12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2018

by Isabella Kole

  Dalgo was a powerful man. No one would be openly rude or impolite to her, but she knew enough of the world to know that wasn’t where cruelty ended. Small things could hurt just as much as cruel words. Looks and whispers, sneers and other subtleties.

  It’s too late to change my mind now. I have to get through this.

  Janelle pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The fragrance of food cooking hit her nostrils and a wide smile stretched her lips. She was starving!

  “You look well for a girl who should be frozen solid.”

  Janelle turned. Her smile vanished and a familiar fear tingled beneath her skin. Darrick stood there in his gray woolen coat, a driver’s cap on his greasy hair, his round stomach distended over a too-tight belt. His pale green eyes glittered without warmth as a cold smile stretched his fat lips.

  “What are you doing here?” She hated the trembling in her voice, the way it sounded more like a girl’s than a woman’s.

  “Where else would I be?” Darrick’s voice was soft and smooth like poison. Too sweet, too soft. Full of perversion and threats. “When my prize pupil goes missing, what am I supposed to think? I was afraid you’d come to harm up on that mountain.”

  He took a step forward, his large middle bumping the corner of the kitchen island. As fat as he was, he could be deadly fast when the need arose.

  “Waited all night for you, I did.” A snake’s voice, persuasive and soft. “And then, when morning came, I looked for you.”

  Yes, I’m sure you did. You looked for my body. Because you wanted me to die all along. So no one would know what you’d done. A Draekar bracelet, worth entire kingdoms, and no witness to point a finger at you.

  Funny how she hadn’t understood before. How she’d been a lamb sent to slaughter. How Darrick had planned everything, even her death in the cold of the mountain.

  Another step toward her and he stood just out of reach. His eyes gleamed with something cold and calculating.

  “Then I thought to myself, could my little darling have betrayed me?” His thick lips parted to expose uneven, yellow teeth. “Did she keep what was mine for herself? But no. My sweet little angel is smarter than that. So I took it upon myself to find you, wherever you were.”

  Darrick’s eyes slid to the table where a large carving knife lay beside a cutting board. Fingers thick as sausages reached, as fast as a snake, and clenched around the knife’s handle.

  Blood rushed to her head and suddenly, all Janelle heard was its rushing through her veins as her entire body became cold and numb. Terror took hold of her, ancient and as vindictive as when she was a little girl and Darrick had ruled her with a fist of iron and fear.

  No. I won’t let him do this to me again. Never again.

  “But you came here for nothing.” Her voice was stronger as she bit out her words through clenched teeth. She wasn’t his anymore. She wouldn’t be cowed. “The bracelet is gone. You lost.”

  “Oh, but I don’t think so, my darling girl.” Darrick’s eyes darted to the door behind her, and the smile that curved his lips was sick and greedy. “Now that I have Captain Dalgo’s little plaything, he might just steal that bracelet back for me.”

  He always had a backup plan. Too late, she understood. Darrick moved, slashing the blade to her left, cutting off her escape. Janelle was pinned against the kitchen island, unable to flee to the back door and to safety.

  Then the door exploded inward and a vengeful God burst into the room.

  “Stay away from Janelle!” Dalgo spoke loud and clear as his tall form emerged from the cloud of dust. His arms were spread and in his right hand he held a long, thin blade.

  A dragon-forged sword. The most lethal weapon in the Draekons’ considerable arsenal.

  She stared at Dalgo, mystified, as his body seemed to radiate with pure energy. Beside her, Darrick shouted, then attacked her. Time seemed to stop as Janelle saw the blade, being held too high, pointed directly at her. The fool was going to stab her instead of using her as a shield!

  She turned to the kitchen island in an instinctive gesture. Her hand closed around a clay pot and she grabbed it. Janelle swung the pot around as a sharp pain shot through her side. Darrick cried out as the jar exploded in his face.

  A heavy body slammed into her as a roar of rage like a wounded animal’s echoed through the room. Darrick’s large, heavy body was lifted into the air like he was a ragdoll. The sturdy kitchen island broke into splinters as he crashed onto it.

