DINNER IS BURNED

The large formal dining room was decorated to the rafters for the feast. An exquisite silver, gold, and crystal Christmas tree rose to the top of the sixteen-foot-high, traditional country ceilings; the ornamental white marble fireplace was adorned in holly and ivy, with a wreath hanging from the center of the mantel; and the grand colonial buffet, filled with rare, exquisite silver from all around the world, was festooned with flickering red and green candles, as well as crystal bowls filled with Arielle’s pine cone ornaments. The long, rectangular table was set to perfection and adorned, every twenty-four inches, with one of Saber’s hand-carved centerpieces.

In terms of ambience, the dancing light from the fireplace, the candles, and the glass chandelier hanging above the table reflected off the opulent decorations like a celestial spotlight, illuminating the exquisite beauty of the festive room; and the connecting butler’s pantry allowed the destinies easy access to the kitchen from the hall.

For all intents and purposes, the Christmas Eve dinner was perfect.

With a few small exceptions…

The turkey was dry, the mashed potatoes were lumpy, and the stuffing was a lot more like soup—heck, it was runnier than the gravy. The cranberry sauce had congealed into patties, and the green beans were actually blue. And as for the ham? Well, it had somehow gone missing, which was really quite a shame because it was the only item on the menu that was perfectly cooked.

As if that weren’t enough…

The pies were inedible; the salad was frightening—croutons were not supposed to move!—and the dinner rolls had already caused one guest to chip a tooth.

Ciopori felt positively mortified, and while Marquis had tried on more than one occasion to comfort his inconsolable mate, she wouldn’t let him anywhere near her. In fact, each time he had tried to push into her mind, however gently, she had met his telepathic nudge with the image of a sign, a placard from ancient Bethlehem: No room at the Inn!

Now, as she sat down at the head of the table and surveyed the long rows of guests, she wondered what the heck she’d been thinking. The vampires were all seated on the left side of the table, and of course, they weren’t eating a thing. Blood was their only fare. The destinies, who had once been human and occasionally indulged, were all seated on the right, opposite their mates, but they were too afraid to try their own food.

And that left the burden on the poor, piteous humans.

Who were trapped like a bunch of rats.

Since Marquis could not console his mate directly, he had taken it upon himself to protect her honor the only way he knew how: to prowl like a freakin’ six-foot-two jungle cat, up and down the human side of the table—his huge muscles bulging, his lithe back flexing, his dark vampiric eyes nearly glowing as he stopped every two feet to ask the nearest human, “How do you like the food?”

Needless to say, the response was always positive. “It’s delicious… Oh my gosh, I love it…I think I’ll have another roll!”

And that’s how Chad Baxter had chipped his tooth.

Ciopori just wanted to disappear.

To crawl under the table and hide.

But she couldn’t crawl away, any more than she could sit for more than five minutes at a time: the former because her dignity wouldn’t allow it; the latter because Marquis had well and truly tanned her hide.

The day was a complete and utter disaster.

Her beautiful sister Vanya, seated quietly to Ciopori’s right, tried to cheer her up with a pat on the hand and a smile. When that didn’t work, she offered Ciopori a glass of spiked eggnog and turned her attention to Keitaro: The patriarch of the Silivasi clan was sitting opposite of Ciopori, at the second apex of the table, and his strong warrior’s body was sharply angled to the right—rotated toward the other vampires.

Holy heck…

The party was utterly segregated.

What was the point?

Ciopori stared, once again, at the human guests and ran a mental checklist: Alejándra and Maria Ramirez—Nathaniel’s housekeeper and her niece—were watching the children downstairs, in exchange for two extra weeks off after the New Year. Chad and Tom Baxter, who both worked at the casino, had shown up together, along with their coworker José Gonzales, an incredibly talented bartender. Kevin and Caroline Parker had both attended as well, but Marquis was still avoiding Kevin: After all this time, the vampire still couldn’t face the human he had known since birth, not after what had happened to Kevin’s daughter, Joelle—the fact that she had been slain by a Dark One. The guilt was just too overwhelming.

