by Renee George
Chapter 8
They stopped at four ice shacks—all empty. When Rachel spotted a fifth close to the south edge of the lake, near a copse of evergreens, Max wheeled around and headed toward it. A man exited the shack. When they got closer, Max could see the man better and recognized him as the bartender at Lars’ Bar. What the hell was he doing out here on the ice in the middle of the night?
And why didn’t he look surprised to see a dragon flying above him?
The man’s face changed to a grayish-white, his eyes became bright red, and he bared his jagged teeth.
Damn it!
Max worked his abdominals to agitate his stomach. Breathing fire took more than opening his mouth and belching. It was the result of regurgitating highly combustible stomach acid containing the metal cesium into the air and triggering a chemical reaction that caused the liquid to ignite in an explosive fire. But as Max prepared to fry the amphyr below them, the man put a white, coiled object to his lips and blew.
It was the last thing Max heard before darkness claimed him.
* * * *
Rachel dragged herself out from under Max’s unconscious body. Luckily, they had been fairly close to the ground, so that when Max suddenly changed form and dropped out of the sky, they landed in the soft snow covering the banks.
She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. He didn’t move. God! What the hell had that sound been?
“Max,” she said. She shook him again. “Max, talk to me.”
She pressed her palm against his chest and felt his heart beating, but he didn’t rouse.
“Thanks for saving me the trouble of tracking you down.” Dawson still in his horrific form strode toward her, holding out the coiled horn. He’d blown it and the sound had brought down Max—just like her scream, only much more powerful.
“Courtesy of your mother.” He gestured to the small hut. “I can’t believe my luck. I get a jotnar horn and capture one of Myron Gray’s sons all in one perfect moment.” He smacked his awful lips. “It really is a Christmas miracle.”
“Why are you doing this? You were always such a—”
“What? A good bartender?” He laughed. “Don’t be so naive.”
“What do you want?”
“The amphyr have always taken a back seat in Caledon, but at least with Garrick, he allowed us to be who we were as long as we kept ourselves undiscovered. This new Triune wants us to act like humans. Humans are food. With your mother’s horns, and the queen’s cousin as a hostage, we’ll tip the balance of power.”
Rachel stared at the horn. He had taken the horns from her mother. Why had Mom stayed in her frost giant form?
Her stomach squeezed in trepidation. Oh, God. Were her parents really dead?
“Your scream temporarily affects the abilities of other worlders. It lasts a few seconds at best. But the horn drives all other worlder abilities from your enemies for much longer—long enough to kill them.” He smiled. “Change into your jotnar form, and give me your horns.”
“No.” Even if she wanted to meet his demand, she didn’t know how to turn into a frost giant. The closest she’d come to her assuming her other form had been when she’d had sex with Max. It wasn’t exactly an option just now.
“I may have pushed your father into the ice hole. I figure he has maybe a minute before he dies of hypothermia. If he doesn’t drown first.”
Malevolent rage washed over her like an icy wind. The cold seeped into her skin as if it were lending her its bitter strength and will.
“That’s my girl,” Dawson said with a chuckle.
This time, Rachel was aware of her change. Her limbs became longer, her toes burst out of her skates at the seams and she shook her feet free. The ski jacket fit like a straitjacket until it ripped at the shoulders. The stretch denim and athletic shirt she wore were the only things that survived the transformation. Even her underwear and bra had ripped apart.
Rachel hadn’t grown horns when she’d been in bed with Max, but now she could feel the pointed tips push through her forehead, but instead of spirals like her mom’s, Rachel’s grew out then forward, like a Spanish fighting bull.
Dawson held a long machete in his hand now. “Look at those beauties.”
She opened her mouth and roared, the sound shaking snow off the nearby trees. For a moment, Dawson Lars frowned, then he smiled. His smile turned into a laugh of victory. He fist-pumped the air. “It worked. I really worked. I ingested some shavings from the horn, and it’s made me immune against your war cry.”
