Christmas Eve

With the long winter nights, Ethan usually woke before Brit. Without going to the window, he could sense that the streets were coated with a fresh blanket of snow. Ethan loved the beauty of fresh snow and he especially enjoyed the way that the snow muted the sounds of the city. The snow merely added to night’s sense of enchantment for it was Christmas Eve. Sliding Brit from his chest, he arranged her so that she laid on a pillow that half-supported her shoulders. Brit barely stirred causing Ethan to marvel how soundly she could sleep.

Ethan pulled the blanket over her tucking it along her sides. Seeing that she was bundled, he placed his ear to her back and closed his eyes listening to the air move in her lungs mingled to the strong sound of her heartbeat. His fingers trailed through her hair arranging it into coils that resembled red puddles around her. Ethan closed his eyes and warmed his fingers on her body. Brit stirred slightly before settling back into her deep slumber. The wind howled outside causing him to roll to his stomach and stare at the wall. His hand reached for his cross but it was not there. Flattening his hand, he patted the spot where he had worn it for years.

The cross had brought Ethan comfort during many junctions during his existence. When he was mortal and doing God’s work, he had touched it for luck and to ask His blessings to allow him to complete tasks he was set to do. The cross had given him a focal point so he could pray before a battle, and it allowed him to stay sane after his capture. The battle did not last long: There were too many, and Ethan’s men were swarmed. Ethan was the last one standing swinging wildly even after he knew that all had been taken. They circled him like wolves taking down wounded prey and placed him in chains. One at a time, all of the men who had served with Ethan in God’s army were murdered before him. Ethan had known it was only a matter of time before it was his turn. Beaten, tortured, and drained. Ethan remembered holding his cross praying for the ability to break the chain on his foot preventing him from escaping during the day when most of his captors scurried away to escape the sunlight.

Brit made a small sound reminiscent of a kitten complaining. Ethan loosened his hold and raised his head to watch her. Light touches on her skin lulled her back to sleep. His thoughts returned to the cross. He remembered watching the last of his troop die. The sounds of the wind outside resembled the unholy howl, and Ethan was never sure whether the sound was his. He remembered keenly holding the cross tightly. God would surely hear his prayer in his weakened state. It seemed that his prayer was heard and answered. A miracle occurred. His captors brought him food. Then they gave him dark red vitae to drink. Ethan struggled to resist, but it was forced into his mouth until his body betrayed by the peristaltic contractions of his throat pushed the contents to his stomach and caused him to miraculously heal.

Laughter followed. Ethan could still hear the taunts that it was not his God who healed him. Still true to his faith, Ethan consoled that God’s will allowed them that decision and he gave a prayer of thanks. During his prayer, Ethan was grabbed up. He could still remember the feel of the cross in his hand as the sharp fangs sank into his throat. Rapidly and unceremoniously, Ethan’s life was drained from him despite his excellent fighting skills. Ethan remembered the panic of dying and the surge that followed as more vitae was placed into his mouth. Survival instincts caused him to swallow. He remembered being caught between two worlds, and knowing with growing terror that he was becoming a creature very like those he used to hunt. As he shivered through the night, he was helpless to react to the laughing and taunting asking him where his God was now.

Several boots to the side and more laughter and taunts followed. Then his sire picked him up by the collar of his tunic and pressed his face against Ethan’s ear. The dark voice said in a clipped, deep voice, “If I break each of your bones, you will not die. If I burn your flesh, you will not die. Your God has turned his back for all of your service.” With no little force, Ethan was thrown into a shallow grave. Closing his eyes, he recalled scent and sound of dirt shoveled loosely on top of him, covering him merely enough to protect him from the rising sun. Then darkness descended.

Burying his face in Brit’s hair, Ethan remembered waking and frantically digging his way from the dirt to a full moon. Ravenous, he attacked the closest source of blood and drank in huge gulps until the bovine collapsed on top of him. Ethan had to claw his way from beneath the animal and ran to the barn nearby. There, he shivered while tears dried in bloody streaks on his face and he struggled to calm his thoughts while clutching his wooden cross. The wind continued to howl outside. Dropping his head to his hands, he kissed the cross and prayed. Ethan could only imagine the image he created at that moment. It had taken him hours to clean the blood and matter from his hair and skin. His blood-soaked tunic was burned for warmth after he stole breeches and a barn jacket from a peg. That night, he felt unworthy to wear it anymore.

“Ethan?” Her voice caused him to startle and he looked to his wife with wild eyes. Brit touched his cheek. “Are you well,” she whispered. His hand came to hers and he pressed it against his cheek. It was warm and soft. He sat up composing himself from the bleak memories before pulling her into his lap still swaddled in the blanket. She reached to brush back his hair. “Ethan? What is wrong?” He could feel her thoughts probing his mind. Ethan smirked. He had worked hard for her to develop a link to his thoughts. The timing for it to click in place was uncanny.

