Christmas In Dark Moon Vale
A Blood Curse Series Novella
Tessa Dawn
Published by Ghost Pines Publishing, LLC.
Volume I of Blood Curse Series Novellas by Tessa Dawn
First Edition eBook Published October 23, 2017 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Copyright © Tessa Dawn, 2017 All rights reserved
ISBN-13: 978-1-937223-25-0
Printed in the United States of America
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Author may be contacted at: http://www.tessadawn.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Ghost Pines Publishing, LLC
Contents
Credits and Acknowledgments
A note to readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Books in the Blood Curse Series
Also by Tessa Dawn
Join the author’s mailing list
A sneak peek from Blood Destiny
About the Author
Credits and Acknowledgments
Ghost Pines Publishing, LLC., Publishing
Damonza, Inc., Cover Art
Lidia Bircea, Romanian Translations
Reba Hilbert, Editing
Credit given to Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Geisel, 1957 ~ How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
To all my amazing readers,
May the joy of the season surround you ~ Merry Christmas, with love!
Tessa Dawn
A note to readers
For those who are purists about reading the Blood Curse Series in order, rest assured; this novella can stand on its own. There is no need to have read the rest of the series. However, I wrote this installment after Blood Betrayal, but before Blood Web. It does not contain any content or spoilers pertaining to either of those books (on purpose), but you will see characters and general themes from Blood Destiny, Blood Awakening, Blood Shadows, and Blood Father. In short, you will revisit the Silivasi family in its entirety…
I hope you enjoy the novella!
1
MASTER OF THE HOUSE
Ciopori Demir-Silivasi planted her elegant hands on her curvy hips and crooned to her vampire mate, “Please tell me you aren’t angry, my love.” She batted her lovely golden eyes, counting on the numerous amber sparkles to melt Marquis’s heart as they so often did. “Honestly, I think it’s a wonderful idea, and Vanya agrees,” she pressed on. “Saber has already made a dozen wooden centerpieces to adorn the festive table; Deanna sketched the most elegant invitations—she really is an amazing artist, you know—and Arielle designed the cutest little pine cone ornaments, filled with gold dust, incense, and myrrh. I think you’re going to absolutely love them. They’re positively delightful.”
Marquis leaned back in the pale-green living room chaise, looking far too large for the furniture, and crossed his massive arms over his rock-hard chest. “What the heck is myrrh?” he grumbled.
Ciopori pretended not to notice the barest hint of ivory canines peeking below his upper lip. “Well, technically, it’s an embalming oil used by the ancient Egyptians on mummies”—she brushed an imaginary piece of lint off her linen skirt, twirled around in a whimsical fashion, and took a seat opposite Marquis, still smiling—“but it’s also a lovely perfume. And before I get sidetracked, you just have to hear the menu.”
Marquis furrowed his brows, and a small, almost infinitesimal section of his top lip twitched, but to his credit, he held his tongue.
“Turkey and ham, of course,” Ciopori rambled on, beginning to feel a bit flushed, “mashed potatoes, stuffing, and cranberry sauce…” She fidgeted with her fingers. “Green beans, tossed salad, dinner rolls, and pies.” She tucked a long lock of her raven-black hair behind her slender shoulder. “Do you think that’s too much?”
Marquis swallowed a snarl. “Vampires don’t eat, Ciopori,” he grunted.
She licked her lips. “Right. That’s true. Although the destinies partake of human fare now and then.” She cast her eyes to the side; stared out the large bay window to the right of the white-brick fireplace; and watched as huge crystalline snowflakes danced in the moonlight. The visage of such serene winter harmony solidified her courage. “Anyhow, I think that’s everything you need to know, other than one small detail.” She tried very hard to under-emphasize the last three words.
Marquis’s severe, sculpted features hardened.
“We’re having the party here.”
An interminable moment of silence, then: “Come again?” His voice was guttural and clipped.
“The party.” She smiled sweetly. “We’re having it here.” She stood up as if the matter were closed, spun on her heel, and sashayed across the wide-planked wooden floors toward the hall, ready to get on with the evening. And then she stopped dead in her tracks, arrested by a feral-sounding snarl. She turned around to face her mate. “Is there a problem, sweetheart?”
Marquis leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands, causing a curtain of jet-black locks to cascade around his fingers. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So let me get this straight: You thought it was a good idea for the females in our family—vampires who don’t eat, and women who can’t cook—to host a Christmas dinner in our home. And you decided to invite a handful of humans to this clandestine party without telling me. Without asking me. Without so much as giving me the courtesy of a heads-up.”
Ciopori winced at his tone. “’Tis slightly harsh, warrior, not to mention unnecessary.” She drew her shoulders back to appear more confident. “Besides, why would you assume Jocelyn, Deanna, or Kristina can’t cook? They were once human, you know.”
