by Garren, Jax
His fists clenched in frustration and his voice came out angry, the only time he’d directed that fire at her. “Why does it matter?”
“Why does it matter if you’re a human or a mythological being?”
He shook his head as he stormed across the clearing to her. “You know me. You know I’m a lawyer who wants to quit for a crazy dream job. You know I left home after a fight in which I nearly killed a man, and I have no contact with my family. You know I spend the holidays skipping work to entertain children at the mall. I also go to hospitals dressed like that and hand out presents. It’s weird, sure, but I look forward to it every year. You know I believe in us because the moment I met you, I had faith we’d work out if I could just convince you to give me a chance. These things are who I am, and if you want to turn me down for any of that, I can’t argue with you. I won’t like it, but I can’t argue with it.
“But what I am? If I answer that question, one of two things will happen. Either I say yes, and you’ll decide I’m crazy and leave. Or I say no, and you’ll be disappointed and leave. Either way I lose. So I won’t answer. Instead, ask me a question that matters. Will I outlive you or stay young while you grow old? No. Do I have weird rituals or some dark occult practice? Unless you consider honoring the seasons with good food and the occasional prayer, no. I have scars on my ears, and the cold doesn’t bother me. Take what you will from those facts, but ‘What am I?’ is the one question I will not answer.” He breathed deeply in and out, his breath puffing whitely in the cold air. “Any other questions, any ones that matter, and I’ll do my best to satisfy you.”
He seemed so earnest as he caught and held eye contact. She wanted to run her hands through his hair and direct that passion in his voice and stance onto her in a more carnal way, to blanket herself with him and the force of his faith. His hands were hot as they held hers, a lifeline from the chill. And it was all too good to be true. “I can’t believe we’ll work. I’m not sure I believe in love at all anymore.”
“Love is the reason for—”
She cut him off with a bleak chuckle. “The reason for the season? So’s Dongzhi.”
“What? What’s… Never mind.” His hands shook, tightening on hers as if he couldn’t let her go. “I can keep you warm. And I would never leave.”
Yes. Yes, say yes. “You can’t predict that.” She turned in the direction she thought was down, determined to get out before she made a huge mistake. Her fingers slid from his grasp.
He dropped his hands in defeat. “Yes, I can. But I can’t force you to believe me.” The pain on his face cut her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She really was. She backed up a step, unable to turn away. Her heel caught in a tree root and she felt the plastic snap. “Dammit.” She tried to unwedge her shoe and toppled to the side.
He caught her shoulders, holding her upright as she struggled to unstick herself from the plant. Her motion got frantic as each second of his touch made her long to stay.
“Leave it,” he told her.
Leave her shoe? It was freezing. The ground was full of rocks and cacti and all manner of things. She couldn’t leave her shoe. She’d hurt herself.
She looked at his feet again. He’d ditched his shoes. Both of them. Intentionally. It didn’t seem to bother him in the least to stand on the snowy ground with naked feet. That, more than anything else, made her think maybe he was the real deal, a magical creature with power over reality. Either he was crazy, or magic was real.
Brett cleared his throat. “It needs faith to work. Doubt, and the ground will be hard and cold. Believe, and you and I can walk barefoot through the darkness.”
How much faith could she give him? What kind of leap was she willing to take to have the life she wanted?
Would she ever forgive herself if she didn’t try?
Trembling more from nervousness than cold, she knelt down and unbuckled her ankle strap. She took his offered hand to help her rise and slipped her foot out of the shoe.
Foot in the air, her nerves failed her again, and she shot a questioning look at Brett. He could go barefoot unharmed, but that didn’t mean she could. He was the elf, not her.
His eyes wide and breath held, he nodded encouragement. Letting go of her fear, she chose to believe.
She touched the ground with her bare toes. Sun warm, despite the weather. Putting her whole foot down, her toes sank into soft, dry earth. Brett and his shoeless ways weren’t as crazy as she’d thought. Was she smiling? Yes she was. Smiling barefoot in the snow with an elf who’d fallen in love with her.