Tickling slightly to distract her, Ethan grinned feeling her thoughts never entering completely. “Of course I am well, Brit.” She squirmed delightfully beneath his fingertips, and he thoroughly enjoyed her warm skin and softness. Even in her sleepy state, she stopped struggling once she realized that she was quite bound by both her hair and her blanket. Grinning mischievously, he bounced her gently to see whether she would struggle more. Brit giggled at his playful mood, but then curled up and closed her eyes nuzzling against him. “Oh,” he murmured, “I see you have wisely surrendered.” She grinned while feigning sleep. “Little faker,” he chuckled pulling her up and pressing his lips to her throat with a playful bite.

Brit meeped before bursting into giggles. She stretched and looked up at him. Ethan smiled seeing her eyes open: Dark green and framed in sooty lashes. Sometimes, when Brit looked at him, Ethan could not look away. Stroking her cheek, Ethan watched as Brit wriggled a hand free to touch his hair lightly while she finished waking up. Ethan bent and kissed his wife gently while feeling her hand touch his cheek. Soft caresses mingled with more kisses. His lips left hers to kiss her eyes, hair, and then along the side of her face. Each kiss caused Brit’s heartbeat to quicken. Her fingers pulled Ethan closer to her throat and he enjoyed the catch of her breath as he opened her bite marks and drank slowly. Closing her wounds, he opened a wrist to let her drink. As their blood mingled within each one, Ethan marveled at the sensual intimacy he had wrongly thought he might only achieve only through changing Brit.

He held her as long as he could. It was, after all, a special night. After feeding her a dinner of oyster stew, Ethan bathed and dressed Brit in her red gown that had been freshly pressed along with his matching suit. Opening the door, he escorted her to the church. Snow flurries fell and he grinned watching them catch on her eyelashes. Brit ran to the manger outside of the church to look inside expectantly. “Where is baby Jesus?” she asked.

“He has yet to be born…but soon, I think.” Motioning her through the door, Ethan prayed and light candles with Brit while observing her thoughts with voyeuristic interest as she prayed for seemingly everyone that she knew. Checking the time, he furrowed his brow and sighed realizing no Christmas eve mass had been planned. “I think we will have to hold our own mass, Brit,” he whispered to her. Settling at the organ, he pulled her to him. Placing his fingers on the keys, Ethan started to play. Music filled the church. Ethan felt the song wash over her. Each note played created a greater sense of closeness to God and added to the holiness of the night.

Brit watched him play wondering how Ethan learned to play so beautifully. Hearing her thoughts, he said, “Before radio…before television. Once we practiced to keep ourselves entertained. Arts, music. Reading poetry. Once it was all that one had.” After a moment, he said softly, “And prayer.” She smiled staying close. Her mind could follow his. Pausing a moment, he pulled her to his lap and placed her hands on top of his. Kissing the back of her head, he started to play. Her fingers rested on his and followed his motion. The pace picked up and she was able to follow. Ethan smiled sensing her delight at helping him create beautiful music to hail in Christmas morning. The song ended until midnight passed and he whispered, “Merry Christmas, Brit.”

She blinked several times and exclaimed, “I…I have a present for you!” She rummaged through a small bag and produced a small wrapped object. He raised an eyebrow in surprise as he took the package. Ethan had not seen Brit purchasing anything nor had he seen her making anything. With no little surprise, Ethan grinned as he carefully opened the paper not wishing to rush the moment. Brit glanced at him repeatedly growing anxious that he was taking so long to open her present. Once Ethan removed the tape, he unfolded the paper to see a small medallion attached to a ribbon and small ring. Brit had painted the medallion: A perfect image of the two of them together. Ethan beamed as he examined it closely. No kindred could have painted it more realistically. Upon closer look, he realized that she had used a brush of no more than three bristles.

“I will carry it here. Close to my heart.” Smiling at her, Ethan continued to examine the portrait before placing it in the breast pocket of his jacket.

Brit lisped, “You can attach a watch or a key…or anything to it, if you wish.” She pointed out the other end of the ribbon.

“I see that.” Grinning, he kissed her softly. “Thank you, baby. But…I also have something for you.” He had not wrapped it and did not think she would care. Pulling her rosary from his pocket, he gave it to her by wrapping it around her hand. On the end, he had placed his wooden cross. The small gem in the center glittered. He watched as her fingers curled around it. The wind continued to blow snow around outside and, again, Ethan thought of that night in the barn so long ago. Clearing his throat, he pulled her tightly against him. “The cross was worn by me when I was like you.” He swallowed and kept his thoughts focused on the night and his love for her. With a whispered voice, he said, “It brought me much comfort, Brit.” Another pause and he said thickly, “It has helped me survive…to endure.”

Ethan felt her eyes on him and he could feel Brit’s mind seeing within his. He focused on her eyes, and that was all she could see. He never wanted her to see the terror or the horror and so, he focused on the prayers that he had said through the years, and on the love he had found within her. She whispered in wonder, “It brought you to me.” His eyes grew wide as he met her gaze. He simply nodded and kissed her again as gentle as an angel’s wing.

Together, they said prayers and left for home before dawn. Walking past the manger that continued to be empty, Ethan explained that baby Jesus was probably still in the process of being born.