Christmas in Dark Moon Vale

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “Oh, please! Give me a break, Miss Deanna. Last I checked, you are the only destiny in this room with a mate who’s a full-blown shifter.” She eyed the other woman askance and cocked her rich, chocolate-colored eyebrows in mirth. “Don’t try and tell us it doesn’t get a little kinky at your house. Just how does that work, anyway? Vampire. Wizard. Panther. What the hell do you two do?”

  “What don’t they do?” Kristina insinuated, throwing gasoline on the fire.

  Deanna snorted. “You know what? You’re sick—both of you—very sick.” She placed a few cloves in the bowl of a spoon, held it up like a slingshot, and flicked it at Kristina’s face. “Oh, and Jocelyn, you’ve been hanging out with Nathaniel too long, because we all know that vampire is a freak.”

  A chorus of giggles blended with the crackling and popping in the wood-burning stove.

  “Seriously though,” Kristina pressed, “how does that work, for real, D? I always wanted to know. I mean, the whole shifter thing?”

  Deanna added a pinch of nutmeg to the pumpkin pie filling and began to stir it with a fork. “I never said Nachari and I—”

  “Rawr,” Jocelyn teased, trying to mimic the throaty purr of a panther.

  Everyone laughed aloud.

  “All that silky, beautiful, midnight-black fur?” Kristina added. “Really, Deanna? Then why can’t you quit smiling?”

  Deanna lowered her head, pressed the back of her hand over her mouth to keep from contaminating her stirring-hand, and chuckled, scurrying away from the island to retrieve a carton of eggs from the stainless-steel refrigerator. “You guys are pathetic,” she called over her shoulder. “As in truly wicked, and I think your jealousy is showing.” She returned to the counter with the eggs and removed one from the carton. “Don’t hate: Appreciate.”

  “Then you do do it!” Kristina squealed, her jaw dropping open.

  “Do what?” Ciopori asked Vanya. “What the heck are they talking about?”

  Vanya giggled and patted her sister on the back, careful to avoid her lower region. “Nothing, sister, just a girl and her jungle cat.”

  Ciopori furrowed her brow. “A girl and her jungle cat?” She laid her knife down on the cutting board, beside a clean row of freshly chopped onions, and angled her head at Deanna, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. And then all at once, her jaw went slack, and her mouth fell open in a stupor. “Deanna!” Her cheeks flushed pink. “That’s positively abhorrent! Absolutely deviant. And with Braden just a few rooms away. And the baby sleeping in the house! How could you?”

  Deanna threw her hands in the air. “What!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t say anything! Oh, my gosh, you guys are all disturbed.”

  Ciopori smirked. “Even Marquis is not that demented.”

  At this, Deanna planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, okay, Mrs. Icy-Ass. Don’t think we all didn’t hear every single word of your conversation with Vanya: I’m not the one with ice cubes in my pants. Just sayin’.”

  “Icy-Ass!” Kristina squealed, chortling like a chicken.

  Ciopori took a slow, deep breath, and Vanya watched her grind her teeth. “That’s okay,” the princess muttered. “There will be a reckoning…just wait and see.”

  Kristina spun the potato-slicer in her hand, danced toward the more exotic of the two bantering women, sidled up behind Deanna, and snarled in her ear. “Rawr. Do you like cats with green eyes, baby?” in her best impression of Nachari as a panther.

  Deanna reached for a heavy clay pie-pan in order to lay the crust. “All right, Kristina, keep it up. I think ‘Rawr’ is the call of a cougar, not a panther. Braden’s getting kind of cute, isn’t he? How are things with the youngest eligible vampire in the house of Jadon? Have you taken his virginity yet?”

  “Ew!” Kristina howled, stopping dead in her tracks.

  “Jail bait!” Jocelyn chimed in, looking up from her bowl of stuffing. She repeated the refrain in a singsong voice. “Jail bait—jail bait—jail bait.” Then she held up a fork and pretended to swoon. “He is kind of fine, though—that kid is growing up.”

  Kristina shook her head in abject disgust, backing away from Deanna. “That’s jacked up, D!” she snarled. “And, Joss, you hardly have room to talk. Braden might be young, and he might be a virgin—but at least he doesn’t collect trophies from his prey and hide them in the brownstone.” She turned on her heel and backpedaled toward the rear of the room, ducking into the butler’s pantry. “You should both be ashamed of yourselves,” she called over her shoulder, disappearing into the hall.

