Christmas With a Vampire

by Merline Lovelace

  The air seemed to thicken around them. The world past Drystan disappeared, as if they were standing in complete darkness, a dim light shining on only them.

  The intensity in his voice in creased. “Come with me.”

  Her hand began to lift. She stared at it, surprised by its movement.

  “You don’t want to marry Ben. You never did. You can stay with me until the wedding is past, or…” He paused, seemed to think. “You can call the media from my apartment. Get everything out in the open.”

  Ben. The name ripped through the fog that had settled around Aimee. This wasn’t about Drystan wanting to help her, wanting her. It was about his revenge on the Myhres. Her hand ceased its movement. And this feeling, this urge to do what Drystan said, to believe and trust him, it wasn’t coming from her own brain. She shifted her gaze, stared at Drystan’s lips, saw for the first time the fangs that protruded slightly beneath his upper lip.

  They didn’t turn her off, didn’t detract from his attractive ness in any way, but seeing them so clearly told her his powers, whatever hold they’d had before, no longer worked on her. From now on, anything that passed between them would be totally of her own free will, under her control—but Drystan wouldn’t know. There was no better test, no better way to discover how guided he was by hate, how much, if any, love still survived inside the pit of darkness and anger that too often seemed to swallow him whole.

  She let her hand rise, let him take it in hers, and when he whisked her away in a whirl of twirling snow and shifting realities, she didn’t murmur a concern. She went with him, a placid look on her face, and a hole in her heart.

  WHEN THE WORLD settled down, Aimee was back in Drystan’s apartment, his bedroom this time. He hadn’t bothered pausing in the main room, ex changing words. And Aimee was glad, she saw the desire burning in his eyes, knew that at least was true, and she felt it, too. No matter what happened tonight with Drystan, she wasn’t going to marry Ben. She would figure out some way to let him down easy, to keep the wedding that wouldn’t be from damaging him with the media. She wasn’t worried about his heart; love had never been in play, not between her and Ben.

  So tonight she would be with Drystan, get the need to feel his touch out of her system. Tonight she would think about the now—because later she might have to say goodbye.

  They pulled clothing from each other’s bodies as they walked, Aimee moving backward, her hands on Drystan’s body grounding her, keeping her from stumbling. His kisses tasted of vanilla and oak, sweet and earthy. She fell back on the bed, sinking into the comforter she’d placed around him two nights before. He fell beside her, pulled her flush against him, then rolled so she lay naked on top of him.

  He started to say something then, but she pressed two fingers to his lips. She wasn’t ready to hear him speak, to feel she needed to reply, too. Once she started talking she was afraid the words would tumble out, her daimon half would force her to say everything she was thinking, ruin this moment, perhaps their last together.

  His lips closed and he watched her, expectant. She ran her fingers from his mouth, down his chin, his neck, to the little hollow at the base of his throat. She replaced her fingers with her lips, pulled skin into her mouth, nibbled.

  His hands tightened on her back, found her buttocks and began to knead.

  She pushed herself up to stare down at him. Her breasts swayed, her nipples brushing against the hair on his chest. Her fingers curled toward his skin, her thighs parting, inviting him.

  He pushed her farther upward, found the tip of one breast and pulled it into his mouth.

  She could feel his erection, pressing against her, close to the opening between her thighs. She edged herself down his body until the tip nudged into her, slipped a little inside.

  A gasp escaped her lips. He grasped her but tocks, keeping her in place, his sex barely held by hers, his lips on her breasts, his teeth grazing her skin. Aimee wanted to claw at his skin, to force him to release her so she could plunge downward, feel the full length of him inside her.

  Instead, he reached lower, slipped one finger along her folds, found the nub that was hidden there, circled it until Aimee’s back arched, and her body tensed.

