Christmas in Transylvania (9 page)

Vikar came up to get several bottles from the fridge. Fake-­O, she'd learned, was some kind of synthetic blood. Yeech!

“What are you doing now?” Vikar demanded of his wife.

“Sending Christmas cards, from you and me and the twins.”

“To whom? I can't imagine anyone who doesn't live here who'd want Christmas greetings from us.” He took a long swig from one of the bottles and grimaced, before belching.

“That was rude, Scrooge,” she said. “Ben Claussen, my old boss at
World Gazette
magazine in D.C. Tante Lulu in Louisiana. The Magnussons at Blue Dragon Vineyard. Our Amish friends. The mayor of Transylvania. The contractor who does all that work for you. I expect I'll send out about a hundred cards.”

“For the love of a troll!” Vikar grumbled, and stomped over to Lizzie, who was stirring a huge pot on the stove. “What smells so good? Is that what I think we're having for dinner?”

“Yes! Freakin' pasta and freakin' meatballs! Again!”
Freakin'
was apparently a new word for the cook, and she used it a lot. “I don't know why you vangels keep asking for it. The spaghetti gets caught in your fangs.”

“You're a vangel, too,” Vikar pointed out as he dipped a hunk of bread into the sauce and took a big, appreciative bite. “Ummm, good!”

“I may be a vangel, but that don't mean I have to like freakin' pasta all the time. You'd think you were eye-­tall-­yans, instead of Vikings.”

“You have any more of those rum balls left?”

“No. Someone hid them.” She glanced pointedly toward Alex, who pretended to be studying her list.

“Oh, one more thing, Vikar,” Alex said. “You haven't picked your name for the Secret Santa yet.”

“The what?”

“Secret Santa. There are too many ­people here for us all to exchange gifts. So, everyone's name goes into a bowl, then you only have to buy one present.”

“That's the dumbest thing I ever heard,” Vikar as Alex shoved a fishbowl half-­filled with slips of paper toward him.

He took one of the papers out, and read, “Regina.”

“You fool! You're not supposed to tell anyone. It's a secret.”

“I would not have a clue what to buy for Regina. I think she's brewing witchly potions up in her bedchamber again.”

“Maybe you could give her some dried newts or whatever she cooks in that cauldron.”

“I caught her gathering bat shit one time.”

“You did not!”

He shoved his paper back in the bowl and picked another one. “That is better,” he said, tucking the paper in the back pocket of his jeans. “I will buy him a new sword.”

“You can't spend more than twenty dollars,” she told him.

“When will we be exchanging these gifts?”

“Christmas morning. Santa will be passing them out.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Santa?”

“Yep. Santa Claussen. A jolly old Viking soul.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Honey?”

“Pfff! I'm going to need more convincing than that.” On that warning note, Vikar winked and left.

“You two get along so well. How long have you been married?” Faith asked.

“Two years.”

“But your children . . .” She started to say that the children were older than that.

“Gunnar and Gunnora are sort of adopted.”

“Sort of?”

“It's a long story,” Alex said with a laugh. “Let's just say they're Vikar's grandchildren about dozens of times removed.

That was about as clear as mud.

“And you believe all this stuff about vampire angels?”

“Hard not to when I'm sleeping with one. Happily, I might note.”

“I don't understand.”

“You really don't need to understand it all unless you plan on hanging around.” She gave Faith a pointed look.

“Why would I do that?”

“Karl?”

“Hard to stick with a guy who won't even talk to me.”

“Oh, that's just because Michael ordered him to stay away from you.”

“Why would he do that?”

“The usual. Karl's a vangel. You're a human. He's sterile. You will probably want babies. If you marry, you would only live as long as he does . . . that could be a hundred days or a hundred years or hundreds of years.” Alex shrugged.

“Did Michael do the same thing with you and Vikar?”

“Oh, yeah. And with Trond and Nicole, and Ivak and Gabrielle, and Mordr and Miranda.”