  Arms strong as iron closed around Janelle, and Dalgo’s face appeared before her own.

  “You’re injured!” There was such panic in his voice, a fear so deep, she almost laughed. Then the pain kicked in and she turned to see Dalgo looking at her with horror.

  Her eyes went to her ribs and the bright red bloom that was spreading out to cover the pale blue of her dress. She winced, but soon realized the pain was greatly exaggerated by her own fear.

  “Great Gods!” Dalgo’s face contorted in a grimace. “You’re bleeding!”

  He didn’t wait for her reply. Instead he turned, shouting at stunned looking servants to get medical help.

  Janelle examined her wound. Then relief made her giggle. “It’s only a scratch.” She shook her head, then laughed. “Dalgo, it’s only a scratch!” She grabbed his face with both hands and forced him to look into her eyes. “I’m okay.”

  His silver eyes latched onto hers and slowly the fear left them as he understood she was telling the truth. He lifted her to her feet, cradling her against his chest like she was the most precious thing in the universe.

  A treasure. His treasure.

  A groan came from behind them and Dalgo’s chest vibrated with a feral growl. Janelle turned in his tight embrace. Darrick was stirring on the ruins of the kitchen island, his eyes fluttering open, then closed.

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  “That man will never breathe free air again.” Dalgo’s voice was the most chilling sound she had ever heard. “He will never harm anyone ever again.”

  Janelle turned her eyes away from Darrick. He didn’t matter anymore. “And the orphans?” That was her only concern. Had been for a long time. Too long.

  “Already on their way to safety.”

  Dalgo led her away from Darrick as guards rushed into the kitchen, surrounding the still unconscious man.

  As he bent and picked her up, she giggled, then laughed. Dalgo watched her with a frown, clearly concerned she’d lost her mind in the fright.

  “What is it?”

  “I just thought that I’ve had my first Christmas gift in years!”

  Dalgo blinked, surprise clear on his face, then his masculine laugh echoed off the stone walls. It washed away the pain, the fear. That sound, as simple as it was, made life a new wonder.

  “And you are my first Christmas miracle!”

  As Dalgo kissed her, she knew she hadn’t only found her home, but also her heart.

  The End.

  Mary Auclair

  Dragons Under the Mistletoe is a novella in Mary Auclair’s Dawn of Dragons series. Mary Auclair is a lover of romance novels of all genres. She likes to write everything, from science fiction to fantasy, passing through paranormal and historical, but always with a dark, sexy twist. She spends too many hours to count daydreaming about adventures and hot, dominant, alpha male heroes. When she’s not writing, she’s busy being a full time mom, as well as caring for her many pets.

  Visit her website here: www.maryauclair.com

  Find her on Facebook: www.facebook.com/authormaryauclair/

  Don’t miss these exciting titles by Mary Auclair and Blushing Books!

  Eok Warriors Series:

  Venomous Craving - Book One

  Venomous Hunger - Book Two

  Dawn of Dragons Series:

  Touch of Ice - Book One

  A Dawn of Dragons Novella

  Once Upon a Christmas Time

  12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2018

  Courage
Knight

  Chapter 1

  “May I see that?” Dr. Jonathan Steele reached for the x-ray film. He’d noticed the look of concern on the first year resident’s face, and felt the need to confirm. “What seems to be the matter?”

  It was a left wrist, small bones like a woman, or maybe a child.

  “The patient said it hurt here,” Kranz said, pointing to the lower wrist, which appeared normal. However, there was healed radial fracture above that – the kind that occurred most frequently from abuse. A stronger person, often a parent or spouse, twisting the arm hard enough to break it. Several of the fingers also had signs of past injuries. “Who is this?” he snapped.

  The resident stammered. Jonathan had seen the young man before, knew he was competent, but for some reason he made Kranz nervous. Too bad. He needed to grow a tougher skin. Some patients were real assholes.

  “Her name is Kelly Smith,” the resident managed to spit out. “She said she fell, but when I saw the older injuries, I wondered if she was telling the truth.”

