Page 19 of A Vampire for Christmas
Without another word, I dart out the front door and back to the road.
Findingher rental is simple enough. The door is coded, but a snap of my wrist breaks the handle and renders the technology useless.
The cabin is a bit larger than mine, the wood a deep brown—though more from age than design. The open-concept spaceconnects the living area—with its fireplace and the floor-to-ceiling window Sawyer described—to the kitchen on the other side. A small island counter breaks up the room. Stairs run up to my left, leading to a loft-like bedroom area with a king-sized bed overlooking the cabin. Between the window and fireplace is a decent-sized tree, exactly what Sawyer said, though undecorated.
By human standards, it’ll do. Once tracking and killing its current owner, we’ll be able to claim it for ourselves. Then again, maybe this will simply remain a vacation spot, and I’ll find her a grander one, somewhere closer to a town.
Either way, tonight, my human will receive a Christmas that satisfies all her wishes.
CHAPTER 9
Sawyer
After Lucianrandomly disappears and doesn’t immediately return—seriously, what the fuck?—I’m forced to trust hewillreturn at some point, and after everything, this isn’t some weird ploy to abandon me.
My much-needed snack, combined with my pitiful attempt at track and field through the woods, drags my limbs down. By the time I reach the bathroom, washing my face with my proper cleanser and brushing my teeth with my own things—courtesy of Lucian’s trip to my smashed car—are my only goals for the night. Without changing out of his clothing, I slide into bed.
Sleep comes quickly, only being interrupted when a body—a very male body—slides in beside me. Awareness drags me halfway to the surface so I can check the time on my phone: four in the morning.
Lucian nudges me closest to the wall and presses into my back. I don’t fight as he tosses an arm over my hip and brings me tight against him.
Maybe it’s insane to feel comforted by a man—a being—I’ve only just met—my would-be murderer. A fucking vampire, which is still mind-blowing on its own. It also means sharp fangs and a strength I’d have no chance in hell against.
For every red flag he hoists in the air, he’s never harmed me, so I need to believe he won’t. Maybe I’m certifiably insane, but what do I really have to lose by trusting him?
Lucian buries his face in the curve of my neck. His cool breath along my nape drives any lingering anxiety away. “Back to sleep. I got you.”
No one’s ever had me before. But…I think Lucian just might.
For now, I pass back out, praying I’m not the stupidest human alive.
Because in this moment, I feel like the luckiest.
Without windows,my phone is the only indicator of time—but checking it would mean somehow climbing over Lucian, who, I realize, is probably awake. Because, as fiction claims and apparently got right, vampires don’t sleep.
Suddenly, the arm around my hip gets heavier, tighter, and I’m yanked right up to his body, exactly like how I fell asleep. His low chuckle, followed by a groan, confirms he’s awake. His hand drifts down, over my hip and beneath the edge of his hoodie, before slowly creeping back up until resting on the span of my stomach.
His other arm, which slid beneath the pillow overnight, curls around my neck, bringing me up against him so there isn’t a place we’re not touching. He inhales deeply, sighing into my hair.
He inhales a lot, but I assumed vampires don’t need to breathe. Maybe this is his strange way of complimenting me.
His palm traces slow, sensual circles across my stomach, while his sinful-as-fucking-hell lips skate up and down my neck. They entice the same sensations as his fangs on my arm didyesterday. A way that should have me running for the next mountain over instead of urging him to continue—to feed.
Surely, it’s ridiculous to be having this effect over someone so soon.
His fingers crawl up my stomach, hovering by the edges of my breasts, but don’t touch. My nipples are tight beneath my—his, technically—shirt, and my hips rock forward and back once, subtly, trying to urge him to move while avoiding outward proof of my desire.
Because there shouldn’tbeany desire. I’m an idiot with a death wish, but apparently a horny one at that.
His teeth, no different than mine at the moment, lightly nip the space beneath my ear. His chuckle knots my insides as tightly as his caresses do. “Ready to stop feigning sleep?”
“Not if you don’t stop touching me.”
Did I just admit that?
Based on the low rumble—followed by a “That’s my girl,” ground out between his teeth—I think I did. “What if I make a vow to never stop touching you?”
In theory, that sounds amazing. In practicality, it can’t happen.
