by Anthology
It should’ve been a relief. But it wasn’t. Bel wrote stories; she didn’t participate in them! In fact, the whole reason she wrote, the whole reason anybody wrote, was to take the monster and make it manageable. Instead, she thought, I’ve brought mine to life.
“Christ Almighty.” Bel’s hand flew away from her back, as if it had burned her. “I know the stories. But what does it mean?”
“It means that I’ll do anything to protect you. That I love you. And that one day, I hope you’ll bear my children.”
Bel gasped. Samson had said his declaration so plainly, like his love for her was just a fact. Her mate mark burned even hotter, her blood singing with desire. But her heart felt cold.
Samson must’ve noticed, because he didn’t move any closer. “It will take time for you to process your own feelings, I know.”
“My feelings? You lied to me for three months! You just told me you’re a werewolf,” Bel mumbled through her teeth. They would start to chatter soon. While she had thrown on a coat, her pants were too thin for the weather. “I need to go home.”
Mud squelched underneath Samson’s feet as he stepped toward her. “Then let’s take you home. You can ride me.”
“R-ride you?”
“There are some upsides to being a werewolf,” he said. Bel got the sense it was supposed to be a joke, but he wasn’t smiling, and she was a million miles away from laughing.
“There’s no way—”
He ignored her worries, and instead brought one of his calloused hands to her chin, tilting it upwards. By the time she realized what he was doing it was too late; she was caught in his orbit.
“Bel,” he whispered. It was the first time he had ever called her by her nickname.
Bel just stared, decoding the secrets of the face she only now recognized. The slight slant of his gold-flecked eyes, the wideness of his mouth, the wiriness of his beard. She could see the beast in him. His monster had a name. Werewolf.
But it was more than that. As his right hand slipped away from her chin down to the side of her arm, sending a warm fillip of pleasure rippling through her, she realized he was holding her like she was a snowflake melting too quickly. Like he knew he had to let her go. Like he had always known.
“Please, let me take you home,” he said.
His breath was warm against her cheek, and smelled like firewood, whiskey and high summer. She knew which home he meant, and she knew that if she went back to his glorious mansion in the woods, she might never be able to leave again. Their bond would ensure it.
She managed to shake her head and say, “I can’t, Samson.”
He didn’t ask why, but his grip did stiffen. “It’s not safe out here, and with the cold — “
“No, I mean I can’t go home with you. I need time to think.”
Her heart clenched as she waited for his response, for him to say too bad, she was his now. She knew how mating worked; being apart would be physically painful for both of them.
But, eventually, he simply nodded and turned away.
16
Bel had started back to her father’s house when a fancy black car pulled up. It was his brother, Rex. He said nothing as he drove her home, but she got the sense that he was far from happy.
Unhappiness was soon a feeling Bel had become well acquainted with.
With every mile farther away from Samson, the pain in her chest increased. Even after her father had welcomed her back with open arms, she couldn’t muster a smile. As days turned into weeks, it only got worse. But how could she go back to Samson after everything that had happened?
All that considered, it was no surprise that she hadn’t noticed Christmas had arrived until her father was putting up the tree. She watched him work from her position on the couch, staring at the grilled cheese sandwich he had made her.
“You going to come help?” he asked as he threaded a string of popcorn through the branches.
“No,” Bel said listlessly.
“No?” her father asked. “You’ve been sitting there for an awful long time.”
Bel ignored him.
“Bel?” Her father stepped down from the footstool – he was too short to reach the top branches without it – and faced her.
“Mm?”
“I’m worried about you,” he said, holding up the string of popcorn like a peace offering.
“I’m fine.” Bel took a bite of the grilled cheese. It tasted papery in her mouth. She swallowed without smiling. “Delicious.”
His bushy eyebrows furrowed, and he waddled over to sit on the arm of the couch. “You haven’t talked much about your publishing contract, and I haven’t seen you do any writing. Is everything okay with that?”
Bel scowled. “Just as okay as your lawsuit issues, Dad.”
His pockmarked face went suddenly white. “Oh, no.”
Bel put down her grilled cheese. “Yeah, I know about that.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ve already taken care of it.” Bel held up a hand.
His face contorted with nervousness. “You didn’t pay him?”
Bel barked a laugh. “God, no. There’s no way that rose was really worth a million and a half dollars, anyway.”
Her dad frowned. “So he was scamming me?”
His mentioning scamming and Samson in the same sentence made Bel’s heart twist. Had it been a scam? Her feelings? Was it all just some sick magic trick? She shook her head. “I don’t know, Dad.”
“Well, I suppose I should say thank you, honey.” Her father moved to kiss the top of her head, but Bel withdrew.
“Just tell me one thing. Why did you go there in the first place?”
Her dad blushed, a trademark of the Booksmore family. “Well, it was silly.”
Bel sat up, her pain fading in the face of her curiosity. “What?”
“I was looking for signatures for a wolf hunting petition.”
Bel’s eyes widened. That was why Samson had pressed the lawsuit. Her father had come to his door, asking him to a sign a piece of paper that would allow humans to attack his brother, Luther. But something still didn’t add up.