  Jonathan tugged the x-ray from the light board and tucked it into the protective sleeve. He gestured to the resident to lead the way. He never understood what made some women stay with jerks who bullied them around, but if he could put an end to even one case, he had to try.

  “Good afternoon, Kelly ah… Smith. Is that your real name?”

  The woman didn’t look old enough to be in a relationship. Her honey blonde hair was coming out of a long braid, the curly strands in a wild array around her face. She looked overheated – a fever maybe? He felt her forehead, surprised that it was normal.

  “Yes, it is,” she said with a hint of irritation. She pulled away from his touch. “I hurt my wrist, not my head.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “I already explained that to Dr. Kranz,” she said.

  “And I’d like to hear it too.”

  “It was Bailey’s fault,” she began. “He didn’t mean it, I’m sure. He’s new and inexperienced—”

  “That’s no excuse,” Jonathan said curtly. “You don’t have to live like that. You can leave. You can file a report.”

  She stared at him for a moment, like she didn’t believe him, and then she burst into laughter. It was such an odd reaction. Maybe she had hit her head after all.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say your name is?” she asked him, wiping her eyes.

  “I’m Dr. Steele, Head Orthopedic Surgeon. I’m glad you find this so amusing. Abuse is serious. You’ve had your arm broken before, for Christ’s sake! How long are you going to put up with this?”

  “Thank you for your concern, Dr. Steele, but Bailey isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my dog.”

  “A dog?”

  “Yes, my dog. He’s not quite two yet, but nearly fully grown and quite powerful. I didn’t realize I had the leash tangled around my wrist, and he bolted after that darn woodchuck. I fell on the gravel pretty hard. I didn’t think it was broken, but after icing it for an hour, I thought I’d better get it x-rayed, just to be safe.”

  “And the radial fracture?” Jonathan could almost feel a smile tug at his lips. Abuse was nothing to joke about, but as far as excuses went, hers was pretty original. He was inclined to believe her.

  “Another accident, two years ago, the Jack Pine 30. I lost control of my sled on an icy patch, fell down pretty hard on it.”

  “Dog sledding.”

  She nodded.

  He handed the films back to the resident. “Your x-rays appear normal,” he told her. “We’ll wrap it for now. Continue to ice it, take Tylenol for pain. But if it doesn’t feel better in a few days, I’d recommend an MRI. Hairline fractures often don’t show up in an x-ray.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad to hear it. I really can’t afford to have an injury now – not with mushing season in full swing. If you ever want to go for a ride, meet us out at Fort Custer some Saturday morning. There’s a group of about forty of us running our dogs then.”

  He scowled, trying to figure out her age. He wished he’d looked at her chart earlier. “Another time, perhaps,” he said vaguely.

  Dr. Kranz didn’t seem to have any reservations. “Really? That is so cool,” he said, sounding about as young as she looked. “I’ve never been for a dog sled ride. I didn’t know that people do that around here. Do we get enough snow? I mean, it’s not like Alaska outside.”

  Jonathan didn’t stick around to hear the rest of their conversation. Kranz could wrap her wrist in an ace bandage and send her on her way. He might not ever see her again. Kalamazoo wasn’t that big of a city, but it had two major hospitals and hundreds of doctors. He rarely worked in the ER. He was just covering for a friend, while she was on her honeymoon. But then again, maybe he would just take a run out to Fort Custer next Saturday. If it looked safe enough, he’d bring his Little Brother some weekend.

  Kelly kept her left wrist elevated as she drove. The doctor had given her two extra-strength Tylenol, but they hadn’t kicked in yet and her wrist was throbbing. Dang it! How had she been so careless? She knew better. Always hold only the end of a leash, never wrap it around a wrist, arm or finger, because dogs were strong. They could lunge unexpectedly, and you’d be the one injured. At least it was her left arm, but even so, many activities would be hard or impossible to do –like knitting. She loved to knit. She always had some project to work on, especially in the evenings while she watched a little TV. Well, TV watching was out. She had always been too active to just sit and watch it unless she had something else to do.

