A Cowboy for Christmas by Kelsey Hodge
Prologue – Austin
15 years ago
“We’re going to need to head back inside soon, they’re going to miss us,” I say over to Colt, but I don’t really want to go anywhere. I want to stay right here.
“No one is going to miss us. They know you’re with me. We’re fine.”
I haven’t had the guts to tell Colt that I’m leaving early. He thinks I’m here for another week. But in less than two hours, I’m going to be gone. This is our last chance, for a while, that we’re going to be able to spend any time together. Now is the time to tell him that I have loved our summer together. That what I’m feeling for him is more than just friends.
“Is there anything that you want to do over the next week before you leave?” Colt asks me.
Well, having my first kiss with you, is the first thought that comes to mind. But, I have no idea if that’s something that Colt even wants, and this is a friendship that I don’t want to destroy. It’s probably best for me not to say anything.
“No, not really,” are the words that come out of my mouth.
“We can go for a few more rides, if I get the time,” Colt answers, giving me a little smile.
“Yeah.” But even I can tell that it’s a lame reply.
Colt is one of the local boys my grandparents took on, to help with their ranch over the summer, with the idea to keep him on part time once school starts. The idea came about when my dad announced that we were going to have to move at the end of the summer. Dad had been offered a great job, one that he couldn’t turn down. I had tried to argue that I could stay here, help with the ranch, but it had fallen on deaf ears. Mom and Dad believed that I would have more opportunities in a bigger city.
“You ready for school yet?” Colt asks, as he makes his way over to one of the horses in the stalls.
“Not really.” Which is an honest answer. I have no idea what my new school is like, and I hate the fact that I’m going to be the new boy on campus. My only hope is that the school has a good football team.
“Really? You’re normally really excited to get back to school, and the team.”
“Yeah, it’s just, you know…” and I shrug my shoulders.
“I know I’m not looking forward to it. School is just so boring. I love it here. Being on the ranch,” Colt replies.
“I know. The animals love you. Gran and Pops love you, too.”
“Your grandparents are lovely. So different compared to mine.” And I can hear the hint of sadness in his voice. I’ve met Colt’s grandparents once, and they were extremely strict. He had to be home by a certain time, and at fifteen, I even think he had a bedtime. Considering Colt and I went to school together, I don’t know much about his past, other than his parents died in a car accident a few years ago, and he had been living with his grandparents ever since.
“They love you,” I say over to him.
“I know, but it’s just, they don’t understand me. Don’t know me. I think they want me to become a doctor, or a lawyer, or something. But, that’s not me, and…” Colt trails off and looks over to me like there is something else he wants to say.
“They want you to be happy. But it’s been a long time since they’ve had to look after a teenager,” I say, hoping to make him feel better, but knowing that’s not going to work.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Colt says, turning back to face the horse.
“Are you asking me or the horse?” I say, walking over to join him.
“Both,” Colt replies, looking at me, and smiling. I swear it makes my heart skip a beat.
Rubbing the front of the horse's nose, I look back over to Colt, and give him a smile, hoping that it will encourage him to talk.
“I think I like boys,” Colt whispers, and if I hadn’t been standing next to him, I might have missed it.
“Boys,” I repeat.
“Please don’t say anything,” Colt says, rushed, and suddenly panicked.
“I won’t,” I confirm, “but why do you only ‘think’ you like boys?”
“I don’t know,” Colt replies, and I know he’s lying. I’m not going to push him, but I might be able to help him confirm it, and grant my wish, too.
Taking that small step closer to Colt, I watch as he pauses, and stares at me. Before he has a chance to question what I’m doing, I lean forward and connect my lips with his. They’re firm and rough against my own.
“That help?” I ask, stepping back.
“You kissed me,” Colt mutters, the shock in his eyes clear as day.
“I did.”
“But…” Colt adds, and I can’t help but smile at him. Seeing Colt lost for words is a fun sight to behold.
“Was that okay?” I ask, suddenly worried that he didn’t like the kiss.
“Are you fucking kidding? That was epic. I definitely like boys, but I wouldn’t mind double checking.”
“I think I can do that,” I say with a smile. But this time I run my hand in his hair at the back of his head and pull him to me, like I’ve seen in the movies, and connect our lips together. I gasp when I feel his tongue run along the seam of my lips, and all the blood rushes south as I open my mouth to him. Our tongues twist and dance together. As first kisses go, this has to go down in history as one of the best.
“Austin.” Hearing my mother’s voice, I jump back from Colt. The pair of us are breathing hard.