Marquis raised his powerful, masculine hand and held up two fingers, ostensibly to silence his mate, and Ciopori bit her lip.
Uh, oh…
This wasn’t going well at all.
The Ancient Master Warrior cleared his throat. “And you thought I would be—what were the words you chose?—oh, yes, positively delighted about this party because my sister-in-law colored some little green trees on a postcard.”
Ciopori recoiled.
Now that was just…juvenile.
Deanna may have painted or sketched the scene, but she certainly hadn’t colored it with crayons. And who said anything about little green trees? True, there were several evergreens and blue spruces on the invitation, but Marquis was not privy to that fact. Nonetheless, she kept her thoughts to herself in order to keep the peace.
He rolled his head on his shoulders, cracked his neck, and fixed his dark blue-black eyes on hers. “Princess, do you know me? At all?”
Now this grated on her nerves.
She cocked a churlish shoulder and snipped, “I didn’t say you would be positively deli
ghted, Marquis. I said the invitations were positively delightful.” Beneath her breath, she mumbled, “And Deanna didn’t color them with crayons, for heaven’s sake.”
“Come again?” He barked the phrase this time, and his deep, authoritative brogue sent a shiver down her spine.
She curled her lips around her teeth and clamped her mouth shut to keep from spewing an incendiary rebuttal.
When several pregnant moments passed without any dialogue between them—when nothing could be heard but the howl of the wind outside the window, the crackling of the fire, and the ticking of the clock—Ciopori decided to address his question directly. “I know you better than anyone in this valley, my love.” She winked at him, grasped a handful of her linen skirt, and slid the material slowly up her leg, flashing the barest hint of naked thigh. Celestial gods above, she was hoping to redirect him from his obstinate train of thought. “Kagen will be here at eight to set up the tables; the destinies will be here around eight thirty to start decorating the halls, and then we’ll begin cooking around nine—it could take all night to get things ready for tomorrow.” She lowered her lids to half-mast. “But you and I still have a half an hour.” She winked again, expecting her passionate mate to rise to the occasion—both literally and physically—but he simply shifted in his chair, balled his right fist beneath his left palm, and stared blankly at a point beyond her shoulder.
“Tomorrow,” he clipped. “What do you mean, tomorrow? Tomorrow, my love, is Christmas Eve.”
Ciopori sighed. “Oh, did I leave that out?” She did her best to feign innocence. “Yes, we’re hosting the party tomorrow—on Christmas Eve, instead of Christmas. We chose that date…” She cleared her throat. “I chose that date in order to be mindful of the humans’ schedules: you know, their existing obligations and traditions.”
Marquis glanced at the living room clock—it was seven thirty—and his voice dropped an octave. “How long have you been planning this party, Ciopori?”
She gulped. “Two weeks.”
“And everyone knew but me?”
She cast her eyes to the ground. “Well…sort of…yes.”
He nodded. “And why didn’t you tell me this earlier, before the eve of the event? Apparently, you chose to be mindful of everyone except your mate.”
Well, hell…
She shook her head in frustration; she may as well ante up. “Because I knew you would object, Marquis. Or worse, I thought you would turn into the Grinch who stole Christmas and scare all our guests away. I thought you would cancel the party, and I wasn’t going to let you do that.”
He shifted lazily on the chaise like a restless jungle cat about to rise from slumber. “Who the hell is the Grinch who stole Christmas?”
She wrinkled her nose and stiffened her jaw. “He was an awful, green, hardheaded tyrant—from Whoville—who turned his dog into a reindeer because his heart was two sizes too small!” She didn’t mean to shout, but oh well…
Marquis snarled again, and she flinched.
“Marquis…” She sighed. “Iubitul meu…” My beloved. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Perhaps I should have told you about the party a little sooner, and perhaps you’re being a bit too harsh.” She slid her linen skirt further up her thigh, flashing an indecent amount of naked flesh. “We still have twenty-five minutes,” she cooed.
His snarl turned throaty, and he advanced from his perch, stalking toward the princess like a hungry lion.
“What are you doing, warrior?” Her voice warbled in alarm.
“Something I’ve never done before,” he growled.
“What!” She grabbed a nearby candlestick and brandished it between them like a sword.
“I’m going to spank you, Ciopori. And it isn’t going to be a friendly swat.”
Ciopori shrieked.
She knew that tone of voice.
“Don’t you dare, Marquis! I am a princess from the original palace of—”
“Yeah, and I’m an awful, green, hardheaded tyrant with a heart that’s too small. Save it for the next clandestine party.” He reached for a decorative wooden paddle hanging on a hook—with Home Is Where the Heart Is inscribed on the blade, and smacked the oblong end against the palm of his hand, causing a sharp report to echo through the hall.