But now she was unevenly balanced. She started to kneel for the other shoe, but Brett stopped her with a muttered, “I got it.”
He dropped to one knee and propped her foot up on his leg. She reached down for his shoulder for balance, laughing at herself and the wild wonder of the world.
He looked up at her, an ecstatic smile on his face. His hands gently touched her foot as he removed the strap and then slid the gold shoe off.
She put her foot down and let the magic of the earth soothe her frozen-numb skin.
He stood up with a teasing smile. “I told you the moral of the story was you had to get her shoes off.”
She put the flats of her palms against his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his fancy tux. “I thought we’d decided that was a metaphor for something else.” Burrowing her fingers into his shirt, she tugged.
Brett wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. Fear and hope mixed with the perfect rightness of Brett’s skin against hers, his tongue searching her, learning her.
She let him in as best she could, trying to hold on to that version of herself that believed in the future. It was hard. Oh, so hard even with all she’d seen. But in the strength of Brett’s arms, with the scent of his winter skin and press of his body, she thought she could do it.
He released her just enough to nuzzle his smooth cheek against hers.
Reaching up, she felt the scar on top of his ear. He stilled, as if surprised at the touch, but didn’t stop her. “How did you keep faith in happily-ever-after after what happened to you?”
He let her trace the ragged edges with the pads of her fingers. It must have been so painful to have them docked. “For a long time I didn’t. But I realized giving up on joy was giving up on myself.” He held up the ring once again. A little hesitant, maybe, but with the same eager desire in his eyes. “I also realized that there’s always something new to hope for.”
She knew what she wanted. Her nod was weak, but despite her fear, she managed it.
A smile started on his face, like the first rays of sunshine after winter’s longest night. Her nod turned vigorous. “Yes, yes. Oh, yes. I want it.”
Brett slid the ring on her finger. The opal gleamed with the beauty of moonlight and snow. “Happy Holidays, Carrie. May this be the first of a lifetime of holidays for us.”
As a light burned brighter inside her, Carrie thought maybe the reason for the season was hope. She couldn’t have faith in them, not quite yet, and what she felt was too new to call love, although staring into Brett’s eyes, she had a feeling that could swiftly change.
But she could find it in herself to hope.
“Maybe it’s not such a bad time of year after all. Happy Holidays, Brett.” Wrapping her fingers into the silky wildness of his hair, she pulled him close for a kiss.
About Jax
Jax Garren is the author of the Tales of the Underlight—steamy, punk fairy tales set in the very near future. She’s descended from Valkyries and Vikings (she’s part Swedish) but was raised a small town girl in the Texas Hill Country. She graduated from The University of Texas with a degree in English and a minor in Latin and stayed in Austin to teach high school. During her eight years in public education she was in a riot, broke up fights, had cops storm her class with guns drawn…and met the most amazing young people who taught her more about life and hope than she taught them about any school subject.
Jax believes in hap
pily-ever-afters. She married her real life hero, a handsome engineer who is saving the world through clean energy technology. Her heroine is Marion Ravenwood from Raiders of the Lost Ark, the perfect blend of tough and feminine. Jax blames Marion for her dream of traveling to Nepal to experience Himalayan palaces and monasteries and to drink yak butter tea.
Jax loves meeting new people, so if you see her out and about say hello! She’s always happy to raise a glass with her readers (or anyone else) in a toast to courage, adventure, and love. Online you can find her on Facebook as JaxGarren, on Twitter as @JCGarren and at her website: www.jaxgarren.com
Keep reading for an excerpt from the first book in the Tales of the Underlight’s Beauty and the Beast trilogy, How Beauty Met the Beast.
