A Vampire for Christmas - By Michele Hauf Page 0,72
the alley who stole your food—”
“Was younger and hungrier than I was. Anyone would have done the same,” he parried with his words as quickly as he did with his sword and fists. She had always thought Damien made a better pairing with the warrior Archangel Michael, but it had been Raphael who had taken up Damien’s cause.
“Not Ramirez,” she argued, certain there was no goodness in the vampire captain.
The paleness of Damien’s skin grew even lighter, almost translucent. It made a stark contrast to the pitch-black of his hair, which shimmered with touches of steel-blue from the light of the fire. Softly, he urged, “Do not ruin this moment by speaking of him. All that matters is that we’re together now.”
“I must speak of him, because…” She hesitated, unsure that Damien would believe her. And she worried that if he did, the temper that had earned him his reputation and his short mortal life would erupt.
“What is it, Angelina? Surely after all that has happened between us you can tell me what troubles you.” He cradled her cheek with his rough, but caring hand. The warmth of his transformation seeped into her, driving away some of the chill in her body. Deep within, however, fear and doubt remained, which was not good considering her role in his life. Before she could trust him with more of the truth, she had to master her own emotions. Her own fears, doubts and hopes, which had, in part, been responsible for her failure to save him during her prior two visits.
“I’m tired, Damien. I’d like to rest,” she fibbed, hoping that God would forgive her the one little white lie necessary for her to fulfill her celestial obligation.
Understanding filled Damien’s gaze and his eyes grew hooded with worry. He pulled the sheets higher, tucking them tight around her the way a parent might lovingly swaddle a child.
“Rest, Angelina,” he replied, saying her name in a voice that seemed as if he was convincing himself that she was really there. Then he continued. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and this time I intend on it being a happy one.”
CHAPTER THREE
DAMIEN DIDN’T KNOW WHAT woke him, only that there was an undeniable presence in the room. Something powerful and otherwordly that beat against his preternatural senses. He came instantly alert and reached for Angelina protectively, but she was no longer beside him.
He had cared for her during the past few hours, feeding her sips of nourishing broth made from the few limp vegetables and a small chunk of dried beef he’d found in the larder. Only blood provided him true sustenance, but on occasion he would have a guest, usually one of the hungry, traveling laborers. They were trying to find work and something to fill their bellies during the economic depression gripping the country.
The broth had seemed to offer her strength, and he had tended to her wounds, surprised by how quickly she appeared to be healing. Not less than an hour ago the skin on her back had begun knitting over the ugly gashes.
But now she was gone, he thought, sitting up quickly only to find Angelina standing at the window, staring out at the night. She was bathed in the platinum light of the full moon. The beams caressed her and streamed beyond the outline of her body, making her look ethereal. Angelic, he thought fancifully, until she turned, revealing the beauty of her naked body. Then, the only thoughts he had were purely sinful.
“Come to bed, my love,” he said, the purr of the vampire tingeing his voice as need slammed into him. His erection tented the light sheet as he became painfully hard. His desire for her had grown exponentially in the year they had been apart.
“I cannot,” she replied with outstretched hands, her palms raised to the heavens, almost in supplication. To his surprise, tiny pinpricks of light gathered there and slowly grew in size, illuminating the room with an intense golden glow. When the shimmering light spread along the perimeter of the space, the room changed before his eyes, almost as if he were watching a Saturday matinee movie play on the walls.
The window behind Angelina vanished and the white of the nearby wall became the rough-hewn stucco and dark wood of a familiar sight—the sailor’s saloon where he had first met Angelina just over a century earlier.
“What’s going on? How is this happening?”
“Twice before I was sent to you, Damien,” she answered, her voice filled with strength