Holiday with a Vampire: Christmas Cravings. Caridad Pineiro
Thanks.” He walked to it, picked it up and set it onto the table. Then he looked at her meaningfully.
She frowned. “What is it?”
“Mine.”
Tessa shook her head. “I want to know what’s in my house.”
He watched her for a long second or two, then gave her a sharp nod. Tearing the strapping tape free, he opened the box, lifted out a Styrofoam packer containing dry ice, then reached deeper. He pulled out a small, plastic bag filled with…blood.
The thick red liquid sloshed back and forth while he held it and Tessa’s stomach did a quick pitch and roll. Of course. Vampire. Blood.
“Okay…” She pulled in a breath and let it go again slowly. “I just…I guess I wasn’t expecting to see that.”
“Vampire, remember?” He dropped the blood back into the box and folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve got connections at a blood bank.”
“Wow. ‘Blood bank’ sort of takes on a whole new meaning for me now.”
He frowned at her. “It’s better this way, believe me. I haven’t drunk from a living human in nearly a hundred years.”
How insane was it that she actually found that information sort of comforting?
As if he sensed her relief, he added, “That doesn’t mean things can’t change.”
“You’re deliberately trying to keep me scared,” she pointed out. “And not that it’s working, but why?”
“Because you should be.” He came around the table, laid both hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. “Others of my kind know I come here every year. Some may come looking for me. That means you’re not safe.”
“More vampires? Here?” Looking up into his deep black eyes, she shivered. “Why are they looking for you?”
He let her go and shook his head. “There’s a war brewing in the vampire world. We’re expected to take sides.”
“A vampire war?” Tessa’s voice sounded strained even to herself, as if she’d had to squeeze those words out a too tight throat. “And it’s coming here?”
“Maybe.” He scraped a hand across his jaw. “I don’t know who’s coming—hell, even if anyone is coming. Can’t be sure.”
“And if they do come, then what?” The small dribble of fear she’d felt earlier became a running river, pushing through her veins, making her mouth dry and her head feel light.
He slanted a look at her. “If they come, then you should be gone.”
Go? When she’d finally found a home? When she finally had something to live for? A chance at a life that wasn’t revolving around hiding? No.
She’d run before to save her life.
Now she would stay to fight for it. “I’m not leaving.”
“Yeah. Thought you’d say that.” Walking back to the table, he reached into the box and picked up a packet of blood. “So. Looks like I won’t be leaving tonight after all.”
“Damn straight,” she snapped, fear giving way to resolve at the thought of hordes of vampires descending on her. “You can help me make stakes…and I wonder if the church in town is open. Holy water. A bucket or two full. And…” She stopped, looked at him and said, “I know why I want the help. But why are you volunteering to stay?”
“Because I brought this here. And I’m not going to bring more death into this house.”
His gaze was dark, his features tight and every square inch of him looked poised for battle. That sense of power that clung to him filled the tiny room and practically hummed in the air.
“More death?”
“A hundred and fifty years ago,” he said quietly, “my wife and children died in this house. And I was the one who invited their killer inside.”
Chapter 5
Grayson ignored the stamp of curiosity on her features. He’d said more than he’d planned and now regretted it. But then he was used to a life filled with regrets. What was one more? Lifting his head, he reached out with the finely honed senses of his kind and smiled. “Near sundown.”
“Close. But it’s snowing, so there’s no sun anyway.”
“You have a microwave?” he asked, picking up a packet of blood and leaving the rest in the shipping box. He headed out of the secret room, not waiting to see if she followed. He’d had more than his share of small spaces crowded with too many ghosts for one day.
“Of course,” she said, coming up right behind him. “Why do you…oh.”
He stared at her, then deliberately lowered his gaze to her neck. “I prefer my blood hot.”
She swallowed hard, but she didn’t flinch this time—just stared right back at him and he had to give her points for it. All in all, Tessa Franklin was a woman who could adjust to the bizarre fairly quickly. A shame she wasn’t more careful.
If more of his kind showed up here looking for him, it was likely they wouldn’t show her the same sort of consideration he was. They’d look at her and see her only as something to drink.
Why that bothered him more than it should, he didn’t care to think about.
He walked back to the kitchen and waited while she got him a coffee mug. He smirked at the happy face stamped on it in bright yellow, but opened the packet of blood and poured it inside. Opening the microwave, he set the mug inside, closed the door and punched the timer.
While he waited, he turned to look at her in the overhead lights. Beyond the kitchen, the day was dying in a swirl of ice and snow. He saw trees bending with their heavy white burden and heard the moan of the wind as it curled around the house. He focused more sharply then, and heard the skittering footsteps of a small animal looking for shelter. There was a brush of something more, too. Not vampire. Not completely human. Something—it was gone as quickly as it had come. Had he imagined it? Was he so primed for a threat, he saw one where none existed?
He shook his head and heard the buzz of the light fixture, and the beat of Tessa’s heart. That quick, staccato rhythm told him she was more nervous than she pretended to be.
Courage or foolishness?
His mind still open to any possible threat, he reached into the microwave when the timer dinged, took out the mug and had a sip.
She frowned, but he ignored it. “We all need blood to survive, Tessa. Even humans.”
“Yeah.” She blew out a breath and looked him square in the eye, as if trying to tell him she wasn’t bothered by the sight of him drinking. “I guess you’re right. It’s just—”
“Easier to take with an IV tube?”
“Yes.”
“I am what I am. Have been for too long to apologize for it now.”
“I didn’t ask for an apology.”
Not with words. But he read her eyes. Those deep blue eyes that looked at him and saw a man— until he reminded her otherwise. He shrugged and moved to the bay window overlooking the yard and the stand of woods beyond. Changing the subject because he preferred talking of things that didn’t matter, he said, “It hasn’t really changed much over the years. You say you just bought it.”
“A few months ago.” She came up beside him with quiet steps. “The first time I saw the house, I knew I wanted it. It was as if it had been sitting here. Waiting for me.” She reached out and touched one hand to the mist on the cold window, leaving her fingerprints in the damp.