Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances
Page 14
“There is nothing wrong with it. I suppose it’s been effective. It’s just that it seems a colorless way to live.”
“Colorless? I’m an artist,” she retorted. “I have plenty of color. It’s what I do, every single day.”
“And yet there’s more of life to be found. There’s magic, if you’d only look. It’s a lesson I had to learn, myself. The hard way.”
His rueful smile cooled her anger degree by degree, until she finally nodded. “But how can I tell her the truth about you? Honestly, it’s pretty incredible. What if she starts to look for a prince in every frog?”
“She’s seven. She has some time left before that’s an issue, doesn’t she? Right now, it will just prove there’s magic in the world. There is power, and joy, in that.”
“But it’s not always healthy to believe in something beyond what can be seen, or observed. Her father is dead,” she whispered, feeling every protective instinct rise up. “What if she thinks magic could return him from the grave? How could I do that to her?”
He gave a small nod, his expressive eyes shining, and took her hand between his own. When their warmth soaked into hers, she didn’t feel as afraid. “Perhaps your niece will think about that. Perhaps she won’t. But what happened to me, the magic that changed my life, is reality. Healthy or not, magic exists.”
Well, there’s that, she thought, dumbfounded. She stared blankly at a gaudy package of terrarium rocks as her world and all the no-nonsense existence that she believed in, that she had built her “everyone must deal with the truth” life upon, upended. “Just let me think for a bit,” she whispered.
He nodded and gently released her hands. She felt him leave, felt the air change and pale without him in sight, and she missed him already.
And yet she knew that if she followed him, she’d find him again, and the color he’d brought to her life. The magic.
If she protected her niece too much, Livia might avoid some hurts, but she’d also miss some of the joy. Some of the magic that might wait for her in the curl of an ocean wave, the smooth surface of a pebble or the brush of a wildflower against her palm. Who was she to deny Liv that?
Who was she to deny that to herself?
“Sofia,” Alex said excitedly from around the corner, “come here for a moment.”
She blinked and shook her shoulders, feeling like she’d just stepped over a chasm and onto the firm ground beyond. She pushed ahead, following the rainbow of his voice, turned the corner of the aisle—only to find him crouched and staring through a wall of glass into the cages behind.
“Kittens!” he said, turning to her with his eyes crinkling.
Inside her, the world altered. The band of iron in which she’d encased her heart, her armor against people and their emotional weapons, cracked and fell away.
Alex, with his delighted, buoyant smile, filled her with wonder at the magic life could bring if you were simply open to it.
She moved to stand before him, and as he straightened, she slid her arms around his neck. There, surrounded by the discarded metal shell of her old life and a wall of kittens ready to be adopted, she stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss from the newly unfurled place within her.
His lips moved softly against hers, and his arms, warm and loving as they enfolded her, welcomed her home.
At last her hands slid down to his chest, where his blood beat a passionate rhythm beneath her palm.
“Sofia,” he whispered, “my lady of wit, brains, and heart. You’re the princess I’ve been awaiting for two hundred years.”
His big hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her close for another kiss, one as deep and vibrant as the Pacific and filled with all the time in the world.
That night in Sofia’s apartment, the tiny mews of their new kitten made two naked people smile at each other. Alex leaned over the side of the bed and gently lifted the white-pawed orange tabby onto the mattress. “He’s madly in love with you already,” he said as the kitten toddled over to sniff Sofia and bat at her hair. “But he’ll have to stand in line.”
“Fortunately there’s room for both of you, in very different ways.” She rubbed the kitten’s fuzzy cheeks, held him to her ear to hear his delighted purr, and then set him on her pillow, where he promptly curled up in the warm spot. “Cats always know the best time and place for a nap. Too bad those new crickets don’t.” The new frog and its insect meals would be given to Livia and Carole tomorrow, along with the truth.
“Time…” he murmured. “Such an odd thing, isn’t it?” He glided his palm up Sofia’s bare arm, then wound a lock of her blonde hair around his finger in a loose curl, caressing it. “I believe this is my time, Sofie. Here. With you.”
“Mine too, Alex of LA.” She leaned into the space between them and brought her mouth to his. “I, of all people, kissed a frog and found my handsome prince.” She slid her hand over his shoulder and pulled him down to her, reveling in the weight and feel of him, and the fluttering of her heart. “You’re the best magic there is.”
The End
Dear Reader
My plot for Kiss That Frog went through many versions in my head, but it all began when I heard Peter Gabriel’s song of the same name. His version of “Kiss That Frog” tells the old fairy tale from the frog’s point of view—and that simple switch inspired my own romantic spin on it. This story felt just right for Sofia and Alexander, and for honoring my friend Diana.
