Midnight Solace
Rosalie Stanton
Three hundred years can change many things, but love is not among them.
Forbidden to claim the woman he loves as his mate, Gabriel established a yearly meet with Jael to satisfy their hunger for each other. Time has not diminished the vampires’ need, nor made the pain of every other day more bearable. Christmas Eve together might not be much, but pretending for one night that they can belong together is the only way either knows how to survive.
Except this Christmas, Gabriel can't go on pretending. Living for one night is no way to live, and he is determined that he and Jael will see the new day together. The only question is whether after all this time she’s prepared for the consequences of saying yes.
A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Midnight Solace
Rosalie Stanton
Chapter One
It was a testament to time how much the same tavern could flash a thousand different faces over the course of three hundred years. While the drunken barflies never seemed to leave, the atmosphere itself was on a nonstop course to full evolution. It had been a pub for half a century before it was bought and turned into a diner. There was a six-month stint in which it was a ladies’ hat store, but the lingering scent of alcohol could not help but reemerge every three years or so.
No matter what facelift the tavern received, it was the place Jael visited every December. Every December since 1697.
Here she would wait, as she did every year on the night known commonly as Christmas Eve. She would wait until he came in and her year met fruition.
Even in the life prior to her nocturnal rebirth, Jael could not fathom living without the thrill of the winter season pushing her through the common twelve-month cycle of every insufferable year. Gabriel met her here every December 24, just as the old grandfather clock that had somehow survived the years struck the hour of midnight. They would spend the holiday in each other’s arms and wake up in separate beds in the morning.
As walkers of the night, they could chance nothing more. Such was the way of things between all vampire lovers. One night of the year, maybe two. No connection beyond that. Nothing that anyone in either their dark existence or the other world bathed in sunlight would ever call a relationship.
Vampires couldn’t have relationships. It was as simple as that.
Gabriel was her maker. He had been in her corner from the very beginning. Her protector since childhood. In the absence of vampiric relations, most vampires turned to humans to satisfy carnal desires. Claiming humans as mates for eternity was not taboo, not like turning to other vampires was. Human mates would live for eternity, tied to the lifeline of their mate. Still, the connection did not run as deeply. When a human female was sad, her vampire mate did not cry. When a human male was cut, his vampire mate did not bleed. They were different. Separate. One could die and the other would live.
It was not like that between walkers of the night.
Among vampires, those tied together beyond the blood of sires felt everything. Shared everything. Their fate was the same. Always the same.
Every society had its great tragedies. Romeo and Juliet. Napoleon and Josephine. Vampires had a tragedy as well. Well-known to them, a well-kept secret among the humans they protected. Unlike the tale of Dracula, the one among them that had established the grisly stereotype of their kind, the story of Lazarus and Anna remained shrouded from the world of humans, a cautionary tale that kept all those who belonged to the night in line. For the sake of a species. For the sake of an entire way of life.
As with many cautionary tales, Lazarus and Anna’s story had several assumed points of origin. In some tellings, they lived in Ancient Rome. Others had their first meeting documented in Greece. Jerusalem, India, even parts of North and Central America all claimed to be the homeland of vampirekind’s most infamous lovers, as well as the most boasted tragedians of a culture. In any event, where Lazarus and Anna had first met remained unimportant compared to their impact on their kind. The story of a passionate love affair, during which, overcome with zeal, Lazarus and Anna sealed their lifelines together in blood. Once mated, they had but a few weeks together before angry villagers fingered Anna for the death of a beloved elderly man. This was back in the day when vampires and humans lived side by side, when vampires were accepted as the guardians of the human race. In that time, vampires were more likely to feed from cattle to acquire what they needed, and they did so while humans rested. When the monstrosity of their dependence on blood could be hidden in the shadow of night.
They were careful, but ultimately accidents did happen. One cow would die. Then another, then another. Respect for the Nightly Ones turned into fear. Fear turned into blame. And when the elderly man died of anemia, fear manifested fully into violence. Anna was seized from Lazarus’ loving arms, imprisoned in a local church and tortured.
At night she was beaten for information. On occasion, she was bled and burned, and every time her skin was marred, inhuman howls ripped through the ground, shattering the quiet of night as her mate endured the agony of her pain. Some said he died crawling in the sunlight to reach his beloved, others said the pain he suffered was too much, and he drew his last breath the second the villagers burned Anna at the stake. Others said his moniker of Lazarus guaranteed that he would return, and those who still lived in the village swore he haunted the grounds he died upon.
The tale had evolved dramatically over the last several centuries.
The tragedy of Lazarus and Anna had established the law. Never could vampires mate. Never could vampires claim each other, only to become subject to that sort of torment. If vampires mated they became liabilities, even to each other. Such had been the law for centuries. Such was the reason Jael came to the same tavern every year and waited for Gabriel to arrive. Tonight was the only night they had because they were both vampires, and that was simply the way of things.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Her death had been sudden, at a time when her town was overwhelmed by an epidemic of scarlet fever. She and Gabriel had been planning to mate for two years when she became ill. As he sobbed over her on what she was sure would have been her last day, she begged him to turn her.