“Austin, it’s time to go,” my mom’s voice sounds again.
“Coming, Mom,” I shout back, but I never stop looking at Colt.
“You’re leaving early?” Colt asks.
“Yeah.”
“Well, that sucks. Can I at least see you at school?”
“Actually, I won’t be going back to school. We’re leaving the state. Dad got a new job. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Austin, come on, love,” Mom shouts.
“Bye, Colt.”
Turning, I run from the barn as quickly as I can. Never once looking back, so I don’t have to see the hurt on Colt's face.
Hold My Hand, It's Christmas by KC Wells
Chapter One
The problem with coming home for Thanksgiving was that Mapleford, Maine, population 1,458 at the last count, never stopped smelling like nostalgia and yeast.
Eli Winters pushed open the bakery door, and a solid wall of warm air and cinnamon hit him, the kind of aroma that made him feel as though he was eight years old again, full of hope and yearning for Christmas to finally arrive. The bell over the door gave its tired jingle. Inside, The Merry Crumb was humming. There were townies in heavy coats, and a seven-year-old in a puffer jacket, making a solemn decision between ginger snaps and snickerdoodles, as if the fate of the world hinged on nutmeg. The chalkboard menu was smudged with flour handprints.
Nothing changes around here.
“Eli Winters,” someone called from the far end of the counter. “The city boy returns.” His face was kinda familiar, but Eli didn’t have the spoons to chase through his memory for it.
He lifted a hand. “Just for the weekend,” he said, his automatic smile sliding into place. Thanksgiving? Sure. Two nights, maybe three. Then back to Boston Monday, to a very adult apartment with a very teenage bank account and an inbox full of Can we revisit this conversation in Q1? He grabbed a bag of bagels because they looked too delicious to ignore.
That city boy remark rankled. I was born and raised here, right?
Yeah, but then you escaped. Maybe spending thirteen years in Boston meant he had to give up his small town boy card.
Aileen emerged from behind the espresso machine, her hair pinned up with a pencil, and a smear of powdered sugar across her cheek like war paint. She was older than him by two years, infinitely bossier, and the only person who could make him feel both twelve and safe in under a second.
“You look thin. Are you eating enough?”
“Hello to you too,” he retorted.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She came over to stand beside him, her tone more gentle.
He bumped her hip. “I’m literally holding a bag of bagels. You can’t insult me and expect tips.”
“Oh, I expect nothing from you but manual labor.” She slid a bag of rolls across to an elderly customer. Then she shot Eli the look, the one he recognized instantly.
The one that said we need to talk.
Aileen finished taking payment before casting him a glance. “Why don’t you grab a table, have some coffee, and I’ll get back to you when it calms down a bit?”
The words filtered through his stomach like cold air. He’d heard them from professors, ex-bosses, and boyfriends, and usually they preceded a very polite disaster.
So what am I going to do? Turn around and leave?
He couldn’t do that. Instead, he nodded and drifted to a corner table, where he could pretend to respond to emails and watch his sister run an empire built on butter, sugar, and sheer audacity. Aileen paused long enough to bring him coffee before heading back behind the counter.
A floor heater clicked on. Outside, November in Maine tried to gnaw its way through the windows. Inside, Aileen and one other member of staff performed a well-rehearsed ballet of tray passes and register beeps.
Why are there so few people working in here? If every day was like this, she’d end up in an early grave, and she was only thirty-four.
He answered three emails, deleted six (We’re excited to explore AI options for our brand story…), and stared at a spreadsheet until the numbers blurred. By the time the lunch rush thinned, his shoulders were tight.
Aileen untied her apron and gestured with her chin toward the back. “I just need ten minutes.”
He followed her through swinging doors into the kitchen with its stainless-steel counters, the thrum of mixers, and trays of cooling pumpkin rolls exhaling cinnamon steam. He pressed his palms to the metal and let the chill soak in.
“So,” he said, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere near resigned, “is this the part where you ask for a kidney, ask me to taste-test something experimental, or question my life choices?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” she said, then made a face. “Okay, be a little dramatic. Two of my people are gone. Laurie moved to Florida—traitor—and Ben came down with pneumonia. Christmas orders are already bananas, and I have no one except Sam out there to cover mornings. I’m drowning here.”
He watched the mixer paddle turn frosting into silk. He pictured his inbox again, the slow bleed of clients posting, We tried Midjourney and it’s, like, close enough. The last time he’d told someone his rate, they’d said, “Wow, you’re proud of your time,” as though he should feel bad for eating.
