by Zoe Chant
Cursing, he turned into the street that would take him not to Olly’s small one-bedroom apartment on the edge of town but further up the valley to the Heartwells’ castle-like lodge. That was why he was here, after all. To sign away the last bit of what he’d once hoped would be his future.
And if anyone could tell him what the hell was going on here, it was the dragons.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” he muttered to himself as he left the lights of the town behind. “Not deputy here anymore. It’s all some other idiot’s problem now.”
He rubbed his forehead absently. The thick knot of new scar above his eyebrow twinged. He had enough problems without adding whatever was happening in Pine Valley to them.
When he got to the Heartwells’ lodge, it was locked up tight. All the windows were dark.
Jackson stared up at the looming building as though if he just looked hard enough, the place would suddenly be lit up and full of life.
No such luck.
“Where the hell is everybody?”
His voice was barely a whisper against the majesty of the mountains at night. He was small, insignificant.
His shoulders slumped.
The universe had the same idea about him as the woman he loved. It didn’t want anything to do with him.
He turned back to his truck and cursed.
The Heartwells’ land overlooked the rest of the valley. The whole town was spread out below. From this distance, it didn’t look so abandoned. It was like a children’s diorama: tiny snow-topped houses, glittering streetlights, the occasional car crawling ant-like along the roads. He could just imagine hundreds of happy families tucking in for the night, counting down the days until Christmas. Even without the Heartwells’ public decorations, each private house would be a festive sanctuary of warmth and cheer.
Or not. From this distance, Jackson could see where the Heartwell party had moved to.
Past the town, the skate rink at the edge of town shone like a mirror, and beyond that…
He cursed again. There you go, deputy, he told himself, his jaw tightening. You wanted to know where everyone is.
Huddled at the edge of the valley, where the forest was thick and the snow thicker, the Puppy Express headquarters were lit up like the sun.
Jackson had probably spent more time at the Puppy Express than any other business in town. The idea of the place was simple: the owner, Bob Lockey, had a couple teams of sled dogs that he hired out to tourists to explore some of the trails around the valley. That was the “Puppy” bit because no matter how old those dogs got, they still acted like they had all the good sense of a three-month-old fluffball. The “Express” bit harked back to the old Pony Express—visitors could post letters or cards at specific spots along the trails and Bob or one of his employees would deliver them by dogsled.
Jackson’s heart sank. He’d told Jasper Heartwell he’d be in town a few days before Christmas to sign the paperwork, but hadn’t given him a specific date. Any normal Christmas, there would have been a dozen Christmassy places Jackson would expect to find the Christmas-loving dragon shifter if he wasn’t at home. But now, with the town square dark and grim…
Jasper must be at the Puppy Express. Hell, from here, it looked like the whole town was there. Including the one person he wanted to see most and least of all, and who definitely didn’t want to see him.
Olly.
2
Olly
Olly Lockey was not in love with Jackson Gilles. She wasn’t in love with him and she hadn’t been in love with him for the last year. She’d gotten on with her life, not in love with him. Right now she was putting the finishing touches on some sugar mice for the Puppy Express Christmas party, not in love with Jackson Gilles.
She hesitated. That’s right, isn’t it?
It made her stomach churn, constantly checking in with her owl like this. But not checking in was worse. What had happened last Christmas was a lump of gristly uncertainty lodged under her ribs.
She’d already liked Jackson. He wasn’t a shifter, but his mother was, so he’d had no problem fitting in at Pine Valley. The first time she’d ever seen him, her owl had been… intrigued. Like he was a puzzle it wanted to solve. And the longer it spent on that puzzle the closer they’d become, and she’d let herself believe that that like could be something more, and that her owl’s fascination with him meant…
She should have been more careful. She would have been, if it wasn’t for the hellhounds.
A pack of them had attacked the town. No one knew what they were, then: men who could shift into creatures that poured terror from their burning eyes, who could walk through solid walls. How could she have any sort of certainty about the world, facing creatures like that?
They’d targeted the Puppy Express. Looking back, she saw that night from two sides of the same coin: on the one, the pack of hellhounds barely out of their teens, forced into causing havoc by their cruel alpha. On the other, her, not knowing they weren’t there of their own free will, not knowing they were all doing their best to do as little harm as they could within the chains of their alpha’s command. All she’d known was that when she looked into their eyes she was more terrified than she’d ever been in her life.
Everything had been going wrong. The certainty about the world she’d built up around herself was crumbling. Nothing felt safe—except for Jackson.
She’d been so sure.
And then after they slept together, when she was still breathless and shaking, she’d looked up at him and—
No, no. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists. Don’t think about it.
It was too late. Her owl saw her revisit the memory, and its reaction was the same as ever:
Blech.
It blinked at her, as though it was waiting for her approval. She sighed.
No, not blech, but… She forced a smile. He’s… it’s not important.
Sleeping with Jackson hadn’t been blech. It had been glorious. Right up until…
She shook her head. It didn’t matter, did it? Everything had been going wrong, and she’d made the wrong decision, and that had gone wrong, too. She knew that. But the gristle behind her ribs was still there.