He had. Through his tears, he had given her new life.
She hadn’t known becoming what he was meant that she couldn’t have the life they’d planned together. She hadn’t known until she breathed life for the first time as something other than human.
Jael shuddered, her eyes falling shut. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t repress the memory of the night she had clawed to freedom. The first night she had opened her eyes swimming in the soft glow of starlight. Gabriel was waiting for her, his eyes heavy with sorrow, his skin bathed in the scent of tears. His soft blue gaze had found hers and he had taken her into his arms, murmured his love and begged her forgiveness.
Then he had told her the story. The reason vampires couldn’t be together, even as casual lovers. The urge to claim each other, he said, would grow unbearable. There were several who succumbed to the temptation, and they were expelled from the Vampire Order. And expulsion wasn’t as nice as it sounded. Rather, it pretty much guaranteed a death certificate. The Order would track down dissenters and destroy them. Weakness was not tolerated among their kind—survival of the race came above earthly concerns or desires. Above love.
Gabriel had taught her everything about being a vampire before setting her loose into the world. They had attempted to stop seeing each other altogether but that proved disastrous. If she didn’t follow him, he followed her. They would meet in a tearful passion and make love until the sun came up. Ultimately, Gabriel suggested that this place—this tavern—would mark their reunion
every Christmas Eve. They could be together the one night of the year that the world had decided loved ones should spend with each other.
One night though. Only one.
It ate her up. For more than three hundred years, she had survived simply to get to Christmas Eve. She went to movies, she occasionally worked with authorities on cases as a visiting detective with forged credentials and she read more books than writers could produce in a year. She adopted the last name Winter in silent homage to the single night for which she spent the entire year waiting. She did anything she could think of to lose herself to time, to ignore the nagging in her gut that Gabriel wasn’t with her, that he didn’t belong to her for three hundred and sixty-four days of every year. That for every night of the year, save one, he could find solace in the arms of any woman who crossed his path. That he was not hers. He could never be hers.
Tonight, that didn’t matter. Tonight, he belonged to her.
The door to the pub swung open and a familiar scent washed over her. Instantly, her body softened into warm compliance. It was okay again. For a few hours, everything would be okay. Gabriel was here now.
Her body positively hummed.
Gabriel.
He took a seat next to her, looking much the same as always. Shaggy brown hair, warm eyes, strong shoulders that accompanied strong arms and hands. He shrugged off his leather duster—a new addition to his wardrobe. It was longer than the coats he’d previously donned, more becoming. Almost royal. It was worthy of her Gabriel.
“Whisky,” he told the bar hand, lighting a cigarette. There was a thick silence as his glass slid across the bar. Auburn liquid pooled in a clear tumbler. It was a vile drink, but it suited Gabriel. Vampire drunkenness wasn’t unheard of, but it took well more than a few drinks to get a nightwalker inebriated. He took a long sip of his drink, exhaled a puff of smoke, then turned to her with a small smile. “You wouldn’t happen to be a Kenite, would you?”
Jael shifted slightly, a grin tugging at her lips. “Worthy of recognition, even though I am no woman of Israel?”
He curled his arm around her and nuzzled her hair with familiar affection that made her heart flutter and ache in the same instance. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“It’s only been a year.”
“Longest year yet.”
“You say that every year.”
“And every year I mean it more.” Gabriel shuddered violently and downed the rest of his drink. “You look gorgeous.”
She flushed. “Thank you.”
“How has your year been?”
Terrible. “Fabulous.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah.”
A long pause. “Any new men in your life?”
“I keep my eyes open.”
Lie. She shunned every man who attempted to touch her. Her body—heart and soul included—belonged solely to Gabriel.
Her eyes fluttered shut as he edged closer, his lips finding her throat. “You smell divine.”
“Gabe…”
“Need you now.” He reeled back, his eyes flashing apologetically. “I’m sorry, sweetling. I just… Can we go now?”
That gave her pause. He was acting strange. Gabriel always enjoyed the pretense that they were strangers instead of what they were. She supposed it was easier for him if it seemed like a chance encounter rather than the most important date of the year. If they pretended they didn’t mean what they did to each other.
If they pretended it was random, so as not to stir trouble in the Order.
“Gabriel?”
His lips swept over hers. “Please.”
She needed no persuasion. No reason. The less time they spent here, the more time they had together. All she needed was him.
“All right,” she whispered.
“Your place still—”
“Around the corner.”
Gabriel tossed a few bills onto the counter and nodded to the bartender, tugging Jael to her feet. “Never change, do you?”
“You want me to?”
“Not in a million years.”
She smiled sadly. A million years. Would they still be playing this game a million years from now? Three hundred had been unbearable; she didn’t know if she could suffer through a million.
