Summary:
A Snow Globe Christmas #4
Despite growing up in a family of villains, I’d rather curl up and read than commit crimes. When I get coerced by my brother into helping him rob a bank, I run into August, my childhood crush—also known as Chrono, the city’s greatest superhero. He’s sexy, sweet, and suddenly he’s asking me to Thanksgiving with his parents. It’s probably because he doesn’t realize that I’m Leviathan, a villain with the power of telekinesis. And I can’t tell him because he’d never forgive me and would stop doing things like cooking for me—wait, maybe that would be a good thing, since he’s a terrible cook. It doesn’t help that my parents think they’re the ultimate villains and won’t stop getting in my way, although they can’t even steal toilet paper without getting caught.
But when real supervillains (not the wannabe kind that I grew up with) start targeting August, I might be forced to show everyone who I truly am: a slightly warped and snarky man who’d really rather read a book than save anything… besides August. I’ll tear this world apart just to get another glimpse of him in those glasses and spandex suit. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe, even though it means exposing my true identity. Luckily, August still cares about me, proving that even a villain and a hero can fall in love. Hopefully, we’ll be able to save the world in time for Christmas.
This ridiculous and snarky holiday novel is 92,000 words and contains a villain turned unlikely hero (even if he’s a manager's worst nightmare), a superhero with a fondness for suckers who absolutely does NOT use his powers to cheat on board games, a hairless cat with an unfortunate name, bumbling family members that try to be evil but are mostly just embarrassing, a snow globe with mysterious powers, betrayal, true love, a risqué Santa suit, and the saltiest chicken ever.
Although this book is part of A Snow Globe Christmas series, it is a complete standalone, and it isn’t a requirement that you read the previous books to follow along. We wish everyone a happy holiday season.
I'll admit that with everything going on in 2020 that I forgot it had only been about 10 months since I read this delightful gem. Now I didn't forget just how delightfully genius and fun A Villain for Christmas was just that it had been only 10 months since reading it.
Having re-read my original review, I don't think I can add much more without giving anything away because even though this was from last year's Christmas releases I have a feeling there is still plenty that have yet to experience it's greatness. There still isn't enough superhero stories in the LGBT genres for my liking so I know this won't be the last re-read/listen I enjoy of this Alice Winters gem.
I'll just add that this is the first audiobook with Michael Lesley as narrator for me, personally new-to-me narrators can be almost as "scary" as new-to-me authors. I needn't have worried because he does a wonderful job bringing this holiday fantasy to life, making Landon and August even more real than the author's words already did. I could almost feel the jarring sensation in my arm when I wanted to smack a couple of characters with a frying pan, that's how into the story the author and narrator make the reader/listener, which is a mark of true talent.
Original Review January 2020:
There is just not enough superhero/supervillain(or in the case of Landon's family not-so-super-supervillians) stories in the LGBT genres. A Villain for Christmas was the first book of 2020 for me and what a way to kick off the year!
This is another one of those stories that I'm not going to say too much about because you really do need to experience Landon and August's journey to fully appreciate the magnificence that is Alice Walker's storytelling. There is so much goodness in this story and the genuine-ness of the characters, whether they fall on the good or bad side of the scale, is what makes them stand out. You'll have moments of shaking your head and saying "WTF is wrong with that person?" and you'll have equal moments of "OMG how can one person be so understanding?" It's these emotions that make this story so hard to put down.
This is only the second Alice Winters book I've read and it definitely cemented my desire to read more of her backlist this year. She has a way with what I like to call "snark and cuddle" that make her characters not only fun(even if you want to shake them or smack them upside the head with a kitchen appliance) but that much more real, which isn't easy to do in the fantasy world of superheros and villains. Being a holiday setting only makes the magic of the story that much sweeter. Definitely a win win for both my holiday and superhero shelf.
RATING:
This is another one of those stories that I'm not going to say too much about because you really do need to experience Landon and August's journey to fully appreciate the magnificence that is Alice Walker's storytelling. There is so much goodness in this story and the genuine-ness of the characters, whether they fall on the good or bad side of the scale, is what makes them stand out. You'll have moments of shaking your head and saying "WTF is wrong with that person?" and you'll have equal moments of "OMG how can one person be so understanding?" It's these emotions that make this story so hard to put down.
This is only the second Alice Winters book I've read and it definitely cemented my desire to read more of her backlist this year. She has a way with what I like to call "snark and cuddle" that make her characters not only fun(even if you want to shake them or smack them upside the head with a kitchen appliance) but that much more real, which isn't easy to do in the fantasy world of superheros and villains. Being a holiday setting only makes the magic of the story that much sweeter. Definitely a win win for both my holiday and superhero shelf.
RATING:
Summary:
‘Twas the week before Christmas,
the elves were all stressed
with Santa’s lead reindeer
not feeling his best.
Something is wrong with Dasher. He’s not eating. He’s listless.
Silver, a stable boy elf in Santa’s Village, watches over Dasher to make sure his condition does not worsen. One night, Dasher vanishes and a naked young elf is sitting in his place.
Silver has never been more attracted to anyone in his life. As he helps Dasher keep all of this a secret and hide him in his cabin, feelings between them ignite.
But Silver has a duty to Dasher to help him regain his reindeer form and make sure he flies on Christmas Eve. It might mean losing Dasher forever.
This fantasy shifter-omegaverse tale is about two fated mates who risk their jobs, their livelihoods, and Santa’s rules to be together.
First time shifter, m/m omegaverse, virgin, heat/rut, fated mates, mpreg, the North Pole, Santa’s Village, Christmas miracles, HEA
Summary:
Working on Christmas Eve—no fun. Working a double shift on Christmas Eve? Even less fun. But working a double shift on Christmas Eve in a hotel with two guests? For Jason Martin, it was a recipe for a long, dull holiday. But then a power outage at the local airport sends a bus filled with people to Jason’s hotel. Alone, Jason not only has to attend to his guests, he has to save Christmas for a group of weary and grouchy travelers. Happily, one of the guests, a Mr. Marino, steps in to lend Jason a hand. Mr. Marino is helpful, handsome, and running right to the top of Jason’s Christmas wish list. But Jason has sworn off hotel hook-ups. And Mr. Marino will be heading out of town the next day, Christmas day. Is it worth getting involved with someone who is only staying for one night?
Summary:
Bake Sale Bachelors Season Two #2
Sometimes Christmas magic begins with one little dog biscuit...
Alpha Shaw spends his days keeping Dellburn’s animal shelter running smoothly. He saves lives and completes families. When he’s asked to help with this year’s charity auction, he is all in. He might not be the world’s best baker, but his dog biscuits are loved by canines, young and old.
Omega Caleb, one of Dellburn’s newest residents, has one goal—to climb the corporate ladder and so far he is taking the rungs three at a time. He’s all work and no play, but with his goal within reach, it’s totally worth it. He doesn’t even mind giving up his planned trip home to see his family to attend a local charity auction on his company’s behalf—mostly. It would have been nice if his boss filled him in on it being a bachelor auction.
An emergency at the shelter has Shaw missing the auction, leaving Caleb with a plate of inedible cookies and no way to politely get out of his date. He’ll just keep their promised date short and call it good. Spoiler alert: Mother nature, some stray kittens, and a dead battery have an altogether different idea.
Peanut Butter Promise is a super sweet with knotty heat mm non-shifter mpreg romance featuring a businessman who lost his Christmas spirit, an omega who helps him find it, a snow storm, a box full of kittens, a lopsided snowman, the sweetest dog you ever did meet, hot chocolate kisses, more than a cookie in the oven, and a guaranteed happy ever after. If you like Christmas romances sweeter than a frosted sugar cookie, your happily ever afters filled with baby snuggles, and your mpreg with heart, this installment of Bake Sale Bachelors is for you. While all each book in the Bake Sale Bachelors series is set in the same world, they can each be read as a standalone.