  Ciopori shrugged, and Vanya chuckled.

  Apparently, the conversation had just gone too far.

  4

  DINNER IS BURNED

  The large formal dining room was decorated to the rafters for the feast. An exquisite silver, gold, and crystal Christmas tree rose to the top of the sixteen-foot-high, traditional country ceilings; the ornamental white marble fireplace was adorned in holly and ivy, with a wreath hanging from the center of the mantel; and the grand colonial buffet, filled with rare, exquisite silver from all around the world, was festooned with flickering red and green candles, as well as crystal bowls filled with Arielle’s pine cone ornaments. The long, rectangular table was set to perfection and adorned, every twenty-four inches, with one of Saber’s hand-carved centerpieces.

  In terms of ambience, the dancing light from the fireplace, the candles, and the glass chandelier hanging above the table reflected off the opulent decorations like a celestial spotlight, illuminating the exquisite beauty of the festive room; and the connecting butler’s pantry allowed the destinies easy access to the kitchen from the hall.

  For all intents and purposes, the Christmas Eve dinner was perfect.

  With a few small exceptions…

  The turkey was dry, the mashed potatoes were lumpy, and the stuffing was a lot more like soup—heck, it was runnier than the gravy. The cranberry sauce had congealed into patties, and the green beans were actually blue. And as for the ham? Well, it had somehow gone missing, which was really quite a shame because it was the only item on the menu that was perfectly cooked.

  As if that weren’t enough…

  The pies were inedible; the salad was frightening—croutons were not supposed to move!—and the dinner rolls had already caused one guest to chip a tooth.

  Ciopori felt positively mortified, and while Marquis had tried on more than one occasion to comfort his inconsolable mate, she wouldn’t let him anywhere near her. In fact, each time he had tried to push into her mind, however gently, she had met his telepathic nudge with the image of a sign, a placard from ancient Bethlehem: No room at the Inn!

  Now, as she sat down at the head of the table and surveyed the long rows of guests, she wondered what the heck she’d been thinking. The vampires were all seated on the left side of the table, and of course, they weren’t eating a thing. Blood was their only fare. The destinies, who had once been human and occasionally indulged, were all seated on the right, opposite their mates, but they were too afraid to try their own food.

  And that left the burden on the poor, piteous humans.

  Who were trapped like a bunch of rats.

  Since Marquis could not console his mate directly, he had taken it upon himself to protect her honor the only way he knew how: to prowl like a freakin’ six-foot-two jungle cat, up and down the human side of the table—his huge muscles bulging, his lithe back flexing, his dark vampiric eyes nearly glowing as he stopped every two feet to ask the nearest human, “How do you like the food?”

  Needless to say, the response was always positive. “It’s delicious… Oh my gosh, I love it…I think I’ll have another roll!”

  And that’s how Chad Baxter had chipped his tooth.

  Ciopori just wanted to disappear.

  To crawl under the table and hide.

  But she couldn’t crawl away, any more than she could sit for more than five minutes at a time: the former because her dignity wouldn’t allow it; the latter because Marquis
had well and truly tanned her hide.

  The day was a complete and utter disaster.

  Her beautiful sister Vanya, seated quietly to Ciopori’s right, tried to cheer her up with a pat on the hand and a smile. When that didn’t work, she offered Ciopori a glass of spiked eggnog and turned her attention to Keitaro: The patriarch of the Silivasi clan was sitting opposite of Ciopori, at the second apex of the table, and his strong warrior’s body was sharply angled to the right—rotated toward the other vampires.

  Holy heck…

  The party was utterly segregated.

  What was the point?

  Ciopori stared, once again, at the human guests and ran a mental checklist: Alejándra and Maria Ramirez—Nathaniel’s housekeeper and her niece—were watching the children downstairs, in exchange for two extra weeks off after the New Year. Chad and Tom Baxter, who both worked at the casino, had shown up together, along with their coworker José Gonzales, an incredibly talented bartender. Kevin and Caroline Parker had both attended as well, but Marquis was still avoiding Kevin: After all this time, the vampire still couldn’t face the human he had known since birth, not after what had happened to Kevin’s daughter, Joelle—the fact that she had been slain by a Dark One. The guilt was just too overwhelming.

