Alphas for the Holidays

by Mandy M. Roth

  Dani grinned. “As much as I love you, I don’t really need any more dead bad guys wrapped in bows. Right now, I just need you.”

  He lifted her and she knew he was going to take her back to bed. Where she wanted to be. “That can be arranged.”

  She smiled.

  He tipped his head as if listening to something far off. “It would appear Mimi is making Finn drink hot cocoa. He’s cursing the Fae under his breath. Ah, she’s threatening to beat him over the head with a candy cane.”

  “Yep. Sounds like our friends.”

  The End

  About Mandy M. Roth

  New York Times & USA TODAY Bestseller Mandy M. Roth is a multi-published author. Her series include the critically acclaimed Immortal Ops. She's a self-proclaimed Goonie, loves 80s music and movies and wishes leg warmers would come back into fashion. If you enjoyed this story, visit her online to read more from the Immortal Ops series.

  www.MandyRoth.com

  Everlastingly by Michelle M. Pillow

  About Everlastingly

  How do you find something that you don't know is lost?

  On the run and struggling with the elements, Maura O'Brian battles her way through the snow, staying one step ahead of her attackers. She stumbles upon what she believes to be a secluded abandoned farmhouse. It quickly becomes apparent that things are not what they seem. Strange voices and signs keep pointing to the same person--Jack. But who is Jack, and why does his very name fill her with intense longing?

  Is Jack real or simply a product of her desperate imagination?

  Chapter 1

  Snow was pretty until you were forced to run through drifts of it in heels and pantyhose. Maura couldn’t feel the frozen blocks of her feet, but she forced them to keep going. Wet purple satin offered little protection. When she’d put on the gown that night she’d never dreamed the sleeveless decision would become one of the worst of her life. The party dress was meant to be fun and festive, not protect her from the elements. Though the knee-length skirt allowed her legs to move under a bulk of satin, gossamer and ribbons, it offered too little in the way of protection.

  The trail she set through the untouched white was easy to follow, but there was no escaping it. For this reason she had to push onward. If she stopped, they’d find her. If she stopped, she’d freeze to death.

  “Keep moving, keep moving,” her brain repeated, an endless mantra pushing her legs on.

  A whimper passed over her lips in a puff. This couldn’t be happening. Not this. Not her. Not this.

  Maura begged an unseen force in the universe to let her wake up, to make this a dream. She yearned for her parents, the police, a park ranger—anyone who could get her out of the cold. At first she’d just ran, as hard and fast as she could. The full moon revealed the bleakness of the Kansas landscape, the flat snowy field only broken up by lines of trees planted during the Great Depression to act like a wind block that would stop another dust bowl from choking the land.

  Her father had told her that. It’s why so many fields were lined with trees. These types of fields meant farmers. That meant farmhouses. Help.

  She trudged on in mindless purpose. Deliverance from her icy hell came by way of a tiny light in the distance. She aimed for it, glancing back to see if she was being followed. Her eyes were so cold she couldn’t be sure if they were figures in the darkness or protrusions in the landscape.

  The light gave her hope and she pushed as hard as she could, running on adrenaline and fear. Soon the shape of a single window formed in the night, then the moonlit outline of an old house. Maura stumbled and fell against a wooden fence outlining the property. It took everything she had to lift her foot and launch her body over. She fell to the frozen earth and looked toward salvation. The front door creaked open bringing with it a streak of blinking interior light.

  “Help,” she whispered, trying to crawl before collapsing to the ground.

  The blare of a trumpet greeted Maura as she opened her eyes. Gasping, she flounced around on a musty bed, fighting before she could properly see that no one was attacking her. She took a deep breath and then another, waiting for her heart to stop pounding. A lantern cast light over the dusty room. Wallpaper curled along the bottom edge of the wall, exposing the old lath and plaster beneath. Tarnished mirrors and tattered curtains decorated the room, as if they had been forgotten and left to rot. An old skeleton key hung on a nail by a faded green ribbon, though there didn’t appear to be any locks for it to fit into.

  Fat snowflakes flurried past the window, lit only by the lantern light. Pulling the covers off her body, Maura noted her strapless purple gown had dried. Her pantyhose had been snagged and her shoes were missing. A radiant heater warmed the thick wood planks of the floor. She crossed to the glass pane, unable to see past the heavy snowfall into the dark beyond.

  The people in the farmhouse must have brought her inside. Was she safe here? It was warm and she was alive. They’d put her into a bed. For now that would have to do.

  Maura stumbled away from the window, feeling out of sorts. Her tarnished reflection stared back from the mirror. Brunette locks framed her face in a mess of large curls. The paleness of her skin reminded her of how close to death she had come outside in the elements. Redness rimmed her brown eyes, and she remembered the bitter cold against her face. Undoubtedly she’d be sick later and she was a little surprised a fever hadn’t already set in. Though, now that she thought about it, she did feel strange. A dull ache settled over her, not necessarily painful, just a constant awareness.

