Christmas After Dark: A Holiday Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Abigail Owen

  She laughed, but felt tears on her cheeks; she wept but knew she smiled. She held him and kissed him and waited, wondering and awed, for the room to stop spinning, and then she rested her head against his chest and inhaled all the air that she hadn’t been able to breathe for who knew how long.

  “Lyric? Lyric, please tell me you’re okay,” he demanded, and the love and concern and just…Dare in his voice answered all the questions she never needed to ask. She raised her head and put every ounce of her love for him into her smile.

  “You love me,” she told him. It wasn’t a question. Not anymore.

  “I do,” he admitted, tightening his arms around her and kissing her forehead. “And you love me. The truth can’t hide from the soul meld.”

  “I do,” she agreed, still smiling. “But you didn’t need the soul meld to learn that. You must have known.”

  “I didn’t dare to hope. Give me a day or two to be my usual arrogant self, and I’ll say of course I knew, but here and now, in this room, in the aftermath of that, I’ve only got honesty for you,” he rasped.

  A sudden thought caused her heart to clench in her chest. “You didn’t. . . you haven’t done the soul meld with anyone else?”

  He rolled over in the bed, pulling her with him so they lay on their sides facing each other, their legs intertwined. “Never. That is an experience that few are ever lucky to have, and those who do only find it with one person in a lifetime. One love. You.”

  “A lifetime is a very long time.” She bit her lip. “Are you sure--"

  “Lyric,” he interrupted her gently, his voice hoarse. “You are as beautiful inside as out. I’ve never felt such light and joy and kindness. You are everything I never knew I needed, and I’m never going to let you go.”

  She tightened her arms around him. “I feel exactly the same way, my pirate.”

  He drew a breath. “Your accident. I saw it. Your parents. I’m so very sorry. If only--"

  She reached up and found his lips with her fingers. “No. Not tonight. No sadness or sorrow or regret. Just love. Just us.”

  “Just us,” he promised. “I love you.”

  “Then kiss me again,” she said, pulling him close.

  So he did. He kissed her, and she melted into his embrace. He kissed her, and gave her himself, Atlantis, and the whole wide world.

  He kissed her, and she finally came home, to her very own Christmas miracle.

  12

  Jim looked about the room curiously.

  "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

  "You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you—sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

  Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year—what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

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

  Lyric woke up slowly, swimming toward the surface of consciousness in a lazy, meandering way. She felt warm and content and utterly, blissfully happy. The man in bed with her murmured in his sleep, and she remembered exactly why she felt so content.

  The soul meld.

  When they’d made love…it had been magical. Extraordinary. Music and color and light and feeling—oh, the feeling of his hard body fitting itself to the softness of her own. Silken, sensual, seduction beyond her wildest dreams. He was a man who took and took and took—every ounce of response she could give—and then gave back even more, until she’d screamed his name and soared into the stratosphere.

  And then there had been even more.

  He’d gasped and she’d felt…everything. She’d felt everything. She'd seen inside his soul, and he'd seen inside hers. She knew him now like she’d never known another person, ever, in her life. He’d opened his shields and let her see the lonely child—the battered adult—the pirate who threw himself into a dangerous sea to try to save the lives of a magical pair of very special animals. His bond with Seranth. And then…

  Then she’d seen his love for her. It suffused every part of him with a golden glow. She saw how he saw her; how strong and beautiful she was in his eyes, and she’d fallen in love with him all over again.

  The thing about the soul meld… he’d seen her, too.

  And he’d said her name with such love. Such reverence.

  When they’d made love again with their hearts open to each other—their souls open to each other—the experience had transcended anything that poets or artists or writers could ever capture. They had truly been melded into one, and she’d almost been afraid she’d shatter with the perfection of that moment.

  Now, waking in his arms, the logical part of her felt like perhaps she should've been afraid of such intimacy, such a deep connection. She'd been alone and self-sufficient for so long. Was it too much, too soon? The soul meld was the deepest possible connection, but was it a shorthand for the years of getting to know another person that human relationships entailed?

  But did it really matter?

  She thought back to the jewel tones of the inside of Dare’s soul. This man—this strong, brave, wonderful man. No, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they’d found each other and would never, ever be apart.

  Dare tightened his arms around her and started kissing the back of her neck, and she smiled, relaxing back against him. She loved him, and he loved her. That was the basic truth from which everything else would flow.

  Nothing was easy, of course, even in a magical place like Atlantis. They had so much to figure out between them. But she knew that they could figure it out. They had love. They had understanding. They had—

  “Let’s go see some unicorns.”

  Lyric bolted upright, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts.

  “What? Is that some weird Atlantean euphemism?” Her cheeks heated up. “I mean, I’m totally in the mood for. . . if you are, but ‘go see some unicorns’ is a new one for me.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then he started laughing and drew her back down into his arms. “No. Although, yes. Definitely yes. But then after, let’s go see some actual unicorns.”

