All Is Bright: (A Paranormal Holiday Novella)

by P. Jameson

  “Malcom,” she mouthed, her breath still lost.

  “Yes, baby. Give it to me. Let go.”

  And with a raspy moan that lit the walls of his heart on fire, she did. He followed, spilling into her so hard his body jerked and spasmed out of his control.

  Fuck.

  The burning inside him was nuclear. It was going to incinerate him.

  He cried out, tossing his head back and bucking into Francesca until his legs went weak. Until he was empty. Drained. And ironically, the fullest he’d ever been.

  Home. Where I belong. Safe.

  All of it rang true. Felt right with his beast.

  Loved.

  No. He couldn’t accept that yet. It was too soon for Francesca to love him. But maybe one day. He hoped for one day.

  Collapsing over her, sucking wind like he’d run a marathon, he felt lighter than air. Her hand smoothed up his back, pausing when she came in contact with his mangled scars. Evidence of is past transgressions. Of the times he’d disappointed his family and paid dearly for it.

  He kissed her shoulder, refusing to let those memories interrupt this perfect moment with her.

  They laid there, half off the bed, for what might have been hours or just minutes as the wind rattled the windows. Time had no meaning.

  But the history he battled refused to be ignored.

  A particularly stiff gust whistled ominously through a crack in the window, and Malcom couldn’t deny how much it reminded him of the eerie way Felix whistled when he was about to dole out punishment. Not a single enemy ever died without hearing that whistle. And it had been the last thing Malcom heard before his beast was cursed. Before he was crippled, chained, doomed.

  A fierce shiver rolled up his spine and he didn’t fight it.

  “Let’s move under the covers,” Francesca whispered against his hair. Her breath was hot, and brought warmth back to him.

  Rolling away, he watched Francesca get settled and then climbed in behind her. It was odd, being in a real bed after so many months, but it felt right, laying with her. He pulled her into his arms, breathing in their mixed scents. His beast purred inside as he nuzzled the back of her neck.

  “Never done this part before.”

  “What part?” she asked.

  “Cuddling.” He squeezed her closer, and she snuggled further into him. “I think I might like it. Might like it all with you.”

  It was silent for a long time. He thought she must have fallen asleep. Then the faintest whisper touched his ears. Probably not meant for him to hear, but he did.

  “I hope so.”

  Chapter Ten

  Francesca awoke to an empty bed and white light peeking through the slats of her blinds. She blinked several times to get her bearings and twisted to sit up, pulling the sheet with her. She padded to the door, wincing at the delicious ache between her legs. The memories of what caused it brought a smile to her face.

  She’d let Malcom do naughty things to her last night. Naughty, naughty things. Santa would be frowning if he knew what she’d been up to.

  But last night was more than just naughty. It was… life changing. It felt important.

  Malcom had been wild. And not only with his hips and dirty talk. In the heat of things, he’d seemed almost feral but strangely in control. Just before they came, she could have sworn she saw his eyes change color and his pupils slant like a cat’s. He’d seemed… majestic. Powerful.

  Then right after, he’d gone quiet. Thoughtful. Maybe a touch scared.

  She could relate. What they’d done went beyond a casual hook-up. At least for her, it did. He was in her heart now, and maybe that would end for her as badly as it had in the past.

  Then there was the whole morning-after panic setting in. Malcom hadn’t used protection when he came. She’d felt every warm drop of him shooting inside her.

  She flushed hot at the memory.

  No one had ever done that. And at the time, she’d felt greedy for it. Wanted everything he had to give her. In the light of day though… she worried about the consequences.

  Francesca swallowed the lump in her throat and listened at the door. She didn’t hear anything. Where was Malcom? He wouldn’t have left, would he? Without a word?

  Easing the door open, she padded down the hall and took the stairs to the kitchen. She jumped, hearing a sudden clatter, followed by a muttered, “Shit. Fucking hell. Cock-bastard. Blue-balled fuckety fucker.”

  She rushed the rest of the way down the stairs and down the hall. In the kitchen, she found Malcom on his hands and knees, rushing to pick up a pile of pans he’d spilled.

  “I assume those names are for the cookware, and not me.”

  “Aw, damn. It woke you, huh?”

  “What happened?” she asked, bending to help him.

  He shook his head, fuming. “I was going to bring you breakfast.”

  She grinned, picking up one of the skillets and stacking it back in the cabinet. “In bed?”

  “Yeah.” His tone was annoyed and it made her smile grow. “Like a real couple.”

  Butterflies went wild in her tummy all over again. Like a real couple.

  She reached for his hand, and his distracted gaze found hers. “No one’s ever done that for me.”

  He frowned, his words gruff. “Don’t see why not. You deserve it.”

  Her mouth curved shyly at his compliment. “Aw, Malcom. I think you might just like me a little.”

  His eyes softened and he thumbed the corner of her lip. “A little.”

  “Well. Good. We match.”

  This seemed to wipe away whatever annoyance was left.

  They finished picking up the pans and together they made breakfast. The storm had tapered off, leaving them with nearly three feet of snow. It piled up against the back door, making it impossible to go for wood.

