A Very Alpha Christmas

by Anthology

  Then there was nothing more but darkness.

  Epilogue

  It was a need for water that cause Ellie to stir from one of the deepest sleeps she had ever experienced.

  “Ugh…” she groaned as she forced her eyelids to crack open.

  Thankfully, the room was still dark because damned if she didn’t have the worst hangover. Her tongue felt as dry as the hardened, cracked earth of Death Valley. Turning to stare blearily at the clock on her nightstand, she groaned again when she saw just how badly she had overslept.

  “I never sleep past twelve,” she muttered as she rolled over onto her back and threw one arm over her eyes.

  She knew she needed to get up for something important, but for some reason, she just couldn’t clear enough of the haziness from her brain to remember what it was.

  Ellie flinched as her right hand encountered something cold and metallic on the bed and instantly snatched her hand away.

  What in the world?

  Ignoring the mild throbbing in her head, she turned down the duvet to reveal—keys? No, not just keys. Two sets of car keys. There was also an old-fashioned silver-handled hand mirror with a red Christmas bow tied around the handle and a very familiar-looking white envelope with golden filigree along the edges.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly remembering that important “something.”

  “Val?” she called out into the dark room, grimacing at how horrible and gravelly her voice sounded, but she wasn’t at all surprised when she was answered by only silence.

  It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Val was a vampire. He was probably asleep somewhere dark and windowless.

  Ellie picked up the mirror and was about to put it aside in favor of Val’s note when she realized its probable purpose. She held it up in front of her face. Yikes! She really did look as if she had just been on a five day bender. She hadn’t seen circles that dark under her eyes since—who was she kidding? Since a few days ago after studying for finals. She was also looking rather pale. Not surprising given how much blood she had “donated” to Val last night. It was no wonder she was feeling so dehydrated.

  But first things, first. She moved her hair out of the way, and even though she knew what she was looking for, she really hadn’t believed deep down that she would see it—or rather not see it. As a result, she could only stare and stare at the patch of perfectly unblemished skin on the side of her neck that had once held a puffy, jagged pinkish-red scar, a parting gift from a vampire that no one had believed existed except in a traumatized little girl’s nightmares. There wasn’t even a trace of the new set of puncture wounds Val had bitten into her neck last night.

  Then something else caught her eye, and her gaze lifted to where her bangs were messily brushed away from her forehead. Where yesterday there had been a huge, purple knot, today the skin, just like her neck, was completely flat and normal.

  Healed.

  Huh. Val must have put his tongue to work again while she had been passed out.

  She giggled at the ludicrous picture that popped in her head of Val licking her forehead like an overeager puppy, which quickly escalated into full-out chuckles that deteriorated into loud sobs complete with big fat tears that ran dry long before the noisy sobs had ceased.

  Her breath still hitching, Ellie put the mirror back down onto the bed and picked up the envelope. Inside was a white Christmas card with a pair of embossed silver bells decorating one of the corners and a message written in Val’s elegant handwriting:

  Thanks for the early Christmas gift. Enjoy yours.

  See you tonight—I hope.

  Ellie closed her eyes and smiled.

  No, not a Christmas gift. An impossible gift. That’s what he was, and what he had given her.

  The End

  About Cristina Rayne

  Cristina Rayne is a New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author who lives in West Texas with her crazy cat and about a dozen bookcases full of fantasy worlds and steamy romances. She also has a degree in Computer Science which totally qualifies her to write romances. As Fantasy is her first love, she feels if she can inject a little love into the fantastical, along with a few steamy scenes, then all the better. www.cristinarayneauthor.com

  Star’s Fall by Jaide Fox

  Mating Heat 3

  A lone wolf finds his beast roused by a wildcat.

  Considering he’s not a pretty boy like the other randy wolves in town, big, burly Adolpho expected to maintain his lone wolf status ‘til death—until an injured she-cat rouses his beast and makes him question why he thought he could spend his days unmated and alone. Mating heat made her a target for any male catshifter in sniffing distance, and for the first time in her life, Star realizes she needs help from the last person she expected—a werewolf.

