Nice: A Dark Christmas Duet book 1

by Vivian Murdoch

  Before I move more than a few steps, an imposing figure fills the doorframe. Standing at about the same height as Asmon, he looks just as formidable and deadly. Dark brown, almost red eyes narrow as he looks back and forth between the two. His thick eyebrows are angry slashes across his face. The air starts crackling again as he pushes his way between the two. Without even bothering to look at Kris, he shoves Asmon back and pins him against the wall.

  "Stand down, Asmon."

  "Fuck you, Red."

  He stays silent but shifts his forearm up until it presses against Asmon's throat. With the flex of his fingers, he sends his arm muscles dancing and rippling as he leans in. "Don't make me hurt you."

  A gasp slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, drawing all three sets of eyes to me. Clutching the book to my chest, I slink backwards, trying to escape the glares boring into me.

  Kris is the first to move. He slides over next to me and holds out his hand.

  "My book please."

  I don't argue. Keeping a wary eye on Kris, I hand him the book. His fingers brush against my skin, sending a jolt of current through me. Grinning, he plays his fingers over my wrist, his smile growing with each jerk under his questing touch.

  "You are such a delightful morsel," he murmurs, pushing me back up against the wall.

  Asmon's bellow snaps me to attention. With a twist of my hips, I slam my foot against Kris's, reveling in his grunt of discomfort. As I slide past him to go to Asmon, his hand shoots out and curls around my arm.

  "You think stomping on my foot will save you?" His grip tightens in increments. "I so do love it rough, my dear."

  My eyes fly to Asmon. His gaze is dark, the pupil completely eating up his irises. He looks like a demon sent from hell to save me. But he can't move. Somehow, Red has him subdued. The howl of impotent rage fills the room, making me cringe in fear and anguish.

  "Stand down, Asmon. I don't want to keep hurting you," he growls.

  A fine sheen of sweat covers Red's face, a testament to just how hard he's working to keep Asmon pinned. What the hell am I supposed to do? Is this the point where I have to choose between two men I don't really even know? Fuck that. I yank my arm down, catching Kris off guard. Before he can grab me again, I race out of the room, turning so I can flee down the hall. Instead of freedom, however, I meet a solid block of man in my path. Looking up, the first thing I see is a stern frown and blonde eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

  "S-sorry," I stammer, trying to ease back from the behemoth. "I wasn't paying attention."

  "Clearly," he mutters, grasping my shoulders and taking a step back. "Nothing bruised or broken?"

  I pat myself down just to be sure before giving my head an emphatic shake.

  "Good. I'm assuming you'll be joining us then?"

  He gestures towards the room I just escaped from and panic claws at my insides. I can't go back there. I'm just a human. No match for anything or anyone. Not waiting for my response, the man tilts down and grabs just below my ass before tipping me over his shoulder. What is with these men and the caveman routine? I burst into a flurry of movement, the weight of Déjà vu hitting me like a ton of bricks. Is this to be my life now? Manhandled and tossed about by every male in the North Pole?

  As he walks through the room, a loud growl meets my ears.

  "For fuck's sake Dasher, put her down. I'm already struggling to get him under control."

  The room dips and sways as he lowers me. My gaze searches out Asmon's. His eyes are red and bulging, looking every inch the monster. Fear thrums through my body but it's overridden by the need to go to his side. It's like instinct is driving me as I walk across the small expanse to him. His eyes bore into mine, willing me to come closer. Shouts fill my ears but can't seem to penetrate the fog that's in my brain.

  Dasher's hands reach out and grab me again, but I yank free, determined to get close to Asmon. Once I lay my hands on his arm, something shifts between us. His breathing calms down to an even tempo, matching mine breath for breath. His eyes never leave mine. They stalk every moment like a predator watching his prey. Goosebumps explode over my skin as my body clenches with need from his heated gaze.

  After several minutes of this standoff everyone breathes a collective sigh. Red eases his arm up in infinitesimal increments until it's just laying on him limply. With a growl, Asmon tosses it off him before drawing me to his side. His warmth seeps into my body as I snuggle up next to him, drawing his strength into me. Kris looks between him and me, a sour expression pinching his face.

