A Writers Vineyard Holiday Treat A stiff gust of wind rattled the shutters against the window frame. Elena looked up from where she reclined on the bed, poring over the yellowed parchment of an ancient text. A hearty fire burned on the grate. The wavering light cast the lion-faced andirons into shadowed grimaces. Despite the fire, the frigid cold of winter crept through the stone walls. She gathered the velvet collar of her dressing gown against her throat.
She had known, of course, there would be times when she must remain behind -- times when Archer would disappear into the night, and hunt those wicked and depraved souls targeted by the Primordial Council for Final Reclamation. His latest assignment had brought them here, to an obscure corner of Surrey, where they’d taken residence in this centuries-old hunting lodge. Normally Archer’s absences did not trouble her. She used the time to ravenously immerse herself in hand-scribed tomes and the healing knowledge of the Ancients. After all, she still had so much to learn.
But tonight was Christmas.
Elena could not deny a certain melancholy at having to pass such treasured hours alone. Restless, she closed the book. From outside the window came a creak. An extended rattle. And perhaps the fall of horses’ hooves upon snow? Throwing back the heavy coverlet, she scrambled across the bed, her pale hair a startling flash in the mirror on the wall. She pushed aside the heavy curtains, and wiped her palm against the window, forming a small hole in the condensation. Outside, snowflakes swirled and collided, but no carriage occupied the gravel drive.
Something caught her eye. A movement near the forest. A flicker of light. Eyes narrowed, she watched but discerned nothing more. Moving quickly, she took up her dagger and secured the blade into the belt at her waist. After donning boots and gloves, she claimed a weighty fur cloak from the foot of the bed. The garment drawn over her shoulders, she exited the room and swept along the dark hallway. At one with the shadows, Elena’s lips formed a small smile. She wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore. Archer’s love had changed all that.
Outside, wind rustled through the limbs of the evergreens, and pitched the hem of her cloak. Snow crunched softly under her boots, and cold numbed her cheeks. Her breath revealed itself as vapor in the night. At the exact location where she’d observed the curious movement and light, she delved into the tree line. Soon enough, she saw it -- a wavering glow. Cautiously, she approached with her hand at her waist, against the silver hilt. Here, the wind faded, its force weakened by rows upon rows of branches and thick trunks. She entered a small clearing. Her eyes widened.
A tiered evergreen occupied the center. Small wax candles blazed on every branch, their collective light forming a wide circle of light all about. His presence -- his heat -- embraced her from behind.
Merry Christmas, he murmured.
“Archer,” she exhaled.
Her beloved Amaranthine. She tilted her face, pressing her temple against the warm, firm plane of his cheekbone. “I didn’t think … Well, I thought I would be …”
“Alone? Tonight?” he queried softly. “On Christmas Eve? No, darling. Never.”
Strong hands braced her elbows, and turned her toward him.
“Besides …” Silver eyes glimmered down in mischief. His black hair shone in the candlelight.
In his gloved hand, he lifted an enormous bunch of –
“I’ve got plans for all this mistletoe.”
Laughing, he bent down for a kiss.
This has been an excerpt from Night Falls Darkly
Kim Lenox debuted her Shadow Guard series in October through NAL’s Signet Eclipse imprint. She lives in Texas with her husband, two children, cats and collie. She enjoys reading, going to flea markets, cooking, thinking about diet and exercise, and spending time with friends and family.
Please visit her website at: http://www.kimlenox.com/
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