Page 9 of Silent Nights and Vampire Lights

Idon’t know why I kissed her. I don’t buy into those old pagan myths about mistletoe—the whole “you have to kiss the person you’re with” nonsense. But after spending the last twenty-four hours stuck with her—her sweet scent, her endless chatter, her off-key singing, and that relentless cheeriness despite being chased by hitmen—I wanted to kiss her.

To shut her up.

That was all it was.

And it worked, for a little while. She’d gone quiet after our bathroom stop and all the way back to the car. Now I missed the sound of her voice. Damn her.

She reached for the car door handle, but I stopped her, my hand covering hers. “Wait. I got you something.”

Her eyes widened as I handed her the scarf. Red, green, and white with a Scandinavian pattern—reindeer, snowflakes, and Santas. Not her old one, and definitely not the black and gold one that I knew she hated, but something warm and more festive. More Holly.

“It’s not the same as the one you had,” I said gruffly, “but it’ll keep you warm.”

Her fingers brushed the soft knit as she held it to her face. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “You… you bought me this?”

I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “You were in the bathroom, and the gift shop was next door. It was only fair since I ruined your scarf saving your life.”

The softness in her gaze evaporated as she scowled at me. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t you? You couldn’t save my life without destroying my scarf?”

I blinked. “The scarf was killing you. He yanked it and knotted it around your neck. You couldn’t breathe.”

Her glare didn’t waver. “You untangle it, then! My grandmother made that scarf. It was the last thing she knitted for me before she died.” Her voice cracked as she turned away, staring at the car.

Regret twisted in my chest, a feeling I’d been growing far too familiar with lately. I laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She faced me again, blinking back tears. “No. You’re right. I’d rather have my life. I just miss her.”

“Can it be repaired?”

She laughed softly, the sound thick with emotion. “No. My grandmother tried to teach me to knit, but I never had the patience. I couldn’t sit still. Always talking, always moving.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I never would’ve guessed.”

She slugged my arm. “Ow. Not nice.” Then she shook out her hand, muttering, “Solid as a rock.” She dug around in her purse and pulled out something lime green and absurdly fuzzy. “This must be the day for gifts. I snuck out of the bathroom and got you something, too. Ta-da!”

She rose on tiptoes to wrap the monstrosity around my neck. A Grinch scarf. Complete with faux fur. I held it out, horrified. “What the hell is this?”

She beamed at me. “Now we’re both festive. Ready to go?”

Without waiting for my response, she climbed into the car. I followed, still trying to process how she’d managed to make me laugh and cringe in the same breath.

We drove in silence, Christmas music filling the car. She didn’t even sing, just hummed now and then. The quiet started to get to me.

“Thank you for the scarf,” I said at last. “It was thoughtful.”

Her lips quirked in that teasing way of hers. “You were looking cold, Vlad.”

“My name is Nicholas.”

“Does anyone call you Nick?”

“No.”

“Not even your mom?”

I glanced out at the inky blackness of the night. “No one.”

She snorted. “It seems so formal. I can’t see you as a Nicky, but Nick? Definitely.”

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