She shook her head. “Seb, you shou—”
“Yes, I should have. We’re going to be spending a lot of time out here, so we need a fast, safe way to get here and we need a way to transport items.”
“It’s not fair to the reindeer to work so hard because of my silly fears.”
“Are you kidding? They love working. Most of the year, they have to just wait around to be needed. They’re not so different from elves, Kara. They’re not meant to sit idle.”
Kara decided he was right—mainly because she didn’t want to get on a sled on a regular basis. “And the food?” she asked.
“That’s for you,” he said. “I invited you to dinner, right?”
“You made this?” she asked skeptically as he opened lid after lid to foods that looked better than what was served in the main cafeteria.
“I still have some talents you don’t know about.” Something in his tone caught her voice, something . . . deep, as if his words meant more than what he said. “For example, I make the best roast beast in the North. My mom taught me how to season it just right, and keep all the juices sealed in so it’s never dry.” At the mention of a mom, Kara looked at him. Of course he had a mother, and a father. She’d just never thought to question who they were before now because he seemed like an island unto himself, to repeat one of her father’s favorite sayings.
He continued to explain each food item, from the bread to the soup to the vegetables, and how he’d learned to cook them. When he finished, two plates piled with food sat on the table. Seb put his mat down right next to her and settled in beside her.
“Where is your mom?” She hadn’t meant to voice the question, no matter how curious she was.
She was sorry when Seb looked away, a grim line tightening his mouth. “She’s dead. So is my father. They were together when they—when it happened. Together—that’s good, right?” His eyes came back to hers, and she read the pain there.
“What happened?” she whispered.
He shrugged and took her hand between both of his, as if he needed the strength to tell the story. “They were caught in a forest fire. They were sleeping in a tree. They didn’t get out before. . .”
Tears pricked Kara’s eyes again for the pain such an image must cause Seb. “You weren’t there?”
“No.” He dropped her hand and picked up his fork. He shoved a carrot forcefully into his mouth and she thought he might not answer. “I was away at school.”
Kara was confused. He was away at school? At night while they slept? “What were they doing in the forest?” she asked.
“My father was . . .” He paused, clenched his jaw, and said, “He loved the forest. It was his favorite place to be. They spent a great deal of time there.” He blew out a rough breath. “I should have been there! If I’d been there I could have stopped the fire, or gotten them out.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Seb! You were just an elfling. What could you have done?”
“I could have gotten them out,” he said, his voice full of self-recrimination. “He could have gotten out, but he wouldn’t leave her. He left me instead.” His tone begged her not to ask for more details and Kara took mercy on him. She understood all too well the pain of losing a parent. At least she’d had a loving father to raise her.
“I’m sorry, Seb,” she said, hoping he could feel her empathy. His eyes were bright, even in the darkness, with only the lighted table for illumination.
“Thank you,” he said. “Now, let’s eat the food my mom taught me to make while it’s still warm.”
“Speaking of that,” Kara said, trying for a flippant tone, “how are we going to keep food warm on an ice table? Shouldn’t we serve cold foods?”
Seb smiled and her heart flipped again. He lifted a thin pad. “Hot and cold,” he said, placing one beneath their plates. Kara laughed and began eating the food Seb had made, finding it to be as delicious as he claimed.
“You should be a chef,” she said when she was full.
He shrugged. “I can cook okay, but I prefer creating things. Like this dance hall.”
“Do both,” she said, leaning an elbow on the cold table and resting her head against her hand. It was rare she saw Seb as relaxed as he was now. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him this relaxed. Maybe telling her about his parents had broken down some kind of barrier.
“Maybe,” he said. “Someday.”
She smiled. “Thanks for bringing me out here and showing me this, Seb. This was much more fun than just having you tell me about it.”
Seb tucked a stray hair behind her ear, watching the action, and Kara froze. He’d pulled his gloves off and his fingers, still warm, caused shivers to race down her neck. The shivers definitely weren’t from the cold. His eyes came to hers, pinning her there, sending a cavalcade of butterflies dancing through her middle. He left his hand in place, playing with the strand of hair.
“This wasn’t all I wanted to show you, Kara.”
“No?” The word came out high pitched and squeaky.
“I didn’t think I’d ever want to be with someone.” He smiled and the butterflies melted into gooey marshmallow. “You know that as well as anyone. But working with you, spending time with you . . .” His hand moved to rest along the side of her neck. She wanted to close her eyes in ecstasy, but couldn’t look away from his sapphire depths.
“I didn’t think there would ever be someone who could fit with me,” he said. Vaguely, her mind wondered at the strange words. “I didn’t think there was anyone like me. When I watched Bay flirting with you, and then asking you out . . . it killed me, Kara. I wanted to punch the guy—and I’ve never wanted to do violence on anyone. Not for a long time, anyway.”
“Seb.” His name was a breath. She intended to stop his words before they couldn’t be retracted. But her voice seemed to be the thing that he’d been waiting for. He leaned forward, closing the gap between them. He was going to kiss her. Her mind fought to wrap around the concept. He stopped, only a sliver of space between his mouth and hers. He watched her, waiting. Say no, tell him you can’t do this, she commanded herself. Instead, she closed the gap between them.