  “Looks like we’re snowed in,” Francesca murmured as they each took a stool at the counter. Their plates were piled high with cheesy scrambled eggs and bacon, and Malcom had squeezed fresh orange juice.

  “Hmm.” He eyed the sheet she’d wrapped around her body. “Stranded in a warm house with you. Are we going to make a toga party of it?”

  She laughed at the joke but cut it off fast. There could be no more talk of sex. Not until she sorted through what happened last night. Come to think of it, she probably shouldn’t be so… naked under this sheet. A little modesty could go a long way to helping them keep their hands to themselves.

  “What’s that?” Malcom asked, pointing through the entryway to the living room.

  Francesca followed his gaze, to the cardboard pizza box she had hanging on the wall next to the fireplace.

  “Oh. That.” She shoved another bite of eggs in her mouth and chewed before answering. “It’s my Christmas tree. Obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Come on. You’ve never heard of the bachelor-tree? The pizzabox-tree?”

  “No.”

  Probably because she’d made them up.

  “You draw a tree on a pizza box and hang in on the wall in lieu of a real one. Fast, efficient, easy to clean up.”

  Malcom stared at her for a long time, thinking. And probably seeing deeper. He was good at that. Seeing through the bullshit. Another reason why last night felt important.

  “Pitiful, boring, sad.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. But his gaze turned hot at the sight. Like he wanted to devour her again.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Fine. She’d tell him the truth.

  “Couldn’t bear the thought of putting it up by myself for yet another year. I did it at first because it felt right. We’d done it as a family for as far back as I can remember. After the accident, it seemed wrong to not put the tree up even if I was the only one around to do it. So I did, year after year, alone. Stringing the lights, a single cup of hot cocoa, with only the Christmas carols to keep me company.” She sipped her OJ, and swallowed it down even though it felt like glue in her throat. “Couldn�
�t do it again this year. So I pizza-boxed it.”

  Malcom’s jaw ticked as he brought his glass to his mouth and drank. Even more time went by as he took a few bites of his food. Maybe that would be the end of it.

  “You did that, huh? As a family? Decorated the Christmas tree.”

  Francesca nodded, shoveling more food in to have an excuse not to choke on the memories.

  “I never decorated a tree,” he mused.

  “Never? Not even as a kid?”

  “Not once.”

  His confession made her sad. Her Christmas memories were some of her best. It was why she found it so hard to keep imitating them every year.

  More silence passed between them. More forks scraping against plates.

  “I think we should do it.”

  No. Not again. Not until they had a talk about responsibilities of the condom variety.

  “Decorate a tree together,” he said, before she could make a real fool of herself.

  Of course he wasn’t talking about sex. Tree. They were talking about a tree. She was the one who couldn’t stop thinking about last night. She was a horny little toad after that experience. It was nothing like she remembered, and yes, she wanted more, damn it.

  Malcom finished off his breakfast and wiped his hands on his napkin. “What do we do first, mate? Do I need to go chop one down somewhere and drag it home, or what?”

  Francesca stifled a giggle, but she loved his enthusiasm.

  “You want to help me decorate that monster of a tree, for real?”

  His expression was dead serious when he answered. “Yeah. If it’s what real families do, then I want to do it with you.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest. She was getting used to his ragged honesty, but she wasn’t used to how it made her feel. Attached. She was so damn attached to him already. And if he didn’t mean these things he was saying, he would break her. Like the roses he’d damaged in the shop.

  “Unless you don’t want to,” he added, uncertain. “I could get used to the pizzabox-tree.”

  She stared out the window at the white-covered land. They weren’t going anywhere. And the tree would give them something to do other than sex. And maybe she would really like decorating with him. She liked everything else about him.

  “The family tree is packed away in the attic,” she said, grinning. “You won’t have to lumberjack it.”

  “Good. Because I don’t know shit about cutting down trees.”

  “You didn’t know shit about flowers yesterday morning,” she reminded. “You’re a quick learner.”

  “True.” His eyes sparkled and he reached forward to brush his rough thumb over her cheek. “True, baby.”

  ***

  “No, this piece goes first. Then that one.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. And then the top. It’s the only way it fits.”

  Malcom tried it Francesca’s way, switching the branch he’d attached for the one she held, and what do you know. It worked.

  Assembling the tree was a new challenge for him. He had no idea these fakey-schmakey things were so difficult. It might have been easier for him to just go chop one down. But when the thing was all put together and standing taller than him in her oversized living room, he stood back to look at it and actually felt pride.

  Yeah. Not too shabby. And they’d done it together. Which was basically how he wanted to do everything from now on.

  You have to give her space, his beast chided. She’ll have to get used to you if she’s ever going to accept what you are.

  Instinct told him the thing was right though. He could already feel that something was bothering Francesca about last night. He just wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. And wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the answer.

  What if she regretted it? He’d never survive knowing that. What if she never wanted him again? Also something that would ruin him.

  Shit.

  He’d showed her his heart last night. He knew it wasn’t a mistake, but that didn’t mean she had accepted what he offered.