When I moved to Los Angeles years ago, Diana welcomed me and gave me a birthday card emblazoned with a fairy tale castle and the words Imagine and Dream. (She knows me so well.) Inside was another view of the castle, where she’d written: “I’m so glad you’re here, old friend!” Beside a knight in shining armor, riding toward the castle on his white horse, she inscribed this: “Someday your prince will come…”
I loved spending time with Diana in LA, even though we both ended up leaving the city for other locales. Her own Happily Ever After happened far away, when she met her prince in a foreign land and married him.
Diana and Piet, congratulations on your nuptials, and here’s to many joyful years to come!
More Fantasy Romance By Cate Rowan
The Source of Magic: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles)
When a gorgeous man clasps Jilian Stewart to his chest and yanks her from Scotland into a magical battle, she thinks it must be another of her bizarre dreams. Instead, she finds herself ensnared in a fantasy otherworld, trapped by treachery and family secrets—and opposing a mystical prince, the one man who can make everything right. “One of those rare treasures you hope will never end. Cate Rowan takes us on a magical ride.”—The Romance Reviews
Kismet’s Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles)
When a deadly epidemic strikes a sultan’s realm, only a magical healer from an enemy land has the skill to save it. The sultan never imagined the healer would be a woman… “Envelops the reader in a lush, exotic world of silk and sherbet, scimitars and precious stones. An exhilarating reading experience.”—SciFiGuy.ca
Swords and Scimitars: A Fantasy Short Story (Alaia Chronicles: Legends)
When two women beg for aid against tyranny, a sultan must sacrifice his freedom and his long-scarred heart to help them. “From the first page I was instantly transported into a well-developed fantasy world and couldn’t put my Kindle down until I had finished the last page.”—Amazon Review
Sword and Lute: A Fantasy Romance Novelette (Alaia Chronicles: Legends)
When a musician stumbles across a dying god, she must sacrifice her precious lute to save him…and to find her heart’s desire. “Cate Rowan is a dream-weaver of paranormal fiction.”—Goodreads Review
Flirting with the Fireman: A Romantic Short Story
A sculptress, a battery-chasing cat, and a studly fireman meet through a supernatural recipe for “Get a Husband” Brunswick stew. “Just adorable. Quick and sweet and satisfying, like sneaking a fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookie before dinner.”—Amazon Review
To learn more about these tales and where to buy them, visit CateRowan.com.
About the Author
Cate has washed laundry in a crocodile-infested African lake, parasailed over a Mexican beach, swum with dolphins in the Florida Keys and had Costa Rican monkeys poop in her hair, but her favorite adventures are in story worlds. Her lush fantasy romances about magical deeds, kismet and true love in realms near and far have won more than thirty awards. She lives in the wild Rocky Mountains of Colorado with the love of her life and their four rescued feline furchildren, and counts it a good day when she sees red foxes playing in the yard.
Where To Find Cate
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Email: Cate@CateRowan.com. (Psst, want to join her secret street team? Let her know.)
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“Kiss That Frog” by Cate Rowan
Copyright © 2012
Explore Cate Rowan’s story worlds at
http://CateRowan.com
Runespell
Sela Carsen
In most fairy tales, the prince rescues the princess. It’s not often she gets to return the favor.
Mai Westenra is pulled into a centuries old quest for vengeance and magic, never realizing that she’ll find love in the midst of danger.
Tyr Halvarsson has waited lifetimes to be rid of his curse. Resigned to his immortal half-life, one selfless act of humanity can redeem him. Or kill him.
Together, Mai and Tyr must work against time and magic to work the runespell that will save their lives and give them a chance at love that lasts.
Chapter One
‡
Mai Westenra had abandoned conscious thought a few miles back when she realized they were trying to kill her. Now she drove her car up the rutted mountain road by sheer muscle memory while her brain was stuck on a refrain of “Ohgodohgodohgod.” Behind her, the giant black SUV prodded at her bumper again. They’d been playing this game for a while now, not hitting her hard enough to make her wreck, but just enough to terrify.
It was working.
She yanked the car back into the right direction, sliding on the snow covered ice, sickeningly aware of her options. On her left, the unforgiving face of sheer rock that had been hewn away to make the road. On her right, a steep drop down to Little Sun Creek, still high and fast despite the deep winter cold, rimed with snowy slush.
She wasn’t going to get out of this alive.
As if that was the key, her mind unlocked from its panicked rut. And as if the drivers of the SUV felt her acceptance, they quit playing. Their next hit was hard enough to spin her sideways, jamming her door up against their front grill. She looked up at them through their windshield and saw unyielding faces of rough stone. Then she was spinning away, watching the landscape flash shadow and red light in the fading sun. Mai threw her arms over her head as the exploding airbag filled her vision, and she felt herself fly over the edge of the road, not knowing if she was up or down.
It didn’t matter anymore.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wishing she’d taken the time to call her brother today, to talk to her best friend, to tell her parents she loved them one last time. Too late. A loud crash and a shocking pain slammed through her, followed by a rush of icy water flowing over her face.