Jocelyn’s former next-door neighbor from San Diego, an elderly woman named Ida, had been invited to the gala, but she had chosen to stay home in the Silverton Creek condominium Nathaniel and Jocelyn had purchased for her retirement, and that was just as well. It was bingo night in the lively community, and they were planning a holiday feast of their own. Not to mention, Ida had no idea that Jocelyn was now a vampire—the Silivasis would have been obliged to censor their conversations, perhaps even scrub the sweet lady’s memories before Ida took her leave. And then there was Geoff and Lisa Fisher, a ski instructor and a snowboarding teacher, a brother-and-sister team who worked at the DMV Ski Resort; Shelly Winters, with her father, Andrew, and her little brother, Timmy; and finally, Andy Lorde, a competent stable-hand who helped Kevin out at the Dark Moon Stables.

Actually, now that Ciopori thought about it, there was a stranger sitting next to Kevin, a man Ciopori didn’t know, but she assumed the Silivasi brothers must have okayed it or the human wouldn’t be there…right?

Sister, Vanya whispered in Ciopori’s mind, using the vampiric talent of telepathy, you must snap out of it, all this pondering about the guests, the food, and the success of the party. It’s the thought that counts. “Keitaro,” she said out loud, her voice intentionally cheery. “Tell us a few stories about the boys growing up—I’m sure we are all eager to hear some.”

The humans grew quiet and nodded, even as Nachari and his father shared a subtle, knowing glance, exchanging request and confirmation in an instant: Well, hell, the vampire would tell his stories, openly and without reservation, and the Master Wizard would follow behind him, cleaning up any overly revealing details: Nachari would erase any specifics, essentials, or memories that were too exposing or personal.

So much for vampire-human unity.

Still, it was better than nothing, and it gave the homo sapiens an excuse to quit eating.

Ciopori rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, eyeing her handsome father-in-law. “Yes, please, tell us a story about Marquis before he lost his soul.” She glared at the stalking warrior, still rounding the table like a vulturine marauder, and the terrified human guests stiffened, one by one, all the way to the end of the table.

Keitaro leaned back in his seat and chuckled, his rich, espresso-brown hair dusting his mesmerizing eyes.

Arielle Nightsong sat back as well, relinquishing the spoon she had been fidgeting with. She folded her hands in her lap and sighed. After spending so many years in a slave camp with Keitaro, she probably knew all his stories, and she appeared eager for an engaging distraction.

“Let’s see,” Keitaro mused, rubbing his chin between his thumb and his forefinger. “Marquis, when he was just a boy…”

Nathaniel, Kagen, and Nachari sat up straight, their sensitive ears perking up.

“Did I ever tell you that Marquis wrote a book, when he was only seven years old?”

Nachari wrinkled his brow and regarded Marquis circumspectly. “How come I’ve never heard this story?” he asked, flashing his pearly whites.

A few human women swooned.

The Master Wizard was just that stunning.

“Because it sucked,” Keitaro said, without any attempt at diplomacy.

Ciopori spit out her eggnog, catching it in her hand. Oh my, this was getting good. “Tell us more,” she encouraged as Marquis rolled his eyes and made his way back to his seat on the other side of Vanya—he was not allowed to sit next to Ciopori.

“It was about a frog named Fernando,” Keitaro said.

Nathaniel Silivasi chuckled, and the sound was like black-velvet sin: deep, alluring, and decadent.

Jocelyn visibly shivered.

“Fred jumped onto a rock…in the sun…and he croaked,” Keitaro said bluntly. “That was it. The entire plot. No conflict, no dialogue, no characterization. Just Fernando and that one climactic leap. Marquis thought it was epic.”

Nachari Silivasi brushed a tear from the corner of his eye, and Jocelyn Silivasi glanced down at her plate, trying to conceal her smirk. “Did Nathaniel ever do anything embarrassing?” she asked, her gorgeous hazel peepers lighting up with warmth.

Keitaro grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Nathaniel tried to kiss a girl when he was three years old, and she slapped him so hard his ears started ringing.”

Jocelyn turned her head to the left, staring at her sexier-than-sin vampire mate, and chuckled. “Oh my gosh, what did he do?”

“He cried,” Kagen Silivasi chimed in. “I remember that one.”

The humans’ eyes grew wide, and they began tinkering with their cutlery, sliding their glasses back and forth, or rearranging their napkins.