Eli saw where she was going in a heartbeat.
“I’m supposed to head back Monday,” he said, his tone level and quiet.
“I know.” She braced her hands on the counter. “I wouldn’t ask if I had another option. I just want to borrow you for a bit.”
“And how long is a bit?”
“A couple of weeks? You’ve always been good with people. And your window displays were better than mine even when you were fifteen and moody.”
“I was artistic,” he corrected.
“You were unbearable,” she said fondly. She paused. “I could pay you. Not much, but some. Room and board. And you can work your design gigs at night.”
He snorted. “And when will I sleep?”
“January, like everyone else. And we’re talking temporary.”
They stood there, the mixer humming in the background.
He’d planned this trip like a pit stop: in Friday, out Sunday, just enough family to prove he still had some. But Boston was a cold apartment with the couch indent still shaped like his ex. Four years together and then, boom—his boyfriend came down with a case of ambition that proved as subtle as a wrecking ball. I love you, El, but I need more.
More what? Speed? Noise? Someone with an organizer instead of a heart?
“I don’t want to get sucked into the festival,” he said, hedging. “You know how I get. This town turns into a Hallmark movie, and I turn into a Scrooge with a Pinterest board.”
Aileen’s face fell. “I know holidays weren’t great for you. For us.” The divorce had made Christmas a relay race: Dad’s on odd years, Mom’s on even, the cheer always a little brittle, ornaments breaking and somebody crying in the laundry room. He still couldn’t hear “Silent Night” without wanting to apologize for nothing in particular.
She leaned in, her gaze warm. “But you don’t have to perform here. You can just…be. And maybe let me perform enough for both of us.”
The thing about Aileen was that she never said I need you unless she truly meant it. He looked at her tired face, at the racks of cookies waiting to be iced, the stack of take-home pie boxes with lopsided snowmen he’d painted last year while tipsy on eggnog and sentimentality.
“How temporary is temporary?” His tone was pure caution.
“Through New Year’s,” she said. “Then you can run back to your glamorous life of arguing with clients about hex codes.”
He blinked. “And what do you know about hex codes?” He laughed, a small, surprised sound that unclenched his chest.
I could say no. He’d practiced saying no to a lot of things lately, including the urge to text his ex at 2 a.m.
He could also hear the echo of the word help and the way it had always been a rope between them.
“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “Just for the season.”
She didn’t whoop or cry, but squeezed his wrist, quick and grateful, as if any greater display of emotion might scare him all the way back to his car and onto the highway.
“Great,” she said briskly. “You can start by carrying fifty-pound bags of flour like a festive mule.”
“Ah, the holiday spirit,” he said. “Backbreaking labor and carbohydrates.”
He worked until twilight, when the sky over Mapleford did its winter trick and went navy in a heartbeat. He hauled flour and sugar and tried not to ruin the royal icing. Aileen taught him which cookie cutters were non-negotiable. “Moose, yes. Lobster, no. We are not a novelty state.” He made the window display a little less chaotic, moving the ceramic houses so their tiny streets formed a loop, and tucking fairy lights into the fake snow so it glowed instead of screamed.
When the last customer left and the CLOSED sign hung in the door, they locked up. The street was mostly dark, save for the diner’s harsh neon light and the pharmacy window where Dennis Harvey had put a Santa hat on a blood pressure cuff again. Their breath came out in ghostlike plumes.
Aileen glanced at his hands. “Good, you remembered the rolls. Mom will be calling me any second now, wanting to know if you’ve arrived.”
“Can I ask where I’m sleeping tonight?”
“You’re crashing at my place. Your old room smells of paint: Mom is turning it into a craft room. And no, you can’t stop off at my place first. You’ll disappear into emails and I won’t see you till Easter.”
“Wow,” he said. “Drag me, why don’t you?”
Then he steeled himself for the inevitable interrogation.
Slay Ride by Davidson King
MASON
“The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing.” ~ Albert Einstein
CHAPTER ONE
“You’re coming out tonight. Please say you are,” JJ, my best friend in all the world, pouted as he asked. Was I so predictable that he knew I wanted to say no before he finished his sentence?
“I’m closing tonight.” I probably could convince my manager at Books and Bistro to let me go early. She’d be happy to know I had a social life, but I was not a people person, and being around strangers was a special kind of torture. They were always a disappointment, super judgmental, and most of them simply wanted something from you. JJ was the exception.
After my parents died in a house fire when I was ten, JJ’s parents took me in. I had no other family, so his became mine. JJ knew me better than anyone.