  Her lips parted, her breath coming in pants. Drystan circled the nub again, allowed his erection to inch farther inside her. Her body began to quiver, her muscles to clench, and with no warning, without him fully inside her, her spirit begin to slip, but this time she bit down, forced her daimon soul to stay in her human body, to experience this orgasm as a human, with Drystan. As the waves hit her, she held on to the comforter beneath them, twisted and pulled until the material billowed around them.

  Finally, as the last spasms passed, she collapsed. Drystan removed his mouth from her breast, lowering her until her head rested on his chest. He stroked her back, his finger tips tracing every bump of her spine.

  Her heart slowed and her fingers began moving on their own, making lazy circles in the hair on his chest. His hand moved to her hair, his fingers weaving through the mass of curls until he reached her scalp. She sighed, a smile tilting her lips. She’d never felt so relaxed, so at home.

  He lifted his other hand, skimmed his fingers over her side. Goose bumps tingled across her skin. She shivered, a pleasant shake of aware ness, of her body and his. She turned her face until her lips pressed into his chest, swirled her tongue over his skin, tasted him.

  He tasted of salt and smelled of soap, both very human, even though she knew he wasn’t…not any longer. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat at the thought. Things couldn’t be simple for her, for them. No, Drystan had to be a vampire, a creature of the night, ruled by dark ness, lost in his own pain.

  She shoved the thoughts aside, determined not to think of them again, to keep this time special. She raised her leg to Drystan’s waist, pulled herself higher on his body until her mouth found his, then she kissed him, putting every bit of longing she had into the act.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AIMEE’S LEG WOUND around Drystan’s waist. Her breasts brushed against his chest. He held her lightly, almost afraid gripping her too tightly would wake her, end the dream he’d created for himself.

  So what that she’d tried to walk away? So what if she came with him only because he made her, beguiled her? Right now he only cared that she was here, with him.

  Her lips met his, covered his with a need, a yearning that almost matched his own. Her tongue slipped inside his mouth. He met it with his own, guiding her away from the sharp point of his fangs. He hadn’t fed since he’d been with her two nights before, hadn’t felt the need, at least not physically, but with her here, her scent en gulfing him, her heat beside him, he could feel the hunger growing.

  His body thrummed with it. He flipped her over, beneath him, his weight pressing hers into the down cover. She pulled her lips free, stretched her neck as if inviting his bite, as if she knew what he wanted and welcomed it. It was too much for him to resist. He murmured to her, to himself, to whoever brought this woman to him, and trailed his lips down her jaw, her neck.

  He lay there a second, listened to the speeding thump of her heart, the rush of blood through her veins. He could hear it, smell it; all that was left was to taste it.

  She bent her head farther to the side, exposing the artery. He pressed his lips against the spot, felt the even but rapid jump of her pulse. She squirmed, her hands moving to his lower back, finding the indentation at the top of his buttocks and stroking, encouraging. As her fingers drifted lower, moved to the front, to his almost painful erection, he couldn’t resist any longer. He pulled back his lips and plunged his fangs into her throat.

  Bliss, sweet and sure, swept over him. Her blood was just as he remembered it, or was it better? Had it been this fresh? This full of light and hope? He could feel it rushing through his body, warming him, changing him, making him think just for a while every thing was okay—he was okay.

  Her fingers wrapped around his erection and he groaned a
gainst her neck; never before had he had a partner who participated so fully in both acts, blood and sex. Aimee gave where others only took—took the thrill of bedding a vampire, experiencing the bite. The few humans who knew about vampires, who hung out at the bars looking for them, saw him as a novelty, something to experience and move on. Even though he took their blood, and experienced an orgasm, it was really all about them—their thrill, their walk with danger.

  Yes, he occasion ally cornered an unknowing, sated his thirst, but he never combined that mind control with sex. Using it to take the blood, playing vampire puppeteer in that way, felt wrong. To use the skill for sex was un thinkable.

  But with Aimee he hadn’t had to, she’d come to him willingly. She hadn’t known he was a vampire, but she hadn’t turned from his bite, either, and she was back with him tonight. He’d brought her to his apartment, but hadn’t beguiled her into sex. That was a choice she’d made freely—or so he’d thought. Was he somehow controlling her without knowing? Had she not realized what had happened the last time, did she not realize it now?