A fresh and innovative spin on the Beauty and the Beast tale, with a gutsy heroine and a damaged yet honorable hero who you’ll love to root for. I can’t wait to see what Garren comes up with next!" ~ Kristen Callihan, author of Firelight
Hauk and Jolie’s love goes beyond the physical to something much deeper. Jax Garren has created something magical in How Beauty Met the Beast. ~ Jessica Scott, author of Because of You
If you are the type of person who loves being put through the ringer right along with the characters, then you’ll love this book. ~ Jessie Potts, USA Today
...one of the most human portrayals of a damaged hero as I’ve ever seen in romance. ~ Jennifer Proffitt, Heroes and Heartbreakers
Monsters, magic, PTSD, burlesque, an unlikely hero, and even more unlikely villain, and the Greek pantheon versus the Norse. F*** yes. READ THIS SERIES. ~ Ginny Lurcock, Pure Textuality
An entertaining and fast paced plot with a scarred hero and a rebellious heroine kept me hooked. ~ Courtney, Literary Escapism
The chemistry between Hauk and Jolie is magma hot and when you combine that with the brilliant world building and the story arc set up, this looks like a series to watch out for. ~ Jo, Vampire Book Club
How Beauty Met the Beast
Chapter One
Hauk’s steambike raced down the dark highway, seven of those damn mercenaries from The Hands of Atropos in pursuit and gaining. “Come on…come on…” he urged his little steam-engine that couldn’t.
“If you break your bike, Tally will kill us!” Brayden yelled over the wind as he desperately clutched onto Hauk.
“Tally needs to speed it up! I can outmaneuver, but I can’t outrace a real motorcycle,” Hauk shouted back.
“This is a real motorcycle.”
“Ninety percent of the time I’d agree with you.” Usually he appreciated the genius it took to build a bike that used no gasoline and emitted no CO2. But right now the Hands were nigh on top of them and his accelerator was maxed out. Practicality was about to all-too-literally beat the shit out of idealism. “Just keep hold of that backpack and let me drive.”
But there was no point. They were caught on the highway, where Hauk and his inferior speed were at the disadvantage. Even swerving between cars he couldn’t pull ahead. The damn Hands would take the shoulder and press on, police lights blaring.
Oh yeah, this time they had the law on their side. Political bastards.
“Godsdammit, Hauk, why are you slowing down?”
“So you can make a run for it with the stash. I’ll hold ’em off as long as I can.”
For once Brayden was silent as the blaring sirens crescendoed.
His silence didn’t last. “Even you aren’t bulletproof.” He drummed Hauk’s arm in sudden excitement. “Exit here! Here!”
Hauk would question later. For now he veered a hard right that snaked them across two lanes of traffic and onto the feeder. Their tails didn’t make the cut in time. Hauk exhaled in relief, but he knew their spot of luck wouldn’t last. The Hands of Atropos would roll from the shadows like rats in pursuit of raw meat and continue the chase.
“Under the highway. Head for downtown.”
“We’re not leading them home.” But Hauk took the turn anyway. They’d have a better shot at losing them in the streets of downtown Austin—as well as a better chance of wrecking his new bike or driving amok through unsuspecting pedestrians. Like the Hands of Atropos and their bosses at the Order of Ananke, Hauk and the other Citizens of the Underlight didn’t like drawing attention to themselves. It might be the only thing the warring groups agreed on.
“Catrina’s got her holiday show tonight at the abandoned electric station by the lake. She’ll hide us until it’s clear.”
Fear, irrational and more gut-deep than what any armed enemy could inspire, clenched Hauk’s stomach. Reflexively his hand released the accelerator and the bike stalled out beneath the overpass. He bit out, “I’m not going to Catrina’s.”
“You’ll be fine. Just keep moving.”
“Come up with a new plan.”
“Fine. Keep your helmet on when you walk inside. That’s the new plan.”
Hauk glared at his friend through the face shield. “Yeah, ’cause that won’t get us noticed.”
Brayden huffed. “Then take it off. It’s a flippin’ maze in there. No one will see you. And she doesn’t care about your face anyway. Now, for the love of the gods, let’s get our asses and our ill-gotten goods somewhere safe.” He slapped the backpack of evidence they’d risked their necks tonight to acquire. “What’s in here is more important than your pride.”
Hauk clenched his jaw. “Did you forget the part where I’m a wanted man and can’t just go gallivanting around in public?”
A bullet slammed against the pilings.