Rachel snarled. She kicked back on the ice, her large giantess feet shaving a layer and sending out a frosty spray. She put her head down. Lars’ expression changed from smug to surprised as she charged him.
With a hit that would have made any hockey enforcer jealous, she skewered Dawson Lars through the chest. She roared her victory as she snapped his neck and tossed her fallen enemy aside. Her celebration was short lived. Her parents. Oh God. Her father was under the ice. She ran inside the shack. Her mother’s head had exposed wounds on both sides of her forehead, and her bloodshot eyes were wide with fear. Rachel ripped the tape from her mouth and undid the ties on her wrists so she could get the rest herself.
“In the hole,” her mother said, working the knots at her heels.
“I know,” Rachel said. “I’m going in.”
“No.” He mother shook her head. “Your man. He jumped in right before you got in here. He’s under the ice.”
“No!” Not her father and Max. She couldn’t lose him. Couldn’t lose either of them. She prepared to jump in after them. A hand cresting the surface stopped her from taking the plunge.
She grabbed it and pulled, yanking her father up out of the freezing depths. After she pulled him away from the hole, she waited, barely breathing, for Max to surface.
When he didn’t, she lay down and shoved her arm into the water. She felt around in the icy slush, praying for Max to surface. Her pulse quickened, her chest constricted, and she put her head under the water, searching the murky depths for the man she loved, and while they just met, she knew without a shadow of a doubt, she did love him.
He took her hand. When she got a firm hold on him, she yanked him to the surface. His lips were blue and his teeth chattered, but he was alive.
She could hear her father coughing, and her mother sobbing as she hugged him hard. Rachel turned to Max. This was a man who’d rescued her, who’d risked his life over and over for her, and cared enough to put his life at risk again to save her father. Her heart swelled with an overwhelmingly joyous ache.
She wrapped him in her shredded jacket and kissed his cold, trembling lips.
“It’s after midnight, you know.”
“So?”
“Merry Christmas, Rachel.”
“Merry Christmas, Max.”
He kissed her again, heat returning into his lips. “You know I’m going to marry you, right?”
Before Rachel could respond, Destan appeared in the doorway.
“Wow, in front of the parents. Kinky,” he said. “That’s some racy shit there, bro.”
“Rachel,” Callie said, pushing her way past Destan. “I like the blue hair. You’re full of surprises.” She embraced Rachel quickly then immediately tended to Rachel’s father and mother. Her glowing hands instantly brought them relief.
Eustan reached around his brother and tossed Max his duffle bag. “I thought you’d want your clothes before you properly introduced yourself to your new in-laws.” He looked at Rachel. “Welcome to the family, sister.”
She lifted a brow. “I haven’t even said yes.”
Eustan smiled. “Yes, you have.”
“Run,” Destan said to her. “Run as fast as you can.”
“Into my arms,” muttered Max, and he kissed her deeply.
Epilogue
The house was warm and smelled like apples and cinnamon. Max wrapped his arms around Rachel, kissing her every time they passed under the mistletoe, the chandelier, through a doo
r, and basically everywhere and as often as he could. Lights and garland decorated the banisters. The windows were frosted with artificial snow. Christmas cards were lined up on the mantle. Stockings were hung on hooks.
Recorded carols played softly in the background, and Max couldn’t think of anything better than being with Rachel and her family on Christmas day.
The front doorbell rang, and Rachel’s father yelled, “I’ll get it.”
Pinecones were in a bowl near the fireplace, and Max enjoyed watching them spark and pop when Rachel would throw one onto the burning logs.
“Max,” a familiar voice said.
Max turned with Rachel in front of him like a shield. “Dad.” Max and his brothers looked a lot like their day. Dark hair, tall, broadly built, only his dad had blue eyes.
Gray’s face was stern and serious, and Max tried to gauge just how much trouble he was in. “Your brothers have filled me in on the situation up here.”