  Jocelyn’s former next-door neighbor from San Diego, an elderly woman named Ida, had been invited to the gala, but she had chosen to stay home in the Silverton Creek condominium Nathaniel and Jocelyn had purchased for her retirement, and that was just as well. It was bingo night in the lively community, and they were planning a holiday feast of their own. Not to mention, Ida had no idea that Jocelyn was now a vampire—the Silivasis would have been obliged to censor their conversations, perhaps even scrub the sweet lady’s memories before Ida took her leave. And then there was Geoff and Lisa Fisher, a ski instructor and a snowboarding teacher, a brother-and-sister team who worked at the DMV Ski Resort; Shelly Winters, with her father, Andrew, and her little brother, Timmy; and finally, Andy Lorde, a competent stable-hand who helped Kevin out at the Dark Moon Stables.

  Actually, now that Ciopori thought about it, there was a stranger sitting next to Kevin, a man Ciopori didn’t know, but she assumed the Silivasi brothers must have okayed it or the human wouldn’t be there…right?

  Sister, Vanya whispered in Ciopori’s mind, using the vampiric talent of telepathy, you must snap out of it, all this pondering about the guests, the food, and the success of the party. It’s the thought that counts. “Keitaro,” she said out loud, her voice intentionally cheery. “Tell us a few stories about the boys growing up—I’m sure we are all eager to hear some.”

  The humans grew quiet and nodded, even as Nachari and his father shared a subtle, knowing glance, exchanging request and confirmation in an instant: Well, hell, the vampire would tell his stories, openly and without reservation, and the Master Wizard would follow behind him, cleaning up any overly revealing details: Nachari would erase any specifics, essentials, or memories that were too exposing or personal.

  So much for vampire-human unity.

  Still, it was better than nothing, and it gave the homo sapiens an excuse to quit eating.

  Ciopori rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, eyeing her handsome father-in-law. “Yes, please, tell us a story about Marquis before he lost his soul.” She glared at the stalking warrior, still rounding the table like a vulturine marauder, and the terrified human guests stiffened, one by one, all the way to the end of the table.

  Keitaro leaned back in his seat and chuckled, his rich, espresso-brown hair dusting his mesmerizing eyes.

  Arielle Nightsong sat back as well, relinquishing the spoon she had been fidgeting with. She folded her hands in her lap and sighed. After spending so many years in a slave camp with Keitaro, she probably knew all his stories, and she appeared eager for an engaging distraction.

  “Let’s see,” Keitaro mused, rubbing his chin between his thumb and his forefinger. “Marquis, when he was just a boy…”

  Nathaniel, Kagen, and Nachari sat up straight, their sensitive ears perking up.

  “Did I ever tell you that Marquis wrote a book, when he was only seven years old?”

  Nachari wrinkled his brow and regarded Marquis circumspectly. “How come I’ve never heard this story?” he asked, flashing his pearly whites.

  A few human women swooned.

  The Master Wizard was just that stunning.

  “Because it sucked,” Keitaro said, without any attempt at diplomacy.

  Ciopori spit out her eggnog, catching it in her hand. Oh my, this was getting good. “Tell us more,” she encouraged as Marquis rolled his eyes and made his way back to his seat on the other side of Vanya—he was not allowed to sit next to Ciopori.

  “It was about a frog named Fernando,” Keitaro said.

  Nathaniel Silivasi chuckled, and the sound was like black-velvet sin: deep, alluring, and decadent.

  Jocelyn visibly shivered.

  “Fred jumped onto a rock…in the sun…and he croaked,” Keitaro said bluntly. “That was it. The entire plot. No conflict, no dialogue, no characterization. Just Fernando and that one climactic leap. Marquis thought it was epic.”

  Nachari Silivasi brushed a tear from the corner of his eye, and Jocelyn Silivasi glanced down at her plate, trying to conceal her smirk. “Did Nathaniel ever do anything embarrassing?” she asked, her gorgeous hazel peepers lighting up with warmth.

  Keitaro grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Nathaniel tried to kiss a girl when he was three years old, and she slapped him so hard his ears started ringing.”

  Jocelyn turned her head to the left, staring at her sexier-than-sin vampire mate, and chuckled. “Oh my gosh, what did he do?”