Nathaniel shook his head, causing his blue-black locks to sway. “I remember no such thing.” He turned his powerful gaze on Jocelyn and snarled. “Tiger-eyes, mind your business.” He tried to put some extra bass in his voice.

“Who you kiss, my love, is always my business,” she retorted.

Nathaniel softened like a stick of frozen butter placed in the noonday sun. “Ah, draga mea, you will have to elaborate…when we get home.”

Deanna Dubois rolled her eyes, took a sip of ice water, and nudged Nachari with her elbow. “Porcupines, skunks, snakes, and spiders—what else is Nachari afraid of?” she asked, her voice rising with mischief.

“Dolls.” All three of the Silivasi brothers spoke in unison.

“What?” Deanna asked. “Dolls?” she leaned in closer to lock eyes with her handsome mate. “As in cute, feminine toys made for little girls? Why were you afraid of dolls?”

Nachari rolled his perfect eyes and sprawled out in his chair, trying to drown his embarrassment with swagger. “Not dolls,” he said defiantly. “Doll. A specific one.”

“It was the medieval version of Raggedy Ann,” Kagen offered.

Nachari sniffed. “Yeah, maybe Raggedy Ann on steroids!” He wrinkled his nose at his mate and winked. “Her eyes were like two tic-tac-toe boards. Her lips were black—not red—and uneven. And quite frankly, she looked like the girl from The Exorcist in that scene when her head spun around. No way,” he drawled. “That doll was freaky.”

“Hey,” Keitaro said softly. “Are you forgetting something? Your mother made that doll for a devoted human maidservant.”

Shelly Winters’ friendly, attentive gaze grew soft with hints of longing as she glanced back and forth between Nachari and Keitaro.

Nachari scratched his head and exhaled a slow, deep breath. “I do know…and bless her heart…I will always love her. But, Dad, that doll wasn’t right. That…that…there was something wrong with that creepy patchwork baby. Mother needed a different hobby.” He held both hands in the air in an exaggerated gesture of apology. “I’m sorry, but hey, truth to power. That doll wasn’t right.”

Kagen Silivasi snickered. “Yeah, I remember—he’s right, Dad. That doll was possessed.” He shrugged a cocky shoulder in indifference and angled his head to the side. “What was her name, anyway? The doll?”

“Ezmelda,” Nathaniel offered.

Nachari nodded emphatically, as if the memory had just rattled him. “Yeah, that’s right! That didn’t help—at all—with the whole witchy thing.”

All the guests laughed, and Ciopori breathed a sigh of relief—the humans were finally beginning to relax. In fact, a few of them were even eating! And Marquis wasn’t making them do it. She was just about to perk up when she noticed several gooey, triangular-shaped wedges resting on the humans’ dinner plates.

She gasped!

Holy star of Cygnus!

Kristina’s last pass through the butler’s pantry, between the dining room and the kitchen, had not been to fetch more dinner rolls! The redhead must have ordered pizza, while Ciopori was musing about the humans’ plight, and returned with the gooey concoction concealed in two now-conspicuous bread baskets. And Marquis had obviously been in on it as he perused the table like a maniac.

And Nachari?

The wizard had been concealing the telltale aroma of mozzarella cheese, fresh pizza dough, and tomato sauce…from Ciopori…all this time.

The princess picked up her butter knife, ready to fling it at the Master Wizard, but Vanya quickly removed it from her hand. “Now, sister,” she whispered in a motherly tone, “don’t be too hasty. Someone had to do it. Think of our poor, suffering guests. For heaven’s sake, the man lost a tooth, Ciopori.”

Fine, so she wouldn’t confront the wizard. She stared blankly at the room full of destinies, who one and all met her dumbfounded gaze with a guilty smile—well, that was a fine how-do-you-do! They were as guilty as Nachari, and they knew it.

She was about to stand up and confront the humans instead when Arielle spoke quickly, reading the situation and acting to head off the tongue-lashing. “So what about Kagen?” she asked Keitaro. “Did my gorgeous, gallant healer ever do anything that was less than perfect?”

A chorus of moans met Arielle’s besotted question, and Ciopori settled down.

“You really need to come down from that honeymoon platform,” Nachari said, laughing. “Kagen isn’t perfect. In fact, Kagen almost killed Nathaniel.”