Summary:
Unfinished Business #1.5
Have you ever had something that you’re really looking forward to but dreading at the same time?
Jonty’s always longed for a traditional family Christmas, and his boyfriend Devan thinks it’s the perfect time for Jonty to meet his big, boisterous, Christmas-loving family. But Jonty’s sure Devan’s parents aren’t going to think he’s good enough for their son. He probably isn’t. But he is good for Devan and the arrival of an unexpected guest gives him a chance to prove it.
Jonty never backs down from a challenge. His mouth won’t let him. But his brain is telling him that if he interferes, he might wreck any hope of acceptance. On the other hand, could his reward be the best Christmas present ever?
A little Christmas story that takes place before the epilogue of The Making of Jonty Bloom but can be read as a standalone.
A Villain for Christmas by Alice Winters
“Landon, I want you to help me rob a bank.”
I try to ignore my brother, since I clearly didn’t hear him right.
“Won’t you do me a favor?” he asks after letting himself into my house without bothering to knock. Not that knocking would have done him any good since I wasn’t planning on letting him into my house at all anyway.
“No,” I say without bothering to look up from the book I’m reading.
“Just hear me out!” he exclaims.
I lower the book and look up at my older brother Brandon. Thankfully, I don’t take much after him. Not that he’s ugly or anything like that, he’s not, but just because he’s an idiot. And the one thing I don’t want to be is an idiot. “What, Brandon?”
“I want you to help me rob a bank.”
“No! You asked me last week, and I already told you I have better things to do. Like…” I look around as I try to think of something. It’s hard when my life consists of trying to avoid my family and reading every book I can get my hands on. Oh, and did I mention avoiding my family? Honestly, that’s a full-time career when they all have powers that allow them to better annoy the shit out of me. “Work.”
“Mom told me you got fired,” Brandon says as he sits down on the couch next to me.
“I got fired because Mom came in and told the boss that she needed me. When he said I was working and couldn’t just leave, she told him he looks like an overripe nut sac.”
Brandon starts laughing. “That’s so cool.”
“I hate all of you,” I decide as I lift my book back up.
“About the bank. Come on, you borrowed money from me last week.”
I stare at my brother in disbelief. “Five dollars. You honestly think the equivalent of you lending me five dollars is me helping you rob a bank? I’m not going to help you rob a bank again!”
“Landon, I want you to help me rob a bank.”
I try to ignore my brother, since I clearly didn’t hear him right.
“Won’t you do me a favor?” he asks after letting himself into my house without bothering to knock. Not that knocking would have done him any good since I wasn’t planning on letting him into my house at all anyway.
“No,” I say without bothering to look up from the book I’m reading.
“Just hear me out!” he exclaims.
I lower the book and look up at my older brother Brandon. Thankfully, I don’t take much after him. Not that he’s ugly or anything like that, he’s not, but just because he’s an idiot. And the one thing I don’t want to be is an idiot. “What, Brandon?”
“I want you to help me rob a bank.”
“No! You asked me last week, and I already told you I have better things to do. Like…” I look around as I try to think of something. It’s hard when my life consists of trying to avoid my family and reading every book I can get my hands on. Oh, and did I mention avoiding my family? Honestly, that’s a full-time career when they all have powers that allow them to better annoy the shit out of me. “Work.”
“Mom told me you got fired,” Brandon says as he sits down on the couch next to me.
“I got fired because Mom came in and told the boss that she needed me. When he said I was working and couldn’t just leave, she told him he looks like an overripe nut sac.”
Brandon starts laughing. “That’s so cool.”
“I hate all of you,” I decide as I lift my book back up.
“About the bank. Come on, you borrowed money from me last week.”
I stare at my brother in disbelief. “Five dollars. You honestly think the equivalent of you lending me five dollars is me helping you rob a bank? I’m not going to help you rob a bank again!”
Santa's Reindeer Shifters by Wendy Rathbone
Chapter One
My boots crunched through snow packed on ice. The polar night, which lasted for one hundred and sixty three days each year, was lit by the gleam of starlight and a tawny hook moon. Fanged shadows from the ice cliffs in the distance sliced across the tundra, edging the snow packed cabin rooftops. They made stripes along the huge A-frame roof of Santa’s Workshop to the eastern edge of Santa’s Village, and Santa’s Stables to the north.
I could see from the brilliance of the stars alone, plus every avenue of Santa’s Village was lined with candy cane streetlights. In the summer months we all used the lanes of the village to get to and from work. But in the wintertime, we always used the tunnels.
I was headed from my front door and across the lane to the tunnel entrance that led to the stables.
My job was mucking. Taking the old, soiled straw out and bringing in fresh. I was happy to have the job. Any job in Santa’s Village was a win-win. The elves here were treated in luxury. We had good salaries and each of us was given a rustic cabin of our own. If we had mates and children, we were allowed to have them with us.
I lived alone, and had for forty years, though in human terms I looked no older than twenty-five. But I hadn’t always worked in Santa’s Village. For a long time I was a paper pusher in the hidden City of the North. That was where the elves who did not work for Santa resided.
As the few and final refugees from a parallel Earth, which was destroyed by a comet soon after we fled through dimensional portals, we had never made our presence known, except through legend and fiction, to this Earth’s inhabitants. But we’d brought enough gold in the beginning to purchase the human material goods we needed or wanted. We could pass for human, if necessary, and some of us had human passports and identification cards.
Slowly, in secret, our people had re-built our lives.
I loved my new job. Being out of an office and working with animals allowed me to breathe once again. I felt as if I were starting my life over again. Everything was new, better, prettier.
It was a week before Christmas. The cold of the north in early winter bit into me through my sweaters and parka. I approached the tunnel from the Towne Square where there were also a couple of heated taxis waiting for elves who might not prefer to walk today. But the stable wasn’t far from my cabin. I only took one of the taxis on days I wanted to enjoy the twenty-four hour night sky and all the twinkle lights that decorated the cabins, the workshop, the stable, and Santa’s Ice Castle to the south. Or if I’d slept late.
When I entered the stables, I heard someone shout my name.
“Silver!”
I shut the door quickly and glanced about.
My boss, Bell, was waving me over to his desk. He barely looked up when I approached, busy tapping away on his computer keyboard.
“Yes, Bell.” I spoke softly, like I did to the deer when I was in the pens. My boss wasn’t mean or anything, but he was always stressed and frazzled and I didn’t want to do anything to increase that.
Near Bell’s desk was Ribbon, running the polishing machine along one wall. The golden wood floor already gleamed. Practically every surface of Santa’s Stable was clean enough to eat off.
Bell sat at a desk near a low window and motioned me to him.
“Are you late?”
“No, sir.” My gaze found the big Santa’s clock on the wall that counted down the days until Christmas. Its candy cane hands showed the time: 10:58. My shift started at 11.
Bell ran the stables for the afternoon and early evening dayshift. I worked nights, so he was usually gone by the time I arrived.
I started to turn away, but Bell stopped me. “Hold on a second.”
I turned toward him again. He had an angular face and a little bit of white rimming his dark, long hair. He was older than a hundred years but kept himself young and fit. He sat facing a large flat computer screen, his fingers still typing.
“It’s been reported that Dasher isn’t feeling well. You’re to monitor him. Stay with him. He’s your priority. I’ve assigned Twinkle to do the mucking tonight, so you won’t be distracted by those duties.”
“What’s wrong with him, sir?”