  “He cried,” Kagen Silivasi chimed in. “I remember that one.”

  The humans’ eyes grew wide, and they began tinkering with their cutlery, sliding their glasses back and forth, or rearranging their napkins.

  Nathaniel shook his head, causing his blue-black locks to sway. “I remember no such thing.” He turned his powerful gaze on Jocelyn and snarled. “Tiger-eyes, mind your business.” He tried to put some extra bass in his voice.

  “Who you kiss, my love, is always my business,” she retorted.

  Nathaniel softened like a stick of frozen butter placed in the noonday sun. “Ah, draga mea, you will have to elaborate…when we get home.”

  Deanna Dubois rolled her eyes, took a sip of ice water, and nudged Nachari with her elbow. “Porcupines, skunks, snakes, and spiders—what else is Nachari afraid of?” she asked, her voice rising with mischief.

  “Dolls.” All three of the Silivasi brothers spoke in unison.

  “What?” Deanna asked. “Dolls?” she leaned in closer to lock eyes with her handsome mate. “As in cute, feminine toys made for little girls? Why were you afraid of dolls?”

  Nachari rolled his perfect eyes and sprawled out in his chair, trying to drown his embarrassment with swagger. “Not dolls,” he said defiantly. “Doll. A specific one.”

  “It was the medieval version of Raggedy Ann,” Kagen offered.

  Nachari sniffed. “Yeah, maybe Raggedy Ann on steroids!” He wrinkled his nose at his mate and winked. “Her eyes were like two tic-tac-toe boards. Her lips were black—not red—and uneven. And quite frankly, she looked like the girl from The Exorcist in that scene when her head spun around. No way,” he drawled. “That doll was freaky.”

  “Hey,” Keitaro said softly. “Are you forgetting something? Your mother made that doll for a devoted human maidservant.”

  Shelly Winters’ friendly, attentive gaze grew soft with hints of longing as she glanced back and forth between Nachari and Keitaro.

  Nachari scratched his head and exhaled a slow, deep breath. “I do know…and bless her heart…I will always love her. But, Dad, that doll wasn’t right. That…that…there was something wrong with that creepy patchwork baby. Mother needed a different hobby.” He held both hands in the air in an exaggerated gesture of apology. “I’m sorry, b
ut hey, truth to power. That doll wasn’t right.”

  Kagen Silivasi snickered. “Yeah, I remember—he’s right, Dad. That doll was possessed.” He shrugged a cocky shoulder in indifference and angled his head to the side. “What was her name, anyway? The doll?”

  “Ezmelda,” Nathaniel offered.

  Nachari nodded emphatically, as if the memory had just rattled him. “Yeah, that’s right! That didn’t help—at all—with the whole witchy thing.”

  All the guests laughed, and Ciopori breathed a sigh of relief—the humans were finally beginning to relax. In fact, a few of them were even eating! And Marquis wasn’t making them do it. She was just about to perk up when she noticed several gooey, triangular-shaped wedges resting on the humans’ dinner plates.

  She gasped!

  Holy star of Cygnus!

  Kristina’s last pass through the butler’s pantry, between the dining room and the kitchen, had not been to fetch more dinner rolls! The redhead must have ordered pizza, while Ciopori was musing about the humans’ plight, and returned with the gooey concoction concealed in two now-conspicuous bread baskets. And Marquis had obviously been in on it as he perused the table like a maniac.

  And Nachari?

  The wizard had been concealing the telltale aroma of mozzarella cheese, fresh pizza dough, and tomato sauce…from Ciopori…all this time.

  The princess picked up her butter knife, ready to fling it at the Master Wizard, but Vanya quickly removed it from her hand. “Now, sister,” she whispered in a motherly tone, “don’t be too hasty. Someone had to do it. Think of our poor, suffering guests. For heaven’s sake, the man lost a tooth, Ciopori.”

  Fine, so she wouldn’t confront the wizard. She stared blankly at the room full of destinies, who one and all met her dumbfounded gaze with a guilty smile—well, that was a fine how-do-you-do! They were as guilty as Nachari, and they knew it.

  She was about to stand up and confront the humans instead when Arielle spoke quickly, reading the situation and acting to head off the tongue-lashing. “So what about Kagen?” she asked Keitaro. “Did my gorgeous, gallant healer ever do anything that was less than perfect?”