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Chapter One
“Can you see all right, Olly?”
“Yeah.”
Jesse looked up. His nephew’s face was solemn under his blue bobble-hat. Jesse patted his knee and shifted the boy’s weight on his shoulders.
“You know there’s nothing to be scared of, right?”
Oliver didn’t answer right away. “Dad says the baron is dangerous.”
“He said that to you?”
“Not to me. To Mum.”
“And what did your mum say?”
“I dunno…I snuck away before I heard. They’re arguing a lot again.”
Jesse edged to the side as a woman brought her phone up to photograph the illuminated front of St. Helen’s church. The snow-flecked air was rich with the smells from the mulled wine cart and bratwurst stall but stiff with a sense of unease. Jesse scanned the crowd, noting the unusual lack of children.
“He’s not dangerous, Olly,” he said. “He’s just a man.”
“He’s not a man, though, Uncle Jesse,” Oliver whispered urgently. “He’s a vampire.”
Jesse suppressed a smile. “There’s no such thing, mate. Just wait. You’ll see he’s just a guy, like me…like your dad.”
“Dad says theykillpeople.” Oliver’s grip tightened on Jesse’s head.
Jesse muttered under his breath. “There are bad ones and good ones, Olly…just like people.”
Lights flooded the stage before his nephew could answer. A woman Jesse recognized from TV stepped up to the microphone, raising her hand in response to the muted applause.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for braving the cold to be here tonight. We have a truly unique Christmas light display for you this year. Leaflets with a walk-around guide can be picked up at the tourist info center, or you can download the York Christmas Festival app.” She smiled wider, darting her focus behind her. She took a deep breath. “Without further ado, I would like to welcome our special guest, someone who has funded this year’s illuminations and who has kindly agreed to switch them on. Please welcome, Baron Emory Von Magnusson.”
More hushed applause and whispered comments punctured the frozen air as a tall figure stepped onstage. Oliver tensed. Jesse stared.
He’d seen pictures of Von Magnusson, of course. It seemed to Jesse that you could hardly look at your phone these days without seeing something about ‘The Undying Baron’ and his recent move back to his ancestral lands. He was a handsome, broad-shouldered figure with styled black hair and dark blue eyes, the color of a nighttime ocean. Hot? There was no question about that. Jesse didn’t mind admitting to himself that the haemophile was the stuff of fantasies—chiseled jaw, flawless skin, a body he’d be happy to take a flying run at. But still just a flesh-and-blood guy, not the inhuman demon the hate groups touted him as.
In person, however, he literally took Jesse’s breath away. He was the tallest man Jesse had ever seen. He towered over the woman, who was easily five-eleven in her stiletto heels. His shoulders were so wide that the black wool overcoat, dotted with snow, had to be custom-made. Under the coat, he wore a tasteful suit in Oxford blue, a crisp, white shirt and a blood-red tie. Jesse blinked, wondering if that had been deliberate. But then the haemophile’s eyes met Jesse’s, and all intelligent thought fled.
There was an electric moment when Jesse was convinced the haemophile was reading every inappropriate thought that rolled through his mind, then he lifted his cobalt gaze and Jesse was able to breathe again.
“A very warm welcome to all of you,” the haemophile said, his voice deep and rich as coffee liqueur. “I am honored to be here. York is a city very dear to me, and any chance to make it shine brighter warms my heart.”
More staid clapping. Every gaze was fixed on the speaker, but the expressions on the faces around Jesse were uncertain. Magnusson never blinked, and his smile never wavered. The glimpse of his over-long canines Jesse had got as he spoke had sent a needle of uncertain excitement over the back of his neck. He shook himself and patted Oliver’s shin.
“See? Just a bloke…like I said.”
Oliver’s gaze was locked on the haemophile, but his grip on Jesse’s head had loosened, and he sat a little easier across his shoulders.
“He’s big,” Oliver murmured.
“You’re not wrong there, mate,” Jesse said, drawing a deep breath, hoping it would cool the sudden heat in his veins.
“This year’s Christmas display is something a little different,” Magnusson went on. “I wanted to try to recreate the York I was born in.—the one I knew as home, to show the world the timeless nature of our city’s beauty. So, if you’ll allow me…”
The smiling woman stepped aside, gesturing toward the large switch on a table next to the mic. Magnusson wrapped one large, gloved hand around the lever. He pulled it back with a click.
