Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Kindred, Book 8.1) Read Free Page A

and near screams of release mingling together and rising as one.
    Panting for breath, the world spinning in a way it only ever does when I'm with Lucinda, I cradle her in my arms. Aware that I have most of her weight, her legs turned to jelly and unable to hold her.
    "Je t'aime, ma douce," I murmur against her skin.
    "Je t'aime, Michel," she replies, her French pronunciation improving with every attempt.
    I allow myself to slide out of her, feeling her body shudder against my hold. I turn her in my arms and realise the kiss I am about to bestow is the first of the day. What is wrong with me?
    Ah, that's right, a silver stake to the back in the middle of my sleep.
    My lips press into hers, as my tongue devours her mouth. My hand fisted in the wet strands of her hair, angling her head exactly where I want it.
    I think I am ready for round two, but my Lucinda is not.
    I slow the kiss down until it's a languid exploration of her lips, teeth, and tongue. Then with infinite care I lower her to the bench seat in the shower, allowing her to finally get her equilibrium. She leans back and closes her eyes, a smile stretched wide across her cheeks.
    Oh, she is divine, this vision sitting before me. I would give up my kingdom to see that smile on her face every day.
    As I begin to wash her hair, making sure the soap avoids her eyes, I feel the pressure of said kingdom pressing in on my mind. I would have liked a little longer to ensure Lucinda has climbed the hurdle of self doubt for the day, but the urgency with which Alain calls leaves me in no doubt that our moment of solitude is at an end.
    I answer my Second's mental query as I wash the shampoo from Lucinda's beautiful hair.
    Five minutes , I say, not expanding on the reason why I should need longer to prepare for the night than usual.
    I may enjoy a little public display of affection, but some things, such as tending to my kindred's needs, are entirely private.
    You may wish to ensure Lucinda is occupied , is the ominous reply I receive from the vampyre I consider a close friend, not just part of my line.
    I grit my teeth as the conditioner sluices out of Lucinda's hair.
    What is it? I ask, unsure if I am ready to hear what has put that edge in Alain's mental voice.
    The hesitation of his reply chills me, I battle not to show my discomfort in front of Lucinda. She's still floating in post-coital bliss. For a moment longer I will protect her from the outside world, knowing as I do that it is futile. Lucinda faces my battles alongside me and always will.
    Petra Corvus has turned up in the foyer, demanding to visit with her blood-brother .
    I cannot hide my shock. My vampyre-within equally appalled. Magenta washes the walls, reflects off the droplets of water and slices right through the quiet seclusion we'd been sharing.
    I immediately sense Lucinda at my mental walls, attempting to get inside and discover what has made me a statue before her. Her gentle probing becoming more insistent as I refuse her entry into my thoughts.
    She cannot see what I see. She cannot hear what I hear inside my memories. Oh, mon Dieu , she cannot witness what my mind is forcing me to replay.
    I had feared this day would come, but when I killed him, finally killed him, and she never showed her face, I had naively thought she too had moved on.
    I glance down at my kindred, noting the hue of violet that is cast over her delicate features from the magenta that still shines from my eyes. Worry and yes, a little fear, shadows her intuitive gaze.
    Ah, merde . This is going to be decidedly awkward.
    And possibly quite painful, once Lucinda realises who the woman in the foyer actually is.
    I wonder if I have time to hide her stakes. Probably not, and let's not forget Lucinda can do a hell of a lot with her Light.
    Ah, merde!

Chapter 2
Confessions
    I offer a smile, aware that it is probably predatory. An enemy has entered my territory, my vampyre-within is pacing, ready to defend what is ours.
    "Petra, this is a