Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Kindred, Book 8.1)

  Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas

  -A Kindred Christmas Novella-

  From Michel's POV

  The View From Here Compendium Series: Volume II

  Kindred Series, Book 8.1

  By Nicola Claire

  Copyright © 2013, Nicola Claire

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-473-26902-9

  nicolaclairebooks.blogspot.com

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Cover Art by Nicola Claire

  Image credit: 123RF Stock Photo

  Image # 16007790

  Font credit: Last Soundtrack "EpoXY histoRy"

  More books by Nicola Claire:

  Kindred Series

  Kindred

  Blood Life Seeker

  Forbidden Drink

  Giver of Light

  Dancing Dragon

  Shadow's Light

  Entwined With The Dark

  Kiss Of The Dragon

  Mixed Blessing Mystery Series

  Mixed Blessing

  Sweet Seduction Series

  Sweet Seduction Sacrifice

  Sweet Seduction Serenade

  Sweet Seduction Shadow

  Sweet Seduction Surrender

  Sweet Seduction Shield (Early 2014)

  Elemental Awakening Series

  The Tempting Touch Of Fire

  The Soothing Scent Of Earth (Late 2013)

  For: Those readers who wanted to see a little

  more of Michel & Lucinda.

  Thanks for loving them as much as I have.

  This one's for you.

  Definitions

  Accord – A blood binding agreement, often between two parties of equal power; cannot be broken.

  Álfheimr – (Fey) Faerie. Home to the Fey.

  Bond – The connection between joined kindred Nosferatu and Nosferatin; reflects the emotional and psychological relationship. Enables both parties to find each other over distance; to perform whatever is required to get to that person, overcoming any obstacle; to direct thoughts to each other; to feed off the life force of each other. It is always an equal exchange.

  Final death – The true death of a Nosferatu. There can be no survival from the final death.

  Glaze – The ability to influence another. It requires direct eye contact and Sanguis Vitam to insert the influence. Usually a Nosferatu skill, allowing a vampire to influence a human.

  Iunctio – (Latin). The Nosferatu connection and governing power. All vampires are connected to one another via this supernatural information exchange highway; enabling sharing of rules, locations of safe havens and hot spots to avoid. It is powered by both Nosferatu and Nosferatin Sanguis Vitam, but is operated by the Nosferatu in Paris. There are twelve members of the Iunctio council, headed by the Champion. The Iunctio is tasked with policing all supernaturals throughout the world.

  Joining – The marriage of a kindred Nosferatu with a kindred Nosferatin. Upon joining the Nosferatu will double their Sanguis Vitam and the Nosferatin will come into their powers, but for the Nosferatin, their powers will only manifest after reaching maturity; the age of 25. The joining will also make the Nosferatin immortal. A symbiotic relationship, should one member of the joining die, the other will too. Without a joining, the Nosferatin would die one month passed their 25th birthday. The joining also increases the power of the Iunctio and Nosferatu as a whole.

  Kindred – A Nosferatu or Nosferatin sacred match, a suitable partner for a joining. To be a kindred there must exist a connection between the Nosferatu and Nosferatin; only those suitably compatible will be kindred to the other.

  Line – The family of a master vampire, all members of which have been turned by the master, or accepted via blood bond into the fold.

  Lux Lucis Tribuo – (Latin) The Giver of Light. The third part of the Prophesy. The Lux Lucis Tribuo is charged with balancing the Dark in Dark vampires out with their Light.

  Master – A Nosferatu with the highest level of Sanguis Vitam. There are five levels of Master, from level five – the lowest on the Sanguis Vitam scale, to level one – the highest on the Sanguis Vitam scale. Only level one Masters can head a line of their own. Some Nosferatu may never become Masters.

  Nosferatin – (Nosferat–een) - A vampire hunter by birth. Nosferatin were once of the same ilk as Nosferatu, descendants from the same ancestors, or God. The Nosferatin broke off and turned towards the Light. Their sole purpose is to bring the Nosferatu back from the Dark, this can include dispatching them, bringing them the final death, when they cannot be saved. They are now a mix of human and Nosferatin genetics.

  Nosferatu – A vampire. The Nosferatu turned towards the Dark, when their kin, the Nosferatin turned towards the Light. They require blood to survive and can be harmed by UV exposure and silver. They do not need to breathe or have a heart beat. They are considered the undead.

  Pull – The Nosferatin sense of evil. Guides a hunter to a Dark vampire; sometimes, but not always a rogue, who is about to feed off an innocent.

  Sanguis Vitam – (Latin) The Blood Life or life force of a Nosferatu. It represents the power they possess. There are varying degrees of Sanguis Vitam.

  Sigillum – (Latin) A permanent mark of possession.

  Turned – The action of changing a human into a vampire.

  Vampyre – Old term for vampire; used rarely in modern language.

  Chapter 1

  Wake Up

  The dream had been exquisite. But then, whenever I dream of her it always is. Beautiful. Carnal. Delicious. I lick my lips and taste her blood on my tongue, a residual of fantasy, nothing more. Lucinda's blood does not taste the way it used to. It is more than before.

