A Vampire for Christmas - By Michele Hauf Page 0,51
he could give her.
“You think you can’t have love,” she said.
Daniel shook his head, smirking. “Love is the last thing I worry about.”
“That’s too bad. Everyone needs love.”
He turned abruptly and grabbed her under the jaw. “You spent the night having sex with a vampire, Olivia. Not exactly a traditional way to spend the Christmas holiday. Think about that one, will you?”
He wandered out into the living room, but paused beside the couch, finding it difficult to move forward. He had to fist his fingers and think about bad things, dark things—himself—to resist the pull to return to her side. At Olivia’s side it was warm and bright and soft, and like nothing he’d ever had before. And her blood had tasted so damn good. Bright, unlike him.
Daniel gritted his jaw and forced out, “I’ll see you later!”
“Promise? Will you come back tonight?”
So hopeful. And for what? Another no-strings fuck? Fine with him. But if she expected love and a relationship and all the emotional baggage that accompanied it, she was going to get hurt.
Daniel palmed the front doorknob. It was probably best to hurt her sooner rather than later.
He didn’t reply to her question. Because he wasn’t sure if he could hurt her by not returning, or if he’d instead inflict that hurt on himself by returning for another kiss from the most intriguing thing that had ever happened to him.
THE GIRLS WERE ALL RIGHT, but upset he’d not shown last night, as promised. Daniel explained that he’d had something else to do and his apologies were taken with nods and heavy sighs. Their disappointment clawed at his heart. Deservedly so.
The Jones family was fine, if fine meant gritting teeth and clinging to an edge of oblivion that scared even Daniel.
He promised to show tonight, and it was imperative. The moon would be full on Christmas Eve, of all the bloody nights. The holiday wasn’t going to be merry for the Jones family. But he’d do what he could to ensure another monster did not walk the earth. He left the girls with promises and with a smile as encouraging as he could manage.
Now, if he could clear his mind of the soft, sweet-smelling Olivia. Maybe he needed to scare up a couple werewolves to keep his mind from distractions of the heart?
He didn’t have to walk far to find the dog he’d started to think of as Punch. His partner in crime was Judy—hey, the wolf wore pink tennis shoes—but he was nowhere in sight. Daniel veered across the street to avoid meeting the oncoming wolf, who hadn’t yet noticed him. Hands tucked in his jacket pockets, he doubled his pace, and only cringed when he heard the throaty chuckle and a fist smack into a palm.
Damn wolves could smell a vampire a mile away. Best thing to do? Run.
Daniel turned to face the werewolf lumbering toward him and planted his feet. A year ago his sorry-ass investment broker in crisp white shirt and gold cuff links would have run like a sissy from any threat larger than himself, despite his biweekly visits to the gym to work out. Now?
“Bring it,” Daniel muttered, and nodded to the right toward a narrow alley littered with cardboard boxes waiting garbage pickup.
The wolf veered and they strode down the alley side by side.
“You don’t have your girlfriend with you today,” Punch said. “But I can smell her on you. Tasty.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. And you lay one grimy paw on the woman and you’ll pull back a nub.”
The wolf shoved Daniel against a wall, and a garbage can clattered and rolled, spreading its packing peanut contents on the snowy tarmac. He reacted with a kick that landed on his opponent’s hip and sent him stumbling backward. His best defense was to move quickly, and he did so, pummeling the wolf with a fist to the chin, nose and ears. The ear shot had to do it, because the wolf let out a groan and balled forward in on himself.
“I’m not going to let you use me for your twisted games,” Daniel said. Hell, people depended on him. He wasn’t about to let the Jones girls down again. He delivered another punch to the wolf’s head, spinning the bruiser onto his back in a sprawl. “Haven’t you anything better to do?”
Punch spat blood to the side and grinned. “I can think of twenty better things involving your woman.”
“A nub, buddy. She’s not your plaything.”
A final punch to the temple succeeding in knocking