“Okay, so you’ll be a little late. It’s a Christmas party at Scheherazade, invitation only, and I snagged us some. Please, Mason?”
With a heavy sigh, I nodded. “Okay, I can meet you in front of the club at eleven.”
JJ hugged me so tightly, I swore my bones cracked. I wasn’t a big guy. At five foot four, I weighed one hundred and twenty pounds. I loved food but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bulk up, so I stopped working on it. Add in my dull brown eyes, and I really wasn’t anything to write home about. I had good hair, though—a perfect auburn color.
I loved my job at Books and Bistro and was on the fast track to becoming a manager. I just knew it. What more did a person need besides books, food, coffee, and comfy couches to read on? Nothing.
“Okay, love you, gotta run.” JJ rushed out of my apartment, likely late for his job. He had gotten a position at some law firm and was loving it. When he’d gone off to college, I’d decided not to. I’d been working at Books and Bistro ever since I graduated high school.
“See you later,” I shouted to the now-empty space.
My place was perfect for me, and honestly, I didn’t actually have to work. My parents had left me a life insurance policy, and my grandparents had set up a trust fund for me as well. I gave JJ’s parents the entire insurance settlement after my folks died, even though they said they didn’t want it. It was the least I could do.
I’d bought an apartment outright. It overlooked the river on one end and the city on the other. I had three bedrooms, a kitchen, and a comfy living room, so in truth, it was all I needed.
Yeah, I hated people, but I hated being lonely just as much…I was a conundrum, no question about it. Books and Bistro was like a second home for me—it filled my loneliness tank and kept my head above water.
My life was pretty good, and I couldn’t complain too much about it.
As soon as JJ and I entered Scheherazade, I deflated. I had never set foot inside the exclusive place, but what had kept my curiosity piqued was the expectation that the interior based its name on its origin. It did not. They clearly only liked the name Scheherazade and not the story behind the character.
“I know that look,” JJ shouted over the stupidly loud music.
“What look?”
He rolled his eyes. “You thought this club would be like the book One Thousand and One Nights, didn’t you?”
He did know me so well. “It’s just that I’d hoped maybe there’d be some Persian design, at least. But this place is no different than Club Rain or that other one that was a carbon copy of every other place you’ve dragged me to.”
“You’re being a bah humbug!” JJ playfully shoved my shoulder.
“There aren’t even any Christmas lights up. How is this a Christmas party?” He waved me over to follow him to the bar. The bartender wore a Santa hat, and JJ gave me a pointed look. “See?”
“Wow, you sure showed me,” I deadpanned.
JJ ignored me and ordered us each a holiday drink, and I scanned the entire area. There were so many bodies swaying, rubbing. I mean, was it dancing or sex?
“Drink.” He shoved a glass in my face. It was red, and the straw was designed to look like a candy cane.
I sipped the fruity and slightly minty drink and continued people-watching.
“Let’s dance.” JJ grabbed my arm, but I quickly pulled away.
“Absolutely not. I can barely walk without falling on my face. Why would you want me to go out there and murder people with my flailing limbs?”
“Dra. Mat. Ic!” He chugged his drink and placed the empty glass on the bar. “I’m dancing. Watch me and make sure no creeper tries to manhandle me.”
“You’d like it,” I joked.
I watched as the crowd pulled JJ in until he was part of the gyrating machine that embodied the entire club.
I could people-watch all day. No, I wasn’t a fan of mankind, but I loved coming up with stories in my head about them. I saw a woman between two men. Desperate to find her one true love, she willingly subjected herself to depravity to find him.
A man kissed another man near the DJ booth. They were aggressive in their touching, and I could picture them in a few hours, tumbling onto a bed, wrapped in each other and silk sheets. Making promises they’d surely end up breaking just so they could reach their climax.
“Jack and coke,” a deep, smooth voice beside me said, pulling me away from my internal storytelling.
Well. Damn. He was tall and built without being mountainous. He had a sweep going on in the front of his perfectly styled brown hair. Did I mention he was wearing all leather?
I was staring, and maybe sniffing, because holy hell, he smelled good.
His eyes met mine, and while lust pooled in my gut, fear began to settle in too. His eyes were dark, fathomless. As if they’d never seen light and vowed never to let it in. The furrow in his brow and his permafrown were quite off-putting. My brain was yelling at me to look away, but his eyes were like tractor beams, hypnotizing me with their intensity.
“What are you drinking?”
He was talking to me. Speak words, Mason.
