In honor of the (quickly) upcoming holiday, I have decided a excerpt post from my short story, Blood Under the Mistletoe, was in order.
Please enjoy!
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Blood Under the Mistletoe I sighed as the last ornament drooped low on the too soft branch of the Douglas-fir. It looked how I felt—sad and tired—like the
Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
Now that’s quite enough of that. Refusing to let the blues get to me, I closed my eyes and breathed in the deep trademark scent of Christmas. The nutty pine perfume of the tree and warm gingerbread from the kitchen wafted through the winter air. By the time the next sigh left my lips it was full of satisfaction, somehow knowing Christmas would bring something unexpected my way.
As soon as the sound of my mother’s voice on the other end of the phone paused for a breath, I spoke up. “Now Mama, I told you. I’ll be there. I’m just finishing up some last minute things here before I head out.”
I spun around to cap the box of family ornaments that had been passed on for five generations on my Daddy’s side. They were always Mama’s pride and joy. Every time she brought them out she’d say how honored she felt when her mother-in-law handed them down to her the very day Daddy married her—against his mother’s wishes. At the time, southern gentlemen of a certain standing weren’t supposed to marry outside their class, let alone their race. And my Mama was both, poor and southern raised Filipino. Which explains why when people hear a little half-white, half-Asian girl speak with an accent they do a double take.
It devastated Mama when I turned twenty-five—the usual marrying age for a Devereux woman—and decided I wasn’t going to marry. Ever.
Surprisingly—or maybe just to spite Grandmama—she broke tradition and handed over those ornaments when I moved. Though I never stop getting guilt from the family. When I made the move from Peachtree City, Georgia to Richmond, Virginia, they practically called me a damn Yankee. I tried a few times to explain that Richmond was still a part of the south, but no one would hear me out so I gave up and let them think whatever they’d like, keeping my mouth shut like a good little southern girl.
“Darlin’, you know I don’t like the thought of you driving all night. It’s too dangerous to do by yourself. Now if you had a husband to help you—”
Not the husband-talk again.
The faulty bell on the oven timer began to chime and chime and chime. “I have to go, Mama, my cookies are ready, but don’t worry. I’m used to the night.” As I hurried her off the phone, I couldn’t help but laugh at how Mama would react if she knew how true that statement really was.
I could almost taste the little gingerbread men when I spun around toward the kitchen. Only, instead of seeing my little white oven, I saw a man with long dark hair standing in the doorway.
My heart nearly stopped and I froze. Deer in the headlights syndrome
was real. The timer continued to ding. I could feel my eyelids stretch open, taking in the man I did not know.
“Hello, Holly.” The low intention his voice carried sounded almost demonic. It matched the tepid swirl in his reflective eyes.
The chill of the air surrounding him speared through my lungs.
Run, run damnit, run! It was a great idea. Too bad I couldn’t.
“Don’t be scared, little human.” His lips turned up and a sharp triangle of white flashed above his lower lip.
I could feel the ice holding me there begin to thaw and I took a slow, calculated step back, my fingers closing around the phone in my hand.
His smile deepened and his teeth elongated into fangs, the slight serrations catching the colorful twinkles of the Christmas tree’s lights. “Or do,” he said in a snarl.
Again, my mind begged me to run, but if I did, I would only be inviting him to a hunt. I didn’t want to be hunted. He would be faster than me by at least twenty times, and infinitely stronger. My only advantage over him, the ace up my green chenille sleeve, was Victor. As terrified and doe-eyed as I felt, I stood tall and tried to rid the panic from my flushed cheeks.
His eyes pulsed as they swung down a few inches. He could only be looking at my neck. The refractive light beaming from his eyes grew brighter. I’d seen this before. His change was complete and he was
hungry.
I couldn’t stop my heart from thrumming so loud it echoed in my ears, but I could—though sloppy as it was—control my breathing. The unsteady rhythm of my pulse caused it to sound jerky, but it was a whole hell of a lot better than balling up in a corner and giving up.
Think, Holly, think. It was hard to do with his fully changed eyes beating down on me, but I compiled a quick list of what I knew.
Okay, he knows my name, so either he was listening in on my conversation with Mama—-which wasn’t impossible with vampire’s heightened senses-—
or he’s been watching me, hunting me.
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Intrigued? Want to read more? Head over to
Midnight Showcase Fiction to purchase your own copy of Holiday Treats!
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cheerful
busy
sick
bouncy
giddy