“How did you overcome Michael's objections?”

“There's nothing like a determined Viking, that's all I can say.”

“Well, that's it then. Karl isn't determined about me.”

“I don't know about that. I think it's more that Karl feels he has nothing to offer you. You would be giving up too much to be with him.”

“Are you kidding me? He's like gorgeous, and I'm skinny and plain as a broom. My home is a rusty old firetrap of a trailer. I've been living with a man who beats on me. My brother was in prison, probably still is.”

“I doubt Karl looks at you that way. In fact, I know he doesn't. And don't put yourself down, girl. You've had some bad luck, but you're very pretty.”

Faith shrugged. “It's not fair that someone else should decide what's good or bad for me. Seems to me that I should have some say about it.”

“Well, he is an archangel.”

“I meant Karl.”

“That's the attitude.”

Faith didn't immediately go looking for Karl. She had a lot to think about. Even if Karl did love her, even if he wanted a relationship with her, she wasn't sure she could handle this kind of life. She still had trouble believing that he was a vampire angel and all that implied.

Nicole returned to the castle with the children then, and they all somehow moved en masse to the TV lounge area, along with Gabrielle, who'd come downstairs, carrying a baby monitor, as she had left her little one napping.

Armod was there watching a
Thriller
video, which he moved to turn off, but the twins begged him to show them once again how to moonwalk. They were all soon up on their feet learning the Michael Jackson dance step. Armod had the moves down pat. The twins kept tripping over their little feet. And the rest of them were adequate at best. But Faith found herself laughing, which was a welcome change from her misery.

Then Nicole offered to teach them the latest dance popular on the West Coast. It was a combination of dirty dancing and the shag, which they did to the slow beat of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” Then Gabrielle taught them how to do the Cajun two-­step to the very un-­Cajun “Jingle Bells.” By then, they were all laughing. Armod was high-­fiving those closest to him. Several others vangels had joined them, including Regina, the witch vangel. Regina surprised them all by suggesting Pharrel Williams's happy dance. She gave Armod the evil eye when he laughed at her.

Heck, they were all laughing, and Gunnar and Gunnora were rolling on the floor with a fit of the giggles.

“How about you, Faith?” Alex asked then. “What is your favorite dance?”

“Well, I haven't been out dancing in ages, but I like country music and line dancing.” Soon, about twelve of them were lined up, dipping and swaying and shimmying and wiggling their butts to the rhythm of “Jingle Bell Rock.”

At first, they didn't notice their audience, probably because the music had been turned up so loud, but when they clapped their hands, spun on their feet, and did a low bump and grind, Faith heard a male voice say, “Lord have mercy!”

It was Karl. He was standing at the forefront of a group of men who'd come up from their mission-­impossible stuff in the basement. His jaw had dropped, and he was gaping at her, in particular at her jeans, which were loose and had dropped low on her hips, exposing her belly button.

Big fat hairy deal!
“What?” she said, stopping suddenly and putting her hands on her hips. “It's a sin to dance now?”

His mouth snapped shut. “No, but the wicked thoughts I have watching you dance like that surely are.”

“That's your problem. Not mine.”

He blinked at her angry retort. Thus far, he'd only seen her meek side. She had news for him. She hadn't always been a doormat.

The others stopped, too, noticing their spectators.

“What in bloody hell are you doing now, Alex?” Vikar shouted over the booming music. “The townfolks could hear you all a mile away. Have you lost your minds?”

“Yes, and it's fun. C'mon, honey, join us.”

Vikar laughed. “Not in this lifetime.” He went over to turn down the music, but Trond and Ivak stopped him as they began to dance, quite expertly, with their wives.

Karl turned to Faith, and said, “I was just coming to find you when we heard the music.”

“That's a likely story. You didn't have any trouble finding me the past week.” She shoved past him and went out into the hall.

“Huh? Where are you going? I need to tell you something.”

