A Curious Twist of Lime

by Heather R. Blair

“Hello, Georg. I’m Alice. Alice Liddell.”

  I cock my head, watching her through bear eyes, wondering why that name seems to hover in the air as if it should ring some bell. But my thoughts remain stubbornly blank as we stare at each other.

  “How long have you been here, Alice?” I ask at last.

  A shrug. Her gaze falls to her toes as I push up on all fours. “A very long time.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Not particularly.” She shuffles her feet.

  I stare down at that bowed dark head, then at the forest around us.

  “Why not just leave?”

  I’m a shifter. Walking between worlds is easy for my kind, since we can sniff out even the oldest of passageways. Still, all but the weakest FTCs can sense the main paths between the lower worlds. Asgaard is barred without invitation, of course, and Hel is no fun to get either in or out of, as I can personally attest to, but whatever she is, I see no reason for Alice to be stuck here indefinitely. Unless she has no magic at all, which is ludicrous.

  No one could survive a single day in Niflheim without magic.

  She gives me a wary look. “It’s not safe out there.”

  There’s a wealth of meaning behind that simple statement and none of it good. All of which intrigues me more than it should, just like the woman herself.

  But I’m done trying to protect pretty little things who may or may not be in trouble.

  “Nothing’s safe, darling.” It comes out half a growl. Mostly because my bear is pissed at my attitude. He likes her.

  “Even you?”

  The amusement in her tone along with that maddening scent of hers has me taking a step closer. At full height my grizzly is over twelve feet tall, more than twice her own height and likely ten times her weight. “Bears aren’t safe, little girl.”

  She pales but purses her lips and stands her ground, a stubborn glint working into grey eyes that aren’t so soft anymore. Hands on hips, she stares up at me. “You weren’t particularly scary whimpering around in that pit.”

  “I don’t whimper.” I bend down until we’re nearly nose to nose.

  “And I’m not a little girl.” Her voice stays steady, but her chest is hitching and those lips quiver. A light breeze picks up a few strands of her hair and tosses them over my muzzle. Lilacs. Rain. Gods above and below, I want to taste her and I haven’t had that particular urge in longer than I can remember.

  No, definitely not a little girl.

  “Who are you?” I snarl, irritated with myself, my bear and most of all, her.

  “I told you,” she whispers. “I’m Alice. Just Alice.”

  Before I can snap again, she reaches under her cloak with one hand and a smile that wobbles at the edges.

  “H-how long were you trapped in that pit? I bet you’re hungry.”

  We both know she’s trying to distract me, but at the mention of food, my stomach decides we don’t give a fuck.

  “I could eat.” That’s the understatement of the millennium. There’s a hole in my gut the size of Thor’s hammer.

  “It’s not much, but I have some bread and honey leftover from lunch.”

  She offers a bundle wrapped in a cheery blue-and-white-checked handkerchief. The immediate and deafening rumble from my middle has her stumbling back, her mouth widening in a little O. Then she giggles, startling both of us.

  The bright sound dances between the trees like fairy music. My bear chuffs and before I know it, he leans forward and bumps our head against her hand. She gasps, then shyly runs her fingers through our fur before I can yank away.

  Another chuff and that odd purring sound. Fuck.

  I swear if I weren’t holding him back, he’d be at her feet, begging for more. Her face turns red before she ducks it to fumble at the knots. When they come undone, she drops the cloth at my feet before backing away. There’s a half a loaf of flat, crusty bread sliced lengthwise and thickly coated with honey. The smell alone damn near has me foaming at the mouth. Not really a good look for a bear.

  The hollow ache in my stomach draws at my insides, the way that pit recently tried to rip at my outsides. But while I may be all animal at the moment, that’s no excuse not to be a gentleman.

  “After you,” I insist through gritted teeth.

  She hesitates before clearly deciding it’s best not to argue. Smart woman. “Um, okay.”

  Without taking her eyes off of mine, Alice reaches between my paws to rip off a small bit of bread. Very small, I note approvingly. Once her back is settled against a nearby tree, I drop my muzzle and inhale the rest.

