by Sotia Lazu
Chapter One
Alice couldn’t see the use of Christmas. Or New Year’s, to be perfectly honest. She had no room in her apartment for a tree, no use for annoying little lights, and no tolerance for carols—or carolers, thank you very much.
And the movies… Gah. Sappy happy endings all around, meant to fool the innocent. Good thing Alice hadn’t been innocent in a while.
She had been once. She’d been seven and full of dreams, waiting up for Santa. Santa hadn’t shown his bearded face, but she’d seen her dad sneak down the stairs, carrying an armful of wrapped packages. When he’d placed them under the Christmas tree, she’d tiptoed back to her bedroom and asked her older sister about it.
“Santa isn’t real. Mom and Dad said I can’t tell you, but I suppose it’s okay now,” Amanda had said with all the wisdom of her ten years, and little Alice’s heart shattered into a million little pieces. Not only was there no Santa, but her entire family had been lying to her.
Her heart mended in the years since, of course. Until that idiot Joss Cavanaugh broke things off with her on Christmas day for Nicole Harding, when Alice was fourteen.
And then, last New Year’s Eve, her latest boyfriend, Dorian, told her he just wasn’t feeling it any longer. Something about falling in love with his brother’s secretary. Alice had really thought he was the one, but she’d obviously been wrong.
If she were superstitious, she’d think the holidays were cursed. Now she just thought they sucked. Big time.
Take this year, for example: she was house-sitting for her parents, who were celebrating their thirty-five year wedding anniversary with a six-week trip around Europe. Amanda was spending the last week of the year with her sexy live-in boyfriend, and Alice’s friends were all coupled up. Alice had had a couple flings since Dorian, but didn’t feel like contacting any of those guys to keep her company.
She changed the channel and landed on a close-up of Jim Carrey, wearing what looked like a furry pear-shaped frog costume, and grinning maniacally.
“The Grinch is vastly underappreciated,” Alice told the empty living room.
A bolt of lightning lit up the night sky, and thunder boomed in its wake. “Dude, that was close.” And unless she stopped talking to herself, she was a cat away from becoming a crazy cat lady.
Speaking of cats—Ms. Thing jumped on the back of the couch and strolled along its length before landing on Alice’s left shoulder. “Meow,” Ms. Thing said very matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, you’re not a scaredy-cat at all, are you?” Alice pulled the jumpy feline on her lap and stroked her under the chin. The cat purred, but her ears didn’t stop twitching. At the next thunderbolt, she tried to climb inside Alice’s pajama top.
“Hey! Stop that!” What had she been thinking, agreeing to look after a cat for her sister’s best friend? She didn’t even know how Becca had talked her into that. Alice held the fluff-ball at arm’s length. Ms. Thing twitched in obvious panic, and Alice let her land on the floor. Instead of trying to hide under the couch, the cat ran for the kitchen.
With a groan, Alice left her cozy sleeved blanket behind and rushed after her, hoping all cabinet doors were shut. Last time Ms. Thing had gone hiding in a cupboard, retrieving her had been a two-person operation.
“Come on, Ms. Thing, I’ll give you tuna. Just don’t make me have to look for you.”
Something crashed outside, and Alice heard what sounded like scratching coming from the direction of the front door. The uncharacteristically harsh storm had to have toppled over a trash can, but there was no way Alice was going out in the rain to check.
“This year cannot go away fast enough,” she muttered.
Ms. Thing stood at the center of the kitchen table like a fluffy white vase.
“You’re one weird kitty.” Alice tucked her under her arm and returned to the living room.
The scratching reached Alice’s ears again. It was too persistent to be caused by scattered garbage. Had she accidentally stepped onto the set of the next Scary Movie?
Not letting go of the cat, she tiptoed to the door. “Whoever this is, better be holding pizza!” she called out. Maybe Amanda and Derek had decided to surprise her. She turned on the porch light and looked out through the peephole, but saw no one. Anticlimactic. Still, the scratching continued.
Something had to have fallen outside the door. She opened it just a couple of inches, but the wind blew against it hard enough that Alice had to take a step back.
And then the world’s biggest, wettest, dirtiest dog pushed past her and into the middle of her parents’ living room.
Ms. Thing dug her claws into Alice’s arm and, when Alice loosened her hold, practically flew back toward the kitchen.
Traitor.
Alice watched in horror as mud dripped on the previously spotless carpet. “No! Bad dog!” she shrieked.
The dog stopped on his tracks and turned to look at her.
Alice froze. The realization that she was alone—she obviously couldn’t really count on Ms. Thing for help—with a humongous stray sank in. She’d yelled at a dog the size of a frigging bear. What was she thinking? The dog was in new surroundings. He might be jittery. What if he was getting ready to attack? She’d always loved dogs, had even helped at a shelter during college, and she knew their fear could turn into aggression if they felt cornered.
She held out both arms loosely, palms facing upward, and tried to make her body posture as non-threatening as possible. “Okay, good boy. Wait right there until…” Until? What brilliant solution could she come up with? And where had Ms. Thing gone? Alice should really go after the cat, but the dog might be feral.
The dog wagged its tail and gave her a doggie smile. Yeah, a real killer.