  He swallowed down the lump in his throat as she went to untangle a string of lights.

  “You work on that second string, Mal. Lay them along the floor and we’ll hook them together when we’re done.”

  Mal. He liked the way she shortened his name. No one else dared to do that. Just his little Bright Spot.

  An hour later, they had the lights on the tree and it was ready for the ornaments.

  But things were growing tense between him and Francesca. He’d accidentally brushed her twice while they were stringing them up, and both times, she’d flinched away. His female pulling away after all they’d shared last night… he felt like he’d swallowed a boulder.

  He watched her as she pulled a box of sparkling balls out of the crate and opened them up. Her jaw was set tight, and her hands shook as she held them out for him. He pulled out two, carefully, and held them up for a look. Little Francesca had put these balls on the tree many years ago. He needed to get this right.

  “Where do I put them?”

  “That’s part of the fun,” she said on a breath. She was trying—and failing—to sound normal. But maybe he just noticed because of their bond. “You get to decide. Put them wherever you want. And the rule is no one can move them. If you put two red ones right next to each other, I have to let it stand no matter how much it annoys me.”

  “That would annoy you?”

  “Well, yes. I hold to the belief that your colors should be evenly spaced across the tree. So did mom. While Kyle and dad just put the ornaments on all willy-nilly. The rule was made so we wouldn’t fight over it. But… like I said, your choice.”

  Malcom smirked. She was damn cute with all her rules.

  He carefully chose two places on the tree for his first ornaments. One at the top, one at the bottom. Far apart so it wouldn’t annoy Francesca. But if she kept flinching away from him, he was definitely going to get all the green balls and bunch them in around the middle somewhere.

  He eyed her as she went up on her tiptoes to drop an ornament next to his. She wore jeans and a turtleneck sweater with boots that came to her knees. She’d taken the upstairs shower, while he took the one downstairs, but he hadn’t expected to find her like this when he returned. He’d expected they’d have a pajama day. Wasn’t that how snow days were supposed to go?

  He stayed in his socks as protest, but added a t-shirt to his jeans.

  Her eyes caught him looking, and went wary. Damn it. Why was she guarded now? Did she think he was going to hurt her? Hadn’t he proved himself.

  He looked away first so he wouldn’t have to see her expression. “What is it, Francesca? What is wrong?”

  The silence between them was long as they both continued to load the tree with ornaments. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hold her stomach like she was going to be sick.

  Like he felt.

  Shit, she was experiencing their bond. Through it, she could feel his emotions, his panic. She probably thought it was her own.

  Enough. He needed to know what was bothering his mate so he could fix it. Even if it tore him to shreds. He’d leave if she wanted. Whatever. He’d do whatever she needed him to do.

  He caught her hand, gently bringing it to his lips. She let out a shaky breath as he kissed it. “Talk to me,” he rumbled.

  She met his eyes, and he could see she was nervous. “Well, it’s just… last night. We weren’t careful.”

  Malcom frowned, trying to understand. He’d been very careful with her. He’d given her his gentlest side. Was it not enough. Did she need him to be even more careful? He could work on it. Try harder next time. He’d managed with the roses, and Francesca wasn’t that delicate.

  “I didn’t have a condom, and I guess you didn’t either. But the truth is, neither one of us even thought about it. We just… forgot all sense.”

  Oh. She was worried about a baby? That sounded like just about the most magical thing he could think
of. Getting his female with child.

  But Francesca was human, and she didn’t think like a shifter.

  “I won’t get pregnant because I’m on birth control. But… well… have you had many partners?”

  “Partners?”

  “Yes. Um… you know… sexual partners.”

  Oh. Well, shit. She was asking how many women he’d fucked before her. And the truth was he’d had too many to count. The realization made him feel ill.

  Malcom cleared his throat, and Francesca looked uncomfortable.

  “Had a few. It’s been a long time. Don’t like to think about them.”

  Especially after last night. He’d never take another. Even if things went wrong with him and Francesca, he’d never have another female under him. He belonged to her. Body and soul and everything in between.

  “I understand,” she said, looking away. “I’ve only had one other. It was a long time ago, and I’ve been tested since then. I’m clean.” She handed out the information too businesslike. Malcom didn’t like it. “Have you? Been tested, that is?”

  The answer was no. But as a shifter, he couldn’t contract human diseases. And when he was broken, and more human than animal, he’d remained celibate.

  “I’m disease free. I would never risk you—or any other woman—like that.” Not even the whores Felix paid to keep the brothers happy.

  She let out a long breath, seeming relieved. “I knew that somehow.”

  “You should know a lot about me after what we did last night. I know a lot about you.”

  She tilted her head, curious. “Like what?”

  He tugged her closer, resting her hand on his chest, and gripping her hip. “I know you hide but you want to be seen.”

  She arched an auburn eyebrow. Yep. He was right about that one. She didn’t want the attention of the whole world. She just wanted the attention of someone. And he was determined to be that person.

  “I know you’re not a neat freak, if your bedroom is anything to go by.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I told you. I was trying on clothes—”

  “Yes, for me.”