Dasher was my favorite. Of all Santa’s reindeer, Dasher was the most affectionate to me. He always came to me when I entered his pen, and his ears flicked back and forth as if he understood everything I said to him. Of course, Santa’s reindeer understood a lot more than normal Earth reindeer did. They were magical. They could fly. But some deeper light in Dasher’s eyes communicated to me that he was more aware than most animals, magical or not. Or, at least, he was aware of me.
“We don’t know. He’s listless and not eating. Other than that, everything checks out with the vet. Dasher responds well to you, so that’s why I want you with him tonight.”
“Of course I’ll keep watch over him.”
“Could be a passing bug. But we need him in tip-top shape for Christmas Eve in a week.”
“Understood, sir. And I’ve got the vet on speed dial.”
I put my hand against my parka at my hip, double-checking that I’d remembered to bring my phone, along with the carrots and candy cane treats. I felt everything safe and sound in my fanny pack underneath all my layers. Maybe I could entice Dasher with a treat like I did every night. Regular reindeer had trouble digesting carrots, and wouldn’t even understand a candy cane as any sort of food source, but Santa’s reindeer loved them.
“All right, then, off you go,” said Bell.
I moved toward the far end of the stable where the biggest pens lined one wall. There were eight of them, one for each of the flying reindeer Santa had brought with him when he’d fled our old Earth. That meant these deer were over two hundred years old. There were sixteen other reindeer in the stable, also from the old world. But none as intelligent and magical as these eight.
As far as I knew, in all that time, Santa had never added to his herd. Elf speculation was the deer did not breed in this new realm. They went into rut very rarely, maybe once in fifty years, but showed only symptoms of restlessness and loss of appetite, never seemingly want to mate with each other. Could Dasher’s symptoms be a rare rut?
I shook my head at myself. Everyone knew ruts happened, if they happened, only in the summer.
I was too young to remember our distant home. I’d been born here, in the City of the North, but old folks like Santa and others who had escaped before the comet hit told stories of old Earth, how flowers grew as big as houses and twin moons decorated the skies. They spoke of animals talking and how it was believed that elves had been created long ago from the souls of beasts.
During a golden era when magic ruled, every elf had the potential to become a Santa. Santa was the word we used to describe a powerful sorcerer or magical being. Now, Santas were quite rare. In my lifetime, there had only been one. He was the elf who’d created Santa’s Village and put elves to work making unique toys to be delivered all over the world.
Santa was our king.
I scrunched out of my parka and one sweater, hanging them on hooks on the wall by the pens. I started at the left of the line up of the eight corrals, eyeing all the reindeer as I walked past them. Dasher was the first. My sweet boy. At the moment, he was curled up fast asleep. He didn’t look sick, but I would keep my vigil no matter what. For the moment, I didn’t want to disturb him, so I kept walking.
Dancer was awake, but curled in his fresh straw bed staring off into nothing. As were Prancer and Vixen, both chewing their cuds. Comet stood before his grain bowl, looking hungry. He certainly loved his food. In his daily exercise, he flew in perfect formation with the others, but he was a few pounds heavier for it. In empathy, I reached into my fanny pack and took out a carrot.
He ambled toward me, his eyes brightening, his ears flicking back, and sweetly took it from my hand.
“Good boy,” I said, petting him lightly between the ears.
He crunched happily.
Cupid snored lightly, fast asleep as I reached his pen. Donner and Blitzen were awake and rubbing noses over the edge of their pens, as usual. They were the best of friends.
Everything seemed in order. The pens were clean and sparkling. But the work never stopped. Cleaning in the stables was a priority. We washed down the walls and deck twice a day, even working quietly around reindeer nap times.
The stable’s interior glowed gold from the highly polished wood floors and walls. Stacks of fresh straw occupied one end. Fresh hay stacked ceiling high blocked the tallest windows near the vast hay bins. We had it all imported by cargo plane to the nearest human city. Then some of us who had human passports picked it up and transported it by sleigh to the village.
I made my way back to Dasher, bringing with me a folding chair. I opened his pen as quietly as I could and set myself up in a corner to watch him sleep.
Everything seemed calm. Dasher smelled sweet, like taffy. The scent comforted me, both wild and familiar, containing something just at the edge of my thoughts that I could not name.
I took out my phone and flipped through it to see if I had any messages. Only one. From Bell. In text, he gave me the same instructions he’d already told me in person at his desk.
I’d only been working in Santa’s Village two months. It had taken me time to settle in, and I hadn’t made many friends yet. I tended to be shy until I got to know a place and a routine. But even my old friends back in the city had been silent. Some were jealous I’d landed the job. And some were probably just busy.
I set my phone to the side on the clean floor and glanced at Dasher.
He was awake and silently watching me.
I smiled at him. “Hey, fella, how you doing?”
One ear shivered a little, but otherwise Dasher made no response.
“I brought some carrots.” They were the best I could find, imported from an organic farm in California.
I knew he understood me, but he made no response.
“No? Not hungry?”
The slight tilt of his head seemed to indicate no. Or maybe I was anthropomorphizing again. I had a tendency to do that when caring for the reindeer. They were just that smart!
We watched each other. His large dark eyes never moved but a soft light flickered in them. After a few minutes, he put his head down and closed his eyelids.
A couple hours passed with nothing happening but an occasional snore from a sleeping reindeer. Twinkle came by to give me a ten minute break. He’d also been doing my usual chores and I thanked him for that. I got myself a steaming cup of cocoa, topping it off with two large marshmallows and a candy cane, and hurried back to Dasher’s pen.
Dasher hadn’t shown any signs of illness on my watch, but worry swept through me and I had an extreme urge to get back to him. Being the newest elf on this job, I took my responsibilities seriously. Dasher had always been my favorite from the first day I’d showed up for work. He showed me the most affection, and his gazes on me were more lingering and intense than the other deer. He loved the before-bedtime treats I always brought him. I brought all the reindeer treats every night, but I must confess I always gave Dasher the larger portions.
I entered the pen and saw Twinkle standing over him.
I set my cocoa on the ledge of the gate and walked toward them.
“Did he wake? What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Twinkle scratched at his auburn curls. “I thought I saw—something.”
“Like what?” I peered down at Dasher. He seemed to be fast asleep, his front feet curled beneath his chest, his antlered head resting sideways in the straw.
“Not sure. Like he moved, I guess, but weirdly.”
“What do you mean weirdly?”
“I thought I saw his color shift. Or something. I wasn’t looking right at him. It was out the corner of my eye. Maybe a trick of the light. I saw a shadow, I guess.”
I frowned, staring at Dasher, who was breathing fine and looked peaceful. Then I looked up at the lights that were scattered across the high ceiling. For nighttime, they were dimmed to comfort the reindeer in their sleep. But in Dasher’s pen there were no odd shadows. Just the usual way the gate and front of the pen created darker stripes across the floor and back wall.
“Okay, well he looks fine. Thanks but I’m off my break now. I’ll take over.”
“All right.” Twinkle glanced at Dasher again, his eyebrows narrowing, and put his hands in his pockets. Turning away, he said, “Call if you need me.”
“Will do.”
I grabbed my cocoa and sat back down in my chair.
The hours passed slowly. I’d long since finished my cocoa and candy cane. I’d skipped my mid-night lunch break, not wanting to leave Dasher, and my stomach growled.
Dasher would never cease being beautiful to me. His sleek pelt and slightly fuzzy antlers, his sweet shiny nose and hairy hooves, his little tail, and his amazing scent of fresh straw and taffy. All Santa’s reindeer smelled sweet, but Dasher smelled better than the rest. But sitting doing nothing was so boring.
Dasher seemed just fine. I couldn’t help myself; I started to nod off.
Just as the shadows in the pen seemed to converge to dim my sight and my head bowed downward, something sparkled in the center of my vision. My mind tried to wake but my body and eyesight were slow to respond.