Ciopori’s vision blurred. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh,” he purred, “I will.” Marquis’s fangs descended fully from his gums, and Ciopori ran for the hills.
She darted across the formal parlor, sprinted through the kitchen, and dashed up the rear servants’ staircase, taking the steps two at a time. She bolted down the upstairs hall, careened into the first open doorway, and tried to lock the bathroom door, even as she realized a flimsy lock would never stop Marquis.
Alas, she made a critical error.
A rookie mistake against a Master Warrior.
Prior to locking the door, she tried to spin around and throw the candlestick at Marquis, and that small lapse in judgment—that infinitesimal pause in momentum—had been all the vampire needed to take full advantage of his superior agility and speed.
Marquis’s blue-black eyes flashed red. He swatted the trivial implement aside and switched into hyper-predator mode, lunging so quickly, his motion was a blur as he grasped her by the hips, hauled her out of the doorframe, and hefted her off the ground like a weightless sack of potatoes.
“Release me this instant!” she screamed. “I forbid you to take this nonsense a single step further!”
Marquis was not deterred.
“You treat me like an idiot. You try to distract me with your leg. And now, you forbid me like I am a child, rather than master of my own domain.”
“Master!?” Ciopori squealed. She was positively appalled. “Since when are you anyone’s master? You are no such thing, vampire!” Her voice rose in proportion to her angst. “If anything, you are behaving like a little girl right now: a frail, petulant, snotty little girl. How dare you—”
He tightened his rock-hard bicep around her delicate rib cage, squelching her protest in midsentence. Then he secured her against his chest and dragged her down the hall into the master bedroom. “How dare I what?” he snarled.
He released her, flipped the paddle in his hand, and began to twirl it between his fingers, like he was playing with one of his medieval daggers, like he was about to slice up an enemy. “Do I spin this paddle like a little girl, Ciopori?” The revolving wood hummed like a whistle from the sheer velocity of the rotation. He flexed his pecs, and they bulged in three quick jerks—rising, falling, and popping—against his heavy chest in a dominant display of power. “Do I look frail to you?”
Ciopori backed toward the bed and held out both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Touch me with that paddle, and I’ll divorce you,” she snarled.
He flicked his wrist in her direction, as if he were simply dismissing a gnat, and her elegant body rose from the floor, flew backward through the air, and landed with a thud on the king-size bed.
Before she could scurry away, he grasped her by her royal ankles, flipped her over like a rag doll, and pinned her thighs to the mattress with his forearm. “Vampires don’t get divorced, Ciopori. And I would hunt you to the ends of the earth. You think I’m frightening now, just try such a thing.” He hiked up her skirt and tugged on the delicate waistband of her silk-and-lace undergarment, exposing her “rearview” assets.
“Marquis!”
“You were brazen enough to invite half the valley to our house for dinner—you are brave enough to take your medicine like a woman.”
She snarled and howled; twisted and turned; tried to wrench free from his grasp, all to no avail. Finally, when she could no longer resist his remarkable strength, she whimpered: “I swear to you, Marquis, touch me with that paddle, and I will never forgive you.”
The paddle went sailing across the room.
It struck a tall, ornate armoire and splintered into a dozen pieces.
“Done,” he said.
> Then smack!
Before Ciopori could process what had just taken place with the paddle, Marquis’s rugged hand landed on her derriere. The contact resounded like a clap of thunder, and she jolted, instantly feeling the burn.
Smack!
A second spank.
He’d swatted her again.
No, he did not!
“You’re a savage!” she cried. “Stop this at once!” She kicked back at his chest, and he shackled her ankles in one implacable fist. Good heavens, the male was a gladiator. She may as well have been resisting a tank.
He brought his palm up to his mouth and licked the center. “Who’s the alpha-vampire in this house?”
Her vision blazed red. “I am!”
Smack!!!
She actually heard the air displace on that last one, a millisecond before his palm made contact with her ass, and her entire body rocked on the bed. The burn was now a blazing fire, and she was certain he had left a handprint on her buttocks.
Ciopori Silivasi was speechless.
Marquis released her ankles, and she scrambled off the bed, snatching a nearby alarm clock and hurling it at his head.
He crooked a finger, suspending the clock in midair, and smiled.
Her bottom lip jutted out.
And then it began to tremble.
Stunned, aching like the dickens, and not exactly sure what just happened, she glowered daggers at her mate. “You have destroyed my faith in vampire-kind and particularly in you as a gentleman.”
At that, he merely smirked. “Does that mean you’re not going to show me any more thigh? We still have fifteen minutes.”
She hiked up her underwear, rearranged her skirt, and raised her chin in a haughty slant. “I’m going to tell Keitaro.” Marquis’s formidable father. “This isn’t over, warrior. This is far from over.”