Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

NICHOLAS

I don’t know why I kissed her. I don’t buy into those old pagan myths about mistletoe—the whole “you have to kiss the person you’re with” nonsense. But after spending the last twenty-four hours stuck with her—her sweet scent, her endless chatter, her off-key singing, and that relentless cheeriness despite being chased by hitmen—I wanted to kiss her.

To shut her up.

That was all it was.

And it worked, for a little while. She’d gone quiet after our bathroom stop and all the way back to the car. Now I missed the sound of her voice. Damn her.

She reached for the car door handle, but I stopped her, my hand covering hers. “Wait. I got you something.”

Her eyes widened as I handed her the scarf. Red, green, and white with a Scandinavian pattern—reindeer, snowflakes, and Santas. Not her old one, and definitely not the black and gold one that I knew she hated, but something warm and more festive. More Holly.

“It’s not the same as the one you had,” I said gruffly, “but it’ll keep you warm.”

Her fingers brushed the soft knit as she held it to her face. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “You… you bought me this?”

I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “You were in the bathroom, and the gift shop was next door. It was only fair since I ruined your scarf saving your life.”

The softness in her gaze evaporated as she scowled at me. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t you? You couldn’t save my life without destroying my scarf?”

I blinked. “The scarf was killing you. He yanked it and knotted it around your neck. You couldn’t breathe.”

Her glare didn’t waver. “You untangle it, then! My grandmother made that scarf. It was the last thing she knitted for me before she died.” Her voice cracked as she turned away, staring at the car.

Regret twisted in my chest, a feeling I’d been growing far too familiar with lately. I laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She faced me again, blinking back tears. “No. You’re right. I’d rather have my life. I just miss her.”

“Can it be repaired?”

She laughed softly, the sound thick with emotion. “No. My grandmother tried to teach me to knit, but I never had the patience. I couldn’t sit still. Always talking, always moving.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I never would’ve guessed.”

She slugged my arm. “Ow. Not nice.” Then she shook out her hand, muttering, “Solid as a rock.” She dug around in her purse and pulled out something lime green and absurdly fuzzy. “This must be the day for gifts. I snuck out of the bathroom and got you something, too. Ta-da!”

She rose on tiptoes to wrap the monstrosity around my neck. A Grinch scarf. Complete with faux fur. I held it out, horrified. “What the hell is this?”

She beamed at me. “Now we’re both festive. Ready to go?”

Without waiting for my response, she climbed into the car. I followed, still trying to process how she’d managed to make me laugh and cringe in the same breath.

We drove in silence, Christmas music filling the car. She didn’t even sing, just hummed now and then. The quiet started to get to me.

“Thank you for the scarf,” I said at last. “It was thoughtful.”

Her lips quirked in that teasing way of hers. “You were looking cold, Vlad.”

“My name is Nicholas.”

“Does anyone call you Nick?”

“No.”

“Not even your mom?”

I glanced out at the inky blackness of the night. “No one.”

She snorted. “It seems so formal. I can’t see you as a Nicky, but Nick? Definitely.”

After a long pause, I admitted, “My sister called me Nick a few times. She was young and thought like you. My father didn’t agree.”

Her gaze flicked to me, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “What was her name?”

“Lillian. And no, we never called her Lily,” I added wryly. “Even though she hated her name.”

“When was the last time you were home?”

I hesitated. “It’s been a long time.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I sighed. “Vampires live a long time, Holly. I don’t count the years.”

She shot me a side-eye. “How old are you?”

“Older than you.”

“Obviously.”

“I was born in 1910.”

The car swerved as she gaped at me. I grabbed the wheel, steadying us. “Careful. Maybe I should’ve waited to tell you.”

Her eyes scanned me, disbelief etched on her face. “You look amazing for a hundred-plus.”

“What can I say? I eat healthy and work out.”

“That explains why you don’t drive.”

“I can drive. I just don’t like it,” I protested.

Her expression turned thoughtful, then her eyes widened. “Wait… do you pick people based on their health? Like, do you know if they’re healthy? Is someone unhealthy… bad to drink?”

I stifled a sigh. I should be used to her absurd questions. “Yes, I can tell. I prefer healthy blood. I don’t like the effects of alcohol, drugs, or illness. Others don’t care.”

Her curiosity only deepened. “So you feel the effects of alcohol and drugs? Do you get high?”

“Yes, briefly. Some vampires even keep blood servants for that purpose. It’s not my preference.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s… sad. You should help them, not use them.”

Her words echoed my own arguments with my father. Humans weren’t just food. They were a species we should learn to coexist with. But my father had disagreed, and it had cost me everything.

Her yawn pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced at the horizon, pale light beginning to edge the sky. “We need to stop for the day.”

“I made a reservation at a bed-and-breakfast.” Her gaze was fixed on the road, and her fingers flexed on the steering wheel.