  “What—"

  But then he was kissing her, and the kisses deepened, and the sheet was suddenly gone from between them, and all thoughts of unicorns and other mythical creatures left her mind entirely.

  She brought the amethyst with her when they left the palace, and he could tell from her short, quick breaths that she was hopeful and afraid all at once, but this time the jewel was just a jewel, and no further flights of vision or fantasy, or recurrence of euphoria, captured her this time. She slipped it into her pocket with a rueful smile.

  He thought she didn’t know whether to be devastated or relieved, and he found himself caught up in equally conflicting emotions. He didn’t want the magic of Atlantis to consume her, but he knew the moments of sight had been a wonderful gift.

  “It might happen again,” she finally said, raising her shoulders a little and then letting them fall. “But even if it never does, I had that one rare moment, and I’ll cherish it in my memories forever.”

  Her courage astounded him. Humbled him. He was meant to be the strong one. The warrior. And yet she stood ready to experience everything life had to offer, even risking her heart with pirate.

  He’d never wanted her more.

  He kissed her; he could do nothing else. He drew her to him, slowly so she could protest if she wanted to deny him, but then shouted a laugh of pure triumph when she melted against him and put her arms around his neck.

  “We could go back upstairs
,” he rasped, when he could catch his breath.

  She laughed and pulled away. “Not a chance, buddy. You promised me unicorns.”

  “We have basilisks, too,” he told her. “You’d be one of the few who would be allowed to enter the enclosure, actually, because they couldn’t turn you to stone, since you can’t--"

  He stopped short, furious at his own blunder, but she smiled and shook her head. “It’s okay. Kind of fascinating, really. Maybe after the unicorns?”

  “Sure.” He took her hand in his and started walking, but she didn’t move. “Lyric?”

  She started to laugh, and he closed his eyes and simply stood there listening to the lovely sound of chiming bells in her voice.

  “Dare? I know this is all normal life for you, but I just said ‘we can visit the basilisks after we see the unicorns.’ Out loud.” She started laughing again. “My life is now a fairy tale.”

  He frowned, but then remembered she couldn’t see his expression. “The Fae tales are almost all grisly and bloody and dire. Why would you compare our time here with those?”

  “Oh.” She abruptly stopped laughing. “No, not…not like the Grimm tales. Not chopping off feet and eating children. Like Cinderella and charming princes and that kind of fairy tale."

  Bitter heat seared through him and it took him a moment to recognize it as jealousy. He’d never been jealous before. The realization took him off guard, but still. He didn’t like how this was going.

  “The princes are married,” he said coldly, and then he blinked when this comment drew another peal of laughter from her.

  “No, silly man. You are my Prince Charming,” she told him. “Only you.”

  So then of course he had to kiss her again. By the time they made it to the stables, he was so aroused he wanted to throw her onto the nearest hay bale, strip her bare right then and there, and plunge into her heat.

  Instead, he thought desperately of cold streams, cold showers, icy rivers, and anything else that might help his pants fit less painfully.

  “We’re here,” he told her, guiding her into the front entrance.

  “What is that—I smell horses,” she told him. “Don’t think you’re going to fool me into believing a horse is a unicorn. There is one significant difference.”

  He laughed. “No. We’re going to ride the horses to see the unicorns.”

  Lyric pulled her hand out of his and folded her arms across her chest. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Quite likely,” he admitted, thinking back over the events of the past few days. “But that has nothing to do with horses or unicorns.”

  “I can’t ride a horse.”

  He took her hand again and walked her the few short paces to Honey’s stall. “This is my favorite mare. She’s gentle and calm. Here. Hold out your hand so she can sniff you, and then stroke her neck, firmly but gently.”

  Lyric’s breath caught when Honey’s breath snuffled out and then again when he placed her hand on the mare’s neck.

  “Oh, she’s so silky soft,” Lyric murmured.

  “She likes you.” Dare smiled at Lyric’s reaction. Clearly she liked Honey as much as the mare seemed to like her. “You see? You can ride a horse. Here. Give her this apple, but hold it out on your palm flat like this.”

  She understood at once when he smoothed her fingers open so that her palm lay flat, turned up, and he put the apple from the bin near the door onto her hand. She murmured meaningless compliments to the horse, who was delighted to get a treat from a new friend.

  “She does like me!” Lyric’s face lit up, and she stroked the mare’s long neck.

  “Of course she does.” Dare closed his eyes and took a deep breath. To most, the scents of the stables would be something to avoid, but to Dare they were familiar and comforting. He’d fled to the horses whenever his family became too much to bear: his father’s carousing that brought shame to the entire family, his mother’s drunkenness and flirting, his brother Flynn’s wildness, Liam’s “perfect son” status.

  And his own wildness. No good kid ever grows up to be a pirate, he reminded himself bitterly.