But she supposed that didn’t matter. Gabriel was with her now.
And until the sun came up, that was all that mattered.
Chapter Two
Tonight was going to be different. He felt it.
Hell, he’d known it the second he stepped into the pub. Seeing her under the soft glow of lights much too cheap to capture her glory. The woman he loved. The woman he lived to see for just a few hours. Every second apart from her constructed another level in his personal hell. He felt cheap for being so easily defined, for being strung along for so many years by the promise of the one woman he could never have, but love knew no reasoning. No boundaries. The rules of the Order didn’t apply to love, and love certainly didn’t listen to them.
Time had not healed him. Time had only made his feelings grow almost unbearable. And being so close to her now… Something was going to change. Something was going to change tonight.
They were at the door now. Her apartment. Her bedroom. Her refuge. The place where he was welcomed once every year to forget his loneliness in the sanctuary of her body. Her body flush against his. His cock so hard he was sure the flimsy zipper on his slacks would pop. Had it been anyone else, he would have been surprised at the depth of his reaction. But it wasn’t anyone else; it was her. Jael. His golden goddess. She could smite him with a look if she wanted. So much power in her small, capable hands. It unnerved him to think himself so easily rattled.
There had been no such thing as love in his life before he met her. Before he found her three hundred years ago and was forced to let her go. Forced to forfeit their promised eternity because she could no longer be human. It had been no fault of hers. No fault of anyone’s really, though he would have loved to lay blame on someone’s shoulders. Illness was a culprit without a body, and hers had nearly killed her. He’d had no choice if he wanted to keep her in this world, regardless of the consequences. His act of saving her, turning her into a nightwalker, had taken away the only woman to whom he could see himself mated for the rest of time.
A bittersweet pang struck his heart at that. He thought of it sometimes still. Of losing himself and claiming her, to hell with the rest. He longed for the taste of her blood, the feel of her fangs, the promise of her arms. The thought alone was enough to inspire anyone to tears. Anyone who knew the agony of what he felt. Of having everything he had ever wanted right beneath his fingertips and forcing himself to let her go. Every year, he let her go all over again. Every year, he relived that horrible night when she had died in his arms. And every year, he fought the temptation to claim her. To make her his forever.
Of course, any sort of ceremony was impossible, and he felt like a fool for even entertaining the notion. Still, the thought of spending eternity with her was too rich to cast aside, even if such aspirations only filled him with sorrow. He was still so terrified of scaring her off with the intensity of his regard. He felt if she ever knew just how much he still loved her, there would be no more of this. No more tempting fate, no more tempting desire, no more challenging the decree of the Order to have their night together. No more sharing this stolen holiday with her. No more tasting each other for hours and pretending it was enough for a year. No more pretending his heart didn’t break when he left her before the sun rose and he returned to his cold, empty existence.
No more of her guiding him into their bedroom and closing the door behind them.
“Jael…”
Her hands were already busy at her top, revealing the satin of her black bra to his hungry eyes. The cream of her skin contrasted against the material was surprising in its effect. Gabriel liked fancy lingerie and scantily clad women as well as the next hormone-infused male, but he had never truly envisioned himself being so turned
-on by something that simple. Logically, he knew Jael wore bras. Hell, he had snapped her out of practically every style past generations had fed to impressionable women, always eager to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands. He had never known her to wear black. Never known her to go out of her way to look so delectable in her undergarments. Seeing her so bare fogged his eyes with lust to the point that she could be wearing a doormat and he wouldn’t notice.
His thoughts must have run away with him, for when he blinked, Jael was wearing nothing but that black bra and a pair of matching panties. And he was still fully clothed, unable to do anything but gawk at how gorgeous she was.
Jael shifted uncomfortably. “I-I wanted to try something new…for us tonight.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Her blush enchanted him. She was his seductress, his only temptation, and she somehow didn’t know it. “I was hoping you’d like.”
Gabriel released a deep breath, fighting his desire to growl something primitive and throw her on the bed. Instead, his eyes glazed over and he stepped toward her predatorily, a lump forming in his throat. “Beautiful,” he murmured again, fingers entertaining themselves at her left strap. Then his mouth couldn’t stand the torment of being parted from her flesh and his lips descended once more upon her neck, tasting her sweet skin as his arms curled under her shoulders and pulled her against him. “You’re killing me.”
“I didn’t—”
A heady gasp tumbled through her throat as his nimble fingers worked the front clasp of her bra, trembling with the knowledge that she wouldn’t like it if he ripped something she had just bought. Then he was tugging at her nipples, mouth sweeping her mouth, exploring her face with soft, sweet kisses. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You unmake me with a look,” he growled, encouraging her hands to the buttons of his top. He hadn’t gone with a suit, rather a dressier shirt and dark slacks. They had looked tonight, in his opinion, as though they were fashioned for the purpose of being together. More poetic whims that brought out the traditionalist in him, but the notion was warming nonetheless.
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