You do know, my love, Raven called teasingly, that you have to play Santa Claus at the Christmas party for all the children.

Mikhail lost the image-that of an owl-in his mind for the first time in hundreds of years. His body plummeted thirty feet, nearly hitting the top of a tree before he recovered from his shock. Even within the owl's body, he shuddered. You may rid yourself of that notion at once.

Raven spiraled down toward their home, her body graceful in flight, landing on two feet on the walkway leading to their porch as she shifted into her natural form. Mikhail followed her, shifting as he landed directly in front of her, halting her escape. The lines and planes of his face hardened into a fierce look meant to intimidate. This conversation is not over. He couldn't prevent the horrified reaction running through his body. «There are things you should never ask a man to do.»

Raven rolled her eyes. «The children will be expecting St. Nick to make an appearance. This is our first big Christmas party, the first real one, and the women have agreed to cook, so the men have to do their part. You have to do it, Mikhail.»

«I do not think so,» he replied. His expression could daunt the most dangerous of vampires or vampire hunters, but certainly did not seem to have the desired effect on his lifemate.

Raven merely huffed out her breath at him, exasperated. «Don't be such a baby. Human men do it all the time with absolutely no fear.»

«I am not afraid.»

Her eyebrow shot up, the one that always intrigued him, but this time she looked suspiciously as if she might be laughing at him. «Oh, yes, you are. You look terrified-and pale.»

«I'm pale because I've expended energy flying without first taking sustenance. I am the prince of the Carpathian people, not Santa Claus.»