A Vampire for Christmas

chapter TWO





THE PITCH AND ROLL of the ship made it nearly impossible for Pedro Ramirez to see what was happening onshore, but the vampire captain was not to be deterred. Nothing would keep him from savoring Damien’s reaction to his special gift.



Going aloft on the rigging to the highest point on the schooner’s mast, Pedro trained the spyglass on the couple, watching the tender reunion. One which would be short-lived, if his plans were successful.



Plus, if Pedro succeeded, Angelina would be his for all eternity. A rare gift for him to savor, time and time again.



Even now, the softness of her skin was vivid on his lips. The taste of her blood lingered on his tongue as he recalled feeding from her as she lay unconscious. Her blood had filled the emptiness inside of him with life. How much sweeter it would be when she was his, as his Master had promised. Only then could he spend an eternity sipping from her whenever he wanted.



Only then could he finally say that the last shreds of decency within Damien’s soul had been lost. That the goodness that challenged Pedro each time they met and which so far had not been driven from Damien had finally been vanquished.



This time Pedro would claim Damien’s eternal soul and in so doing, own Damien’s true love Angelina, as well.



It had been a long time in coming, but Satan, who understood best the demonic power of anger, wanted his due. Pedro would be the instrument of that payment.



When Damien lifted Angelina into his arms and disappeared from sight in a blast of vampire speed, Pedro likewise retreated down the rigging to the warmth of his captain’s chambers to savor a spot of fine Cuban rum like that he had off-loaded the day before. Several more kegs would be delivered tonight and by Christmas Eve his ship would be docked in the Manasquan Inlet. While his crew enjoyed the spoils of their work, Pedro would go to Damien and Angelina just as he had during their other two meetings. Satan had led Pedro to Damien because Satan found Damien’s pain and anger powerful and wanted to make the hell-raiser one of his own minions. But so far that goal had proved elusive.



This time Pedro had something he knew Damien would kill to safeguard: Angelina’s immortal soul.



Pedro had no doubt that the threat to Damien’s beloved would goad the vampire into that final violent act. Satan had been right. Damien was filled with delightful anger. Pedro had come so close before only to have sanity, or maybe that damn meddler Angelina, prevent Damien from taking a life and sealing his eternal Fate.



But if all went as planned on this Christmas Eve night, Damien would lose his immortal soul by killing Pedro.



Not that Pedro could ever really die, he thought, entering his chambers and pouring himself a glass of rum. Not only was he a vampire, but he was also one of the Fallen Angels. Only his Master, Satan himself, or one of those blasted Goody Two-shoes Archangels could end Pedro’s existence.



If Pedro could force Damien to take a life, Satan would reward Pedro with even greater powers. Plus the bonus of everlasting life with Angelina, of course.



At the thought of having her, Pedro grew hard. Reaching down, he released himself from the stricture of his pants and stroked. Imagined burying himself in her warm depths. Drinking of her blood, so full of light and life.



Only an Angel’s blood could be so rare and satisfying.



By Christmas morning, Pedro would have Angelina as his own, he vowed. He couldn’t imagine a better present to receive.





ANGELINA WAVERED BETWEEN BOUTS of consciousness as Damien gently bathed her and tended to the wounds along her back. Two deep gashes, each nearly six inches long and located high up along her shoulder blades, marred the otherwise smooth perfection of her creamy skin. Odd wounds, made by the slice of a knife or a clean swift slash of a sword, as if cutting off an appendage. The latter made no sense to him considering the position of the injuries.



When he finished cleansing the angry furrows, Damien applied antiseptic and covered the yawning slashes with gauze. He bound the injuries with soft strips of fabric he had torn from an old flannel work shirt.



Cautiously, he rolled Angelina onto her back, but not gently enough. She moaned at the pressure and opened her eyes, gazed up him with a slightly feverish look that made her emerald eyes glitter.



I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more careful,” he promised.



Angelina sensed his distress. She gathered her waning strength, wanting to reassure him. Raising her hand, she cradled his cheek, the rasp of his evening beard prickly against her palm. He looked haggard, his skin pale even for a vampire, especially in contrast to the coal-black of his hair. Yet nothing could be more welcome than the sight of his face.



You’re really here,” she said, almost unable to fathom that she had been given the chance for which she had been praying for nearly a year. Not that her visit this time had begun as she had expected.



I can say the same, Angelina. I hoped you might return to me—”



And your prayers have been answered,” she said, guessing at why the Archangel Raphael had released her to return. Raphael had been grumbling about having to listen to constant caterwauling. She supposed he had been referring to their combined and persistent entreaties for another chance to make things right.



Damien released a harsh laugh and chided her, his handsome features twisted with resentment. “Prayers. Do you think I even believe in God after all that I’ve seen? All that I’ve done?”



She smiled sadly, but understood. From the day of his birth, Damien had been destined for nothing but pain and misery. The bastard son of a coldhearted and cruel man, Damien had known little love and much loss. But despite all his errant ways, there was goodness and love within his heart. She had seen it time and time again during his early life and so had her boss, the Archangel Raphael. As the Archangel who possessed the power of healing, Raphael had believed Damien could be cured. It was why she had been sent down nearly a century earlier to become Damien’s Guardian Angel.



Because of the strength of Damien’s spirit and goodness in spite of the adversity he had faced, Raphael wanted Damien to become one of their Angels, but only if Damien could finally prove himself worthy.



“No matter what you say you believe, my love. It’s here in your heart,” she said and lowered her hand to rest over the bare skin of his chest. He had taken off his wet and bloodied shirt to tend to her. The skin of his upper body was smooth and had been warmed by the heat from the logs burning in a nearby fireplace.



“You are what’s here,” he said and covered her hand with his own. His palms were rough from centuries of hard physical labor. Powerful, and yet in bed he was incredibly gentle and giving. Even in her weakened state, desire awoke as she thought of being with him. She didn’t want to waste a moment of her time with him.



They had only a very short time to be together, but truth be told, an eternity with Damien would not be enough for her. Even before her visit, she had been growing attracted to him as she had watched his life in preparation for her assignment. Then she had violated the first rule of being a Guardian Angel: never fall in love with your assignment. It was why Raphael had waited nearly a century before sending her back, hoping to quench that emotion so that she could perform the task she had been given.



“Come lie with me,” she said, and Damien didn’t hesitate, rising to pull off the rest of his wet clothes and then slip into the bed beside her. She shuddered at the chill the dampness his pants had left behind on the skin of his lower body.



“So sorry,” he said and transformed, awakening the heat of the vampire to warm his skin and hers.



His silver-gray eyes, which always reminded her of an ocean during a hurricane, bled out to the bright neon blue-green of the vampire. From beneath the fullness of his lips his long canines emerged. She raised her hand and ran her thumb along his lips and those lethal-looking fangs. She had no fear of him because deep in her heart she knew he would not kill.



He’d had several opportunities over the course of his long existence to do so, but each and every time he had held back, seemingly aware that taking a life would forever damn his eternal soul.



As her gaze locked with his, he spoke, the animal growl of the vampire coloring his words. “Do not place me on a pedestal. It’s too far a fall.”



“You could have killed before, but you didn’t. That young boy in 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.”