Something about her careful tone, the way she avoided looking at me, put me on edge. I narrowed my eyes. “Where are we staying, Holly?”

Holly

I ’d spoken to the owner of the Yule House in Little Bethlehem, right on the border of Pennsylvania and New York, a few days ago. They knew Nicholas and I would be arriving early in the morning and promised to leave a light on for us, along with instructions for getting to our room. What I hadn’t expected was to be greeted by Mae and Harold Birnham, the owners, waiting for us in their holiday sweaters, smiles bright enough to power the town.

There was only one problem. Well, besides the explosion of Christmas cheer everywhere, which Nicholas looked like he might break out in hives over.

“You only have one room?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Mae’s smile faltered just slightly. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I thought you’d asked for one, and it’s all we have left. It’s a busy season with the Christmas Marketplace, you know.”

Nicholas shot me a glare so pointed I could practically feel it slicing through me. I ignored him. This stop had been my idea. We needed to rest anyway, and the Christmas Village here was magical. It would give him the perfect opportunity to pick out gifts for his family—because there was no way he had anything resembling a present in that black, boring duffel bag of his.

I plastered on my best smile. “That’ll be fine, Mrs. Birnham. One room is perfect. You have those shades we talked about, right? My boss is very sensitive to sunlight.”

Mae’s gaze darted curiously to Nicholas, who gave her one of his trademark blank stares. “Of course, dear. Would you like some breakfast before you settle in? Or I could bring it to your room if you’re tired.”

“We’d love it in our room, thank you,” Nicholas said smoothly, flashing a smile so charming it made Mae blush. I blinked. Where had that Nicholas been hiding?

Harold cleared his throat with a gruff sound, looking vaguely annoyed, but Mae brightened up. “Anything special for you?”

Nicholas leaned in slightly, his smile softening further. “I can already smell the baking—scones, I believe? They smell heavenly. A couple of those, please. Nothing else for me. Holly?”

“Tea and water, along with the food. Thank you so much,” I said, doing my best to look calm and not at all flustered by the performance Nicholas had just put on.

Once we were shut inside the room, I exhaled. The place was perfect—a little Christmas wonderland. The king-sized Cherrywood sleigh bed had crisp white sheets and a red-and-green duvet that practically begged me to dive in. The pillows were piled high like clouds, accented with festive plaid ones. There was even a green velvet ottoman at the foot of the bed.

A gas fireplace flickered between two windows, its flame casting a cozy glow on the garland draped over the mantle. Flameless candles flickered softly, and a gorgeous antique gold mirror hung above, making the space feel larger. Heavy, red velvet curtains framed the windows, with blackout shades tucked underneath for Nicholas’s unique needs.

Two plush chairs completed the room—one near the window and another by the fire. I could already picture myself curled up with a book, a cup of tea, and one (or three) of those scones. Too bad we were only staying for one night.

“You love this room, don’t you?” Nicholas’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

“It’s a little slice of heaven,” I admitted, my voice dreamy.

“It looks like Christmas threw up in here.” He moved past me to inspect the blackout shades like a man on a mission.

I rolled my eyes and closed the door. “I don’t know why you hate Christmas so much. It’s the most wonderful time of the year—happiness, family, people helping each other…”

He turned, one eyebrow arched. “Really? Says the woman with no family, being chased by hitmen. I’m not sure this qualifies as the most wonderful time of the year for you.”

Ouch. That stung more than I cared to admit. “You’re right,” I said, the joy in the room dimming. “I should be all doom and gloom. Maybe I’ll find some sackcloth while I’m at it.”

He barked out a laugh. “I don’t recommend it. Itchy stuff. Stick to wool sweaters.”

A knock interrupted us, and Mae and Harold entered, balancing two trays. They set them on a small table and promised to make sure no one disturbed us before slipping out.

“That’s a lot of food for one person,” I said, eyeing the trays. “But I’ll do my best.”

Nicholas gave me a flat look. “What do you mean, for one person?”

“I assumed you don’t eat because, well…” I lowered my voice. “You know.”

He smirked, leaning back against the chair. “I eat. I just also happen to need blood to survive.”

I frowned. “But you haven’t eaten anything this whole trip.”

“Because your choices are terrible. Pastries, chips, candy. Not exactly nutritious.”

I shot him a sugary smile. “Just trying to make sure my blood stays as unappealing as possible to you.”

He leaned closer, his voice low and sensual. “Trust me, Holly. Nothing could make your blood unappealing to me. But you have my word—I won’t touch you. Unless you ask.”

The intensity in his gaze made me freeze, my heart stuttering in my chest, and I felt my nipples tighten. He grinned, breaking the tension, and popped a piece of cinnamon scone into his mouth.

“Delicious,” he said with a teasing lilt. “You’d better eat before I finish it all.”