  He needed to ask these questions to know what she knew, but as she moaned beneath him and rocked her hips upward, he tamped them down, let himself go.

  Her fingers moved along his shaft, guiding him, but caressing him, too. His muscles tensed, nothing but will stopping him from plunging inside her, thrusting in and out. Her thumb flicked over the sensitive tip of his erection, swirled like his tongue had swirled over her nipple, like his tongue did now over the puncture wounds on her neck. She shivered, moved her thumb faster, then placed the head of his shaft against her folds and lifted her hips once more.

  Drystan cradled her in his arms, pressed a kiss to her ear, then lowered his mouth back to her neck and plunged inside—fangs and shaft, blood and sex, beautiful, natural—meant to be.

  In and out he thrust, slow despite the pounding need to move fast, to reach the peak he knew waited. Her blood zinged through his body, increasing his excitement. Her fingers clawed at his chest in long, strong strokes, mimicking the in-and-out movement of his body inside hers.

  Finally, she began to quiver in his arms; he knew her release was upon her. He in creased his pace, let himself go, felt her tighten and relax around him, felt his body tighten and relax, as well. Then just like two nights earlier, his spirit shifted. His consciousness left his body, drifted overhead, but this time Aimee was with him, holding him, wrapping around him, keeping him warm, surrounding him with an emotion he’d never felt before, not this pure, this intense—love.

  She loved him, and as they floated back down together, as the dawn crept closer, he realized he loved her, too.

  IT WAS ALMOST dark again, and Aimee was still with Drystan, had stayed with him all day. She’d watched him this morning, held his hand as he stiffened, as the light in his eyes faded, as he died. She couldn’t think of it as anything else, realized now after witnessing the flash of panic in his eyes, he couldn’t, either.

  It was a horrible fate, worse than anyone who knew of vampires realized.

  Just thinking of it, tension ran through her body, her hands stiffening, her fingers forming claws. She wanted to scrape away the cocoon of death that had enveloped him, pull him back to the living—but she couldn’t. He was a vampire; nothing she could do, not even as a daimon, could change that.

  His eyes were closed now. He’d shut them before the state hit, kept them closed as the light crept up the horizon. She ran a finger over his brow, his closed lid.

  Kevin’s death had almost killed her, had driven her away from being a daimon, from herself. Could she stand spending night after night with Drystan, watching him die dawn after dawn? She slipped her hand into his, squeezed his fingers—he didn’t respond, not even a reflex.

  A tear worked its way into the corner of her eye. If Drystan couldn’t change, couldn’t give up his hate for the Myhres, accept who he was, could she walk away, could she leave him to face this fate alone?

  Neither choice seemed possible. Both almost physically painful.

  But it wasn’t her choice to make. She wanted to be with Drystan, but she couldn’t carry his burden alone—he had to let go of some of it himself. If not, their life together would be haunted, by his hate, and her worry—that one day he would make the same choice as Kevin, or return to the monster who waited outside the Myhres’ last night.

  She couldn’t do that to him or herself.

  As the sun crawled from the sky, Aimee curled her body next to Drystan’s and waited. At midnight she was supposed to be getting married. She had a thousand things to do to prepare, but she wouldn’t leave Drystan until he awoke. She’d seen him die twice now. At least once she wanted to see him come back. She prayed the process held some joy that made the other bearable, something that made the altered state more trade than loss.

  And she had to talk to him, had to tell him what she was doing and why, had to give him the chance to talk her out of it, to show her there was still some light left in his soul.

  Then she had to go to the church, face Ben—whether with Drystan by her side or alone was yet to be determined.

  DRYSTAN MOVED HIS fingers, first just a tiny wiggle of the last joint, then bending and unbending the digits, reminding his body how to move. It had become a ritual for him to start with the slightest flicker of movement. Then as his courage in creased, as he became sure that yes, once again he was alive, he’d open his eyes and eventually sit up. But tonight something was different.