  Odin would approve. It’s fit for the gods. Warm, fresh and sticky. Plopping down on my bear ass, I close my eyes, grunting in pure satisfaction.

  “How in the hell did you get honey in Niflheim?” I mumble around the crumbs a minute later.

  “You can get anything here if you want it badly enough.” She hesitates. “Well, almost anything.”

  I don’t ask her to elaborate, being too busy eating. There’s no doubt she’s real now. Niflheim is tricky, but so am I. Hallucinations don’t eat, so she’s real all right. I watch her while I chew, wondering what her story is.

  Not that it matters.

  Because dream or not—enticing scent or not—Alice is not my business. I made up my mind days ago in that pit. I’m done wandering around. It’s time to go home. The closest path to Midgard won’t open until what should be dawn, but one more night won’t kill me. Especially now that I know to avoid the goddamn sand.

  I lick the honey off my paws, not wanting to miss one drop. Another giggle has me lifting my head. Alice laughs harder. Probably because my mouth is wide open and my long, pink tongue is hanging out. I draw it back in between my teeth with a hiss, my jaw snapping closed.

  “Do you find me amusing?” I use my king voice. The bear version that tends to make people quiver in their boots.

  Alice just snorts, though her cheeks turn pink again. She’s sucking honey off her own fingertips. “Actually, I find you rather adorable. At least when you’re licking your paws,” she amends, eyes sparkling.

  Adorable? Seriously? But maybe the honey has sweetened my mood, because instead of getting irritated, I find myself fascinated by the color of her lips against that pale skin. When she draws a fingertip into her mouth, I give myself—and my bear—a hard shake, but I can’t resist the urge to tease her. “I’ll have you know I am a fierce and deadly predator.”

  “Your teeth are very big,” she observes after a beat, chewing the last of her bread slowly, eyes cast down. “And very sharp.”

  “I won’t use them on you.” Unless you ask nicely.

  Goddamn bear. Shut the fuck up.

  He chuffs again. Alice smiles.

  “I know you won’t.” Another light shrug. “I wouldn’t have saved you otherwise.”

  I blink at her matter-of-fact tone. Apparently, there’s some steel under that soft exterior.

  She lifts her gaze. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “I don’t doubt that if you’ve survived here for any length of time.” Something to keep in mind. However innocent Alice appears to be, however appealing my bear finds her, there is likely a lot more to this woman than meets the eye.

  “It’s not so bad,” she says. “But you’re lucky I heard you roar. You need to be careful. Vorpal sand is everywhere. It’s easy to get stuck here.”

  “Point taken.” I start scratching again. “And where did you come from, before you got stuck here?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” she murmurs.

  There it is again, that hint of nerves. Or fear. My eyes narrow as I watch her rub her arms. The question falls out as I glance at the trees around us. “Don’t you remember anything?”

  “Just bits and pieces. Like a dream, or maybe a dream of a dream.” Her tone is hollow, and soft as they are, her words seem to echo in my head. “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Her head bows, dark hair spillin
g over her face. “If they were good memories—don’t you think they’d be better at sticking around?”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. The bad ones are pretty good at digging themselves in deep.”

  When she peeks up at me, those grey eyes are a little too sharp. “Is that why you came here? To forget bad memories?”

  “I’m not sure.” I rub harder against the tree, trying to distract myself from her words. Stupid sand. It’s going to take me a damn week to get it all out of my fur.

  “If you forget your past, good or bad—doesn’t that mean you lose a part of yourself?”

  I pause in my scratching, looking down at the woman across from me, wringing her hands. It’s obvious the question is as personal for her as it is for me. “Maybe some parts are worth losing,” I say quietly.

  Her gaze darts to mine and then away.

  “Perhaps.” She gets to her feet, pulling her hood over her face, like a curtain shutting me out. “I should go.”

  I know she saved my life and all, but I’m ready for her to leave. There’s something about Alice that reminds me of the sand I just escaped, especially when she stares at me with those big, beautiful eyes.

  Like if I get too close, she’ll suck me in, too.

  “Thank you again, Alice Liddell.”