  She went for the door, but realized there wasn’t one. Panicking, she ran to the wall and smoothed her hands over the old paper. She pushed at the diamond patterns to feel underneath. She lifted the mirror away from the wall, bumped her hip against the radiant heater, and pushed on the nail holding the skeleton key. There had been a way in, so there had to be a way out.

  The window! She could crawl out the window. But go where? Out to where her attackers waited? Barefoot into the snow to die of hypothermia? Or stay inside where she was trapped, but at least warm. Someone let her in, saved her, they would surely check on her soon. They wouldn’t leave her here to die. The solution was probably so amazingly simple and she was too tired from her ordeal to figure it out.

  Maura crawled back onto the bed and pulled the covers over her body. It might smell musty, but it was warm and safe. All she had to do was wait.

  Chapter 2

  No one came.

  It was possible minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days. Maura had no sense of the time, only that night and snow persisted outside. A woman could only wait so long before fear tickled the back of her thoughts. She’d pounded on the walls, stomped on the floor, tried to pull open the sealed window, stared into the tarnished mirror until her own face seemed to mock her. Then it occurred to her that she might be in an attic room and the door might be in the floor.

  She took the lantern and placed it on the wood planks. Crawling on her hands and knees, she looked for a hinge. After exploring the length of the floor, pressing and pulling each and every board, she finally caught a glimpse of hope. A small door, barely large enough to crawl through, was hidden partially by the bed post. The tiny handle looked as if it had been built for a doll, but the tarnished brass keyhole was large enough to fit the skeleton key on the wall. Someone had carved, “Everlastingly,” on the wood.

  Maura pushed the bed aside and grabbed the key. The lock did not easily turn and she had to use both hands to find the strength to unlatch it. The small door swung open. A cool breeze whipped in to the heated room from the darkness beyond. She pushed to her feet and fetched the lantern. As her eyes fell back on the door, a light had turned on inside, and she didn’t need the lantern to see.

  A voice whispered from within, light and high like an excited child’s, “Do you think she’ll come this time, or run?”

  “I don’t know,” another calmer voice answered.

  “She doesn’t have much time. S
he can’t keep doing this. The house will not stand forever. Maybe I should go in and lead her from the door. I’m sure I can find what Jack wants.”

  “Quiet or she will hear you. Interfering does not help. We tried that.”

  “Jack?” Maura whispered, her body instantly awakened by the name. Now was not the time for desire, and yet that is what she felt. Tingling erupted on her skin, a reminder of warm hands and deep kisses. But she didn’t know anyone named Jack. How could she be aroused by a name? How could she feel safe and warm when she was trapped in an old house during a snowstorm?

  With only one way out she reached into the opening.

  “Someone should tell Jack she’s escaping,” the child decided. “I’ll go. You watch.”

  Nothing.

  It was possible minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days. Maura had no sense of the time, only that night and snow persisted outside. How did she get in this doorless room? Why was there no way out?

  Frantic, she had torn up the withering prison, pulling curtains from the window, ripping the mirror from the wall, tossing the stupid key decoration to the floor. How could she be in a room with no way out?

  What if her kidnappers found her? What if they kept her here and had some kind of torture chamber in the basement? Snow or not, she couldn’t stay. She had to run, to fight to survive. She vaguely remembered seeing an old farm truck outside before she passed out. If she pressed her face to the glass she could see the outline of it below. She might not comprehend fully what was happening, but there was a sense of urgency building inside her. She had to get help.

  Grabbing the mirror, she threw it at the window. Glass shattered. She took the coverlet from the bed and wrapped the corner around her fist to strike the remaining glass pieces from the sill. She then swung the thick material around her shoulders for warmth, and to protect herself from the broken shards. Outside the window was a trellis of dead ivy, conveniently placed, acting like a ladder, and helping her climb down. She tried to carry the lantern with her, but it fell to the snowy ground and extinguished. Now, helped only by moonlight, she shakily made her way down the side of the house. She hopped off, away from the broken glass in the snow.

  The cold stung her feet through the pantyhose as she ran toward the old pickup. The faded red font on the side of the blue vehicle read, “Jack Everla”. The vehicle was from the early 1950s, with a flat solid windshield, headlights set into the grill, and a rounded frame. It was the exact model she’d wanted as a kid.

  Maura yanked the creaky metal door open before crawling inside. There were keys in the ignition but the dead engine did not so much as whimper with life. She was so cold already and didn’t want to run again. There might not be another house for miles. Considering her options, the farmhouse seemed like the safest bet. She had no proof the people inside were dangerous. They might be upset that she broke their window, but she could offer to pay for it.

  With little by way of a choice, she made her way to the rickety porch. The dark windows revealed only shadowy hints of what was inside. She pressed her face to the glass, trying to see. It didn’t take long before she tried the door. As she pulled it open, light cut the dark porch. The glow from a Christmas tree lit the front room, the tiny white bulbs blinking slowly. She had not been able to see it through the outside window, which made no logical sense. Like the doorless room above, the home was covered in dust.