The brown blob that was Dasher moved slightly, but there was also a golden light surrounding him. I forced myself to blink, slowly coming back to wakeful awareness.
My vision blurred for a few seconds and I blinked rapidly to clear it. The image before my eyes confused me. I couldn’t see Dasher anymore. Instead, lying in the straw with a wide-eyed gaze and brown hair falling across his cheek was a naked elf. He lay on his stomach, his front arm out and pushing against the straw as if he were trying to roll himself to sit up.
My heart caught in my throat. What was this? Where was Dasher?
I burst out the first stupid questions that came to my mind. “Who are you? Where’s Dasher?”
I started to stand, automatically glancing around the pen. Was I dreaming? Or was someone playing tricks? Had I been so fast asleep that Dasher had walked or flown right by me, escaping his pen, just as a strange elf entered?
As I stood, the naked elf in the bed of straw suddenly rolled back, sat and drew his knees up, his shoulders and head hitting the back wall by the corner of the pen.
“What? – Who are you?” I peered over the front gate but all I saw was the straw bed over a clean, polished wood floor. I heard the rustle of straw from other pens. The low murmur of voices from the cleaning crew on the other side of the barn beyond a half dividing wall echoed off the high ceiling.
I half expected to see a lost reindeer walking away, his haunches casually moving up and down as he wandered off to find fresh hay, grain or a treat. I saw nothing. No one. Not even Twinkle was about at this moment.
“Where’s Dasher?” My heart pounded in my chest. Had something happened to him? Was I in trouble for falling asleep and not noticing he’d left, or been taken away?
I turned to the man before me. Why was he naked? Why was he sitting in Dasher’s straw bed?
I strode toward the strange elf. “Where are your clothes? What are you doing here?”
He cowered further into the corner, hugging his knees. His mouth opened. His lips curled a little as if he were about to speak, but no words came out. Only a sound like a sigh combined with a grunt. Hanks of brown hair flopped over one eye, the strands a collection of shades of fawn, honey, amber, bronze. His body was smooth and hairless, the skin a hue of flawless ashen gold.
I tried not to panic about Dasher, but I needed to find him.
“Did you see Dasher? Did he get out when you came in to do whatever it is you’re doing here?”
The elf’s head bowed. I could see he was shaking.
“Answer me!” I stood over him now. That was when I saw it. The collar around his neck. All of Santa’s special deer had one. A black collar with a large round silver charm. This elf was wearing one, but it was so loose it didn’t fit right. I bent down to look. The charm had lettering carved into it. DASHER.
“Did you take that from Dasher?” I reached out and the elf recoiled. His lips parted and he showed me pearly white teeth. He didn’t snarl but the look on his face communicated “stay away.”
Instinctively, I took a step back. I didn’t know who this elf was. He seemed quite out of it, maybe dangerous.
I needed to find Dasher. “Take that collar off and when I get back, you’d better be gone.”
I strode from the pen, pushing the gate open so it swung hard and hit the front of the enclosure.
As I stepped through the open gate, I heard the elf hiss something. A weird sound like air rushing though clenched teeth. It sounded like “Daaaasssshhher.”
“I should report you.” But as I spoke those words, an instinct told me not to say anything.
I glanced once over my shoulder. The elf’s eyes were so big and pleading I stumbled over my next words. “Be gone when I get back and I won’t say anything.”
No one was around as I went up and down the fronts of the other seven pens hoping to find Dasher curled up with one of the other deer for the night. Usually they enjoyed being independent. They weren’t cuddly creatures, necessarily, though they enjoyed their daily pettings and treats.
Dasher was nowhere. All the other reindeer were asleep, some softly snoring on their fresh and clean beds of straw.
Unlike the caribou of this Earth’s Siberia, Alaska, Finland or Canada, Santa’s reindeer never seasonally lost their antlers. For the males of Earth, that happened usually after rutting season. The chosen ones who flew Santa’s sleigh were always in prime condition with fuzzy racks that looked so perfect they were almost cartoonish. They had only very rare ruts. But one thing I’d noticed when sitting with Dasher tonight was that the fuzz on his antlers seemed spotty, as if he’d been rubbing them against the wall.
I ran to the front desk by the door. Bell had left many hours ago after his shift, and no one really ran the desk at night.
I sat down and turned on his computer system. I brought up the reindeer records, checking to see if a rare rut might be expected.
All I knew about the deer was what I’d learned in the past couple months. I was a novice, but I liked to read, so I’d researched a lot about my new job. Normally, our handbook told us we were supposed to be informed if one of Santa’s deer went into rut.
As I read through the records, I noted that some of Santa’s reindeer—Comet and Dancer to name two—had never experienced a rut. No reason was given.
My interest, however, turned to Dasher.
The records indicated Dasher had rutted ten years ago. Elves had penned him with one of the females of the herd who lived in another part of the stables I was not assigned to. But according to the report, nothing ever happened between them. Before that, there was no record of a rut for Dasher. It had been his first and his last. There were brief notes, which I read carefully.
Dasher stopped eating on 9/22. Vet exam showed no illness. No outward signs of rut. But after a blood test the vet determined Dasher was in rut.
On 9/24 Dasher was penned with a doe named Serenity. During the next week, Dasher was observed to sleep a lot and avoid food. A mating between the pair was never observed. But Dasher lost his antlers twelve days later indicating the rut had ended.
Dasher was put back into his own pen.
Serenity bore no young the following year.
This seemed to be a usual routine. Santa’s reindeer, when they did go into rut, never produced. Thus, no new reindeer had been added to the herd in over two hundred years.
There were a few more notes about Dasher. I read them all with growing interest. The latest note about him peaked my interest.
Dasher, as lead reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh, has been impeccable in his team flight instincts and obedience. But last year, Dasher showed signs of not being in sync with the others.
On two separate occasions as Santa flew through the skies last Christmas Eve, Dasher turned the wrong way, not following the others, and caused Santa and his sleigh to twice climb into a stall and begin to plummet. The correction to this error was quickly made and Dasher, regaining his team synchronicity, appeared unfazed.
Santa notes the incident here:
I stopped the sleigh in a snowy clearing in north Newfoundland and came around to the front of the team. Upset, Dasher was pawing the ground forcefully. I put my hand on his shoulder to calm him.
Magical reindeer come from a time even older than elves themselves. There are many mysteries still surrounding the species. They are not mere beasts. They are intelligent and understand elf language as well as their roles in our Christmas tradition.
I spoke to Dasher softly. What was said will remain between us. There are, since, a few things I am implementing this year that may help Dasher in his performance next Christmas.
But I trust you, my elves, to continue to observe him and treat him well, with great care and love.
Santa’s notes are to be followed to the letter.
No known medical factor can be found to have caused Dasher’s startling behavior. He has regular vet checks and has passed them all. He is friendly and attentive during exercise and feeding. During practice flights, he appears to work in perfect sync with the team. His herding nature appears intact.
Observations continue.
New hired help to assist arrives 10/24.
I realized as I read that last note, the “hired help” reference was to me. I had been hired in October. My first day of work had been October 24th. Until now, I hadn’t realized I was extra personnel hired specifically to watch over Dasher. No one told me this. I simply found Dasher to be my favorite, and hung around him more.
What an odd coincidence.
“Silver. What are you doing?”
I looked up from the computer screen. Twinkle was standing before Bell’s desk.
My heart began to pound. I didn’t want him to know I’d lost Dasher. Not until I had a chance to look around some more. I couldn’t afford to lose this job so soon. I loved living here. I loved working in Santa’s Stables.
“Reading up on the notes on Dasher,” I said quickly, shutting down the computer.
“You told me he is supposed to be watched every second, never left alone.”
“Yes. I know. He’s sleeping. I only left for a minute.”
Twinkle sighed. “Okay. I was just confused. If you need another break, I’m here.”