“But you’re an accountant, Dad, not a farmer,” Bel said.
He smothered his face with his fingers, embarrassed. “There’s this farmer in town, Anabella Gaston. I was having trouble getting up the courage to ask her out. I thought if I did something nice for her, she’d be more likely to say yes.”
“Was she?”
Her father glanced at her ruefully, his big lips pursed. “No. Not a bit. When I told her what I’d done, she told me that she could handle her own animals, thank you very much, and that the hunters would probably accidentally kill even more of her livestock.”
Bel laughed for real this time, glad for the emotion piercing the numbness that had swallowed her heart.
Her dad joined in. “Thankfully, she came around a few weeks later and told me she’d forgive me if I took her out for dinner at Lin’s Wok Grill.” His smile split his whole face open, revealing a tender happiness Bel hadn’t seen on him since her mother had died. Since they had first moved to Crystal Creek. He deserved that happiness more than anyone else she could think of, even if he was an idiot.
He looked how she had felt when she’d put on the yellow dress and made dinner for Samson. When she still trusted him.
She wanted that back, she realized. The consequences were irrelevant. And she knew what she had to do.
17
Samson was beyond sadness, beyond rage, beyond anything but weakness and pain. He was lying on the couch in the living room, trying his best not to move. He only hoped that the symptoms of their mate bond weren’t as physical for her.
“I don’t know why we aren’t tracking her down,” said Rex, his voice drifting in from the kitchen. “It’s not as if he’s in any state to stop us.”
“No,” Samson said weakly. “I said no.”
“He has to figure this stuff out on his own, Rex. Like I did,“ said
Luther, who was probably rifling through the refrigerator. Again. He hadn’t stopped eating and doing pushups. Having lost his once extreme muscles, Luther was determined to get them back as soon as possible.
“Not if figuring it out will kill him. I say—“
Before Rex could finish, the doorbell rang.
Samson sat up, fighting through the pain. His muscles loosened and the pounding in his head quieted.
Rex drifted through the kitchen door, walking with that annoying quiet grace of his. Samson was tired of Rex running things as he had in the week since Isabella had left. That alone gave him energy enough to stand up from the couch.
Rex paused and raised an eyebrow his way. “You’re up?”
“I’ll answer the door,” Samson grunted.
“You might want to button your shirt first.”
Samson waved Rex away and stumbled to the door. Blinking at the glare of the winter sun, he opened it blearily and gave a groaning, “Hello.”
“Hi.”
Instantly, all of Samson’s senses were at attention. He didn’t need to see the owner of the voice to know who it was. He was assaulted by her at every turn. The smell of her was strong, like she hadn’t taken a shower in a couple of days, but sweet. He wanted to bury his face in her chest, cradle her to him, and never let her go.
His Isabella. His Bel.
He knew he should say something, but he could think of nothing that would express the magnitude of his relief at her appearance.
“So,” Bel began, “Merry Christmas.”
She looked uncomfortable as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. There were deep purple bags underneath her eyes, and her normally enticing skin looked sallow. Samson had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He doubted he ever would again. Even if she stayed with him forever, there would never be anything better than this moment.
When it became clear that he wasn’t yet capable of speech, she continued, “I brought you a present.” From behind her back, she pulled out a book. “You asked me if I would do the ending differently now.”
With shaking hands, Samson took the book from Bel, but he didn’t open it. He was afraid that if he looked away, she’d be gone when he turned back.
Her shoulders almost touched her ears as she shrugged them. “I thought that now that I know a werewolf first hand, I should rewrite it.” She twirled a strand of hair around her thumb. “I could make it end the right way. She deserves her mate.”
Samson didn’t let her finish. He took her in his arms, squeezing her so tightly that she let out a startled yelp. His wolf rejuvenated, finally rising to enough attention to realize that they were wasting valuable seconds. He could’ve been kissing her.
The book fell to the floor, pages ruffling in the coming winter’s breeze. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the last page and saw that the type had been crossed out and replaced with hastily scribbled pencil marks.
“Yes,” he growled into her mouth.
“Yes, what?” Bel mumbled, barely able to speak around the kiss.
“Yes, I’ll keep you.” Again he kept her from completing her thought, this time by pressing a line of kisses down her neck. Before she could protest further, he swept her off her feet and into his arms, cradling her body against his chest.
“What are you doing?” Bel said through her laughter.
He stroked her hair and kicked in the door to his house with a bang. On the other side were Rex and Luther. Luther was midway through a pull-up using the doorframe; he dropped to the floor, landing in a predatory crouch. He raised an eyebrow.
Rex was on his cellphone, speaking with some New York investing firm, more than likely, and gave only the fringe of a smile and a knowing nod.
Bel waved at them all tentatively, but Samson wasn’t going to give her time to say hello. She wasn’t there for them. She was his now.
Forever.