“Until I get a towel,” Alice said. She’d take it one step at a time. Whatever the dog’s disposition might be, he was filthy, and her mother would kill her if he stained the carpet permanently. She looked at the far right corner of the room, where the tree she’d stubbornly refused to decorate stood. “And please don’t lift a leg!”
The dog gave what she assumed was the doggie equivalent of a shrug, and Alice backtracked toward the ground floor powder room. “Good doggie. Wait there, and I’ll—”
She didn’t get to finish her promise to give him a treat, as the dog chose that moment to shake the gunk off himself and onto everything within a four-foot radius, including the coffee table, the fireplace, and Alice.
“Oh my God. Eww!” The dog had sent sludge and germs flying all over her, and Alice wanted nothing more than to run to the bathroom and overindulge on germicide. She couldn’t leave, though. Not while the four legged menace stood there.
“Out. Now!” She pointed at the still open door. The dog’s ears fell, but to her amazement, he started toward the exit. When he reached Alice, he licked her hand.
“Ah, shit.” The rain was at its worst, and she was sending this poor, adorable, bear-sized dog out in it. He wouldn’t survive the night if she threw him out. Well, he probably would, but he wouldn’t enjoy it. “Wait. Stay. Sit.”
The dog looked at her over its shoulder, one front paw hovering mid-air.
“Get back in here, you mutt. I’ll decide what to do with you in the morning.”
The dog spun around faster than she’d thought possible and ran straight for her. He never slowed down. Not even when he jumped up and tossed her to the ground.
Alice was covered by a hundred and sixty pounds of filthy, shaggy dog, getting her face thoroughly licked, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard.
When the dog finally let her up, she reached for his neck. There, caked in mud and hidden by strands of matted fur, was a collar with a bone-shaped ID-tag. She scraped the metal surface with a thumbn
ail. It read Prince Charming.
Oh, the irony.
The dog sat back and let her use him as a prop until she was back on her feet.
“If you’re spending the night, we need to give you a good grooming,” she said, kicking the door shut.
He whined, but followed her to the bathroom upstairs. “Wait here.” She rolled up the bathroom mat and took it out of the room before closing the door behind her. She’d clean up the mess downstairs, find the damned cat, and then do whatever it took to get the dog back to a princely state.
Chapter Two
Quinn stretched and looked around. The bathroom was spotless except for his paw prints on the tiled floor. He’d try to suppress the shaking this time. He’d hated the look Alice had given him when he’d rained dark brown droplets all over her living room.
But this wasn’t her living room. He’d seen her living room before…
He didn’t think much about ‘before.’ Didn’t remember much, either. The now was his reality, and in it, he ate scraps from the garbage and spent the night in alleys.
But he knew her scent and he knew her name.
Alice.
He knew her green eyes—and he somehow knew dogs weren’t supposed to see colors, but he didn’t know where he’d heard that or what it meant.
Her scent wasn’t in this bathroom. Similar, yes, but not hers. He knew her smell. The downstairs smelled more like her. And like something else he’d like to chase around.
Cat?
He knew that word and he knew Alice. That was more than he’d known since…since he’d been Prince Charming.
But he was really Quinn. He had to—
Headache.
He shook his head slowly from side to side, trying not to get the white tiles dirtier than he already had.
“I can take it from here.”
“No way I’m letting a lady carry her own shopping, when I can help. I’m bringing them to your door.”
“What about your friend?”
“She can wait.”
His headache turned worse, skull-splitting.
She could wait.
Who?
He licked one back paw, then the other. He wanted to lick more, but he had to hold back, not give in. He had to be Quinn.
“Prince Charming? You better not have made another mess in there.”
He woofed once, and Alice came in holding the same towel she’d brought earlier. It had pot-bellied Santas on it. Another thing dogs weren’t supposed to recognize.
How did he know what he was supposed to know?
She wore clean clothes, but mud was still streaking one cheek.
Sweaty. Writhing. Scratching.
Flesh slapping against flesh.
He’d pay for it.
He already had.
He was almost out of time to—
Ouch.
Remembering was bad. It hurt his head. He wagged his tail.
Alice grimaced. “How am I ever gonna lift you into the tub?”
That was easy. He hopped inside and sat down, tail going berserk. He was going to get clean!
“Okay, you’re either the smartest dog ever, or I’m dreaming you up.”
He had to convince her of the former, if he wanted her to keep him. The thought made him grin. He did. He wanted it so much.
Surrounded by her scent, he didn’t even notice her turn on the water. He jumped a little when the warm jet hit his back, but let it soak his fur. Alice began lathering him up with something that smelled like flowers. He knew there’d been a time he wouldn’t have been caught dead smelling like that, but all he could focus on now were Alice’s fingers, massaging him.
“Dude, the water’s coming out black.”
He looked down. He really had been filthy. If he was good, if he showed Alice he could stay clean, maybe he’d never again have to be so dirty. Her face was inches away, so he showed her his gratitude with a nice big lick.
“Eek. You sure love slobbering all over me, huh?” She scratched him behind the ears, and he leaned into her touch. This had to be heaven.