I smiled at him, though I was shaky inside. “Thank you. I’m going back right now.”
I eyed the door to the outside. There was no way Dasher had gotten out into the night winter landscape on his own. He had hooves, not thumbs. He wasn’t going to open the exit doors. But part of me wanted to search everywhere. Even outside the barn.
“When we get off work this morning, want to go with me to the workshop mess hall? They serve the best breakfasts!” He smacked his lips and his cheeks became rosy.
“Sure,” I replied.
I had been looking over my shoulder, back toward the far end of the stable. I couldn’t see Dasher’s pen from here. Stacks of hay bales and dividing walls were in the way.
I could make no sense of this. Where could Dasher be hiding?
I glanced at the front door again.
Twinkle took his time wandering away and I didn’t want him to see me looking like I wasn’t doing my job, like I didn’t know what I was doing.
I decided to make a round about tour so it looked like I was casually checking on everything as I went back to Dasher’s pen. Then, when Twinkle was gone back to his cleaning, I’d sneak outside and have a quick look around.
As I walked up to the fronts of the eight main pens in back, everything looked normal. When I got to Dasher’s pen, I hoped the naked elf would be gone and I wouldn’t have to deal with him or see him ever again. That was another annoyance hanging over my head. Who was that guy? And why had he been naked?
As I approached the front gate, I peered in and my heart leaped.
There was Dasher, curled up in his fresh straw bed and sound asleep.
“Dasher?” I whispered.
I went in and closed the gate, looking closer at him to make sure it was indeed him. I saw his collar peeking out from beneath his folded legs. The silver charm stamped Dasher flashed in my eyes.
I noted the rubbed off spots of velvet on his antlers, and the cute way his nose flickered as he breathed softly in his slumber.
No doubt about it. Dasher had returned on his own. And much to my relief, there was no sign of the wild little elf who’d appropriated Dasher’s bed. He’d obviously also returned the collar to its rightful owner.
Never again, I vowed, would I fall asleep on duty.
I took a deep breath and scratched the side of my head.
This close to Christmas, I decided not to make any report of this. All was well. Calm, bright and in order.
Room at the Inn by Drew Marvin Frayne
Click. Click. He needed a black five. Click. Click. He hadn’t flipped either over yet. Click. Click. Click. Come on… Click. Click. Nope. No black five. Game over.
Jason sighed, shifted in his seat, closed the open window on the company computer, and looked at his watch. It was barely nine thirty. Roughly…two minutes had passed since he had last checked the time. Great. Normally, double shifts sucked. And double overnight shifts sucked even harder. But a double night shift on Christmas Eve? He looked around the deserted hotel lobby. Through the glass doors, he peered beyond that, into the almost-as-empty parking lot. Yeah. Double night shift on Christmas Eve sucked hardest of all.
He didn’t mind the Christmas Eve part so much. His parents were on a Caribbean cruise for the holiday, and his older sister had four kids and lived four hundred miles away. The Martin family Christmas was going to be held on January 4 this year, which would allow for his parents to get back from their cruise and his sister and her brood time to drive across three states. Plus it would have the added bonus of ensuring that most of the Christmas frenzy, which was gripping his nieces and nephews at the moment, would have worked its way out of their systems by then. Jason shuddered. Christmas might be more fun with kids, but four kids under the age of seven? Stuffed with sugar and mad for presents on Christmas morning? No thanks. That was a fresh hell he didn’t mind missing at all.
Besides, working the holidays meant time-and-a-half, and a quick glance at the rapidly rusting-over Toyota in the parking lot would tell anyone that Jason could use the cash. And since he had no family to be with on Christmas and nowhere else to go, Jason was happy to cover for the people who did have somewhere to be. Still, it was just so…empty.
Jason got up out of his seat, stretched, and walked out from behind the main desk. Rotely, he checked the coffee pots (regular, decaf, and high octane) and plate of store-bought chocolate chip cookies that greeted guests as they came in. The caffeinated brew was about half full—the decaf was always full. Should he make fresh? Jason shrugged. Why bother? The hotel had a grand total of three guests—one middle-aged man sleeping off an office Christmas party at which he’d gotten a little too merry, and one young couple visiting the husband’s parents for the holidays (and Jason had inferred from the look on the wife’s face that staying at the hotel was definitely her idea). None of them would want any more coffee tonight.
Jason poured himself a cup of the high octane—he was going to need it to stay awake—and contemplated taking a cookie. You haven’t had any carbs since Thanksgiving, he reminded himself, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor in both life and food choice. He walked over to the sparse green tree that some day-shifter had erected in the corner. For an artificial tree, it seemed remarkably real…largely because it looked so tattered and haphazard, as if the Charlie Brown Christmas tree had both grown up and mutated. The tree was six feet tall—about three inches taller than Jason—but had less than two dozen ornaments on it, all red balls that had seen better days. Gaily wrapped boxes were scattered around the tree’s base. The hotel had been using these same boxes for years, as evidenced by the thick bands of gray dust that clung to every crease and corner. The rest of the lobby’s Christmas corner had snowflakes cut out of copy paper festooned over any surface that had been deemed worthy. From a distance, all the green and white dotted with bits of red really didn’t look half bad. Up close…well, it was best to keep at a distance.
Jason took his coffee back to the desk, but didn’t sit down. What time was it? Nine forty. He sighed. He hated being bored. He’d already been here—what? He’d started at two…so seven, seven-and-half hours? Which meant eight-and-a-half to go. And all he’d done was check in a total of two parties. There were no reservations until tomorrow, so unless some stray traveler came in off the highway, no one else would be checking in tonight. This particular branch of the Bethel Inn and Suites mostly served the large state university that was a mile down the road—which, of course, was deserted for the holidays. The regional airport was a good sixteen miles away, and there were three other hotels between the airport and here, including another, newer, fancier Bethel Inn and Suites (Jason had pulled a few shifts there—they always had fresh cookies, never store-bought, and flavored coffee to boot). Besides, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The planes would get in and out all night long, no problem.
Jason stared at the phone on his desk. But who would he call? His sister would be desperately trying to get her kids to sleep—difficult to do under normal circumstances, but impossible on Christmas Eve. His parents were—who knows? There really wasn’t anyone else—certainly no one in the hotel. He was the only one working tonight. No need for housekeeping or maintenance when no one was here—Jason had sent them home two hours ago. Karla would be in at five thirty to set up breakfast, and then Jenny worked a short morning shift—six to noon—before Jason pulled another double. At least he didn’t have to go home for six hours. He’d just camp out here in an empty room—grab some zzz’s, take a quick shower, put on some fresh underwear, and get back to being bored.
Jason stretched his lean frame again, running his fingers through his short blond hair. He still wasn’t used to the haircut. He’d kept it longer throughout college, even when working at the hotel. But when he graduated and was promoted to assistant desk manager, well…the promotion meant wearing a suit all day long. Somehow the gray jacket, ironed white shirt, and striped maroon-and-gray tie didn’t quite match his bushy head of blond wavy hair—or so his manager had frequently implied.
Jason sat heavily in his chair. Four years of college—okay, five—for this? When he’d been offered the position, he’d felt lucky. Full-time employment, a big hourly pay raise, and the benefits were nothing to sneer at. But now…Jason tried to shake off his doldrums. He was just bored. Antsy. Since graduation, he’d been earning his keep, averaging sixty-plus hours a week at least. His life had taken a back seat to work—which meant, after six months or so, he had no life at all. God, he hadn’t even had a date since—he couldn’t remember when. That was depressing.
