Witch of Christmas Past by Kendra Ashe Page B

asked.
    “You didn’t give me a chance!” I scowled.
    Taking my other arm, he gently led me to a dark deserted alley, I assumed for the sake of privacy. I was right.
    Zane lifted his wrist to his mouth and white fangs kind of just popped out. He bit at his wrist, creating an open wound.
    “Drink. It will heal your arm.”
    I shook my head. “No way!”
    “Do it, Izzy!” he commanded.
    “I’m a fallen angel … they won’t let me out of the hot spot that easily.”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. If your arm were going to heal on its own, it would have already done so by now. You should try to remember that you are an angel with black wings, which means whoever is in charge, isn’t going to worry too much if you endure a bit of pain and suffering while earning redemption.”
    I finally gave in and let him put his wound to my lips, but it was more on account of my arm killing me than because he was being so bossy.
    Almost instantly I felt warmth and a strange tingling sensation spreading throughout my body, especially between my legs. My nipples perked right up as I was filled with images of sleek bodies entangled in the most ancient of dances.
    I suddenly found that I was fixated on the thought of Zane feeding on me.
    What would it feel like if he were to sink his fangs into the flesh of my breast - my inner thigh?
    Just the thought set me on fire. As soon as he pulled his wrist from my mouth, I wrapped my arms around his neck.
    “Feed on me,” I breathed.
    That’s when I saw the hunger reflected in those blue, mesmerizing eyes and I felt an instant of panic, but it faded quickly. Self-preservation could not overcome my need for him. All I could think about was melding with him – my body becoming one with his.
    Grasping my shoulders with both hands, he gently pushed me away.
    “Please don’t tempt me, Izzy.” There was a trembling in his voice that sent a tingle down my back.
    Swallowing hard, I turned away.
    “It is my blood doing this,” he informed me. “Vampire blood will heal you, but it is also like a super aphrodisiac.”
    Suddenly, I realized that my arm didn’t hurt and it was no longer twisted.
    “Thank you for healing me.”
    “We should go,” he urged. “The sooner we find your grandmother, the sooner we can go back to our own time.”
     

 
15.
     
    It took over an hour to make our way through the dark streets of London to Whitechapel.
    The scenery began to change from what I thought of as average Victorian, to slummy over-crowded streets. There were still people out and about, but now they were scruffy looking men and women of the night, nineteenth-century style.
    We received tons of curious stares as we made our way through the crowds. I figured the strange looks were due to the way we were dressed. With me in my high top boots and knee length skirt, not to mention Zane in his jeans and flannel, we had to look weird.
    After about twenty minutes of wandering the dirty streets of Whitechapel, it was time to admit that we were lost.
    “We need to start asking people if they know a witch doctor,” I told Zane.
    Without comment, Zane stopped in front of a woman whose tattered lavender dress was practically ripping at the seams. There was just no way it was going to hold the woman’s oversized body for long.
    I suspected the dress hadn’t originally belonged to her, but there was no way of telling if she’d been given the garment, or if she’d stolen it off some prostitute that had passed out from too much drink.
    “Madam.” Zane tilted his head. “Do you know of a woman known as Stella the Witch Doctor?”
    When the prostitute smiled, I noticed several gaps where there should have been teeth.
    “I can do better than she to ease your pain,” the woman responded, slurring her words.
    “Oh, it is not for me … but for my companion.” Zane motioned to me.
    The woman eyed me with open skepticism before responding. “The witch doctor be rooming over in Angel Alley. Mrs.