  I have yet to decide whether I like it.

  For a five hundred year old vampyre I handle change ridiculously poorly.

  The reason for my abrupt wakeful state is currently digging stinging needles of agony into my spine. I roll over, and like the idiot I seem to be of late, reach beneath my back to haul the offending object out. The smell of burnt flesh assails my nose before my mind cottons on to the fact my fingers are being burnt by silver.

  Merde!

  "Lucinda," I say, without a note of emotion in my voice. "Is there a reason why one of your stakes is in the bed?"

  "Hmm?" she mumbles, and even the sound of the incoherent word falling off her lips makes my body stir. "What'sthematter?" she mumbles, words tumbling one after the other in a waterfall of luscious sound.

  "This," I say, letting the offending article drop from my fingers onto her, now more than ever, ample bosom. The skin on my fingertips begins to heal immediately. The smell of burnt flesh doesn't dissipate quite so easily.

  "Oh," she announces, clarity making it through the fog of sleep at last. "I wondered where that had got to."

  She rises to a sitting position in a motion I would never have thought I'd see my hunter display. Like a wallowing hippopotamus, the tangled blankets making for turbulent waves. If she could read my mind right now there would be hell to pay, I realise. So I hastily replace the image of a struggling oversized river mammal with one far more fitting my beautiful kindred.

  The naughty dream providing the material with relative ease.

  "Arghh," she moans, and
immediately I am beside her, rubbing her back and offering support. "How much longer will it be?"

  "Any day now, ma douce." She is fit to pop, I cannot see this going on much longer. She'll have these babies by Christmas Eve, I am sure of it.

  "This sucks," she declares. "And it's all your fault."

  Of course it is.

  "Yes, my dear. I know," I assure her softly. "But think what we'll have at the end of it?" Images of our babies lying in our arms, as we sit before the large Christmas tree adorning our sitting room, float through my mind.

  Our babies. My hand begins to rub across her distended belly, the awe I have felt, from the moment she informed me we were pregnant, having only expanded in size, not diminished.

  A small foot nudges my palm, making a horror movie image out of Lucinda's bare skin where I lift her night shirt up to see. Ah, one of my children will be a dare devil. I think perhaps the boy. But given Lucinda's nature, it may well end up being the girl. A smile spreads across my lips at the unexpected excitement I feel at getting to know their personalities soon.

  Lucinda leans her body into me, her head heavy on my shoulder.

  "I feel like a hippopotamus," she declares, and I swear for a second I stop breathing. Then remind myself that Lucinda is nothing if not vocal when she dips inside my head and sees something she does not like. If she knew my momentary lapse in judgement earlier had involved images of a hippopotamus, she would surely have let her ire be known.

  "Of course not," I reassure her. "You are delightful."

  "Delightful?"

  "Delicious," I correct, nuzzling my face into the curve of her neck. At least she smells the same. Candied apples and sunshine, honey and Spring.

  "I don't feel delicious," she advises and my heart squeezes with the weight of self doubt she carries in her tone.

  "You appear more beautiful to me with every single day," I murmur, my fangs slipping out uninvited; being near her enough to cause the involuntary reaction. Hearing her despondency making the desire to protect her even more fierce.

  "So, when the twins arrive and I go back to being me again you'll miss the belly?"

  Ah. How does one answer that? Is this a trick question?

  I settle for, "I will love you no matter your size."

  She pushes away from my hold and rises with surprising grace. Anger clearly making her more supple than her frame should allow. I lean back on my outstretched arms and take a slow, intimate perusal of her body. Yes, any way I can get her, I will take.

  "Stop looking at me like that."

  "Like what?" I notice my voice is a seductive purr.

  "Like you want to eat me all up."

  "What is wrong with that? I always want you."

  Her delicate fisted hands move to her hips, which reminds her she's perhaps a little wider in that region than before. The fingers unclench and she slowly removes them from their perch, a look of utter dejection gracing her face.

  I am not sure what to say to reassure her. This is not the Lucinda I am used to. When I look at her, I see the strong, independent, courageous woman I have always seen. The sexy, confident, alluring hunter she was the first day I watched her handle a stake. I see the mother of my children. The love of my life. The very air I breathe. The very blood that fuels my veins. She is everything to me. And not once when I look at her do I see anything other than perfection.

  A small amused smile curves the corner of those kissable lips, a soft pink blush rising over her cheeks.

  "Well, then," she husks, and I am instantly ready. "I suppose I'll just have to ignore the hormones then."

  I blink. Did I project those thoughts?

  "Loud and clear," she murmurs, turning towards the bathroom. Before I have a chance to feel anything other than relief she hadn't seen my earlier thoughts, she throws over her shoulder, making me forget everything else but her and yes! "I'm having a shower, wanna scrub my back?"

  I am on her in a split second, my lips trailing down her neck and across her shoulder. Mon Dieu, I love this woman. My hands slip around her torso to find her breasts, making sure my touch is gentle. She feels so much more right now, I have to ease her into this. A moan escapes her lips as we come to stop in front of the oversized shower. I am thankful again for the premier suite in the hotel we have commandeered. The shower stall large enough to house several pregnant Lucindas, should the world turn into my most fervent dream.