The End
About Sylvia Frost
Sylvia Frost is a jackette of all trades, graphic designer, author and sometimes singer. Her upcoming works include novel length sexy fractured fairy-tales like The BBW and the Prince, a shifter retelling of Cinderella. sylviafrost.com
Reindeers, Elves, And Cookies…Oh My! by Lissa Matthews
Rand is a reindeer shifter, the resident hot head, and pre-destined to lead the sleigh team. It’s his turn at the front of the line, and while the holiday season is brightly lit and full of cheer for those at the North Pole and around the world, Rand isn’t sure he’s buying into it anymore. And his doubts may cost him everything... Including a beautiful, curvaceous elf named Blix. Head baker for Wishes Bakery, Blix bakes her own special blend of magic into her holiday cookies. When she learns Rand is being banished from the North Pole and his memories will one day fade to nothingness, she sends a basket of treats with his transport team in the hopes that with bite after bite, he begins to believe again.
1
“Hey.” Tomas tapped the tip of a pencil on Rand’s desk. “Are you even paying attention?”
“Nah. You’ve been boring me ever since I walked in.” Stunned, his friend and flight instructor, took a step back, standing to his full height. Rand stood as well.
“Look, we go over this every year. It's the same ‘ol pep talk about the same ‘ol procedure about the same ‘ol route and routine. I’ve been coming to these meetings for five years. I know it by heart. We all do.”
“But it’s your first year as lead reindeer on the sleigh.”
“I’ve been flying second to you. I’ve passed all my flight tests. I’ve been in the simulator. I know how to do my job.”
“That’s your problem. You see it as a job. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“What else is it?”
“A privilege.”
Rand eyed Tomas suspiciously. “A privilege? Really? Man, everyone thinks this Season, this holiday time of year shit is so grand, so great. It’s not. It’s a lot of work for us and a lot of selfishness for the people who live in the parts of the world we visit.”
“Not every part of the world, Rand. There are many who need the magic that can only come from us.”
“And what about the other ones? The ones who get all the press and gifts and glitz? What about them? What about their kids who only think of themselves? People who are superficial and materialistic? Are they the ones we do this for, year after year, century after century?”
“Do you want out?” Tomas asked. It was on the tip of Rand’s tongue to say no, but he hesitated, stopped himself. Did he want out? Did he want that? “If you say yes,” his friend continued, “you’ll be stripped of everything except the ability to shift from man to buck. You’ll have no magic. You’ll be cast into the Yukon territory and you won’t be allowed back. Is that what you want, Rand?”
“I…” He couldn’t say it. Yes, or no. He couldn’t say it. For the first time in his life, he was speechless. What the hell was he supposed to do? Why couldn’t he say that no, it’s not what he wanted? Why couldn’t he say that he wanted to stay at the North Pole and be part of the sleigh team, to be the lead reindeer on the sleigh team, the way he’d been training his entire life?
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think about it. It’s a big responsibility. And it is a privilege. Whether you believe it or not, it is a privilege.”
“Is it true that in time, I would forget that I was ever here, that this place even exists?”
Tomas nodded. “Yes, it’s true. Twenty-four hours, Rand. I’ll need an answer in twenty-four hours.”
Rand stalked from the room, amid the curious eyes of his team, and slammed the door behind him. He was looking for a little satisfaction from the childish move, but found none.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Toes in the snow. He wanted to throw something. Hit something. Shift. Run hard and fast until his lungs burned with exhaustion and exertion.
There was no place for that where he was. There was no room to move freely. Humans in normal parts of the world
talked of the hustle and bustle of Christmas, but at the North Pole, it lasted from year end to year end. It was constant motion, constant going.
There was nothing to look forward to anymore. No anticipation. No surprise. There was only dread. He felt it. Humans felt it. He couldn’t help wondering what the point of it all was. If there even was one.
Rand looked around. Elves power walked from one building to the next. They were always in such a hurry. Why? Why couldn’t anyone slow down? Why couldn’t they stop and appreciate where they were, who they were?
And when did you become so damn philosophical? He grumbled under his breath at the voice in his head, turning in the direction of his apartment building, but a whiff of sugar and cinnamon caught him and he took a slight detour toward Wishes Bakery.
He, like every other inhabitant of the North Pole was addicted to sweets. His weakness was cookies and a pretty elf, sexy elf named Blix.
She was meant for him. He’d known for more years than he could count that he wanted her, was going to marry her, was going to spend hundreds of years with her. Black hair, a pert nose, bow shaped lips, and silver eyes so brilliant they sparkled.
They matched her personality and they matched her name. Blix Silverberry.
He dated other elves. Even dated several other reindeer shifters, but it had always been Blix for him. He’d never found the courage to tell her, though. His friends would find that funny. Tomas would find it pathetic. Rand didn’t know how Blix would feel. She never treated him any different than she treated anyone else. He couldn’t imagine she saw him as anything more than the maverick shifter he spent years cultivating a reputation for being.
He was the daredevil. The one who took chances, tempted the magic flowing through his veins along with the blood of a select few reindeer shifters born to the destiny he was.
He wasn’t attempting to squander the life he’d been given, he only wanted freedom from the responsibilities resting on his shoulders for just a moment, for just a fraction of time.