Occasionally, working the night shift did offer up…certain opportunities. It was a building full of beds, after all. But these brief encounters never seemed to quite work out for Jason. There was the one guy who’d come last May—a hot prospect being recruited out of a junior college for the university football team. Hot was certainly the right word for him—all beef and muscle and nineteen-year-old curiosity. But shortly after trading blows with Jason—and pumping two enthusiastic “finishes” all over Jason’s face—the big manly football player broke down crying and called his mom first and pastor second. Not a good outcome. The bear couple Jason had met in July weren’t really that bad, though Jason couldn’t sit down for two days afterward without a small twinge of regret. Still, the younger of the two kept in touch, if only through a monthly emailed newsletter that included pictures of their seven ferrets and a lot of recipes for German food. Jason shrugged. At least he knew how to make spaetzle now.
But it was the guy in October that really did it for Jason. Handsome Italian businessman—all suit, smile, and hairy chest. Approaching forty, maybe, but damn did he wear it well. But the guy took two business calls while Jason was blowing him and a third call—from his wife—when Jason’s ankles were pointing toward heaven and the two were approaching a climactic end to their time together. Jason wasn’t sure what was worse—being a married guy’s out-of-town booty call or having to stay utterly silent as his ass got pounded by Italian cock so the businessman and his wife could talk about the color of the drapes she wanted to get for the new baby’s room. Oh, yeah, that was definitely it. No more hotel hookups, no more one-night stands, no more married men. Jason wanted something—something more. Something real. Something that didn’t end with him sneaking out of a guest’s room at one in the morning.
Peanut Butter Promise by Lorelei M. Hart
Chapter One
Shaw
“Don’t sit hunched over like Daddy does.” I stood up stretching, Wendy’s tail whacking the side of my desk like a metronome. I’d been trying to find money for supplies in the shelter budget where it didn’t exist.
I’d figure it out though.
I always did.
“That thing is a weapon,” I teased, reaching down and scratching behind her left ear the way she loved. Always the left one. Something about her right one had her backing away if anyone even brushed it. The vet never found any reason, determining it was probably past trauma. It wasn’t uncommon for the dogs that came through the shelter to have unseen scars. It was the sad reality.
It was my job to help them find their new families and their happy ever afters.
“Let’s go make the rounds.”
She licked my hand in what I read as her agreement. Wendy had been one of the shelter dogs but wormed her way into my heart so deep that when she was finally ready to be put up for adoption, I couldn’t do it. Now, she was my work buddy as well as my fur baby.
We walked through the kennels, stopping at each cage to say hello. “Hello Princess,” I greeted the little Pomeranian mix who was in the first spot. She was left here only a week ago, and today would be the first day she was available for adoption. Her human mom passed away and, while she was older, she had a wonderful temperament and was under the weight limit a lot of landlords had.
I never really understood that. The dog I’d seen cause the most damage, the one we’d affectionately named Taz here at the shelter, weighed fifteen pounds and, in one afternoon, destroyed eight thousand dollars’ worth of furniture, which was how he wound up with us. Yeah, size didn’t equate with what small dogs could accomplish if they set their mind to it. That was for sure.
“You’re going to have a big day, sweet girl. Four families have already called about you.” I rubbed under her chin, snapping back as the buzzer startled me.
“I’ll be back to say hello to the rest of you,” I promised and walked around to the door where donations were dropped off.
As I rounded the corner, I saw Carin from the community center standing there with a bag of dog food almost as big she was in her arms. I jogged over and swung open the door. “Carin, really? I could’ve helped you with that.” I grabbed the bag from her. She was one of the regulars. When she was at the grocery store, she often added a bag of food or litter for the shelter, and it was very much appreciated. This? This was a significantly larger donation than normal.
“I figured you could help with the other things.” She scurried ahead of me, opening the second doorway.
“What brings all this to our door?” I set the food down with a thud.
“You updated your wish list, and it was rather long.” She shrugged.
She wasn’t wrong. We’d been taking in some overflow from a hoarding situation the next county over, and it had our needs outweighing our hads.
“We appreciate you.” So much. We were lucky in that Dellburn was a community that came together and supported each other. Carin wasn’t the only person who would add just a little bit extra to their cart each week.
And the way the community wrapped around the community center after the fire—the memory still brought tears to my eyes. Between the auctions and the yard sales and the penny drives, they had managed to not only bring it back to what it once was, but make it even better. Dellburn was a special place. That much was for sure.
The two of us worked side by side, emptying the back of her SUV. She had gone overboard, and it brushed some of the stress off of my shoulders. We just had to make it a few more weeks until Adoption Night when one of the national pet food companies not only dropped off enough food to get us through the winter, but also paid all but a few dollars of the adoptions fees. It was our biggest adoption time of the year, and, while getting a pet for Christmas was a bad idea as a rule, I understood that for many families, they were simply waiting until they could both afford the adoption and had some time off to help the pet adjust.
“You are sunshine and buttercups.” I set the last bag down. “Let me get you a donation slip.”
“No need.” She knelt down to pet Wendy, who took that to mean it was kisses time. “Wendy, I’m not that kind of gal.” She giggled. “Fine. But only because you’re cute.”
“She is a lover.”
“Speaking of love…” She stood up. “I need more peanut butter biscuits for Hank. Do you have any out front I could buy?” It was one of the things I did when time allowed—baking dog biscuits to “sell” for a donation. The dogs loved them, and the treat was starting to get a following. It didn’t bring in a ton of money, but it helped. Every bit did.
“I do. How many were you looking for?”
“Just give me what you’ve got.” I’d have questioned her more if I had an abundant amount, but it was time to bake again. Maybe I’d go visit Uncle George. He loved to make them with me, and it had been a couple of weeks since I’d visited him at his assisted living facility.
I hated that he was there even though he insisted it was wonderful, complete with daily bingo and Grilled Cheese Thursdays. I had to remember that just because something wasn’t for me, didn’t mean it wasn’t for him.
“Let me write a check.” She took out her wallet, a paper dropping to the floor.
I picked it up and held it out to her. “You don’t even know how many there are.”
“No, but I know what I can afford to pay for them.” She pointed her pen to the paper. “I actually brought that for you.”
I turned the paper over. It was about an auction, another bake auction. “I thought the community center was doing well.”
“It is. This is for the children’s wing of the hospital,” she explained and went back to writing her check. “Cookies. You know in England they call cookies biscuits. You make biscuits.” She glanced up at me with a smirk.
“You want me to bake dog biscuits for a bake auction?” That sounded like the exact opposite of what people would be looking for.
“It will be different and might just catch the eye of the right omega.” She winked, tearing off her check and handing it to me. “Think about it as you get my biscuits.”
I glanced down at the number. “I’ll never have enough biscuits for this.”
“Just get me my biscuits and think about it. They could really use all the help they can get. You know how it is.”
She was right. I did.
Dagnabit.
I was going to make dog biscuits and auction myself off to the highest bidder, wasn’t I?
Jonty's Christmas by Barbara Elsborg
Chapter One
Christmas Eve
I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go. Oh God, I really don’t want to go.
Jonty had managed to delay their departure to Devan’s family home, but not stop it happening. Tempting Devan with his naked backside was a sure-fire distraction, but Jonty didn’t think either of them could come again that morning. Three times was pushing it. For Devan, anyway. Jonty grinned.
Then he stopped grinning when he remembered what he was worried about.
He frantically tried to think of a way to persuade Devan to turn around and drive back to London.
A frightening premonition that sinkholes were going to open up all over Surrey?
A rumour that zombies had invaded from France?
A feeling he was going to be sick? Because he was.
Devan glanced across at him. “Stop biting your nails.”
Jonty sighed and slid his hands under his thighs. His mind slithered on.
A sudden onset of appendicitis? Except which side was his appendix? Jonty thought that through. Devan would take him to hospital. He shuddered.
“I’m desperately hungry.” Jonty turned on his best pleading expression.
“For what?”