Chapter Thirteen
Seb’s lips on hers. Warm, soft, moving across her mouth, slanting to deepen the kiss. All coherent thought fled at the sensation that flowed through Kara. She’d never been kissed before, never allowed anyone close enough to even attempt it. But this wasn’t anyone. This was Seb.
His other hand came up, cupping the other side of her neck. Warmth surrounded her, warmth that was all Seb. She grasped onto the lapels of his coat as if she were drowning. And she was, drowning in sensation that was overwhelming, threatening to sweep her away on a tide where differences didn’t matter. Only Seb mattered. Her arms slid up around his neck, pulling him closer. He answered with a groan, shattering her. He deepened the kiss, his hands dropping, sliding around her back, pulling her closer. Her wings shuddered and she froze as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on her.
Seb immediately noticed the difference and pulled back. He removed his hands from her back. Had he felt it? But then he cupped her face, his eyes shining with emotion. She nearly went under again.
“Kara, before we go any further, there’s something I have to tell you. Something about me that you don’t know.”
“No.” It was barely a whisper, but he heard it anyway.
“No?”
Kara pushed away from him, standing, backing away.
“No, Seb, we can’t do this.”
Hurt threaded through his features then dissipated. “Kara, you don’t understand, you and I—”
“—can never be. Seb, this can’t be. Not now, not next year, not ever.”
Seb stood. “Kara, please, if you’ll just let me explain.”
“No.” She held a hand toward him, stopping his advance. “I meant it when I said I had no desire to become involved.” Pain flashed in his eyes again
and, like a coward, she looked away. “You said we could be friends.”
“We are,” he began.
“Friends don’t . . . do . . . that.” She waved a hand toward the table as if that had been the cause of the kiss. “Please, Seb. I’m begging you, don’t do this. Please, let us remain friends.” She crossed her arms protectively in front of her, eyes glued to the ice beneath her feet.
He was silent for so long that she finally dared a peek. His shutters were drawn once again. The joy and happiness she’d seen in him so recently, the passion, was gone, replaced by his aloof exterior. He turned away and began packing the pans into a waiting plastic container. His movements were stiff, sharp, and Kara’s heart broke. She wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around him and tell him she didn’t mean it, that she wanted to be with him.
That she loved him.
The realization shook her and she took a step toward him. Just one. Then she imagined the look on his face if he were to see her wings, feel them beneath his hands as he held her close. The disgust and horror that would turn him from her more surely than a little rejection now ever could. Her heart crumbled beneath the weight of her heritage once again. She’d lost her family—she didn’t want to lose Seb.
Faster than she’d anticipated, he had everything packed up. He walked past her, carrying the container. “Let’s go,” were the gruff words that came her way. She followed him to the sleigh, climbing up while he waited. He settled next to her and flicked the reins.
As they moved, she said, “Seb . . .”
He turned and smiled at her, but not the right smile. This one was tight, joyless, coming nowhere near his sapphire eyes that gleamed dully. “It’s fine, Kara. You’re right. We had an agreement and I broke it. It wasn’t fair of me, and I apologize. Just give me a few days to lick my wounded pride and everything will be back to normal.”
Her heart squeezed at his words. No, she wanted to say, You didn’t break it alone. I love you, Seb. I want to be with you. Please don’t be hurt. Instead, she remained silent until they landed in front of her cottage. He helped her down from the sleigh, then climbed right back in.
“Seb, I . . . thank you. For dinner, I mean. And I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” he said, not looking her way. “And you’re welcome.” With another flick of the reins, he was gone.
“Concentrate!” Trystin demanded.
Kara tried, she really did, but she just couldn’t keep her mind off Seb’s eyes filled with pain. Pain she’d caused. It had been three weeks since their dinner, three weeks of polite aloofness, three weeks of avoiding Bay’s calls asking her out. Three weeks of watching Seb try to hide his hurt while she tried to hide her love.
“Trystin,” she finally said. “You’re not teaching me anything new. Everything, every trick, every piece of magic comes from here,” she touched her forehead, “and here,” she covered her heart. “I can access the magic. I just need to know what I can do with it.”
Trystin sighed. “I know that, Kara. I knew that from the first day you came here and transformed so easily.”
Her mouth fell open in surprise. “Then why do you keep making me come back?”
“Let’s sit,” he said, leading the way to a log.
Kara wrinkled her nose. Every time he wanted to sit, it was because some big revelation was coming. She wasn’t sure she was up for anything heavy. Still, she followed him and floated down to sit next to him.
“You weren’t raised by fairies,” he said, “but you were raised to think of fairies as a negative thing.”
“I don’t—”
“You do. At every turn you try to deny your heritage. How many elves at the pole know you have a pair of wings?”
Kara clamped her mouth shut. He knew the answer to that.
“I thought maybe if you spent some time here among us, understood this side of yourself a little better, you might be the one.”
Kara’s brows drew together. “The one? One what?”
“I heard about you before you came here. We communicate regularly with the fairies that live in the south.” Kara was stunned by his words. They knew of her? “We knew when you were born, we knew when your beautiful mother was taken from us by one of those beastly machines because she, too, was afraid to fly.”