“What!” Jocelyn exclaimed, gawking at her brother-in-law.

“How?” Arielle asked. She placed her palm on her mate’s thigh and leaned into him solicitously. “Kagen, how could you do such a thing to your brother, to your twin?”

The healer just shook his head. “Kill is a bit of an exaggeration.”

Keitaro crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his only brown-haired son. “Kagen, you stuffed him in a barrel, filled it up with water, and sealed the lid shut. Then you sat on top of it until he stopped breathing, pried it open, and filled the barrel with salt.”

Kagen shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive, casual manner. “You act like it was malicious or something.”

“Yeah, ’cause that would be out of character, Mr. Hyde,” Nachari goaded.

Kagen laughed. “It was an experiment!” He lifted Arielle’s hand, brought it to his lips, and softly kissed her knuckles before turning his attention back to his father. “It worked on flies,” he explained. When Nathaniel’s growl began to shake the glassware, he turned to his equally deviant brother and walked him through a more detailed explanation, using gestures as he spoke. “If you put a fly in a jar and drown it, then fill it back up with salt, the fly comes back to life. I just wanted to see if it would work—”

“On your brother,” Keitaro interjected. “Oh, great Lord Sagittarius,” Keitaro added, “I thought Serena was going to kill you, for real, that time.”

Shelly Winters released a shallow breath and cleared her throat, gazing at Keitaro with stars in her eyes. “Is that your ruling lord?” she asked softly.

Keitaro’s brow smoothed out. “It is.” He smiled graciously at Shelly, and she quickly glanced away.

Wow, someone had a major crush on Keitaro, Ciopori thought.

Kagen cleared his throat and gestured toward Nathaniel with his chin. “He looks all right to me,” he said, seamlessly redirecting the awkward moment.

Nathaniel shook his head. “I have no memory of this trauma.” He sat back like a lazy feline, stretching his shoulders by curling his spine inward. “But perhaps it is why I am so dark, devious, and disturbed as an adult.”

Jocelyn shook her head. “No, that’s not why. That’s just you.”

Nathaniel scrunched up his nose and frowned.

“I’m just sayin’,” Jocelyn quipped.

Before anyone could add a rejoinder, Ciopori stood up from the table and shifted her weight from foot to foot, crossing her arms in front of her and hugging her slender sides.

Kagen appraised her thoughtfully. “Princess, are you okay? Are you feeling well?”

She smiled sweetly. “I’m fine, healer. I’ve just been sitting a bit too long, and now I prefer to stand.”

Nathaniel cocked his eyebrows in question. He glanced from Ciopori to Marquis, then back again, catching the female’s icy glare. “Brother, what did you do?”

Marquis shook his head from side to side, as if he was perfectly innocent, and Ciopori snapped.

“He spanked me!” she blurted, no longer caring who knew. Heck, Nachari could take care of the humans, so why should she conceal it.

Kristina’s mouth fell open, the destinies all blanched, and the humans jolted in their seats, a few of them looking as if they wanted to jump up and run.

“Damn,” Nachari droned. “Warrior, that’s kind of rough. What gives?”

“Was this consensual?” Kagen asked, eyeing his big brother sideways.

“No, it was not,” Ciopori replied.

Marquis stood up, rolled his neck on his shoulders, and his fangs slipped beneath the shelf of his gums. “Leave it alone,” he snarled, eyeing Nachari, then Kagen, in turn. He cast a sweeping glance across the table at the humans. “All of you. Not a word.”

As if on cue, every human heartbeat sped up to a frenetic pace. The pungent tang of adrenaline—one of the fight-or-flight hormones—wafted through the air, and Keitaro Silivasi cleared his throat. “I don’t recall raising such a bully.” His voice dropped to a silken, imperious tone. “Marquis, sit down.” He gentled his tone and regarded Ciopori directly as Marquis folded back into his chair, grumbling. “The guests are staring and getting nervous; this is family business. We will handle it later.” He replaced his stern, reprimanding censure with a smile and a wink.

“Oh, hell,” Nathaniel Silivasi drawled before whistling low, beneath his breath. “Now this just got interesting.”