“I’m sorry. I know I blew it.”
His dad shook his head. “On the contrary. You stopped a potential disaster to the crown. If the terrorists would have managed to use the horns against us, it could have turned the tide in their favor.”
Rachel’s mom practically ran into the living room from the kitchen. She smoothed her chestnut hair and took off her apron. “Myron Gray. How lovely to meet you again.”
He nodded and smiled. “Have we met?”
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember. It was the last year your parents were still the rulers of Caledon before your sister’s Truine. It was a lovely ball.”
“Ah,” he smiled wistfully at the memory. “The night I met my wife.”
Tawny Campbell smiled. “You made a handsome couple.”
“Thank you. We married one month from the day.” He turned a knowing gaze to Max. “Introduce me to my soon to be daughter-in-law.”
Max grinned. “Dad, this is Rachel. Rachel, meet my dad.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“She’s a special one, son.”
“I agree.” Max fairly burst with pride.
Rachel’s mom left the room and came back in with an ornately decorated metal box. It had a keyhole on the front. She handed it to Myron Gray along with the key. “I was going to send this to you with Max, but since you’re here.”
Gray frowned, but he took the offering. He opened the box. Inside was a curled horn. One of the horns Dawson Lars had cut from her head. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. We jotnar used to serve Caledon, but we’re nearly gone. Only a handful of us have survived. Secrecy has been our savior, but after what happened yesterday, I want to help Caledon and the Triune anyway I can.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Campbell,” he said reverently. “Your sacrifice will be remembered.”
“Just kick their asses,” she said.
Gray laughed. “You got it.”
“Oh, Mom,” Rachel said. She moved out of Max’s arms and into her mother’s embrace.
They held each for a good minute before Tawny leaned back and fingered her daughter’s hair out of her eyes. “I’m very proud of you, Rachel Ann.”
Rachel smiled. “I love you too, Mom.”
“Don’t be sassy,” Tawny said, wiping a tear from her eye. She turned to Gray. “Will you stay for dinner?”
“Better not.” He gripped his son's shoulder. “Your mother expects you to bring Rachel home before New Year’s for a proper introduction.”
Max encircled Rachel in his arms and pulled her close. He stared into her crystal blue eyes and knew love at first sight existed, because beyond a shadow of a doubt he loved her. He didn’t know her favorite color, her first crush, or what movies made her laugh and cry. It didn’t matter. They had the rest of their lives to learn about each other.
“I love you.”
Rachel raised up on her toes and kissed his chin. “I love you too, Max.”
The End
Happy Holidays
Preview another Renee George book
The Lion Kings
Lion Kings, Book 1
Chapter 1
They touch me and I am found. I spread my thighs allowing Cage to penetrate me with his fingers while Adam laps at my juices, drinking my desire pooling into Cage’s hand. I am feast to their famine. Cage increases his pace, thrusting, adding another finger as his thumb dances over the engorged bundle of my sex.
He leans his upper body over mine, his eyes the color of a setting sun, an amber-brown, just shy of true orange. As a child, his masters forced him into his other form for long periods of time. Too long. He has short, thick golden blond hair with deep sideburns that end at his jaw where his short beard begins. Those golden lashes, long and curled, frame his unusual eyes as if by design. His powerful body, cut from stone, is only rivaled by Adam’s.
He rubs his face against my cheek, scenting me. Marking me. I am his.
Adam’s tongue replaces Cage’s thumb. He sucks and licks as growing heat rushes to my groin. My nipples perk in the night air begging for attention. Cage, as if reading my mind, captures one of the tightly bound buds with his lips, drawing it between his teeth. I gasp as they both pleasure me with their mouths, their hands…
Adam spreads my legs wider now as he seats himself between my thighs.
Yes, I plead. Yes. I want him in me so badly. He’s such a large and dominant male, I know that when he pushes inside me, I will feel every thick inch of him.
