A Vampire for Christmas - By Michele Hauf Page 0,36

visited as a kid. If he had Charlotte, he may have taken her there.

The lights from the main house didn’t extend to where the cottage stood at the edge of the forest, dark and forgotten. Years ago, his mother had used it as a potting shed, but now, it was rarely occupied. The mansion was more than big enough to accommodate any guests.

The closer he got, the more certain he was that Charlotte was somewhere inside. He could feel the pull of her blood. Whipping out his phone, he sent a quick text to Jackson then stuffed the thing back into his pocket just as he reached the white picket fence.

He knew he should circle the cottage to assess the situation and wait for backup, but fury clouded his judgment. He couldn’t stand to have Charlotte spend another moment inside.

In three strides he was on the porch. Then with one mighty kick, he brought the front door down.

Charlotte was slumped in a wooden chair in the center of the room with Sebastian leaning over her. He snapped his head up when Trace crashed into the room, surprise registering on his face. Fangs hung from his mouth and blood—Charlotte’s blood—trickled down his chin.

A burning rage shot through Trace’s system, ringing in his ears.

“Motherfucker!” Trace launched himself at his cousin.

His right hook made contact with the side of the guy’s head, while his left hook got him in the belly. Sebastian doubled over, but he didn’t go down.

“A relationship…with a human…can’t work, Trace. You of all people should know that.” Sebastian groaned as he straightened up and flashed a weak-assed smile. “In fact, did you know…those were the exact words…your grandfather said to mine…the day he stole the Council seat…from us?”

“But why would you go after Charlotte? She’s innocent.”

“I was thirsty, what can I say?” Sebastian touched the corner of his mouth where Trace had hit him.

“That’s bullshit. You’re a coward, that’s what you are. I’m the one you should’ve come after, not her.”

“Who says I didn’t? I kill Charlotte, but you take the blame because they assume you fucked up and took too much of her blood. You lose your seat on the Council, and it shifts back to the Tafts, where it rightfully belongs.”

The next punch knocked his cousin all the way down and Trace jumped to Charlotte’s side. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” But she didn’t answer. Gently, his cradled her face in his hands. Her normally rosy lips were tinged blue and her skin was cold. Sebastian had taken too much from her.

Without thinking, Trace pulled out his scorpion blade and drew it across his wrist. As the blood welled up, he held it to her mouth.

“Drink,” he commanded her.

But she remained still, lifeless in his arms.

Clutching her body to his, he yelled to the heavens. The only time in his life he’d ignored his duty, forgotten his promise to his father and dared to love the forbidden had resulted in this unspeakable tragedy.

The woman he loved was gone.

HUSHED VOICES CAME from somewhere faraway. Charlotte knew she should open her eyes but the effort was just too much. She was so tired. So cold. All she wanted to do was sleep.

Strong arms lifted her up and her face pressed into the hard, warm plane of someone’s chest. He smelled of sandalwood and Christmas trees. Trace.

If only she could hold him one more time. Tell him how much she loved him before she had to go. As her life force ebbed out, faint memories flashed before her, including the first time she and Trace had been together.

Just as she’d suspected, she’d loved him then, as well.

More jostling, more voices, then something warm touched her lips.

If only she could tell him just one more time….

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“JUST BE PATIENT,” his grandmother said. “These things can take time.”

It had been twenty-four hours since he’d first found Charlotte in the cottage with Sebastian, her body nearly drained of blood.

As Guardians took care of Sebastian, he ministered to Charlotte.

Desperately, he’d given her some of his own blood, but she was too far gone for it to do any good. It was only when he rushed her back to the house that his grandmother suggested her one hope was to become a changeling.

He knew these things required approval by the Council after a lengthy waiting period. But Charlotte didn’t have that kind of time.

His grandmother hadn’t hesitated. She’d grabbed the scorpion blade from Trace and drawn it across her wrist, then held it