I’m sorry.
*
Tyr Halvarsson stood and watched as two cars sped recklessly down the icy road below him. The vehicles shouldn’t have been here. The no-name road they traveled should have blocked off months ago, before the first storm of winter had closed the pass. A moment of inattention, even on dry roads in good weather, would still put an inattentive driver face to face with death out here in the wild. Foolish humans. He snorted, steam rising from his nose in the frigid air. To risk their lives so wastefully.
Still, something about they way they drove kept him watching until the second car, a shiny black behemoth of an SUV, bumped into the smaller sedan in front of it. The sedan swerved, staying on the road either by supernatural skill or sheer luck…until the SUV hit it again. There was no recovering from the second hit, and the car swung sideways, sliding as the SUV pushed its nose into the driver’s side door one last time before the car flipped and slid backward down the steep embankment.
Two drivers got out of the SUV and peered over the edge at the mangled wreckage, half in and half out of the rushing water. They went down to check on the driver, but returned soon without him. Then they simply climbed back into their vehicle, turned it around, and went back the way they had come, towards civilization.
Va faen. He heaved a sigh that ruffled out his lips. He supposed he ought to wander over and see if there was anything to be done for the poor bastard who had no doubt perished in the crash. Tyr lumbered down the mountain, not even pausing to check his traps, skidding and sliding down the embankment until he was close enough to smell gas and burnt metal.
He didn’t see anything at first and nearly turned back until a glimmer of pale hair caught the reflection of dying sunlight in the water. Tyr stiffened. A woman. They had chased a woman into the river. The men must have seen her like this and assumed she was dead. He only hoped that wasn’t true. Tyr snagged her by the jacket she wore, swearing when freezing water leaked over the tops of his boots as he pulled her to the opposite bank and laid her out on her back.
The sun was setting. He was nearly out of time. He cleared her mouth of debris, tilted her head back, and breathed air back into her lungs. Over and over, he breathed for her. Over and over, he pumped the heels of his hands between her breasts. It wasn’t working. A life wasted. Thrown away with malice by those two men. Just as he told himself to stop breathing and pumping, she moved.
Choking and sputtering, murky water gushed from her mouth and nose, and he turned her to her side, helping her rid herself of the river. Her eyelids fluttered up and he couldn’t move away, couldn’t hide himself, but it didn’t matter. Her lips were pale blue and wet, but they moved. She smiled and whispered, and he bent closer to hear her words.
“Thank you.” Her eyelids fell again.
She breathed. She lived.
Just in time. The sun sank below the horizon and he felt the torment of the curse come upon him, breaking his bones and twisting his muscles until he crouched, huddled like a cub, shuddering and spent, next to the woman. After so many centuries, he hated that he was still unaccustomed to the pain, but familiarity was no help and whining about didn’t change anything. He stood and stretched to his full height of over ten feet, raising his nose to the late winter sky, knowing that in the form of this massive snow-white Kodiak bear, any man he met might as well be a chew toy. He was the apex predator here. Back down on all four paws, he looked toward the woman.
Unconscious again, but breathing steadily now, he checked her over for any other injuries, and aside from scrapes and cuts caused by flying glass and debris, she was miraculously whole. The SUV was long gone and he didn’t think they would return, certain as they were of her death. But if he was going to keep her demise from becoming a reality, he needed to get her to shelter.
Tyr pulled at her arm and rolled under her until she was balanced on his broad back. In this form, she was no heavier than a kitten, but it was difficu
lt to keep her in place as he trudged back around the mountain to his home.
Pure blind luck – because it was surely not the intervention of any benevolent gods – had led him to this isolated space in what was now known as the Pacific Northwest. He’d traveled here over frozen tundra and seas, the journey decades in the making, until he could walk no more. The crack in the mountain where he lived was all but invisible to anyone who didn’t already know it was there, but it led to a system of caves and caverns that he had turned into a home. Simple wards concealed the faint traces of his inhabitance and made the few humans who wandered into his territory turn a blind eye to what was already mostly hidden. Inside, he had set about learning how to make the bare cave comfortable, first out of necessity, then for the reward of skill and hard work.
For many long centuries, he had huddled in his mountain, nearly mad with solitude and magic, trading only with the mountain men who were as solitary and mad as himself. He gave them the things he made, they brought news and basic supplies and a bit of conversation. He knew the world had changed since then, but he was so far away from civilization that it hadn’t really affected him. He had the wireless now, a generator for electricity when he chose to use it, and he went into different towns every couple of years to sell what he made, and buy books and supplies. It kept him sane to see people once in a while. He still lived a simple life with simple comforts and he liked it that way.
He’d never intended to be pulled back into human affairs, but here he was, dragging home a half-drowned woman. Rolling through doorways built wide enough to accommodate his bulk, he carried her to his massive, sturdy bed and let her slide from his back.