Kara’s heart clenched. Her mother had been on a sled because of her fear of exposing her own wings?
“I’m not afraid to fly,” Kara said. She wasn’t—when she was alone.
“I knew when you left the south to come here.”
“I didn’t leave, Trystin. I was sent away.”
“Were you?” he murmured.
“Yes, I was. I wasn’t careful enough, and I flew too close to home. I was seen by some of the other elves . . .”
She remembered the day clearly. She’d grown complacent in thinking she could be free to fly anytime, anywhere, as long as she was outside the main part of the village. She was cocky in believing that she could spot anyone coming from far enough away to be safe. She’d never forget the terror of looking down from her flight and seeing some of the elves she worked with pointing up at her, mouths agape.
“Kara?” one of them shouted up to her. “You have wings?”
And it was then that she knew. She’d blown it. All of her father’s careful protection, teaching her to hide her wings, gone in an instant. She’d flown home as fast as she could and gathered two suitcases of belongings. No one else was home, but that was better. She couldn’t face them.
She’d raced to the main house, demanding to see the director at once. There, in shame, she’d broken down and told her everything. Kara asked if she could be sent away immediately to avoid the absolute shame that would be cast upon her family once word of her secret spread. The director, who’d earned her position as much for her compassion as for her competence, arranged for her to leave that day. She hadn’t even said goodbye to her family. It tore her heart out to go without them, but she couldn’t face them, knowing she’d betrayed them.
“I know the story,” Trystin said, pulling her from her reverie. “Kara, you weren’t forced out. You left at your own command.”
“My crime was punishable by banishment, Trystin. I just left before they could make it official and shame my family.” Tears ran down her face. She didn’t try to stop them.
Trystin sighed. “It’s not my place to say what would have happened.” His expression filled with compassion, he pulled her into his arms. Kara collapsed against him, letting the tears come, the tears she kept bottled up inside. It felt so good to be held by someone who knew her secret, someone she didn’t have to hide from.
“I thought you were the key,” Trystin finally said. “There have only been two offspring of an elven-fairy pairing that I know of. I really thought you were the one who would be strong enough to step into the light and show both worlds that there is no need for prejudice against a combining of our people.” Disappointment rang in his voice and Kara pulled away.
“I’m sorry, Trystin, that I can’t do this for you. I would have nowhere else to go.”
“You are always welcome here, Kara. You belong here as much as you belong in the elven world. You have a home here.”
Kara was tempted. It would be so easy to hide here, hide from a pair of frozen cobalt eyes that masked the pain of her rejection.
“I can’t leave now. I have a work to finish. When I’m done, I’ll make a decision. I just have to stay hidden for now.”
“But you didn’t remain hidden, Kara. You were seen.”
“What?” Her stomach convulsed.
“Did you never feel like you were being watched?”
Kara remembered when she first came. She remembered twice feeling like she was being watched. “Who saw me?” she whispered, dread threading through her throat.
“I did,” Trystin said. “And if I saw you so easily, maybe others did as well.”
“Wait, when?” she asked, her pulse pounding frantically in her chest.
“Remember the bunny coming from the trees?”
“That was you?”
A grin tugged at his lips. “Well, not the bunny, obviously. He just happened to be near so I sent him out of the bushes to calm your fears.”
“And the other time, when I nearly crash-landed? That was you?”
“No. I only saw you once. I knew I then had to wait for you to seek us out.”
Kara sighed. “Oh, well. I don’t think anyone else saw me.”
Trystin tipped his head to the side, as if hearing something. He gave a small nod and said, “There was someone there that night.”
Her stomach began twisting. “How do you know? I didn’t see anyone. Another fairy?”
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean? Sort of?”
“A fairy wouldn’t have waited to see if you would fall to the earth and be broken. A fairy would have hurried to help you slow your descent.”
“But, I . . . if you weren’t there, how do you know what happened?”
“Because he told me.”
Exasperated, Kara folded her arms. “Who told you? Why must you always be so obtuse?”
“Yes,” said a new voice, a voice Kara as all too familiar with. “Why must you be so obtuse, Trystin?”
Trystin only harrumphed as Seb stepped into the clearing. Kara realized her wings were spread and quickly tucked them in, biting back the gasp of pain that came with such an abrupt movement. Seb winced at the sound of them smacking against her back. Too late. He’d seen. Heat flooded Kara’s entire body at the realization that she had been caught again, this time by the one person she most wished to keep her secret from. “Seb.” She tried to form the word, filled with pleading, but her throat was too dry to force the name free.
“It was me,” Seb said. “I watched you nearly fall from the sky.”
Kara sunk to the log, her legs no longer able to support her, refusing to unfurl her wings though he’d already seen them. How he must hate her if he’d been willing to let her fall. But . . . if he’d seen her then, that long ago . . . why . . .?
She remembered his antagonism toward her when they first met. Even more strongly, she remembered him holding her in his arms and kissing her silly. Confusion swirled through her head as she tried to find any of the puzzle pieces to fit together.
A Fantasy Christmas Page 9