Jackson hadn’t wasted any time. He’d left straight after Christmas, less than forty-eight hours after Olly made the biggest mistake of her life. And she’d stayed here in Pine Valley, not in love with him and not able to stop poking at the memory that made her heart ache.
In a few days, it would be a full years since she ruined everything. And the closer the anniversary got the more she couldn’t help checking in with her owl.
You’re sure? she asked it, already bracing herself.
It didn’t bother to reply. She rubbed her eyes, not surprised. Its answer wasn’t going to change.
A year. Time to put it behind her. Her uncle would agree with that, she knew, and so would her best friend Meaghan. They were the ones who’d had to put up with her moping, after all.
Olly packed the mice into Tupperware and piled them on top of matching containers of Christmas tree cookies and pastry wreaths and wedged the stack under her chin. She was ready to go.
Almost.
Olly paused at the window, careful to perch exactly where she couldn’t be easily seen from the street. There was nothing outside except the usual blobs and pools of light from houses. The only movement was a lone group of tourists she recognized as the family who were staying up the street. Good. She was safe to get to the car.
Crisp air whisked the kitchen warmth from her cheeks and her owl perked up, rustling its wings hopefully.
We’re not flying, she told it as she put the containers of food in the passenger seat. Her owl blinked unhappily. Unless you think you can carry all of these over to the Express? Two tucked under each wing?
It grumbled, unconvinced. Olly’s nose wrinkled as it peered through her eyes at the plastic containers of baked goods.
You should throw those away, it told her,
indicating with a curl of her own lip the sugar mice. You got them wrong. They’re all dried up, not lovely and squishy-crunch at all.
Squishy-crunch is not what I was aiming for, so thank you.
Olly slipped into the driver’s seat and pulled out. Here on the outskirts of town, the night was still. To one side of the street, the town glowed warm and bright; to the other, the snow and trees called to the wild part of her. She’d always felt that living on the very edge of Pine Valley township made sense as a shifter: a balance of her human and owl parts. And of course being on the outskirts meant there was so much less to watch out for. That tourist family were the only unexpected addition to the street in the last six months, and she’d watched them carefully enough over the last week to know their habits and feel confident they wouldn’t surprise her.
She took the slow route towards the Puppy Express, dodging around the outside of town instead of driving through the center. There were too many uncertainties there.
You’re not complaining about the wreaths? she needled her owl as she kept an eye out for sudden movement. Or the trees?
We won’t be eating those, her owl replied primly. The herbivores can have them.
Olly shook her head, tucking a smile into the corner of her lips. You know there’s more animal products in the pastries than in the mice? Maybe you should have paid more attention while I was baking.
But they’re mice. Mice are for us. They’re—
Her owl’s psychic voice cut off as headlights appeared at the edge of her vision. Olly glanced across the intersection and regretted it at once. The other driver was in a truck, and the lights were high enough they flooded straight through her windscreen.
She winced, shielding her eyes with one hand, and as suddenly as it had appeared the truck turned around and drove off. It took the same turn she had been about to make, down the road that went either out of town or towards the Puppy Express.
Olly blinked until her eyes cleared. Her mouth was dry. She waited for her owl to berate her, to tell her that she should have been more careful, should have scouted out the route before she drove along it in her lumbering, visible car, there for anyone to see her and sneak up on her—but it was silent.
She licked her lips. Silence was worse.
“Must be another visitor,” she said quietly. Her voice hung empty in the air. “Guess they got lost and didn’t realize they got on the road out of town.”
Her owl still didn’t say anything. Olly frowned, swallowing until her mouth felt less like a desert. She’d been too blinded by the glare to see the truck clearly, but it had looked like—no. Flatbeds like that were common as dirt in these parts. There was no reason to believe it was…
Just in case, she checked with her owl.
Did you recognize the truck, or—?
No!
Olly’s head hurt, but she got it.
She took a deep breath. This was what she had had to hold on to, these last twelve months of flinching at her owl’s reactions: understanding it. Even if that understanding was just understanding that her owl was a skittish snob.
Olly?
Olly blinked. Her owl sounded… uncertain. What is it?
I’ve been thinking, her owl said, about… last year. What happened. It paused, embarrassed. The mistake.
Why? Olly’s heart skittered against her ribs. What is there to think about?
She’d made a mistake. That was all there was to it. Whatever she’d thought Jackson was to her—
There was something there. Her owl gnawed over the thought. Something not-quite. Something almost…
And it wasn’t enough, was it? For the first time in nearly a year, Olly let herself—let her owl—really feel what had happened last Christmas. When she’d opened her eyes, expecting with all her heart that the mystical mate bond she’d heard so much about would suddenly spring into existence, and felt… nothing.
Almost wasn’t enough, she told her owl, fighting back tears. He’s not my mate and I can’t be in love with him, he isn’t—he isn’t important.
Her chest hurt with how much that last statement wasn’t true, and she twisted the pain back before her owl could feel it.
It didn’t say anything else about its thoughts, and Olly kept driving.
I just need to get through this Christmas, she told herself as she headed down the snow-lipped road towards the Puppy Express. Then everything will be normal again.