  1

  Star burst out of the cave, inhaling the gloriously frigid air as if it were her first breath of life. Twilight was upon her, signaling that Taj would soon return and track her escape if she didn’t move.

  She’d been trapped for days in the subterranean prison, possibly weeks—she didn’t know anything other than hours of darkness broken by intermittent fire when he returned. She only knew that the crippling mating heat was upon her, and with the pheromones she emitted, Taj would find her if she didn’t gain distance from his dwelling.

  Star tripped over her feet and the heavy shackle and chain around one ankle. The weight made her foot drag, and she limped. Fire burned her flesh from the silver lining, and she’d been unable to heal herself since he’d locked it into place. The sick bastard wanted her for himself, with or without consent, and he was willing to hold her prisoner indefinitely. She’d pried a stone loose with her bare hands and had worked on the chain bolting her to the cave floor for days while he left to hunt and do whatever else he did. Her arms ached from hours of repetitious pounding of stone upon iron, and her legs were weak from days of confinement.

  Fortune granted her freedom, and she knew better than to waste this chance.

  Hampered by her inability to shift or orient herself, she frantically scanned the forest, her blood pumping furiously and fueling her desperate, hasty flight. She plunged forward, heedless of the snow burning her soles and the callous wind pelting her bare skin with frozen rain. She opened her mouth and caught the snowflakes, dying of thirst but afraid to eat too much for she was already cold.

  Snow covered the mountain, marking her path, but the rate of its fall might cover her tracks if her luck held out. And luck had been in her favor so far. He’d been gone too long as it was, and unless something had befallen him, Taj would return with the dusk. She dreaded what he would do should he find her.

  Exhaustion dulled her hysteria, but panic gave her the energy to continue pressing forward. She stumbled, taking a meandering path through the woods. Bark scraped her bare flesh when she leaned on a tree. Her rapid, hot breath couldn’t keep her nostrils from freezing and her lips from chapping until they bled.

  The silver poisoned her blood. Star’s ankle wouldn’t move—couldn’t bend. She didn’t know where she was going; only down and around, through the dark, sentinel trees as far as she could. Time crawled. Her temples pounded. She fell into the snow and stopped, hanging her head and catching her breath before standing once more.

  Curtains of snowfall obscured her vision, but she thought she saw the pale yellow glow of fire. Was she hallucinating? Dreaming before succumbing to the cold? She clutched her arms around herself, running toward the light with hope that it was real.

  Her mouth opened to cry for help, but her throat closed on itself. Star dropped to her knees, grasping a handful of snow to quench her thirst. Her tongue felt the icy fire, and her teeth chattered. Darkness washed across her vision, creating a pinpoint of light and hazy edges. “Someone! Help!” she croaked, but her voice held little semblance to words in her ears, and a soft drowsy feeling overcame her. It didn’t seem so cold now.

  She thought she would rest there in the snow, but just for a minu
te while she waited on the darkness to give way to the light.

  * * *

  Outskirts of Fangor

  Wolf Clan

  The sounds of Fangor’s Winter Solstice celebration sounded clearly through the softly snow-blanketed valley. Adolpho stood beneath fluttering snowflakes as they gathered on his clean-shaven head and stuck to his long lashes.

  He sighed, watching his breath freeze into wispy puffs as it floated away. He hadn’t celebrated Solstice since he was a boy. The music of troubadours and musicians and other talents called to him. He could smell the scent of roasted rams and deer, pasties and honey cakes. They’d cut down spruce bows and woven them into garlands to decorate the streets. Wreaths of evergreen and holly berries graced the doors, and extra candles and torches were lit to make the streets glitter like stars had fallen from the sky.