Nachari waved his hand through the air, and the humans were instantly placated. He had obviously reversed their sense of time, rewinding the conversation by a couple of minutes. Before anyone else could speak or react, a pretty Latina lady, with rosy-red cheeks and finely manicured eyebrows, entered the dining room from the butler’s pantry, her hair looking wild and unkempt, her face flushed and exasperated.

“Excuse me, Señor Silivasi.” She was staring at Nathaniel. “I believe we found the ham.”

Jocelyn’s head dropped into her hands, and she began to rub her eyes. “Storm?” she asked, groaning as if she already knew the answer.

Alejándra nodded slowly, and her keen dark eyes deepened in apology. “It would appear that Master Storm speared the ham with a barbecue fork, tossed it down the laundry chute, and tried to dispose of it in the basement latrine when no one was looking.” She sighed. “I swear, Mr. and Mrs. Silivasi, Maria and I only turned our back on him for a moment this morning.” She placed a regretful hand over her heart and frowned. “When we asked him why he did it, he said—Master Storm said—that he didn’t eat pork.”

“What the hey?” Nachari murmured. “He’s a vampire. In a few more years, he won’t be eating anything.”

Alejándra nodded slowly. “I am only telling you what the child said, Mr. Nachari: Storm no feed da pork!”

Jocelyn blinked several times in quick succession, and Ciopori couldn’t tell if there was something in her eye, or if she was fighting the urge to weep.

“Thank you, Alejándra,” Nathaniel said dryly, placing a supportive hand on Jocelyn’s arm. “We’ll deal with him when we get home. It should only be a couple more hours. You’re doing a wonderful job. You and Maria.”

Alejándra nodded, and Marquis bristled. “When are you going to get that child some help, Nathaniel?” He shifted his gaze to Nachari. “Wizard, you are the one who is so gung-ho on the idea of interpersonal therapy. Perhaps you should help your eldest nephew before he grows up to be a serial killer.”

“Marquis!” All of the destinies chastised him at once.

Jocelyn shook her head, looking almost as weary as Alejándra. “Mind your own business, Master Warrior.”

“Ancient Master Warrior to you,” Marquis barked.

“Oh, is that right?” Ciopori chimed in. “What are you going to do about it, Ancient Master Warrior? Spank her?”

And that’s when Keitaro Silivasi stood up.

He nodded at the human guests, flashing his warmest, most endearing smile. “Thank you so much for joining us this night. I hope you each have a Merry Christmas.” He turned to regard his youngest living son. “Nachari, be a gracious host and help my daughters see our guests to the door—and make sure each family receives a generous Christmas bonus.” He switched seamlessly to a common telepathic bandwidth: Oh, and Wizard, once the guests have departed—but before we gather as a family in the parlor—I want you to follow up on the male who is with Kevin Parker: Who is he? Why is he here? What does he know about the Vampyr? Make sure he only knows what he should, and whatever he shouldn’t…remove. “Now then.” He cleared his throat for emphasis. “I think it’s time to settle this whole spanking matter once and for all so we can enjoy the rest of our evening. Marquis”—he gestured toward the back of the house—“outside, now!”

“Excuse me?” Marquis snarled, staring at his father like he had just donned a clown suit and danced on the table. “With all due respect, I’m over fifteen hundred years old.”

Keitaro crooked his thumb and waved it toward the kitchen, indicating the back door leading into the yard. “Yeah, well, you’re not too old for the woodshed. And I’m not going to say it three times—get your ass outside, boy. Now.”

Nathaniel jumped up from the table—like a five-year-old kid at a carnival who had just been offered cotton candy—close on his father’s heels. “Oh, I have got to see this! I’m going with.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Kagen said.

“Me three,” Vanya chimed in.

“I’m in!” Kristina squealed. “Sorry, Pops, but I’m done playing hostess for the night. Heck, I already sprang for the pizzas—that should count for something.”

“I’ll pass,” Deanna said wryly.

“As will I,” Arielle agreed.

“I think I need to check on Storm,” Jocelyn murmured, sounding bereaved.

“This whole damn family needs therapy,” Marquis grumbled, shaking his head in disgust. Nonetheless, he made a beeline toward the kitchen and out the back door.

He wasn’t about to test his father’s resolve.