  Tonight he wasn’t alone.

  Until just two nights earlier he had dreaded waking like this, realizing someone hovered near him while he lay at his most vulnerable. But after falling into his catatonic condition with Aimee by his side, he realized how much he hungered for a com pan ion, to enter and leave the darkness with the hope that only having someone, Aimee, with him could provide.

  “Drystan?” The pressure of her hands was no more than a whisper on his chest. His lips tilted in a smile. Her fingers slipped into his and he squeezed, a silent thank-you for staying with him, for being with him, even though he knew she’d had no choice; he’d given her no choice.

  “Are you a…” she leaned closer, her breath falling across his face “…awake?”

  He knew she’d changed the word at the end, been thinking alive. Now he knew how he looked when out. The same as how he felt—dead, cut off from everything, even his own mind.

  He opened his eyes, stared up into hers. She smiled then, a slightly sad tilt of her lips, but still a smile. Her hands moved to his face, and she stroked his cheek. He stayed still, stretching the moment, the only pleasant awakening he could ever remember.

  Finally, he sat up, reached for her, but she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

  “Are you okay? Do you need to do anything?” she asked. A tiny line of concern darkened the space between her brows.

  He leaned in, rubbed his nose against the line, pulled the smell of her into his lungs. Waking to her, holding her, made him happy. Again he tugged her toward him. Again she stopped him.

  Her body was tense, her face wary.

  Seeing how she watched him, Drystan grew wary, too. Slowly, he lowered his arms, let her pull away.

  “I’m fine.”

  She seemed ready to say something, but stopped.

  That’s when he realized he owed her an explanation. She’d stayed with him through the day, had no choice in the matter. He’d sealed the apartment as soon as they entered it, disabled the phones, and before he’d gone completely under he’d put a spell on her, too, forced her to sleep by his side. Could he do that every night? Change her so she lived the same nocturnal existence he did?

  So, she hadn’t sat here all day thinking him dead, but still she had obviously been awake before him. She deserved some kind of explanation.

  “I’m fine,” he repeated. “I’m a—”

  “Vampire.” She pushed herself off the bed, turned her back on him and stared at his dresser where a digital clock glowed the ti
me, 8:00 p.m.

  Her shoulders were square and pulled back. She was upset. He could under stand that, was surprised she hadn’t run screaming at the door, wasn’t standing there beating on it now—surprised but also happy. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, placed his bare feet on the floor.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, picked up a discarded shirt and jeans and tossed them beside him.

  “You know,” he said. His voice dropped. De spite the fact that she seemed under control, not panicked by her discovery, he couldn’t stop the un certainty that filled him. What did she know of vampires? How did she even know they existed? Would she see him as others saw vampires, as the monster he some times became?

  She turned. “I also know you’re Ben’s brother, and why you sought me out.”

  His mouth twisted to the side. Ben. Somehow he’d for got ten for a few blissful hours that she was his adopted brother’s fiancée, for got ten that their relationship, whatever it was, was based on lies—his lies. But that didn’t matter now. It was Christmas Eve—the night scheduled for their wed ding—and she was going nowhere.

  Somehow despite all odds, he’d come out on top, he’d ruined Maureen Myhre’s plans and got Aimee for himself. He smiled and reached out to touch her, concentrated on bringing her mind back to him, away from where she was supposed to be, to whom she was supposed to be marrying.

  He’d deal with the missed wedding later. Plant seeds in her mind for her to repeat to the media, but for now he just wanted to enjoy being with her.

  She stepped back.

  His hand fell with a thud to his lap.

  “You can’t control me, Drystan.” There was no judgment in the words, but still they hit him with the force of a slap. “I didn’t stay here today because you made me. I didn’t come here last night because you put thoughts in my head. And I know you think the door is locked, that I can’t escape, but it isn’t true—not for me.”