Brayden screeched, “Get us out of here!”
Hauk slammed the accelerator and the bike zipped forward in a cloud of steam. Maybe he would head to Catrina’s. He knew her; she wouldn’t turn him in. And he and Brayden had worked too hard tonight to get caught now.
But it wasn’t Catrina who set his mind on edge. Her “show” was Pussy Will-Oh! Burlesque, an always-crowded affair full of jazz music, neon cocktails and amazingly talented, scantily clad women. Hauk didn’t like crowds, and crowds didn’t like him. His face and body, or what was left of it from his time in Afghanistan, was a mess of burn scars and tattoos. He could kill the joy in a room simply by stepping from the shadows. And women? He’d take any amount of physical pain over the horrified looks his disfigured form invariably put on their faces.
Add to that, he was wanted for seven other soldiers on his squad who also went up in flames—but wound up in coffins. He didn’t remember a thing about that night to explain how he was the lone survivor. Maybe he had gone nuts and torched a barracks full of his fellow Rangers. But that didn’t feel right. He’d fought beside those men, relied on them. More importantly, they’d relied on him. He’d know if he’d violently betrayed his men and his country.
Wouldn’t he?
Hauk gritted his teeth as he turned his steambike toward the narrow lake that wound through downtown, reflecting neon-illuminated skyscrapers like a demented disco ball. He didn’t do public appearances. And he really didn’t do Catrina’s shows. Except, apparently, tonight.
* * *
Jolie Benoit’s heart beat an excited patter. She gripped tight to the silver lyra, a hoop suspended from the ceiling, as it lowered between the cement walkways of the abandoned electric company and into the spotlight below. She’d draped herself into the curve, one knee propped up in sensual invitation and one thigh hooking the metal for support. Her very first audience—at least, for this kind of dancing—came into view surrounding Pussy Will-Oh!’s little platform stage as they lounged at their cafe tables and drank exotic cocktails. Her obscenely long fake lashes batted furiously as she not-so-innocently licked a candy cane.
Jolie had been dancing her whole life, but while the pointe shoes were familiar, the rest of her costume was a far cry from the tights and leotards she’d worn as a student at the prim and proper Houston Ballet. Tonight a “Mrs. Claus” dress hid a red and white corset and a feathered bustle skirt. The white thigh-highs and garter belt was a com
bo she’d never worn outside the bedroom, but she’d proudly show them off in public tonight.
At seventeen she’d given up her dream of dancing professionally because of her parents’ insistence that “Benoits may study ballet. They attend and financially support the ballet. They don’t dance in it.” Such exposure would be beneath them.
Giddily she grinned and gave the candy cane one more long lick as the audience laughed. Speaking of exposure…if her parents only knew where she was dancing now. “I’ve been thinking about everyone’s favorite part of the holidays.” She pursed her lips and widened her eyes dramatically. “Everyone does have the same favorite part, right?”
The audience yelled back: “Presents!”
She blew out a breath of mock relief. “Oh, good. For a moment there I thought ‘hope’ or ‘good will’ was going to come up. But you’re my kind of audience. Presents! Yes!” She gave the candy another thoughtful lick. “But I got to thinking about it, and presents aren’t my favorite part anymore.” As the audience “aww”ed their reaction, she looked up at the twisting shadows from whence she’d descended. “Cassie, darling, could you let me down a little more? I know I look like I can handle this thing, but really, I just like riding it. Put me closer to the floor.”
The audience laughed as the lyra lowered until she could delicately step off.
“Much better. As I was saying, presents are no longer my favorite part of the holidays. Do you know why?”
“Why?” The echoed response reverberated around the cavernous space, filling even the darkest corners with joyous energy.
She loved burlesque audiences. They participated. The vibe was so real. So human.
She wrapped the candy cane and stuck it in her voluminous skirt. “Because! I won’t get presents this year. Or ever again. I had an epiphany. Want to hear my epiphany?”
The audience shouted an approval. The piano started playing the intro for the song she’d written—her songwriting debut, as well as her debut with Pussy Will-Oh!.