Page 1 of A Cursed Noel

Chapter One

The plane starts itsdescent toward the small airport outside of my hometown. Clouds skimpast the window, unveiling the Colorado mountains as the sun beginsto rise.

I ignore themagnificence and beauty, barely registering that snow no longerblankets the treetops and that Spring isn’t far away. Hell, Ibarely notice anything anymore, my full focus on my next kill, andthe one after that.

Where will I go nexttime? The Besakih Temple in Bali? Or maybe a barren countryside inMoldova? I flex my grimy fingers. Will my beast’s claws dig deepand tear my opponent apart like the last rogue vampire I encountered?Or will my fangs snap his head clear from his shoulders like thatlone wolf who double-crossed me?

Who knows? Who cares? Isure as hell don’t. Just point the way and me and my beast willtake care of the rest.

“Do you need a ridehome, Aric?” Blaze asks.

He does that. Tries toget me to talk, I mean.

“I’m good,” Isay, but not much more. I’m not trying to be a prick. I just don’tsay much anymore.

I add a thanks. It’sthe least I can do. Blaze is good about flying me where I need to be.Sometimes it’s just here in the States. Lately it’s to a largerairport where I can catch a flight across oceans and continents.Blaze has never complained, and I’ve given him plenty of reasons.

Just today, I woke himhours before dawn. I needed a ride and, like usual, I’m covered inblood.

Blood is nothing new tome. I wear the lifeline of others like a second skin. The scent, thesticky feeling right before it dries, and how it conforms to my bodyrevitalizes my drive to hunt.

There should besomething wrong about it. But I bask in it.

This is the blood of myenemies, and they deserved to die.

We’re on the groundand taxiing toward the hanger a few minutes later. I hop out beforeBlaze cuts the engine, ignoring the crew ofwereswho hurryforward to secure the plane.

They stopped greetingme a long while ago. Theydon’tstop bowing their heads, theone thing I wish they would do. As a purebloodwere, I’mdeemed as royalty. It doesn’t mean anything. Cut off my head orshoot me in the heart with gold bullets and I’m as good as dead.

Or cast just the rightcurse and I’ll die, just like my dad.

My dad…

My heart clenches. It’sbeen two years and his loss doesn’t hurt any less.

“Aric, wait,”Martin calls.

My alpha doesn’tyell. He doesn’t have to. My hearing would pick up his deepbaritone from far away. I slow my speed, feeling the power of thecommand down to my beaten-down boots.

Martin, satisfied thatI won’t take off in a run like last time, stalks away from thelarge group gathered by the terminal.

As usual, a crowd offemales have gathered in anticipation of my arrival. My kindpossesses high metabolisms. It takes a lot to make us cold. Still,their barely-there clothing doesn’t seem right considering they’reclearing two inches of ice from the tarmac just a few yards away.

One of them, God helpme, is waving a sign. “Welcome Home Aric Connor,” it reads.

I know my name,thanks.

I try not to roll myeyes when the redhead in front blows me a kiss. She thinks I’mplaying hard to get. But games are for kids, and I grew up fast.

The one with the signshakes it harder, like I didn’t notice the fluorescent pink heartsand glitter the first time.

“Aric ConnorGroupies.” That’s what Liam called them. He meant to make melaugh, except laughing no longer comes easy.

Martin reaches me. Likeme, he ignores my “fans.” “Let’s talk,” he says.

“Can’t,” I say.“Gotta get home.”

“I wasn’t asking,”Martin says, his tone clipped.

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