“A Big Mac.”
Devan laughed. “There’ll be plenty to eat at my parents’ house and if you end up telling my mother you’re not hungry because I stopped at a service station to buy you a burger, we’ll both be in trouble.”
Jonty’s mind was unexpectedly blank of ideas.
Devan indicated to peel off the busy motorway. “You’re going to be fine. They’ll love you.”
“As much as you love me?”
“No, not as much as me. No one’s allowed to love you as much as me.”
Jonty looked across at him and grinned. “That’s going in my book of Romantic things Devan has said to me. Right after Your feet smell.”
Devan chuckled.
Jonty’s fingers slid back to his mouth. Devan’s mother wasn’t going to love him or even vaguely like him. He’d heard her try to persuade Devan he was making a big mistake, though Devan had put the phone down on her. Jonty had also seen a couple of texts she’d sent, though Devan didn’t know that.
He wants you for your money. See sense.
You’ll tire of someone who’s not your intellectual equal. Think what you’re doing.
Devan’s family weren’t going to love him.
“Fingers out!” Devan snapped.
Jonty sighed, flipped open the button on his trousers and unzipped himself.
“What the hell?” Devan gaped at him.
“Eyes on the road!”
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping my hands occupied so I don’t bite my nails.”
“I can’t drive while you’re doing that.”
Jonty pulled his already hardening cock out of his shorts and slid his hand up and down.
“Jonty!”
“Was that a whine? Oh God, did you remember the wine?”
“Yes and yes.”
Jonty hadn’t actually intended to do this in the car. Teasing was all he’d had in mind, but now he’d started… He ran his tongue up his palm and dropped it back to his dick.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Devan moaned. “You are such a little shit.”
Jonty started to breathe more heavily. “Oh, this is so good, really good.” He hammed it up, moaning and groaning, and Devan began to fidget.
“Stop it, Jonty!”
“Mmm.” Jonty brought a dab of precome to his mouth, rolled the pad of his finger over his tongue, then sucked noisily.
The car swerved and Devan swore as someone’s horn blared.
“Stop looking at me,” Jonty said.
“Stop jacking yourself off.”
“I’ve started so I have to finish.”
“This isn’t bloody Mastermind. You… Oh for fuck’s sake.”
Devan made such a rapid turn off the main road that Jonty was flung into the door.
When possible, make a U-turn said the sat nav.
“No,” Devan barked.
Recalculating. Recalculating.
“Shut the fuck up,” Devan snapped.
Continue for four miles. Recalculating. Where possible, make a U-turn.
“Can sat navs panic?” Jonty asked.
“We don’t need it. We never needed it. I don’t know why you made me turn it on.”
“Because it always makes me laugh when you argue with it. Plus, it was counting down the time and distance to Armageddon.” Jonty groaned as more precome slid onto the back of his hand. “Are we going the right way?” Obviously, they weren’t because the sat nav was still telling them to turn around.
“Yes.” Devan pulled off the road into an empty layby and switched off the engine.
Jonty’s eyes slid closed as he dragged his hand up and down his cock. He heard a click as Devan unfastened his seat belt, then felt Devan’s weight against his chest. Jonty shuddered as a familiar tongue slid around the head of his shaft, fluttering over the source of the precome. Jonty whimpered. He threaded his fingers in Devan’s hair and looked down at him. He was scrunched up over the centre console, bent at an awkward angle.
“Are you comfortable?” Jonty whispered.
Devan lifted his head and said, “No, am I fucking not,” before dropping his head again.
“So good,” Jonty whispered. “Almost as good as a Big Mac.” He paused. “I mean eating a Big Mac not sticking my dick in…ahhhh.”
Devan growled around a mouthful of cock. Jonty felt as though he was on a magic carpet, gently rising and falling, but moving faster and faster. He didn’t want the ride to end. Who would? Devan had his hand around him too now, jerking him off as he sucked, and Jonty swallowed to bring moisture back to his mouth. A complete waste of effort when a police car pulled up in front of them.
“Devan,” he choked out. “Police. Police.”
Devan chuckled around the mouthful of cock. “I like it when you beg.”
“Not please. Police. Here. Get off.”
Jonty flailed at Devan’s head, shoving him away as he struggled to get his dick back in his boxers and trousers. Shiiit! Devan caught sight of the policeman walking towards the car, and turned white.
“Let me handle this.” Jonty pulled the old map book from the side of the seat and opened it over his half-closed zip.
“I’ll handle it.” Devan picked up his phone before the policeman reached the car.
Devan let his window down.
“Merry Christmas.” Jonty beamed at the middle-aged guy staring in at them.
“Are you two having a problem?” the policeman asked.
“No,” Devan said as Jonty said, “Yes.”
Devan cast him a look of despair.
“Sweetie, we do have a problem,” Jonty said, and calling Devan Sweetie had added another one. “I know you’d rather gouge out your eyeballs with a spoon… Hmm… Maybe a fork, than admit you’re lost, but we’re lost. We were just checking the map.”
“I thought you were in trouble,” the man said to Jonty. “You looked in pain.”
“Because he’d shouted at me.” Jonty made his lower lip tremble. “He’s Mr Snappy when he won’t admit he’s wrong.”
“I didn’t think there was a driver in the car.” The policeman pinned Devan with his gaze.
“I was picking up my phone to check Google Maps and it slipped out of my hand into the passenger footwell.”
“Oh yes, that’s exactly what happened.” Jonty gave an energetic nod and Devan sagged. “He’s Mr Butterfingers along with being Mr Snappy, and Mr—”
“I don’t think the officer needs to know your long list of names for me.” Devan shot Jonty one of his looks that said shut the fuck up. Jonty sent one back that said fuck you, I’m enjoying myself. My last chance until we’re on our way home. Though Devan probably hadn’t got all that.
“Where are you trying to get to?” the policeman asked.
Jonty looked down to see that he’d opened the map book on the Welsh coast. He frantically turned the pages, then gave in.
“His parents’ house.” Jonty didn’t need to make his lip quiver, it did it all on its own. “They’re meeting me for the first time, and I don’t think they’re going to like me. I can’t keep my mouth shut. I’m going to blurt out something inappropriate, or drink from the finger bowl.” He looked at Devan. “Do your parents use finger bowls? I could have bought them some as a present.” Jonty’s cock was finally limp, which meant he could stop pressing down on the map book.
“Lower Wotton,” Devan said.
Oh God, don’t let the policeman ask for the map book.
“You need to turn around and go back to the main road. Another seven miles, a right-hand turn and you’re there. Why did you drive up here? The signpost at the junction says straight on.”
“Why did we turn?” Devan looked at Jonty.
“You want me to tell the truth?”
Jonty watched Devan’s Adam’s apple rise and fall, and wanted to put his mouth around it and suck hard.
“The truth is…” Jonty gave a heavy sigh. “I’ve spent the whole journey up to this point trying to think up ways to convince my boyfriend to turn around and take us home. This wrong turn was a last-ditch attempt to at least delay our arrival. I’m scared shitless of meeting his family. I’d given up on a zombie attack as an excuse and had one forlorn hope that we might get lost down here and end up in Narnia.”
“That’s the next junction on the motorway,” the policeman said.
Jonty beamed at him.
“You should get going. Better not be late. That doesn’t create a good first impression. And by the way, saying you’re lost when you’re heading for the family home, isn’t the best of excuses.”
“Would zombie invasion from France have worked better?” Jonty asked.
The policeman laughed.
“He’s lovely but clinically insane,” Devan said. “Who can resist him?”
“Be careful what you get up to in public, and Merry Christmas.”
Jonty and Devan watched him walk back to his car, while Devan muttered “Shit, shit, shit,” under his breath and Jonty thought nice arse, but wisely kept that to himself.