  Here, though, in the stables, he’d learned to find a measure of peace. Old Grissont had tried to throw him out twice, but when the stable master had found Dare there a third time, beaten black and blue by his drunken father for some perceived infraction, Dare had mustered all the defiance he had left and told Grissont that he was meant to be a stable master one day, and he might as well start then.

  The old man had stared long and hard at Dare’s bruises and at the blood trickling down his face from his broken nose, and then he’d said he figured he needed a stable hand. Wondered out loud if Dare might know anybody who wanted the job.

  “Three squares and a cot, and more hard work than you’ll be able to stand, at least at first, boy, but nobody will raise a hand to you here.”

  He’d kept his word, too. When Dare’s father, on a truly record-breaking bender, had come around to the stables with fire in his eyes and a whip in his hand, bellowing for Dare, Grissont had broken the man’s arm.

  Years later, when Dare’s father died, not one of his sons attended his memorial service. Not even Liam, by then one of Poseidon’s Warriors.

  When Grissont died, Dare had been at his bedside.

  Family was what—and who—you made it. His gaze arrowed to Lyric, who might not realize yet that she was his new family. She’d learn. She’d stay with him.

  Something in his chest ached. She had to stay with him.

  “You might be insane,” Lyric said, stroking Honey’s silky neck.

  The mare stretched her head out to reach for the apple Lyric held on her palm.

  “I’m not sure horses can be insane,” Dare said, saddling his gelding. “Plato comes close sometimes, but in the end they’re all about food, comfort, and a nice trot in the fresh air.”

  “Your horse is named Plato?”

  “Inside joke.”

  Lyric gasped then made a delightful sound that was perilously close to a giggle when Honey delicately took the apple from her. “She likes me.”

  “Of course she likes you. Everybody likes you. You’re amazing. In fact, you’re so amazing that I am tempted to fulfill a certain teen fantasy of mine about tossing a beautiful woman down onto a hay bale and having my wicked way with her.”

  She sent a deliciously seductive smile over her shoulder in his direction. “My wicked pirate. I just bet you had many women in the hay bales.”

  He shuddered at the thought of the old stable master catching him with him pants down like that. “Trust me, you’re the first.”

  “But Dare, I can’t ride a horse,” she said, her voice turning serious. “You know that. I can’t see to guide her, and—"

  “Lyric.”

  “She’ll be floundering around—"

  “Lyric.”

  “What?” There was a lot of impatience in her voice, and she narrowed those beautiful copper eyes.

  “Honey can see.”

  “But…oh. Oh. Really?”

  “Really. She’ll stay with Plato. They’re old friends. So you’ll stay with me. I won’t let you fall, and Honey isn’t about to stumble or take off sprinting, or fall into the ocean. You’ll be fine.”

  Lyric’s entire face lit up as if a million suns were shining through it. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Help me onto this horse already!”

  Lyric felt every motion Honey made transmit from her legs and hips through her nervous system and straight into her heart. She was surrounded by sensation and loving every second of it. The warm feel of the mare beneath her and the silky feel of her skin and mane. The scent of horse and stable. The sounds—so many sounds. Dare’s voice, their horses’ steps, birds singing secrets to each other from the trees along the sides of the path. Even the faint roar of the ocean, not so very far away.

  The feel of the cool breeze and the hot sun, and Dare’s occasional touch on
her arm.

  “This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever had,” she blurted out, when he was in the middle of describing a particularly bright flowering bush to her.

  “It’s not over yet. I have something else I want you to see—experience,” he said, and she could hear the chagrin in his voice. “I’m sorry. It’s surprising how many times I use ‘see’ or ‘look’ without thinking about it.”

  She shrugged carefully, still wary of moving around too much on the horse. “It’s normal. Don’t worry about it. What did you want me to experience?”

  Just then, a startling noise like a crow’s caw crossed with a donkey’s bray sounded very nearby; ahead of them on the left.

  Dare started laughing. “Well, they certainly don’t sound as ethereally delicate and beautiful as they look, but we’ll get you close and ask them if you can touch them.”

  “Ask who? Touch what?” She gritted her teeth. “Dare. Tell me now.”

  “The Siberian unicorns. What else?”

  “Oh. Sure. What else?”

  She heard the light thud of his feet as he dismounted, and then Dare helped her down off Honey, stealing several kisses in the process, and then he led her forward until she touched a huge, flat boulder.

  “Let’s sit here and see if they want to visit,” he said quietly. “They went through a lot on the ship. They might not want anything to do with me.”

  “Are they…guests? Cargo? I don’t exactly understand.” She tilted her head until she felt the sun’s warmth on her face.

  A soft nicker sounded from in front of her.

  “They’ve decided to say hello. This is the female, Jane. She’s maybe as tall as your head at her shoulder, and she’s pure white from head to tail,” he murmured. “Her mate, Bingley, is a good bit taller, and very protective. He’s hanging back right now, looking like he’d be happy to bite me. Must not have forgiven me for that dip in the ocean, hmm, old fellow?”