  She nods but doesn’t move to leave. Biting her lips, she looks around the woods once, then back at me. There’s no visible sun here. Nevertheless, the light is fading fast, from silvery mist to tarnished pewter. It gives her face an eerie glow. Despite that, my bear can see the shadow of fear in her eyes. And he doesn’t like it.

  Not one fucking bit.

  “Could you . . .” She clears her throat. “That is to say, would you mind terribly walking me back? I don’t usually come out so far at this time of day.”

  I grit out two words. “Of course.”

  So, despite the fact that all I really want to do is find something else to eat and put Alice out of my mind, it appears I’ll be escorting her home first. Because gentleman. And this goddamn bear who’s apparently lost his mind along with his balls.

  I drop back to all fours, stifling a bear-sized groan as more sand cascades from my fur. I glance at the ground, puzzled. “Where’d your handkerchief get to?”

  “I think you ate it,” she says, mouth quirking. “Don’t worry, I’ve plenty more at the castle.” It doesn’t escape me that she doesn’t call it home, or that the shadow in her eyes darkens when she glances at the path.

  “Where is this castle?”

  “Up that way, about a mile.”

  Odd. I swear that is the way I came in, and I didn’t see a goddamn thing.

  With a shrug, I fall into step beside her, taking it slow so she can keep up.

  She seems exceptionally nervous. Given the sounds from the forest around us, I tell myself that’s understandable. In less than five minutes, I identify the call of a werewolf, a big cat of some kind and the whisper of wings above the treetops that could be a giant bat, maybe even a Harpy. I can’t help but be impressed she braved this shit for me.

  Just because some of the creatures here are imaginary doesn’t mean that they can’t hurt you.

  Alice stays close enough that her arm brushes my fur, that smell of hers teasing my nose again. It puts me on edge and I walk faster, forcing her to trot to keep pace. The faster I get her home, the better. For both of us.

  It isn’t long before a fortress takes shape, emerging slowly from the perpetual gloom. No flags fly from the ugly stone ramparts, no soldiers man the walls, no candles glow in any windows. It looks abandoned, utterly without life. The ghost of a castle instead of the real thing. She lives here?

  A sidelong look shows me Alice worrying at a ring on her finger as we enter the grounds. If anything, she seems jumpier inside the crumbling walls than she was outside of them. A clatter from the woods has her gasping and twisting sideways, to slam hard into my shoulder. Her fingers sink into my fur, trembling and ice-cold.

  “Are you always this tense?” I rumble aloud, even as I bend my head, letting my nose brush her hair, breathing deep despite myself.

  “No,” she whispers, stepping closer, looking around at the lengthening shadows. “I just have kind of a big day tomorrow. I guess it’s got me on edge.”

  “Why, what happens tomorrow?” My bear is doing his level best to curl around her, inserting our bulk between her and whatever has her so frightened.

  With a squeak when she notices how close I am, she looks from me to the castle ahead and back again, but doesn’t move from my side. “I’m supposed to get married.

  Wait, what?

  Alice’s words bring both my mind and my feet to an abrupt halt. That’s the only reason the shadow streaking out of the forest gets the drop on me.

  Only it’s not me it’s aiming for.

  Alice doesn’t even have a chance to scream before he’s on her.

  Vampire.

  Long broken fingernails snag in that black fall of hair, her hood falling back as he twists viciously, baring her throat. The bloodsucker is already lowering his mouth when my bear roars in challenge, bringing a few stones crashing down around us.

  The vamp’s eyes widen, almost as if he didn’t notice me standing right next to her. Which is fucking odd. Even a vampire in full-on bloodlust is unlikely to miss an enormous grizzly standing less than a foot away from his target.

  The vamp begins backing into the woods, one arm around Alice’s waist. “Stay back, bruin.”

  I growl softly and circle between him and the tree line. “Not a chance.”

  He hisses and tightens his grip. Alice whimpers in pain. The sound has both my bear and me eyeing him through a haze of red as I crouch low and growl again.

  “Think this through, bloodsucker,” I advise, flashing my teeth.

