Christmas After Dark: A Holiday Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Abigail Owen

  She heard the sound of the chair next to her sliding out and that side of her body cooled. Alaric, then. He must be sitting next to her. “May I touch you?”

  She was startled by the grave courtesy in his voice, especially after “assholishness,” which was a new low, even for her. Damn. She’d probably end up on 60 Minutes next, as the American who’d ruined diplomatic relations between the U.S. and Atlantis.

  “Miss Fielding?”

  Alaric’s voice startled her out of her mental ramblings. In spite of very serious reservations, she felt like she had to agree. Apology, international relations, any hope of a future with Dare…she didn’t know which reason to pick, but the combined weight of them forced her to say yes.

  “Yes. But don’t do anything to me without my knowledge and explicit consent,” she warned him.

  His touch, when it came, was on her forehead, feather-light, and only lasted a few seconds.

  “I am truly sorry, Miss Fielding,” Alaric said. “The damage is too extensive. There is nothing I can do.”

  Even though she’d expected nothing—even though she wasn’t sure she’d accept ‘fixing’ if offered—the bleak words were like a punch in the stomach, and she literally doubled over in pain.

  Erin’s lighter touch settled on her shoulder. “Lyric! Are you all right?”

  Lyric managed to get her breath under control and nodded. “It’s just…it’s just the loss of the possibility. I don’t—"

  A horrible thought occurred to her. “You didn’t…Alaric. You didn’t say that because I was so rude to you, did you?”

  “The rudeness was my own,” Alaric said softly. “I apologize for it, but it had nothing to do with my conclusion. The trauma is not something I can heal. I will contact you immediately should I ever discover a way to change that, if you would be agreeable.”

  “I—yes. Thank you. I really…would it be possible for someone to take me to my room? I’m quite tired,” she said, clenching her jaw to keep from breaking down.

  “There you are,” Dare’s voice called from across the terrace, his footsteps rapidly approaching.

  She blew out a breath, her entire body relaxing at the thought that here he was: haven. Sanctuary.

  Dare.

  He strode across the terrace directly toward her, and she pushed back her chair and stood. Afraid to try to walk toward him, because she was unsure of what obstacles were in her way. Afraid to stay where she was, in case she had an emotional breakdown of some sort.

  Relieved beyond measure when his footsteps, coming closer, sped up.

  “I found you—" he began, but then his voice hardened. “What is the matter? What happened?”

  “I…nothing. I’m just—"

  He reached her and pulled her into his arms, and she’d never been so glad to be anywhere.

  “What did you do to her?” he demanded, and she heard chairs pushing back from the table. “I don’t care if you’re high priest or not, if you harmed a single hair on her head, you will answer for it.”

  Lyric’s breath caught in her throat. This voice—this side of Dare--was one she didn’t know. This was the voice of a predator; the sound of implacable darkness that would stalk the night and make all lesser beings run.

  And she’d caused it by being stupid and weak.

  A hideous flare of embarrassment washed through her. “No! No, they were so nice, it just…I just…I’m just tired. Please, can we go to my room?”

  She could feel Dare’s body tense, as if he were straining toward the others, but then he pushed out a long, controlled breath.

  “Lyric, are you sure you want to spend time with the pirate?” Ven asked abruptly, all traces of humor in his voice gone. “We can make sure--"

  “Try and take her,” Dare growled.

  “There was no injury, Dare,” Erin said calmly. “I think we can all calm down now, please. Don’t make me send you to your rooms, boys.”

  There was a silence, and then Ven laughed. “You do realize that’s not a punishment, since you live in my rooms, too, honey?”

  The tension in the air dropped by several degrees, and Lyric took a deep breath. “What Erin said. Calm down or I’ll start singing Christmas carols. Loudly. Off-key.”

  “Ooh, yes. Jingle Bells,” Erin said

  “I have no patience for this,” Alaric said, and then another icy breeze swept by Lyric.

  “Is he gone? Just poof?” she said, stepping back from where she’d been standing clutching Dare. “My singing isn’t that bad.”

  “Mine is,” Erin said cheerfully, and then she started to sing. “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells…”

  Lyric joined in and they sang the entire song. “…oh, what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh.”

  By the time they were done, it seemed like Dare and Ven were cordial again, but Lyric was worn out and needed some time away from strangers.

  “Thank you so much for lunch. But if you don’t mind, I’m a little tired now,” she said.

  Erin stepped closer and touched Lyric’s arm. “We’re here if you need us.”

  When they’d gone, Dare moved closer to her again. “I have something…Well.” He cleared his throat. “I thought this might…Here. Just hold this for me for luck. I brought it from my private collection just for you.”

  He took her hand and placed something in her palm, and then folded her fingers around it. It was about the size of a quail egg, and felt cool at first, but then heated up quickly.

  “What—"

  “It’s an amethyst. I thought it would be good…it would help you paint. Or something,” he said, his voice trailing off, and suddenly—if she hadn’t known better—she would have thought he sounded shy. “I want you to have it.”