  "Now that's just whacked, Michel," she says, breaking into my thoughts of what more than one Lucinda could accomplish in the confines of a bathroom.

  I can't help it, the laughter erupts before I am able to stop it. I have to agree with her, sometimes my dreams are most disturbing in an entirely erotic way.

  "One of you is quite enough," I whisper into her ear, my teeth nipping at the lobe, making her body tremble.

  I reach past her and press the buttons, on the electronic display, to a setting I had programmed into the device earlier. Four separate rain shower heads begin to pour soft waterfalls of heated water strategically in the stall. Pressure nozzles rotate to exactly the right angle to massage Lucinda where I know she needs it most. I gently slip her night clothes over her head and encourage her under the sprays.

  A moan of impressed delight springs from her lips and she spins slowly to look at me with widened eyes.

  "This is perfect," she exclaims, obviously feeling the jets of water over her lower back, massaging the ache I know has taken up residence there.

  My eyes slide hungrily over her sun-kissed rounded form, watching the trickles of shower water roll over that smooth skin. I want to lick it all off. To trace the path the droplets take. Magenta bathes the stall momentarily. My vampyre wanting this as much as I.

  "Are you getting in?" she asks, lips twitching. "Or just here for the show?"

  Then the little minx sets my pulse racing as first one hand smooths over her right breast, and then the other dips languidly down her stomach towards the dark treasure of curls between her thighs. I act quickly, because I know in her current state reaching her goal will be slightly awkward. I do not wish for her to lose her train of thought. It's too delicious.

  My hand covers hers, then resolutely sweeps lower, leaving her to move both palms to her breasts. She sighs when my finger finds its goal. I watch her reaction as though the fate of the world lies in it. Her lids lower, her lips part on a breath of heated expelled air, and her head tips back, almost rolling on her shoulders. I move to support her weight, one arm around her back, hugging her hip into my groin, the other delving deeper into a moist channel of molten fire.

  How can she not find her current shape sexy? Her responses, when she lets herself go, are completely awash with passion and fire. To bring her to orgasm like this is such a simple, but decadent task. I live for these moments. In a world that has changed beyond my wildest imaginings, Lucinda grounds me, yet conversely sets me free.

  "Oh, ma douce," I murmur, my fangs aching to taste her there. "You are so beautiful."

  "Michel," she sighs, then gasps as the orgasm claims her.

  I have never seen anything in my very long life as exquisite as this. For a moment I can't breathe. I am locked in a vision even my dreams are unable to replicate. There is no word for how magnificent she is.

  Then my vampyre-within rises. I do not fight him, he has every right to this beauty as I. When she relaxes against my frame, I lay a soft kiss on her temple and then turn her toward the tiled wall. We have had to become inventive as her waistline expands, but the challenge is part of the fun.

  I lift her hands to the wall exactly where I want her, reaching over and pressing another series of buttons on the electronic controls for the shower. The rain shower heads become a gentle patter of water droplets across her shoulders and back, the jets manoeuvre themselves to stimulate her breasts and between her legs.

  "Oh, fuck," she breathes and my vampyre growls his hunger, responding to the momentary crack in her armour. My Lucinda has always been so responsive, but rig
ht now she is lost to her desire, just like me.

  "Spread your legs," I murmur in her ear. The heat arcing between us is an inferno. "Ride the jets of water as if you were riding me."

  A sound full of lust escapes her lips making my organ jump in eager anticipation. Should I let her come again before I fill her aching void?

  Yes. The joy I get at seeing Lucinda let go is almost as good as the feeling of her sheathing my length in her hot, wet channel. I ache to bury myself inside, but the wait will be so much more exquisite if she comes again.

  Her head falls forward as her breaths begin to saw out of her, her chest rising and falling in such rapid succession I fear for a moment I am pushing her and the babies too far. But then she moans. A sound that reaches right down through the centre of me and strokes the hardened length of my shaft. I moan with her, my fangs scraping the side of her neck, a trickle of blood on my tongue almost making me lose my load.

  A whimper, followed by a crescendo of sound that even through the soundproofed walls of our chamber I am sure my vampyres will hear. The dragon-within approves.

  She is ours, he says. Let them hear her cries of pleasure.

  I am lost. To her scream of release. To the glistening shine of her skin under the water. To the smell of her arousal. I pull her hips back, moving her from the stimulation of the shower jets and then palming my erection, I guide myself inside.

  Oh, sweet heaven. A growl of possession fills the space we're in. My body expands with desire. Her grip so sure, so tight, so hot. I am lost for a moment, entirely unable to think or act or move. Just the heat of her. The feel of her. The sound of her begging for more. For a suspended second I savour it all, I wrap her around my senses, around my body, my heart, and then, as if I could delay this any longer, I let myself go.

  I worship her with slow, purposeful thrusts, in and out, and out and in, over and over again. I could die the final death right now, and if not for the fact that she would die alongside me, I'd be a very happy man indeed.