He kissed her wet cheek. “It smells good.” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he needed a break before he drowned in his sorrow and dragged her with him. God, he was sick of the grief. Sick of the guilt, sick of being strong. “Mom, I gotta go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  She grabbed his arm, digging her fingers into his coat. “I don’t—”

  He brushed her shaking fingers off. “I know it’s hard for you to be alone. I’m only going for a short walk. I’ll be back soon.” He saluted her. “Promise.”

  He wanted to stay, wanted to help her, but if he did, he would lose it and he couldn’t do that in front of her. When he fell apart, he’d do so outside, where she wouldn’t see. He walked out the door.

  The cold air sobered up the dizziness in his muddled brain. Big snowflakes fell steadily on the pines and the rocky ground. His motorcycle had turned from black to white. He thought about driving it down to a bar and drinking more with Desmond, but he was having difficulty walking in a straight line.

  He flipped his collar up and headed down the driveway. Silver Christmas icicles hung from the cabin across the road, and red, green, and blue lights wrapped around a small pine in front. The last thing on his mind was celebrating Christmas.