I can stop thinking about… him. After all, it’s not as though I’m going to see him again.
3
Jackson
He was halfway to the Puppy Express, driving through a tunnel of ice-tipped trees, when his phone started to buzz. Because he was an idiot, a bit of his heart leaped at the thought that Olly might be calling him. That she might have sensed he was close, and wanted…
Wanted to talk to me? His chest tightened. Wanted anything in the world to do with me?
He pulled over and checked the call notification. The screen read: Ma.
Jackson let out a sigh and told himself he wasn’t relieved, or disappointed. He snorted. Hardwick, the closest thing he’d had to a friend in his new hometown, would have glared at him and told him that was two lies. One of the downsides of working with a lie-detecting griffin shifter.
He took the call. “Hey, Ma. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, son of mine. Why’s it so dark? Don’t say I woke you up, it’s not even seven yet.”
Jackson frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear.
“That’s better,” his mother’s voice piped through the speaker. Jackson winced at himself. Video call, not a phone call. He was really on a winning streak, today.
The video quality wasn’t great, but it was clear enough for him to see the delight in his mother’s face. Louisa Gilles was short and so fine-boned, people sometimes had difficulty believing Jackson was her son. The most they had in common was their brown eyes, but whereas Louisa’s eyes were the soft long-lashed eyes of a doe, his were just… eyes.
His mother was calling from her kitchen. She must have propped her phone against the windowsill; he could see the island where he ate breakfast every morning growing up and, beyond it, the dining room with the table he’d built from a windfall tree when he was a teenager.
And covering every surface, bowls and pots full of steaming food.
“Keeping busy?” he asked.
She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the chaos. “Just a few things I’ll be dropping off in the morning.” Her chin had a familiar obstinate tilt to it.
“Would I be wrong in guessing the people you’re dropping the food off to don’t know about it yet?”
“Don’t you go detectiving at me, my darling son.”
“I won’t go detectiving if you won’t go stuffing casseroles down innocent people’s chimneys.”
“Jackson! Don’t be ridiculous. What a waste that would be.” She smoothed down her apron. “You know how people are around here. No one will ask for help even if their stomach’s so empty it’s wrapping around their spine. They don’t want to be any trouble. Trouble! I’ll show them trouble.”
“I’m sure they’re shaking in their boots.”
“They will be by the time I’m done with them. Wobbling like jellies.”
Jackson laughed. “I wish the criminals I deal with were more like you.”
His mother’s face went still. “Speaking of people who won’t ask for help,” she began, and then appeared to change her mind. “You did ask for time off over the holiday, didn’t you?”
“I’m not that bad, Ma.” Except that Thanksgiving had been a disaster. He touched his forehead absently. “I’ll be there Christmas Eve.”
“Well, I’m glad they gave you a few days off, at least. Now, what about your partner? What was his name. The griffin shifter.” She frowned. “Oh, I’m terrible. Remembering a man’s animal and not his name. How embarrassing.”
“Hardwick. No, he’s not much of a Christma
s guy. But, yeah, I got the time off. The full week, actually.” He turned so she could see the trees behind him, through the tiny camera on his phone. “I’m back in Pine Valley for a few days to sort out a few things, then I’ll head down. Let me know if you want me to pick anything up—”
“You’re in Pine Valley? I thought you were coming straight here!” She leaned closer to the screen, both hands braced against the counter.
It was a bit of a detour, he had to admit. His mother lived on a small farm that was closer to the town where he was trying to make his new home than to the mountains—close enough to cause trouble and far enough away to hide from it, she’d always said.
“I will, Ma. Christmas Eve to New Year, I’m all yours.”
“Damn it.”
Jackson blinked. His mother never swore.
Except when she was talking about…
“When he told me, I thought—hell.” She stalked around the kitchen, arms folded. “I’d better come up there.”
The hairs on the back of Jackson’s neck prickled. “What for, Ma?”
“Don’t you mind. He was talking some nonsense about…”
Jackson waited to see if she was going to say more, but she just stood there in the center of the kitchen, arms crossed, tapping her foot on the tile.
“Damn it,” she muttered again.
“Ma, is this about—” He hesitated just long enough to hate himself for hesitating. “Andrew?”
“Andrew the ass,” his mother muttered under her breath, and that was enough to almost make the whole ordeal worth it.
“What was that?” A car was approaching, its headlights wavering as it navigated the bumpy road. Someone else on their way to the Puppy Express party? Jackson checked that his hazard lights were on. The last thing he wanted was for his Ma to watch him be involved in a traffic accident from a hundred miles away.
She narrowed his eyes at him. “Never you worry.”
“What do you mean, he’s been talking nonsense?”
The car passed. Instead of going down the road towards the Puppy Express, it took the turnoff onto the potholed Rabbit Road. Jackson frowned absently. He didn’t recognize the vehicle; it was new-looking, shiny, with dark windows. Tourists, probably. Lost? Possibly. Rabbit Road didn’t have anything to offer except potholes and, unless things had really changed over the last year, a secret hideout where some local teens hid stolen bottles of beer.