  Just then she drove past O’Toole’s, one of her favorite pubs. On a whim, she changed lanes and circled around the block to park in the tiny lot behind the 110 year old building. She used to come here with her girlfriend Cheryl all the time, until Cheryl moved away. Clicking the key fob, she waited for the reassuring beep of the car’s locks before going inside.

  The atmosphere welcomed her at once. Not quite as dark as most pubs, not quite as crowded, but just as familiar. Tiny, the owner’s Burmese Mountain Dog, greeted her with a wagging tail and hesitant lick.

  “Hi there, girl,” Kelly said, fondling the dog’s velvety soft ears. “Have you missed me?”

  “Woof,” the dog replied politely. She nudged Kelly’s left wrist, at once zeroing in on her injury.

  “Yes, I got hurt,” Kelly said, raising her bandaged wrist out of the dog’s reach. “But it will be right as rain in a few days.”

  “Ya know she don’t really understand you,” Patrick O’Toole called out from behind the bar.

  “Try telling her that, and maybe I’d believe you,” Kelly said.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Do you have any of that wonderful Raspberry Lambic on tap?”

  Patrick took a frosty mug and tilted it beneath the spigot, expertly drawing a pint for her with just the right amount of foam. She settled on a tall bar stool to catch up on the local gossip. She always felt right at home at O’Toole’s. Not just because Cheryl was their niece, or because they were fellow dog lovers, but his wife and two sons were also mushers.

  “I hear snow is predicted,” Patrick began, wiping moisture from the spotless bar. “Big storm on the way – one, maybe two days out.”

  Kelly waved her bandaged wrist. “I know. I can’t wait – but I hope this won’t slow me down.”

  “Your dogs are too wild,” he said, as though it were an old argument. “They need more training.”

  “But they’re fast!” She took a deep swallow of the fruit-fermented beer the pub was known for. “I’ve beat your dogs every year.”

  “My wife and boys combined don’t have half your injuries.”

  “It’s all part of the sport.”

  They talked then about Cheryl, Kelly’s best friend, who had married and moved to Wisconsin. Patrick left to pour more drinks, returning when he could to continue their conversation. Kelly finished the first beer too quickly, pacing herself with the second. Two was her limit, and she was in no hurry to get
home. She caught the weather report on the local news station, absently thinking about how to get her dogs out to the fort for a run before the fresh powder fell and slowed the trails. The slight beer-related buzz mellowed her out. For the first time all day she felt like she could slow down. In another hour or so, maybe she’d be ready to go home to bed.

  The ER was slow that night. A few elderly with chest pains. A preschooler with an ear infection. Jonathan preferred it when it was busy, although he wasn’t really wishing for anyone to get hurt. It was just that a slow night dragged by so, well, slowly. Finally his shift ended. He bolted out the door.

  For some reason he couldn’t get that young woman out of his mind. She was twenty-four. He’d checked her chart during the slow night. She was tiny, barely coming to his armpit. It wasn’t her figure that attracted him – not that it was unattractive. Only that it had been completely covered in warm winter gear. Not the bulky fiber-stuffed snowsuits of children and tourists, but the slimmer body-fitting gear of skiers and winter athletes. She’d taken off her jacket for the x-ray, but still sported bib snow pants over a bulky wool sweater underneath. Covered practically from chin to toe, there hadn’t been a chance to fantasize about what might lay beneath the layers.

  He knew there were mushers in the area. He’d just never met one personally. Once a year one of the newspapers would publish a fluff piece about them, usually zeroing in on a photograph of the distinctively attractive Siberian Huskies licking some cute child’s face. Kalamazoo wasn’t quite far enough north for predictable, consistent winter weather. Oh, further west, west of Highway 131, they got a lot of lake-effect snow rolling in from Lake Michigan, but even that didn’t last. Twelve inches of snow could fall in a weekend, and a few days later it would be completely melted. He’d had a snowmobile, but got tired of storing it, staring at it, caring for it, and not being able to use it. He’d sold it on Craig’s list.