  "I came to let you all know that dinner was ready," Red speaks up, giving us a little room. "Is everyone calmed down enough to actually eat?"

  Asmon grumbles a bit but nods and follows the two others out the door, Kris bringing up the rear.

  "I'm assuming they are the Rudolph and Dasher? like from the song?"

  Kris snorts behind us, "Quickest way to piss off Dasher is with that infernal song."

  "It makes it look like we can't function without Red," Dasher shoots back, not even turning to look at us.

  “How do you think I feel,” Red mumbles. “At least people don’t think you have a shiny red nose.”

  Lowering my voice, I look up at Asmon. "Does he have the ears of a bat?"

  "Shifter." He finally turns to glance at me. "We're shifters. And yes, we hear everything."

  My stomach rumbles at that very moment. Thankfully, instead of commenting, Dasher just smirks and looks forward.

  Asmon reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it for a moment in his tight grasp. Emotion chokes me as we make our way back down the hallway and to the dining room. Unfortunately, it feels more like we're walking towards our death instead of delicious food. The smells already reach my nose even though I have no clue how far away we really are. Every hallway turns into another hallway until we're twisting and turning so much, I don't even have a hope of remembering how to get out.

  The only positive is that every inch of this place is decorated in Christmas goodness. My parents never really believed or disbelieved, they basically let me set the pace. With money being tight, that meant a small tree, minimal decorations, but still lots of love. As I got older, the magic disappeared entirely; however, being in Santa's house, I can't help but feel overwhelmed with the good cheer pouring out from every corner. Tears mist my eyes and I struggle to keep from wiping them away. The last thing I need is to alert Asmon to these feelings. Things are already tenuous enough between him and Kris.

  I look up at his face, disheartened at the angry expression still dipping down his brows. How can anyone be angry in wonderland such as this? The only thing missing is a snow cloud that follows you everywhere. The crown moldings glint and glisten with twinkling lights. Green boughs dip and sway along each wall. The doors themselves are festooned with garland, lights, and greenery. Truly, it's a sight to behold.

  "Why all this cloak and dagger Kris. You realize I've been in this house several times. Hell, I grew up here for a chunk of it."

  "Don't remind me," he grinds out, pushing and shoving past me to pull up ahead of everyone to lead the parade. "Besides, you can't begrudge me showing off a little for our lovely mortal. She hasn't been here before and I want to make a great impression."

  "What's there to show off? More Christmas crap? No one here cares about that. We live here, remember?"

  Dasher and Rudolph pause and turn around, a warning flashing in their eyes. With a grunt, Asmon holds up his hands in defeat and keeps walking behind them.

  "If you don't want to be here, why don't we just go home? We don't have to eat."

  "We're not leaving until we get to the bottom of this. If that means suffering through another infernal dinner, then so be it."

  "If I recall," Kris intones from the front, "you never had a problem with stuffing your face every time you had the chance. Poor Father couldn't keep the house stocked up enough when you came to visit."

  Asmon's eyes bulge out of his head as he takes a firm step f
orward. Not wanting a repeat of earlier, I pull him back, hoping the shifters don't notice. Thankfully, they stay looking straight ahead, following their Christmas overlord. The next few minutes pass in silence, but the anger coming off Asmon is thick in the air. I struggle to breath and keep calm as we follow the trio.

  However, all thoughts and discomfort drain out of me the moment we enter the dining room. It's like I've been sent back into time. Candles dot every available surface and most of the wall space. Polished wood gleams in the flickering light. That is what wood is seen. Food of every type fills the massive dining room table giving the space a lighter, cheery vibe, contrasting with the dark wood and fabrics. Several people sit in the chairs, all of them talking and laughing together. My throat squeezes as I take in the homey, family scene.

  Is that what we would have been like if things stayed the same? Christmas dinners with all the family gathered about? I shake my head, refusing to allow my brain to go down that morose path. Once my parents died, Christmas died right along with them. Being an only child also meant not having much family to celebrate with anyway. Not that I would have. I buried myself in my work and refused to look back up.

