Monsters Under Mistletoe

2. Felipe

Chapter 2

Felipe

I f I was a younger vampire, this situation would be trouble, to say the least. Luckily for Elise, I’m anything but young. My unholy desires have been in check for centuries at this point. I’ve got a better grip on the demon inside me than I’ve ever had.

It’s a good thing too, because he claws at the cage I’ve built inside myself. He smells how delicious Elise is. Her scent is all peppery sweat and cedar, its spicy warm aroma assaulting my every sense. My fangs lengthen and retract at her every movement, at the thrumming of her hummingbird heart.

I should tell her to be scared, or at least wary, of the monster she’s bunking with. But it’s just refreshing to converse so casually with a mortal woman, even if it is a challenge for me.

The fact that she’s drinking a fifty-thousand-dollar bottle of bourbon like it’s something that comes out of a plastic jug bemuses me to no end. I do wonder if it was worth the expense, not that I need to worry about my finances.

What’s the point of living forever if you’re broke?

Even if I ignore my early years where I would steal entire fortunes from the colonial scum on my island, I’ve had lifetimes to earn more money than I’ll ever need through legitimate avenues.

It was exciting at first, my newfound wealth. But now? Boring. I’m so uninterested in my finances that I let my familiar handle the majority for me, hence my ever expanding real estate portfolio.

That, and my frivolous bidding on a bottle of liquor I can’t even drink.

A drop of overpriced bourbon spills onto Elise’s perfectly pink lips. Her tongue darts out, wrangling the spill back in.

My mouth waters, wondering what her blood might taste like. Is it as spicy as she smells?

“What do you do?” I change the subject, shifting my hips and crossing my leg to obscure my hardening cock. The hunger for human blood is akin to a sexual desire for my damned kind. De manger, c'est de jouir.

“Oh god, you’d probably think it’s corny,” she tells me before throwing back her glass and gulping down the rest of her beverage.

“No, I won’t.”

“Well, I’m a photographer.” She doesn’t elaborate on what kind.

“Landscapes?” I ask, pointing to the scenic overlook, wondering if that’s what brought her to my doorstep.

“No, portraits, boudoir specifically—you know, nude photos—mostly.” She blushes, the blood creeping into the capillaries of her plush cheeks. Deep, crimson, and throbbing—just like my shaft is as it presses against the silk robe.

“That makes sense to me. You’re a sexy woman. I’m sure it’s easy for you to guide your clients.” I can imagine her naked on my sheets, spreading her legs, her rosy sex slick and on display.

“What?” Elise guffaws, running her fingers through the curly black mass of hair, tossing it to the other side of her head. “I’m like the least sexy person of all time.” She cringes at my assessment of her.

“Agree to disagree. I’m sure they’re plenty of suitors beating down your door for the chance to bed you.” My fangs grow longer, and the demon inside me screams to taste her. I could glamor her and have Elise’s blood filling my mouth in mere seconds.

But the beast will stay hungry. There are other things I want from the soft mortal in front of me. Things just as carnal as feeding.

“Bed me? I can barely get someone to call me back—it’s been a while since any bedding has happened at Casa de Elise.” She lets off a nervous little laugh as her pulse picks up.

“ Malheureusement, It’s been some time for me as well,” I tell her truthfully.

“You? But you’re like supermodel hot. That doesn’t make any sense.” She’s flabbergasted at my dry spell. “If you can’t find someone to bang, we’re all screwed.”

“There are reasons I’ve abstained.”

“What could those be?” She arches her thick brow at me, her chest flushing as the alcohol works its way into her system. The blush mocks me, tempting my restraint.

“Control, the fear of losing it with a human. I don’t care for the company of my kind—they’re more brutal than my tastes would cater to.”

Elise’s hands fly up to her neck, a reactive protective gesture.

“Oh,” she chirps as if she’s reminded of the monster I am.

Her long black painted nails contrast over the pale column of her throat. Her swan-like neck supports her heart-shaped face. It’s now aghast with a look of anxiety. She gazes quickly down at her empty glass before rising to her feet and stumbling slightly to the bar.

“It’s a shame you can’t take my photo,” I tell her, trying to put her at ease. “I’d love to see you at work.”

“Why couldn’t I? I’ve got my gear just right in the car.” She lets her gaze skim lower on my body, her interest piqued..

My heightened senses lets me know that Elise likes what she sees.