  “Oh, Dare, I can’t take this…Wait.” She inhaled sharply as the stone heated up even more quickly, to the point where it was nearly, but not quite, burning her hand, and then it started to sing. “What’s happening?”

  Dare answered something, but she didn’t hear the words. Sounds, all sounds, faded into a dreamy background of white noise as the gem’s tones pulled her into its magic, and begged her to sing to it.

  “Lyric? Lyric!”

  Someone was holding her arms and shaking her, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. Only the magic. She was holding the magic, and it wanted to hear her song. She smiled and twirled around, laughing and crying, and then took a deep breath and began to sing a song she’d never heard before, and the world burst into brilliant, blinding light around her.

  She sang, and cried, and laughed, and she clutched the amethyst to her chest, dancing on the terrace, on the lawn, on air. It was as if she’d opened a door and walked directly into an Impressionist painting by one of the masters; as if she danced inside the paint on the canvases at the Musée d'Orsay in Paris she’d visited with her parents when she was a child.

  She laughed out loud, delighting in the shapes and the colors and the light—oh, the lovely, spectacular light—and then he was there. Holding her in his arms.

  Keeping her safe.

  “I know you,” she told him, smiling with utter and complete joy. “You are important to me.”

  The light tried to take her again, and the stone demanded her song, so she tried to pull away from him, no matter that he was important, no matter that she…loved him?

  Yes. She knew this. She loved him. He was her love.

  The amethyst pulsed again, against her heart, and she suddenly saw him. She saw through the starburst of color and light—so much light—to his dark silhouette directly in front of her. She reached out to touch his face, but unknowingly, she'd reached out with the hand holding the gem, and the moment the back of her fingers touched his skin, a jolt like a lightning strike ran through her, and she could see his face.

  She could see his face.

  The shapes and angles of it—the colors. His hair was so black as to be almost blue, and his eyes were the deep, drowning blue of the ocean seen from St. Augustine Beach in the
middle of summer.

  He was beautiful—he was beautiful. Entirely masculine, from the planes and angles of his face to his sensual lips to his straight, Roman nose. Even the dark lashes that surrounded his unbelievable glowing eyes contributed to his beauty.

  Her knees gave out, literally gave out, like a swooning maiden’s in a children's tale.

  She didn’t care.

  “I can see you, Dare. I can see you.”

  She was laughing, but she didn't know she was crying until she felt the tears running down her face.

  "I can see you," she repeated. "And you're beautiful."

  7

  "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

  Down rippled the brown cascade.

  "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.

  "Give it to me quick," said Della.

  Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

  -- The Gift of the Magi, O. Henry (1917)

  "You're so beautiful,” she said again, this time whispering as if only to herself. "Your eyes glow. They're glowing, Dare. All that lovely dark blue, but with a hint of green in the centers. How can I see this? How can I see this?"

  He put his hands on her hips to steady her because it seemed as if she might float away into the air. As if gravity itself had lost its hold on her.

  "This has never happened to you before?" He said it tentatively, but he wanted to know. He needed to know.

  She shook her head, clutching the jewel, and brushed the tears away with the back of one hand.

  "Never. I have a… talent. A gift, I call it. This is going to sound ridiculous, or at least very strange—”

  He snatched an unused cloth napkin from the table and gently wiped her face. "I just brought you to Atlantis. How can anything you say to me be more ridiculous than that?"

  His lame attempt at a joke accomplished its end; she smiled and even laughed a little.

  "Okay. Here it is: when I sing to the gemstones, I can sometimes see a little bit. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. Erin just called me a gem singer. They said I might be part Atlantean! It’s true that when I use the jewels in my paints, I can see the play of light and darkness in the paints and in the images I create."

  Her copper-colored eyes were large and shining. In fact, her entire face seemed lit from within.

  "I'm kind of surprised you don’t walk around carrying gemstones all the time then," he said, puzzled.

  "You don't think I’ve tried? It doesn't work that way. The jewel magic—that’s what I call it—it only works with my art. When I’m creating art. It has only ever worked when I'm painting, no matter the gemstone. I even tried more rare and valuable gemstones in case that made a difference. But a piece of quartz works just as well as a diamond."

  “Then why now—"

  “I don’t know,” she cried. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to lose this feeling. The paintings I could create with this…”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. "Let's walk in the gardens while we talk about this."

  She beamed up at him. "That’s a wonderful idea. I want to see what they look like now."

  He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they left the terrace and started toward the middle of the gardens. Blazing color—a riot of beauty—lay spread out before them, and he could tell from her reaction that she was actually seeing it. Lyric's grip on his hand grew tighter and tighter until he wondered if she might break the bones in his fingers, but he couldn't bring himself to care because she was touching him. Finally touching him.

  And singing.

  She stopped, in the middle of the path about fifteen feet away from the fountain, her lips parted, eyes glowing, and her entire face incandescent with joy. He wanted to hold her and bask in her delight, to watch her forever.

  Forever.