His eyes are the color of midnight, but I can see hints of yellow slipping to the edges as his control is tested. He wants to be tender. He doesn’t want my first time to hurt.
“Clary,” he whispers my chosen name.
“God, she’s so wet,” I hear Cage say, “So ready for us, brother.”
They are not blood, but experience has made them brothers. They are not gentle, but suffering has made them kind. They are not possessions, but love has made them mine.
My beautiful men. My lion kings.
My breath hitches as Cage removes his fingers from my cleft, and I feel the solid head of Adam‘s length pressed against my opening. When he sheaths himself, so fast and so deep within me, I cry out in pain, in pleasure, in joy.
*
Madeline Granger’s own raspy shout startled her awake. The bright sunlight filtered through the trees and blinded her with its glare. She blinked. Sunlight? Trees? She rolled to her side—twigs, rocks, and tree roots bit into her ribs and hip. Not again.
Maddie had been sleepwalking since she was fourteen. They’d started after she had her first period, and had only gotten worse with time. Her parents had taken her to the family doctor after the second time it happened, and he made the diagnosis.
Where was she? The last thing Maddie remembered was driving through Topeka without a real plan. Then she’d stopped in some Podunk town and took a room at the El Rancho, which should have been named El Roacho. The place had two things going for it—it was cheap and it was cheap. Unfortunately, Maddie had just about blown through her savings.
Just six months earlier, she’d been living at home with her parents while attending Sedgwick County Community College. Maddie had been determined to learn a trade. She wouldn’t be the “happy homemaker” of the 1950s. Not like her mother. It had been three years since Kennedy’s assassination, and his death changed the world. Changed Madeline.
After a strange encounter with a psychic at the county carnival, she’d gotten suddenly, unaccountably restless. The next thing she knew, she’d jumped in the Woody her parents gave her and beat feet out of her hometown, Park City. She knew her parents would worry, so she hadn’t asked permission. Her strange disorder made her feel like an outcast in her town. She’d never even had a date—only the weirdoes wanted anything to do with Mad Maddie. It wasn’t so much the sleepwalking that freaked people out. It was more the whacky, really personal, and really accurate secrets she would share about people during these episodes.
She’d been accused of being a sno
op and a gossip, and some people had even threatened her with physical harm. Sometimes she remembered bits and pieces of what happened while in her nocturnal trances, things she did or saw or said, but they were always dream-like and weirdly…disconnected…like the experience was happening to someone else and she was merely an observer. With the exception of her mother, no one believed she couldn’t control her problem.
The desire to travel was the excuse Madeline needed to start over—start a new life where people didn’t know about her troubles. Every Midwest town she passed through made her more and more anxious to move, to keep going. It was as if the invisible strings of wanderlust had taken an unforgivable hold with its relentless pull.
Wanderlust. Lust.
Her dream had been so vivid and exotic. So real. She’d recollected bits and pieces of those same two gorgeous men in other dreams, but with this one—she shivered, trying to ignore the gathered moisture between her thighs—she vividly recalled everything. Why couldn’t that happen in real life? Her mother always told her there was someone for everyone, but Maddie often felt she was destined to be alone.
Maddie stood and dusted her blue Capri pants. Thank Heaven, she wasn’t naked. Only once, had she awakened with no clothes on, and she’d given the neighbors on her street a real show that night. She went to bed in a night shirt and shorts, and hadn’t remembered putting on the calf length pants, the dusty green camisole, or the low-heeled sandals. She was thankful to have clothes, but even more thankful she hadn’t gotten herself killed. Her legs and feet weren’t too sore, so she couldn’t have walked further than a couple of miles, but even so, she’d had to have crossed a few streets to get out of town.
Why me? Maddie dusted herself off. The question always made her feel simpering. She wouldn’t feel sorry for herself. Her sleepwalking disorder was something she’d learned to live with, because it was better than the alternative.