He slid the map book down the side of the seat and finished zipping himself up. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Devan gave a heavy sigh. “I know.”
“I was talking to my dick.”
“Oh God.” Devan did a three-point turn to head back the way they’d come. “Zombies?”
“Where?” Jonty shrieked.
When Devan laughed, Jonty knew they were okay.
The police car followed them back to the main road, then turned in the other direction.
“I really am sorry,” Jonty muttered. “And I’m not talking to my cock now. He’s not speaking to me anyway. Nor are my balls. They’re in a major sulk.”
Devan slid his hand onto Jonty’s knee and squeezed. “You’ll be fine. Everyone’s going to love you.”
No, they wouldn’t. Jonty knew he wasn’t much of a catch as a boyfriend. The more he heard about Devan’s family, the more inadequate he felt. How could he even have a conversation with these people?
Cato, Devan’s brother, was doing a PhD in astrophysics at Cambridge University.
Their eldest sister, Venice, was a consultant haematologist, married to a neurosurgeon called Nigel. They had three children. Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail. Not really.
The other sister, Ellen, was a best-selling author of literary fiction, in other words nothing that Jonty would have read or want to read. Though he’d had a sneaky look online. She was married to a hotshot corporate lawyer called Owen, who was an equity partner in one of the magic circle firms. Jonty assumed that didn’t actually have anything to do with magic. Maybe he’d ask. They had two children. Buffy and Spike. Or something like that.
Then there was Griff, the baby of the family who was no longer working for the Shaw Hotel Group, but taking photographs for a living and had already won a fucking award. Griff was a lying, cheating, scumbag, but if he hadn’t been, Jonty and Devan wouldn’t be together. He wasn’t going to be there this Christmas. Griff was in America, working. Considering he’d been supposed to marry Devan’s ex a few weeks ago, it was just as well he wasn’t around.
Just to put very elaborate royal icing on the cake, Devan’s mother was a lecturer in nuclear physics and his father a high-up banker. What the fucking fuckity fuck? Jonty had thought Devan had been pulling his leg when he’d told him, but he hadn’t.
“Not far now,” Devan said.
“Oh good.” Not. “Can we say that I’m a zoologist?”
“What? Where did that come from?”
“Or a naturist naturalist?”
“No, you can’t. You’ll get caught out in a lie the moment they ask you what you specialise in. Probably even before that.”
“Marine biologist? I can do my whale song.”
Devan chuckled. “You could tell them you’re a comedian.”
Jonty gasped. “Which dooms me to not being funny and no one laughing.”
“Stop worrying. You’re a fantastic artist.”
Jonty tried not to slump, but he slid down in the seat. Sticking pieces of glass on a board did not make him an artist. He chewed at his nail as he thought about the presents in the boot. What if no one liked what he’d made for them? They weren’t going to say if they didn’t. They’d be too polite for that, but he’d be able to tell. There’d probably be a whole load of sea glass pictures in the next Lower Wotton church bazaar or in charity shops in towns where Devan’s siblings lived.
“We’re close now.” Devan glanced at him. “Then we can finish what you’d started before the police turned up.”
“While we’re sitting at the bottom of the driveway?”
“No.”
“Halfway up the driveway?”
“No.”
“You are no fun at all. If you’re mean, I’ll take your Christmas present back to Help the Aged.”
Jonty stared out of the window and suddenly shrieked. “Wow, that road’s called Big Bottom Lane.” He chuckled. “Is there a Little Bottom Lane? I’d love to have my picture taken there.”
“There’s a place called Scratchy Bottom in Dorset.”
Jonty laughed and pulled the map book out again. “I’m checking.”
“I’m offended you don’t believe me.”
“I do. I just want to see what else there is. Oh now I feel sick.”
“That’s because you’re trying to read.”
Jonty thought it was more likely down to his increasing anxiety.
As they passed the sign telling them they were entering Lower Wotton, the roads became darker as trees arched over them. Jonty’s heart started to beat faster and his stomach churned more violently. He was used to desperately wanting things ever since his mother had walked out and left him with his father when he was a young boy. He was equally used to not getting them, though Devan was always trying to please him. Which made it even more important that Jonty did this and didn’t mess up. It was Devan’s family and Jonty’s first family Christmas since he was seven. He just had to conquer his nerves and be careful what he said.
Doomed then.
“I need you to do something for me,” Jonty said. “Memorise what I’m going to tell you and repeat it when I ask you to.”
“Okay.”
“He began the day as he always did, by counting how many shades of green he could see through the window of his prison.”
“What?”
“Just remember it, please. Need me to say it again?”
“No, I got it.”
Devan turned off the road onto a narrow lane, then made a left through tall wrought iron gates onto a gravel drive lined with bare trees whose branches reached across the road towards each other making a skeletal tunnel. If there were gargoyles, he was going to make Devan drive home. Up ahead he could see…Oh God.
“You lied. You are a prince. You live in a castle.”
“It’s not a castle. It’s just a big house.”
“With turrets.”
“Yes.”
“A moat?”
“No.”
“Do I have to curtsy?”
Devan laughed. “Do you know how?” He pulled up in a gap between two BMWs.
Jonty peered out of the window. Stone steps led up to a large oak door festooned with a Christmas wreath. “How old is this place?”
“Few hundred years. It was built as a gift for one of Charles I’s favourite generals. A chunk of it was lost in a fire, then it was rebuilt at the beginning of the last century, eventually bought by my grandparents who had more work done on it, then it was passed on to my father.”
Jonty turned to look at him. “Were you happy here?”
Devan nodded and Jonty smiled. “I want you to show me everywhere you played, where you jerked off…”
Devan groaned. “Come on. Let’s get it over with. Leave everything in the car and we’ll get it later.”
Jonty followed Devan up the steps. He’d managed two by the time Devan had reached the top and turned to look at him.
“My legs,” Jonty wailed.
“Are still attached.” Devan held out his hand and Jonty forced his feet the rest of the way up Everest.
“Not enough oxygen,” he panted. “Thin air. Unconsciousness beckons. I’m in the death zone.”
Devan grasped his fingers. “Stop worrying. They’re going to love you.”
Alice Winters started writing stories as soon as she was old enough to turn her ideas into written words. She loves writing a variety of things from romance and comedy to action. She also enjoys reading, horseback riding, and spending time with her pets.
Wendy Rathbone has had dozens of stories published in anthologies such as: Hot Blood, Writers of the Future (second place,) Bending the Landscape, Mutation Nation, A Darke Phantastique, and more. The book "Dreams of Decadence Presents: Wendy Rathbone and Tippi Blevins" contains a large collection of her vampire stories and poems. Over 500 of her poems have been published in various anthologies and magazines. She won first place in the Anamnesis Press poetry chapbook contest with her book "Scrying the River Styx." Her poems have been nominated for the Science Fiction Poetry Association's Rhysling award at least a dozen times.
Drew Marvin Frayne is the pen name of a long-time author (Lambda Literary Award finalist) who is finally taking the opportunity to indulge his more sentimental and romantic side. When not writing the author lives with his husband of 20+ years and their dog of 10+ years in a brick home in the Northeast.
Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
Barbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.
After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, and she hopes they are as much fun to read as they are to write.
Alice Winters
EMAIL: alicewintersauthor@gmail.com
Wendy Rathbone
Drew Marvin Frayne
EMAIL: drewmarvinfrayne@gmail.com
Lorelei M. Hart
Barbara Elsborg
EMAIL: bjelsborg@gmail.com
Santa's Reindeer Shifters by Wendy Rathbone
Room at the Inn by Drew Marvin Frayne
KOBO / iTUNES / SMASHWORDS
Peanut Butter Promise by Lorelei M. Hart
Jonty's Christmas by Barbara Elsborg