  "I can hear the water, of course, but I can also ... see something. Oh, Dare, I can see—I can see the light flowing and cascading."

  She whirled around and put both her hands on his chest, still gripping the amethyst. "Do you understand what that means? It means I'm actually seeing the water. I'm seeing the water play in the light in the fountain."

  He pulled her closer—he couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss her, and hold her, and breathe in some of the brilliant light and joy surrounding her and shining from within her. But before he could bend his head to do so, she whirled around again, releasing him, and took a tentative step toward the fountain, then another and another until she was almost running. He dashed after her to make sure she didn't collide with the fountain’s marble edge, but she stopped inches away.

  Laughing.

  Crying.

  Emotions were pouring out of her faster than the water poured from the fountain, and she was still singing. The song sounded familiar, and he suddenly realized why. She was singing an ancient Temple song of gratitude for a full harvest…in an ancient Atlantean dialect.

  How was that even possible? Had he somehow broken her mind by bringing her here?

  "It's so much. It's too much. I don't know how to process all this." She turned to him, clutching her head with both hands. "It's overwhelming me, Dare. I need a moment. I think I… I need a moment in a quiet place to comprehend all of this."

  "Are you sure?" He brushed a curl from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “What if…what if you can’t . . . what if this doesn’t happen again?”

  She shook her head and flung her arms out to the sides. "Of course I'm not sure. I'm terrified that if I walk out of this garden, this experience will never happen to me again. My head feels like it's about to split open, the way it used to feel right after the accident. Which makes me realize that I'm going to need to get some rest in a quiet place soon, or I might fall down and be out with a three-day migraine."

  He studied her face and noted her narrowed eyes and clenched jaw, signs of strain that hadn’t been there only a few moments before. "What's a migraine?"

  “It's the worst headache that has ever existed. And—oh, no—it's starting now." She stumbled a little, reluctantly handing him the gem. He pocketed it quickly and then he swept her off the ground and into his arms, lifting her with one arm under her back and the other under her knees.

  "I can walk, Dare," she hissed, "Put me down."

  Her cheeks blushed a delightful pink, and he suddenly, fiercely wanted to lay her down in the middle of all the flowers and take her. Hard and urgent. Claim her.

  Possess her.

  He had to clench his jaw shut to keep from kissing her, because kissing would lead to more, and he wasn't entirely sure that she would want him to stop. But he knew he was no good for her—could never be good for her.

  There was no way in the nine hells he would allow his darkness to infect her light.

  "I know you can walk, Lyric,” he murmured into the shining cloud of her hair. “But this way I get the chance to play the hero, which will shock the hell out of people around here. Let me have a little fun, okay?"

  She laughed a little but then winced, still holding her head. "Okay," she whispered.

  He didn't wait. He headed for the palace with the steadiest and smoothest stride he could manage to avoid jolting her or causing her further pain. When they reached the palace, the cool shade seemed to help her. The furrows in her forehead smoothed out, and he felt her relax a little in his arms.

  "I'm sorry, “ she told him. “I don't know where my room is. Fergus took my things while we went to lunch."

  "Don't worry. I know exactly the room Riley was talking about."

  He walked up three double flights of stairs with her held tightly in his arms, grimly enjoying the shocked expressions on the faces of everyone he passed. He knew what they were thinking about him. Dare the pirate. Dare the reprobate.

  Dare the scoundrel.

  They probably thought he was taking this poor woma
n hostage to have his wicked way with her.

  At the thought of wicked ways and Lyric both in the same sentence, his skin heated and his body hardened.

  "Bad timing," he muttered.

  "I'm sorry. I—"

  "Not you, sweetheart. This was all on me."

  When they arrived at the rooms Riley had given Lyric, he saw that Fergus had placed her bags neatly next to the bed, unopened. Atlanteans were very careful to preserve privacy for others, since close quarters under the dome had made retaining privacy essential to civilization. No one would've thought or dreamed of opening her bags.

  Knowing Lyric, she probably would prefer it that way. Personally, he was wishing a night dress had been put out. He walked over and gently lowered Lyric to the bed.

  "What can I do?” He studied her face, aching at the strained paleness of her beautiful features that had held such joy and light only minutes earlier. “Tell me. Anything.”

  "You've done enough already," she protested. "I just need to rest."

  “I'll go get a healer or a glass of water. No, a glass of water and a healer. I'll get – I'll get the queen. I'll find somebody," he said, shocked at the torrent of words gushing out of his mouth.

  How everyone would laugh to find the man they knew as coldhearted and steady in any crisis was terrified, but he was afraid. Afraid this headache—this migraine Lyric suffered might be the precursor to something worse. That whatever reaction had happened with the gemstones might have been the catalyst.

  By the gods, if his gift had harmed her—if he were the reason for her pain—he would not want to live. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn't. He'd already lost his ship and Seranth, but this loss ...the truth of it sliced through him. This loss would break him.

  She held out her hand, and he immediately took it in his own.

  “Just stay with me. I don't need anything but sleep right now, but please stay with me," she asked softly.