  Once we make our way completely in, the chattering stops, and all eyes look at us. Dasher and Rudolph take their place among the other guests as Kris walks up the head of the table. The place of obvious honor. Even the chair is massive and thronelike. The other guests continue to stare at us, some curious, others openly hostile. Shrinking back, I tried to hide behind Asmon's massive frame, but he doesn't let me.

  His hand curls around my arm and he draws me out in front, holding my back against his chest. I look up at him. His jaw is set in a firm line as he stares down the other people. Taking my cue from him, I squint my eyes and thin my lips. I try to make myself as intimidating as possible, even going as far as putting my hands on my hips, but all it does is break some of the tension. Smatterings of laughter flow across the table until the entire room is in a complete uproar.

  Sighing, I sink back into Asmon, relief flowing through me. His strong hands guide me to an empty chair near the foot of the table, putting me next to Dasher and him directly across from Kris. The gulf between the two is massive, but Kris still sneers as Asmon takes his seat. Folding my hands in my lap, I cast glances about the table, watching them to take my cue. Luckily, there's normal silverware next to my plate and only one of each. I would have died with mortification if I had to navigate fancy place settings.

  I don't have to wait long before a row of elves come up from behind and across from us, each burdened with food and drink. Puzzled, I look at the food in front of me before I turn over my shoulder to smile at the elf directly at my right.

  "It's okay, I'll just eat what's at the table."

  The male harrumphs as if I'd just cursed him out before setting down a goblet filled with a dark liquid and plate with two, small, steaming towels. My eyes fly to him and back to the plate, then back up to him. His thin lips curl up into a small smile which he quickly hides with a small cough. Casting surreptitious glances at the others, I mimic their movements and wipe down my hands before returning the towel to the plate. The elf executes a brusque nod and gathers the plate before exiting with the others.

  "Get new help?"

  Asmon's gaze follows my elf out the door before turning to Kris. He gives an offhanded wave before picking up his goblet filled with a brilliant, white liquid and taking a deep drink.

  "You expect me to remember everyone that works here?"

  "I do. Your father did."

  The small whispers that had going around the table come to an abrupt stop as several sets of eyes go back and forth between Asmon and Kris like they're at a tennis match.

  Growling, Kris slams his goblet down. "You have no right to speak of Father."

  "I have more right than you, you stuck up, snobbish -."

  "Asmon!" Red stands up from his seat and casts him an imploring look. "Please. Just keep the peace."

  Next to me, Dasher sits poised, his body half out of his chair. Every inch of him looks coiled and ready to strike. As I look about the table, I notice every single guest is in a similar position. I count them off, and pale. This must be the entire reindeer clan. They all look vastly different, but all of them are wearing a solid white suit and carry an air of lethality about them.

  Some of their faces are filled with contempt and scorn, others look at me with pity or sympathy in their eyes. At that moment, I realize how truly alone Asmon is, and it breaks my heart. No one should have to deal with such hate and prejudice. As I open my mouth to say something, Asmon's warm hand engulfs mine. His thumb travels about, stealing my breath. He gives a small shake of his head and takes a drink from his goblet. Like air from a valve, the tension, once again, leaks out of the room.

  "Are you not thirsty miss?" The soft male voice startles me from my thoughts.

  "Sorry. This just isn't my kind of drink." In actuality, I have no clue what it is, but based on the smell, I'm guessing it's some sort of mulled wine. I don't detect any alcohol, but after what happened last time I got drunk, I'm not taking any chances.

  Grinning, he pulls out a mug piled high with whipped cream and marshmallows. "I had a feeling you might not like it. Here, North Pole's specialty. Decadent hot cocoa."

  I take the mug from his hands, grateful for the warmth seeping out. It feels familiar. It feels like home. Even the mug looks suspiciously like one I had growing up as a child. I turn to ask the elf about it, but he's nowhere to be found. Looking back at the mug, I trace the familiar figures of Santa and his reindeer on their Christmas Eve flight. My fingers move about the mug without my knowledge as memories once forgotten pour into me. Sighing, I slide the tip of my tongue into the fluffy whipped cream, sighing as the sugary taste explodes onto my tongue.

