Page 22 of Blood and Bells

Her friend, equally tipsy but marginally more restrained, giggles behind her. “You can’t leave us to fend for ourselves, you know. It’s dangerous. Anything could happen to us with all these vicious vampires around.”

I brace for Nick’s ego to inflate, ready to roll my eyes at whatever smug comeback he’ll deliver. But to my surprise, he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he stiffens and puts a hand on the blonde’s arm, stopping her from falling over before he eases her back to rest against the bar.

“Ladies,” he says smoothly but with a touch of firmness. “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed your evening. Sounds like you might be close to the end of it.”

The blonde pouts, leaning heavily on the bar, practically thrusting her cleavage at Nick. “But we’re having fun⁠—”

“And you’ll thank me tomorrow when you’re not dealing with a hangover,” Nick replies, his tone light but insistent.

The blonde lets out an exaggerated sigh, leaning closer to Nick until she’s practically draped over him, her glittery dress catching the light like a disco ball.

“You’re no fun,” she purrs, her voice slurring as she places a hand on his chest. “Come on, Nick. Dance with me. Just one dance. Or something more private.” She winks, the kind of dramatic, over-the-top gesture only someone three drinks past their limit can pull off. “I’ll let you bite me wherever you like…”

I expect Nick to make some smug comment or, worse, encourage her, but instead, he gently removes her hand and takes a small step back, creating space between them.

“Jenna, you’ve had enough excitement for one night,” he says, his voice calm but firm. He’s surprisingly gentle, and the polite, polished smile never leaves his face. “Let’s get you and your friend home. No more drinks, no more bad decisions. Wes, can you get them some water and call them a car?”

The friend, who’s been leaning against the bar, giggling into her glass, finally speaks up. “He’s right, Jenna. Let’s call it a night.” She tugs at Jenna’s arm, pulling her away from Nick with surprising efficiency.

Nick waits until Wes places glasses of water in front of them, making sure the women are settled at a nearby booth, before returning to his spot at the bar. He slides back into his usual relaxed stance, but there’s no trace of smugness in his expression. Just quiet satisfaction.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Not what I expected.”

“What, you think I let people stumble out of here into the night with no help?” he asks, his smirk returning. “I’ve got standards, Holly. It’s nice to know you have such a low opinion of me.”

I glance toward the women, who are now sipping water and laughing quietly as they wait. “I thought you’d be more...arrogant about it. You seem to enjoy reveling in attention.”

Nick shrugs, his expression unusually subdued. “Look, I get it. People think vampires are all blood and seduction and bad decisions. And sure, we lean into it sometimes. But we have rules. We keep people safe. That’s the point of Hemoglow.”

Wes sets our drinks in front of us, and Nick picks up his glass, swirling the dark red liquid inside. He takes a sip, and his eyes meet mine, and yet again, he isn’t trying to charm me. Or hide anything from me. He’s leveling with me over a glass of blood in a bar full of questionable decisions.

“You’ve got this idea of me in your head, Frost, but it’s only part of the story. Spend a little more time looking at the rest.”

An answer evades me. It’s disarming seeing him like this. This version of Nick, the one who isn’t all smirk and scheme, is different. The possibility of being wrong about him sits in my chest like an ornament that doesn’t match the others and somehow matters more because of it.

I sip the toddy, and it’s ridiculously good. Warmth spreads. The room is still warm and a little hush-hush, like a library that decided to learn carols. Someone by the hearth starts a quiet chorus of In the Bleak Midwinter and the room hums along, off-key and wholehearted. It feels right. Intentional, like Nick has created a place where people, human or not, can feel at ease.

Maybe he isn’t all bad.

Maybe he’s more than I thought he was.

Not that I’m going to tell him that.

Chapter Eight

Watching Holly emerge from her shell is delightful. There’s still a tightly wound core that never fully relaxes, but her guarded tension has dropped, and she seems to be enjoying herself. I make her laugh with a story about Henry II of England, and if that’s not a Christmas miracle, then I don’t know what is.

“I can safely say that the invention of the shower was the greatest contribution to humanity’s future of anything else,” I finish. “I had to breathe through my mouth during most of the early centuries.”

Her laugh is wonderful, and it sounds like joy. Paper snowflakes spin lazily in the draft from the door. Somewhere near the hearth, someone attempts harmony and nearly finds it. I can’t help but smile when I look at Holly.

“What’s it like?” She finishes the last of her mulled wine. “Immortality, that is.”

“It’s…fine, I suppose. You get perspective. After the first century, you learn about how temporary everything is. Everything comes and everything goes. You learn not to get too connected to anything.”

“It sounds lonely.”

Wes sets down a plate of sugared shortbread between us, as if loneliness is best handled with biscuits. He isn’t wrong.