All they want for Christmas is you...
It's the time of year for twinkling lights on trees and kisses under the mistletoe. Yet the passing of another year means nothing to the stunning immortals who lurk in the shadows of the new-fallen snow.
And they don't care if you've been naughty or nice.
Let four fanged lovers open your eyes to a passion you never dared to imagine. After all, there's no place like home for the holidays--and these dazzling vampires can't wait for an invitation.
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October 31, 2011
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Excerpt from A Vampire for Christmas by Laurie London
"So who are you planning to kill?"
Trace Westfalen didn't glance over at the sound of his friend's voice. Instead, he shoved his phone into an inner pocket of his suit, strode to the wet bar in the corner of the conference room and poured himself a straight shot of Jack. Without waiting for his fangs to fully retract, he drained it in one swallow.
"I wish," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That would improve my mood substantially."
Dominic Serrano shut the double doors and approached the bar, his boots thudding heavily on the hardwood floor. From his leather pants, black leather jacket and the brindmal coiled at his hip, Trace knew he must be heading out soon. As the leader of the Seattle field team of Guardians--vampires tasked with keeping the peace among their own kind and the existence of vampires a secret from humans--he wasn't one to sit back and send others on duty out to take care of Darkblood scum. He led by action, not rhetoric. Trace really respected the guy for that.
Dom raised an eyebrow. "Council bullshit?"
"Yeah, you could say so."
Normally a fairly patient man, Trace rarely lost his temper--necessary traits for a member of the Governing Council. Only that was the problem. He hadn't been sworn in yet and the vote, scheduled for next week, had been postponed again. His family had held a seat on the Council almost from its inception centuries ago and the transfer from parent to child was usually just a formality. He gripped the edge of the counter, fighting to control his growing impatience.
"Pour me one," Dom said, holding out a glass. "Not too much, though. I'm on the clock tonight." After Trace filled it, Dom sat in one of the high-backed chairs and took a sip. "I feel for you, man, I really do. I've had my share of run-ins with them. No offense, but they often have their heads up their asses."
Trace laughed bitterly. "No offense taken."
"Want to hit the streets as a Guardian tonight, for old times' sake? Take your mind off what you're dealing with? Might do you some good to work off some of that excess energy." Dom crossed his legs and the leather creaked. "Believe me, wailing on DBs or other vampire riffraff can be very therapeutic."
"Yeah, don't I know it." After his father had passed away last year, Trace had resigned as a Guardian with the Agency, the Council's enforcement division, and moved to the Seattle area to take over his father's seat. He'd been in limbo ever since, doing mundane tasks but having no real power. Tonight's update to the Council using the field office's secure video feed basically amounted to busywork. They'd been dicking with him, dragging their feet, coming up with one excuse after another for why they couldn't take the vote. Although he knew they were slow to make changes, he was starting to get a really bad feeling about this.
"And it's very tempting, but--" Trace pointed to his Ferragamo loafers and Armani suit "--do I look like a guy who's ready to kick some Darkblood ass tonight?"
"That can be easily remedied. We've got whatever you might need. We've even got things you didn't know you needed." Dom leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, clearly unaffected by Trace's foul mood.