  The wolf clan was there in full force, celebrating not only Solstice, but a peace with the bear clan they hadn’t enjoyed in decades. So far, the Ursine had helped scatter the rogue bears beyond their valley, and established trade with the wolves. The wolf clan knew how to put on a good show of prosperity, and they used any excuse to gorge and drink the cold days and nights into frivolous oblivion. That event had been just over a year ago, and distrustful as he tended to be regarding change, he couldn’t deny the fact that their clan prospered in ways he’d never imagined possible.

  As much as he loved food and a tankard of ale among friends and clansmen, Adolpho hated the overcrowded streets. He was a lone wolf through and through. Sure, companionship would be nice once in a while, but he’d never encountered anyone worth giving up his single life for. He enjoyed hunting and fishing, and living on his own terms, and not having to worry about providing for a partner and children, and cleaning up after them either.

  At least, that’s what he told himself whenever the loneliness crept up on him. He wanted no part of any of it. He preferred being alone in his home. He just had to remind himself occasionally.

  Adolpho huffed and snorted, tightened his woolen coat around his bulky frame, and stomped back to the porch of his hut on the outskirts of town. His father had built the cabin close to the safety of Fangor, but outside its timbered gates. Being loners. That was what he’d always known and saw no need to change. Of course, even his father had fallen for his mother…

  The snow fell faster now, harder and muffling the celebration as he shook his coat out under the protection of the porch. Drips of melted snow ran down his crown and forehead, and he swiped his face on his shoulder to mop up the cold wetness before opening the door to his hut.

  The warm air inside rushed past, leaving the interior cold. Adolpho dropped his coat on the hook by the door and stomped to the wood stove in the center of his space. As he opened the iron door to stoke the fire back up, he realized as he reached for a log that he’d forgotten to bring another armful inside.

  “Hell,” he grumbled. He’d gotten caught up listening to a song and forgotten why he’d gone out in the first place—it sure hadn’t been because he’d wanted to traipse through snowy, dark land. “I’m losing my mind. At least no one’s here to watch me go addle-brained. Or talk to myself.”

  Groaning, he stuffed his arms back into his coat and stepped back out into the night. The sky swirled with snowflakes and dark, heavy clouds that obscured the stars. Torches flickered on the gates of Fangor, barely visible to his keen eyes. He stepped off his porch and rounded the hut to his wood pile, guided by the glowing light through the cabin window.

  A strange squeak caught his ear as he loaded his arms with wood. He paused and looked around under his boots, thinking he’d squashed a rodent or something, and heard the sound again—more similar to a gasp or croak than a mouse. An eerie feeling crawled on the back of his neck like a spider. He ignored the odd sensation and tilted his head, listening for a repeat of the sound.

  Heavily laden with split logs, he hefted the load and crunched through the snow to the back of his cabin, wondering if his solitariness had finally gotten to him.

  Peering through damp lashes, he scanned the tree-line and valley. A dark shape fluttered in the wind, seizing his attention. He focused on the object, but could tell nothing of what it was at this distance.

  Slowly, keeping the object fixated, he tread through the deepening snow until he realized he was looking at a nearly naked girl with her black hair ruffling in the breeze. Dread filled him. Dropping his logs, he rushed to the unconscious woman and scooped her slight frame into his arms. A leg clamp hung from one ankle, and he could smell blood. Rage and disgust replaced his alarm. Nothing enraged him like harm done to a woman. He spun on his heel and headed back to his cabin.

  The wind swept his path clear, filling his deep prints almost as quickly as he made them. He knew the woman barely clung to life and had little time left if he didn’t hurry.

  Bursting into his cabin, he lay the woman in his bed, flung the covers over her, and stepped back out to grab another load of wood. He couldn’t seem to move fast enough to suit his level of panic. Slamming the door shut as he entered, he kicked off his boots, grimacing at the puddles he’d left in the floor. He’d have to clean up later—for now, he had to get his fire going full blast. Once he’d satisfied the flames, he turned his attention on the girl.