  Maura remained quiet. Her bare feet made tracks on the floor as she closed herself in. Pictures hung on the wall and she smudged her fingertips through the dust on one to reveal dark eyes in a handsome face. The man was not smiling, as appeared to be customary in old sepia photographs. A thin scar ran over his left temple. Something about him looked familiar, creating feelings of warmth, but he’d probably died years ago. Still, she found herself standing for a long time, staring at his face, trying to remember why he might look familiar. Perhaps she knew his grandson? Dated his grandson? She swiped her finger over his chin to reveal his mouth. Her lips prickled with awareness, like she had kissed that mouth before and wanted to do it again—desperately.

  “Are you Jack Everla?” she whispered. The name Jack sounded familiar, as if she’d said it a hundred times, but that made no logical sense. Nothing here made sense.

  The soft sound of a record caught her attention and pulled her away from the handsome picture. She tiptoed toward it. The coverlet dropped from her shoulders. Brass and woodwind instruments played Big Band music, the crisp sound punctuated by the occasional bump and scratch of a record needle. Such music was meant to be loud, not soft.

  Wooden stairs creaked as she made her way up them, no matter that she tried to tiptoe. A faint light came from beneath a door, drawing her toward it. The music became louder. She turned the oval nob and stepped inside the room to confront whoever was there. The second she was through the door, the music abruptly stopped as if it had never been.

  The doorless room.

  The broken window had been repaired and the area tidied as if she’d never been there. She turned to leave but the door had disappeared and she slammed into the wall in her haste.

  “Ow!” Maura gasped, putting her hand over her injured nose.

  “We should tell Jack she’s lost,” a child’s voice said. “It never takes this long.”

  “I opened the door for her,” another young voice answered.

  “You should not have done that. The others will be mad if they find out you interfered.”

  “What else could I do? Jack wants her to come. It’s been too hard for her to find it this time.”

  Shaking, Maura looked around to see who was talking. Instead, she found something she had not seen before—a small door in the wall just big enough to crawl through. A skeleton key had been fitted in the lock. Though she listened, the voices did not come back. What choice did she have? She couldn’t stay locked up. The old truck didn’t run. The farmhouse was abandoned. Those were the first voices she’d heard since her run through the snow. It took a long time before she found the nerve to go toward the opening.

  No way out.

  How did she get in this doorless room? Where was the person who pulled her from the snow? She didn’t remember coming up here, so someone had to bring her. Why didn’t they let her out of the room? Or at least check on her?

  It was possible minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days. Maura had no sense of the time, only that night and snow persisted outside. She swiped at her eyes and paced the wood plank floor. The key had to mean something.

  Where there was a key, there was a lock.

  Holding the skeleton key, she looked for a hole to fit it in. She lifted the curling wallpaper, ran her hands over the floor. The radiant heat kept her from trying to go out the window. Her feet still stung from her run through the snow and there was no way she was facing those elements again. It would be better to find a way downstairs. Maybe they would have a phone. Or boots and a coat. Or truck keys. She vaguely remembered seeing an old farm truck before passing out. If anything, the downstairs should be less dusty and there may be some food. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. Though, really, she didn’t feel hungry so that wasn’t an immediate priority.

  If there was a way in to this room, there was a way out.

  She knocked on the bed posts and found them to be solid. Throwing the side of the coverlet up, she searched under the mattress. Her hands hit an old book and she pulled it out. Butterfly stickers clung to the journal’s cover. In very curvy writing that reminded Maura of being in middle school, a young girl had written, over and over, on the pages, “Mrs. Taylor, Mrs. Jack Taylor, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Taylor”, along with doodles of man and a woman together doing various mundane things—driving a car, eating in a restaurant, watching television. Whoever the girl was, her pictures were much less graphic than Maura’s would have been at that age.

  Next, Maura looked under the bed and found a small door with a tiny knob. The word, “Everlastingly,” had been carved on the woo
d. How strange that she hadn’t noticed it before. She was sure she’d never seen anything quite like it. The keyhole was the perfect size for the key. She rushed to it and thrust it in the lock. She was crawling out of her skin. She had to get out of the room. Anywhere was better than here.

  Opening the door, Maura was met with a gentle illumination. She thrust her head inside the opening to look. A wooden wall blocked her view, but she saw the light coming from around the corner.

  “Sh,” she thought she heard someone whisper.

  “That was too fast,” a second voice answered. “She couldn’t have found anything useful.”

  “Maybe she’ll turn around. Sometimes she turns around.”

  “Who’s there?” Maura called as she reached her arms through the opening and pushed against the wall to pull her body through. “Are you the girl who wrote the journal? Is this your room?”

  “Too soon, too soon,” the voice said. “Warn Jack.”

  Chapter 3

  The bulky weight of Maura’s satin skirt caused her hips to catch on the miniature doorframe. She pushed harder, heaving her body through the small opening. Looking up, she found the ceiling was too short to stand. Maura crawled toward the light coming around the corner. When she reached it and peeked around the side, she found the light had moved around another corner.

  Much like a mouse in a maze, she scurried on her hands and knees, turning corner after corner, trying to catch the light. Her palms ached. The wooden planks of the floor were padded only by the material of her skirt under bruised knees. The deeper she went into the tunnel, the faster she moved, desperate to get out.