  He flashes his own right back. “Oh, I already have. Keep your distance and you can have the pieces.” A thin cold smile. “Once I’m done draining her blood.”

  “One fucking drop, and I’ll take your head.”

  The vamp laughs, sounding almost hysterical. “Are you insane? If I get more than a swallow, it’ll be your head on my wall.”

  There’s no time to process that cryptic statement. Quick as a diving bat, the vamp sinks his fangs deep into Alice’s throat. She gives a high-pitched cry and jerks in his arms. The smell of her blood fills the air along with that hint of lilac-perfumed rain. And suddenly I know why she’s stuck here.

  Human. By all the fucking gods and Odin’s hairy balls—Alice is human. Not elemental, elf or sprite. Just human. No magic, no fairy-tale powers, nothing.

  Whatever the vamp thinks she is, he’s fucking wrong.

  With another roar I didn’t feel coming, I leap over the grass. Even in my rage-filled charge I’m hyperaware of the fragile woman between us. The bear is too big and bulky for this job and we both know it. Alice will be crushed.

  I start to shift even as I leap. It’s difficult, damn near impossible with all the Vorpal sand still clinging to my fur, making what should be as natural as breathing more like sucking mud through a straw filled with wet cotton. But bruins are nothing if not stubborn, and I’m as bruin as they fucking come.

  With a snarl, I land lightly behind the vampire on bare feet instead of paws. But bear claws remain on one hand, glinting in the silvery gloom. In the instant before they vanish completely, I slash at the bloodsucker’s head.

  It separates wetly from his shoulders with a satisfying plop.

  Well, I warned the bastard, didn’t I?

  2

  Icy fangs slide from my skin as I stumble back, nearly falling to my knees. The wound itself stings like fire, but at least that awful draining pull is gone, along with the shadowy veil that had fallen across my vision.

  I’m having a very odd day, in a lifetime of very odd days.

  I sway again as everything comes back in focus. But the wooziness is not because of the blood loss or the dead body falling at my feet sans a head. It’
s because of him.

  Georg.

  Good god. The bear I called adorable and watched lick his paws is alarmingly handsome as a man. Except I don’t think ‘handsome’ quite covers the scope of him, though ‘alarming’ comes close. Stern golden-brown eyes regard me from under a mane of long brownish-blond hair.

  He’s enormous and half naked, wearing only a pair of faded blue trousers. His big feet are bare as he strides through the moss, the remnants of the monster’s head in one hand. He tosses it aside as he approaches me, thick droplets of blood landing on the wet leaves. I stare at them instead of him. It’s easier. So red against the bright green. So viscous.

  My stomach roils.

  “Alice.” His voice sends a warm trickle down my spine. It was deep and rumbly as his bear’s was, and still carries the echo of that animalistic beauty, but it’s smoother now. A cultivated sort of savagery that makes my heart pound and my cheeks flush.

  He’s right next to me. Close enough I can feel the heat coming off of that rippled bare chest. I’ve never seen such a chest.

  Never seen any bare chest other than my own, actually. His is thick and broad with muscle and covered in a heavy dusting of dark hair over taut, golden skin. Mesmerized, I reach out and place my hand over his heart.

  His skin is so warm. Almost hot.

  All that delicious power expands under my touch as he takes a slow breath and then another.

  The heat of him tingles against my palm. I know I should stop touching him, but I can’t seem to help it. I try to take a breath of my own, to break this spell, but my throat is too tight with the remnants of fear and something else. I’m well aware that my years in this place have left me starved for companionship, but this is not that. Or not just that.

  This is something I’ve never felt before.

  I feel lost—and yet somehow found, too.

  It’s all mixed up—and too much to deal with on top of everything else. I start to shake.

  “Alice, we should get you inside.” The low words make me jump and finally drop my hand.

  My skin still tingles from the feel of him as I lift my gaze. His gaze is sharp, maybe even a bit angry, but I barely register that. Did I say handsome before? I think devastating is a more suitable description. Even obscured by a thick beard, his face is the epitome of masculine beauty, all sharp angles and rugged planes. The kind of face women fantasize about.