“I need to tell you something, too. A lot of somethings, and I'd rather not have an audience when I do. Where's my car?” She opened the door and started down the stairs leading to the dungeon-­turned-­basement-­dormitory/TV room/exercise area. From there, she assumed there would be access to the underground parking garage.

“Why? Why do you need to find your car?”

“So I can leave.”

“What? Leave? Where are you going? You can't leave. Not yet. I mean, you're going to want to stay when you hear about the surprise I have for you.”

She stopped suddenly. “Another present? You avoid me for a week, then you get me a present and think everything will be hunky-­dory?”

He smiled. “Hunky-­dory?”

She did not return his smile. “Could you be more clueless? A present?”

“Sort of.”

“Screw your present,” she said, and turned to walk away from him. They were still in the basement corridor leading toward the garages.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her into a small room that was padded with mats on the floors and walls. Some kind of combat-­exercise room, she supposed. He kicked the door shut behind them.

“Faith, I have something to confess to you.”

“It better be that you love me like crazy,” she said, jabbing him in the chest with a forefinger.

He backed up a bit.

“ . . . and you can't live without me . . .”

Another jab.

Another step back.

“ . . . and it doesn't matter what Michael says. You want to marry me and make me your lifemate or soul mate or whatever the hell you call it.”

She had jabbed again, this time harder, and he was backed against the wall.

“What? No! I mean, yes, that's how I feel, but it's not why I came looking for you. It's about—­”

“I don't care about anything else.” She rose on her tiptoes, put her hands on his shoulders, and looked up at him. “Do you love me?'

“With all my dead heart.”

She growled. “If you were able, would you ask me to stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“Then why aren't you determined?”

“Huh?”

“Why aren't you fighting for me?”

“Fighting whom?”

“Michael.”

He groaned. “You want me to fight an archangel?”

“Not
fight
fight. Convince him that you need me.”

“I do need you.”

The hands that were on his shoulders wrapped around his fool neck. “I am so mad at you I could spit, but I have missed you so much. And you haven't missed me at all.”

“Are you crazy? I haven't missed you?” He lifted her up so that she had to wrap her legs around his hips to keep from falling. In that position, she felt his hardness pressing against her.

Yep, he'd missed her.

He was kissing her ravenously then.

And she was kissing him back.

He turned so that she was against the padded wall. Only his erection pinned her in place because his hands were busy unbuttoning her blouse, undoing her bra, and cupping her breasts from underneath to strum the nipples with his callused thumbs. The whole time, he continued to deep-­kiss her, his moans and her groans the only sounds in the room.

She reached between them and palmed his . . .
What had he called it?
. . . his “enthusiasm.”

“Aaaaah!” he said, as his knees gave way. He took her with him to the padded floor. And there he showed her fifty ways to Sunday just how much he missed her.

The air swirled with the scent of peppermint and cotton candy, which should have been sickeningly sweet but was instead erotically sweet. Faith didn't think she would ever think of peppermint sticks or candy canes in the same way again. And as for cotton candy, Karl showed her with his mouth and teeth and tongue and sticky fingers just how he could eat the sweet confection . . . i.e. her.

They rolled. Him on top. Then her on top. Over and over.

He plunged.

She rode him.

He licked.

She bit.

They were on one side of the mattress floor, then the other.

In the end, she was on all fours and Karl was taking her from behind when she came to a wild crescendo of climaxes, one after another. She howled like a banshee.

Then Karl roared out his own climax.

Good thing the room was soundproof.

He collapsed on top of her, but she didn't mind his weight. Maybe she was dead, she joked with herself. She sure felt like she'd passed to the other side, of something.

“I love you,” he said against her ear.

“I love you, too,” she said in a muffled voice.

Laughing, he rolled over to his back, tucking her head on his chest. Her braid had come undone, and he stroked some of the loose strands off her face.

“I assume you talked with Alex, and that's what brought on this uproar,” he said.