She rinsed him and tried to cover him in a big towel, and then shrieked and giggled when he shook off the excess water. This was shaping up to be the best day ever! He felt some mild discomfort when she used the blow-drier to get him dry and fluffy, but got over it when she kissed him on the nose. “There. Now you look like a prince again.”
Stupid name. She had thought it was funny to name him that.
Headache again. Ouch ouch ouch. He lay on his side and rolled to his back, so he could rub his head against the rug.
“You can do that as much as you like now.” Alice smiled down on him. “When you’re done, come to the kitchen. I’ve got a treat for you.”
He was on his paws and after her in no time. Food was the next best thing to Alice scratching his belly. And judging from the smell that wafted off the box she opened…
Pizza. He hadn’t had any since—
Argh!
He wished he could ask for a painkiller.
“Here you go. You can finish it.” She left the box on the floor, and he went at it like there was no tomorrow.
Which there might not be. Most days he felt like there’d been no yesterday.
He cleaned the last traces of tomato sauce with his tongue and looked up to see Alice watching him. “What am I gonna do with the cat?” she asked him. “Can’t let her out while you’re here, and she hates her crate, but I don’t think locking either of you in another room is going to work out.”
Cat.
Chase.
No. Alice wouldn’t want that.
He approached her and nuzzled her palm. She was much taller than he remembered.
She rose on her tiptoes, her lips brushing his ear. “If you didn’t have to go, I’d thank you for helping me with all those bags,” she whispered.
What was he remembering?
His arm snaked around her waist. Her long brown hair grazed the knuckles of his fingers. It felt like silk, and he wanted to fist his hands in that hair again, swallow her moans again. He’d be back for her, but first he had to—
This time he yelped with pain.
“You okay, boy?” Her concern made him warm inside. He nodded, and she gave him an incredulous look. “You must be a figment of my imagination.”
Maybe he was.
One hand on his collar, she led him to the living room. “I’m going to bring in Ms. Thing so you can smell each other through the crate. Please be good, or I’ll have to lock you in the bathroom.”
He would. He would be so good, she’d be proud of him. He would do whatever she said, and she’d decide there was room in her home for him. Never wet again. Never alone again.
Never in pain again. He’d be a happy dog, with a crate in his own little corner and a food bowl that read ‘Prince Charming.’
Fear rose up inside, stealing his breath. If he still had fingers, he’d be clawing at his throat.
His fingers had been laced with hers and she’d said she loved him. He didn’t love her, but she was nice and he’d pretended until he couldn’t any more.
Not Prince Charming.
He was Quinn. He didn’t want to be a happy dog. He didn’t want to be a dog.
He wasn’t a dog. But he would forever stay one, if he—
The pain came again, sweeping him in waves of agony. He ducked his head and waited it out. He didn’t move from his spot when Alice reappeared holding a plastic box. The thing in the box mewled and moved around, but he tried not to scent its obvious panic.
“Ms. Thing, this is Prince Charming.” Alice left the box on the floor in front of him, and he sniffed it before turning away. It wasn’t just that he wanted to please Alice; he didn’t really care about the cat while it wasn’t moving. He probably wouldn’t much care even if the thing was running around the house.
He was warm, safe, and with Alice.
Chapter Three
Alice sat on the couch and placed the crate by her si
de. She’d open the door in about half an hour, give them some time to get used to each other first.
Despite his size, Prince Charming seemed like the least dangerous dog in the world, and Ms. Thing was easily adaptable to both two- and four-legged companions, according to Becca.
Prince Charming put his head on the cushion next to her without even having to stretch from his spot on the floor. His eyes were a striking golden yellow, ringed with orange, and he was beautiful now that his fur was no longer caked with three layers of sludge. He sort of looked like he had a good percentage of Irish Wolfhound in him. She petted him. He was silken too—and didn’t shed, judging from the lack on loose hairs between her fingers.
Soft and cuddly.
Alice sat back, pulled the blanket on, and patted the back of the couch. “Here, boy.” She could do with some cuddling. It had been a while since she’d felt that way. Last time she’d wanted to cuddle, she’d still been with Dorian.
There might have been a time after that, but—Nah.
To the soundtrack of feline protests, Prince Charming climbed up and curled his body into a big, fluffy ball next to her. Alice wrapped an arm around his neck, enjoying his warmth. His presence felt so comforting, she might forget to whine about the holidays for another ten minutes.
Or not.
The Grinch was over. She channel hopped and landed on yet another annoyingly upbeat Christmastime movie. This one came complete with a miracle. Alice grunted. “I hate TV during the holiday season.”
Prince Charming nodded against her knee.
She patted his head. “You’re a wise dog, despite your stupid name.” If she kept him, she’d have to rename him to just Prince.
Well, that was a dumb thought. Even if pets were allowed in her building, she was barely able to make ends meet as things were. A part time job in data entry and occasionally selling one of her street portraits didn’t exactly leave her with much at the end of the month, and a dog Prince’s size would probably need two pounds of dried food per day. There was no way she could afford it.
He placed a heavy paw on her thigh, and she realized she’d stopped petting him. She ran her fingers through his fur in long strokes. “You’ll stay with me tonight,” she said.