  From a chest at the foot of the bed, he withdrew more blankets, and smaller towel linens to dry her hair and skin. Pulling the covers back, he checked her hands for signs of frostbite, relieved and amazed to see that her fingers were warm and pliable. Her toes were cold, but he took his hands and rubbed warmth into each foot until he was satisfied she hadn’t sustained damage to them either. The ankle shackle was another matter.

  Examining the iron and mangled chain, he could see tool marks as if someone had attempted to pry it open. The skin on her ankle was red, raw, and bleeding. He’d have to remove that and tend to the injury once she was dry and stable.

  Her skin was a nutty brown, and her ebony hair was chopped jaggedly to the bottom of her chin. It appeared wiry, but was much softer to the touch than it appeared. He rubbed the towel on her head until her hair was mostly dried, then lifted her head and flipped the pillow over to the dry side. Adolpho pulled his damp blanket off her, revealing a woman’s body he hadn’t paid attention to before in his panic.

  Heat rose in his cheeks. He frowned, annoyed by his embarrassment and the scraps of leather covering her small breasts and loins. She shivered, not waking as he rolled her to check for other injuries.

  Spasms racked her body. He touched the nape of her neck and felt an unholy heat radiate from her skin. Adolpho straightened, rubbing his back from the prolonged bent-over angle.

  He wasn’t sure what she was, but she was injured and needed his help, and he’d do what he could to keep her alive. First, the iron shackle had to be removed. He walked to the other side of his cabin, where he kept his tools and other gear, rummaging around in his father’s tool box until he found a hammer and chisel.

  Pulling up a stool, he sat down and carefully stuffed a towel beneath the shackle to cushion his blows. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he had to. Even with his precautions, she moaned in agony when he placed the edge of his chisel on the bolt holding the shackle closed. Her unconscious cries made him wince and grimace with empathetic pain, but it had to be done. Three well-placed hits dislodged the bolt, and he pried the shackle off. She went completely still and quiet, and he was grateful. He could see blackened metal and realized the inside was lined with silver. Perhaps she was a shifter? One he’d never seen before?

  Sickeningly, he could see the meat of her ankle fully exposed now. She wasn’t healing regardless. She’d need to be stitched closed, and salved and wrapped. What monster had done this to her and why? Questions would have to wait until she was awake, however.

  His mother had a sewing kit with a gold needle. He used it from time to time to sew buttons that popped off from his carelessness.

  Leaving the bedside, he moved to the ladder that led up t
o the loft and rooted around the dusty chests and bags until he victoriously found the small round box his mother had kept her precious possessions in. While he was there, he withdrew a few of her dresses and tucked it all under his arm for the descent. The dress was a bit musty from storage, so he shook it out and hung it up to air out, then returned to the stool to dig into the box for the needle and thread.

  His mother had loved embroidering pillows and such, woman stuff. She’d lamented about having a daughter, but they’d had only him, with his sausages for fingers and plate sized palms. The needle looked tiny pinched between his thick fingers, with a long slender hole that he struggled to thread in spite of his good eyes. The thread was limp and uncooperative.

  “Damn it all to hell,” he cursed, fuming, remembered she’d lick the thread before and tried it that way. “Ha!” He tied a knot on one end and pushed it into the pin cushion while he boiled water for cleaning her wound. With everything ready at last, he couldn’t put off the task of hemming her wound closed anymore.

  No change in her healing, he saw. He’d be forced to sew on her after all.

  Extending her ankle off the bed, he drenched linens in the steaming water and carefully cleaned debris from the seeping gashes. He’d seen battle wounds that hadn’t looked worse than this. But then, his kind could heal from most anything except silver. She’d had a reaction to the shackle, which could explain why she was so sick and unresponsive. He’d never had to tend to anything except that one time many years ago, when Jax had suffered a severe round of torture and scars from the Ursine. So the shifters weren’t infallible, but it made him question what manner of creature this girl could be. She wasn’t wolf clan or Ursine. Perhaps one of those legendary human bloods he’d been warned of as a child? Too pretty for a goblin or troll, and those cave dwellers didn’t venture out in the cold.