  Moaning at the decadence, I bury my face in the mug, not caring at all who's watching me. Peeking up over the rim, I catch Asmon's heated gaze. Winking, I go back to finishing off the whipped cream. As good as that tasted, it’s nothing compared to the warm, melted chocolate coating my tongue and throat. All thoughts of home disappear as I gulp down the precious liquid as quickly as I can without burning myself. Within a minute or so, all of it's gone, and I'm staring down at the bottom of an empty mug.

  "You can't have any more until after you eat some real food."

  Asmon's dark voice penetrates my brain. Looking up, I frown, not really understanding why he's telling me no. "I can have another if I want. You're not the boss of me."

  Snickers titter up and down the table and Asmon's face pinches up. "I'm in charge of your well-being, so yes, I am the boss right now, and I say no."

  I slam my mug onto the table and stand. The world tilts on its axis for just a moment, and I clutch the table to regain my bearings. What the hell is wrong with me? I shake my head back and forth, trying to dispel the ringing that's pulsing through my brain. But it doesn't go away. Unable to control my actions, I walk over to Asmon and poke him in the chest.

  "I'm tired of you telling me what to do. That ends now."

  He looks at me, his expression wary. "What's wrong Caitlin?"

  "What's wrong? What's wrong? What isn't wrong? You kidnap me, have your dirty way with me, and now you ask me what's wrong when I finally stand up for myself?"

  Asmon's eyebrows dip down into an angry frown. He reaches for me, but I pull away before he can make contact. It's like I'm having an out of body experience. Inside I'm screaming, trying to get myself to stop acting this way, to stop saying these things, but I can't. I'm trapped in my own head, and it's a nightmare I'm not waking up from.

  "We can talk about this at the house. Now sit down and eat your dinner."

  I look over at the other reindeer and note their shocked expressions. Their eyes are wide as they watch this drama play out, but not one of them is trying to stop it. Do something! I scream in my head, my anger building. Not one of them is stopping this abuse. He doesn't deserve any of it, and yet, they're
all just letting it happen.

  Smirking, I trail my finger up Asmon's goblet before pushing it over into his lap, watching with glee as the red liquid splashes onto him. "Oops. I guess you'll have to go home by yourself and clean up."

  "Caitlin," he growls, "this isn't like you. What's going on?"

  Yes! I scream. It's not me. I would never do this. Would I? I search deep down inside myself. True, if pushed, I had a mean streak, but Asmon did nothing to me. Not on purpose at least. And if I'm being one hundred percent honest with myself, I rather enjoyed everything he did to me. So, what the hell am I doing? Helpless, I watch as I ease around him and make my way to the head of the table.

  No. No no no no. Anyone but him. This will kill Asmon. I know this, and yet my body keeps walking towards his perceived enemy, my hips swaying with each step. Please, I beg, trying to regain control over myself. Someone please stop me. Not one person comes to my aid. Instead, they all sit there transfixed, their eyes, the males at least, watching my body as I put on this lewd display.

  Asmon growls low and deep from his end of the table. I long to run towards that familiar sound, but I can't. My brain and body are at war with each other. I see and feel everything, but I can't change the outcome. Kris stares at me, his blue eyes darkening as his pupils eat his irises. Dear god but he's getting turned on by all of this. This is wrong. Every bit of it is wrong!

  He slides back from the table, his eyes still glued to me as I saunter over. Without skipping a beat, I plop myself down into his lap and smile up at his face. I can feel his erection against my hip, and my body grinds against him. Nausea rolls through me as Kris tilts his head back and gives a small moan. If I could cry, tears would be streaming down my face. As it is, I can only beat against my brain and beg for all of this to stop.

  "I never did get to sit on Santa's lap and tell him what I wanted," my body whispers, the deep, throaty voice enough to make me gag. Leaning over, I set my lips against his ear and let out a long string of lascivious actions. Based on how he twitches at my side, Kris is all too keen to take me up on that wish. Luckily, the shifters with their amazing hearing say nothing and instead concentrate on their meal. The only one paying us any attention is Asmon.