“Uh, I’m not sure.”
He cocked his head. “You’re drinking something, and you have no idea what it is?”
I shrugged. “My friend bought it. I think it’s some holiday special.”
He turned to the bartender when his drink was handed to him. “Another holiday whatever that is, for this guy too.”
He bought me a drink? “Thanks. I’m Mason.” Yay for words.
“Gabe.” He sat on the stool, drink in hand, and scanned the room. While I never knew what I was looking for, Gabe seemed to be searching for something or someone in particular.
“Your Fruity Festivus,” the bartender said, and Gabe raised his brows.
“Thanks for humiliating me.” I narrowed my eyes at the giver of alcohol and took my drink. The bartender didn’t give a shit about embarrassing me.
“Is it good?” Gabe asked.
“Want to try it?” I held it under his nose, and he sniffed.
“Nah, I’m fine.”
Gabe returned to his searching, and I returned to my internal storytelling.
“Motherfucker.” The anger and disdain in Gabe’s tone had me leaning away from him. He jumped off the stool and turned to me. “I gotta talk to someone. I was thinking we’d maybe fuck later?”
Seriously? “Did you just ask me for a fuck? With no finesse at all?”
He peered over his shoulder at me. “No time to waste, am I right? So, yeah, I’ll be back in like five minutes.”
He didn’t give me a chance to answer. He was working his way through the dance floor toward some guy. As soon as he was on him, I noticed four others joined Gabe. Who the hell was this man?
The Forecast Looks Like Reindeer by Wendy Rathbone
1
Aspen
“Mom, I can’t make it to Christmas this year. I have other plans.” I spoke softly, trying not to provoke an argument.
“Other plans than your family? What plans?” Mom’s voice grew higher and louder over the phone as she vented her surprise.
“I’ve booked a winter retreat. I need time away and this is the perfect place to relax.”
“You can relax any time. But not on Christmas.”
“Mom, do you hear yourself? I get two weeks off work and it happens at this time of the year.”
“Do you hear yourself, son? You’re rejecting your loving family at Christmas. That’s not acceptable.”
I took a deep breath, using all of my will power to keep my voice in a low, non-defensive tone. “Mom, I’ll see you the weekend after New Year’s. I promise. I’ll take you and Dad out for dinner.”
“But what about your brothers and sisters? They won’t get to see you. All of them are coming for Christmas dinner and presents.”
That was much of what I wanted to avoid this year. All my six siblings were married with kids. I was the only single one left and I never heard the end of it. I was only twenty-eight, but they, along with our parents, all thought I should be settled down with a family by now. We were reindeer shifters, which meant close-knit and rigid in beliefs about family and having children. As an omega, it was seen as my duty to procreate.
My parents had seven kids. As of October, I had fourteen nieces and nephews. I didn’t see that our family was shirking their duty in contributing to the population. What I did see was that Christmas at my parents’ place was always a madhouse. Plus, this year, I was expecting a heat right around December twenty-fifth. It was unfortunate timing by my body.
I loved my sibs. I loved their kids. But I needed a breather. For me that meant no Christmas.
“Mom, my plans are final. I’m not coming.”
“What are you hiding from me? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. But if you must know, I’m expecting a heat right around the holidays.”
“We have that loft in the barn. You could be very comfortable there. And I’d bring you hot meals. You’ll be fine.”
“No, Mom. I don’t want to stay in the barn. And besides, if I’m sequestered there, no one will be able to see me anyway.”
“Your heat could be late. Or not come at all. The house is full, but your sisters are only coming for one day. Your brothers and their wives will have the guest rooms, and their kids are all going to share the bonus room out back. We’ve set it all up with crafts and toys and their own Christmas tree. The bunkbeds are all set for them. They’ll barely be underfoot.”
Mom’s Christmas parties were always elaborate. And, I had to admit, fun. She was trying her best to make me feel guilty. As if me not going this year would ruin her life. There was nothing else I could say or do to change that for her. But my mind was made up. I got my stubborn streak from her.
“Mom, it’s all set. Gifts have already been mailed out to all of you. I’ll see you and Dad after the new year.”
“Aspen, you can still cancel your retreat. If you can’t get your money back, your father and I will reimburse you.”
It wasn’t a shock to hear she was not above bribery. Mom had her ways, and she usually got what she wanted.
“It isn’t about the money, Mom. I need this. For once in my life, I want to be alone for the holidays.”
“Are you depressed? Because I can recommend a good shrink.”
“No, Mom. I’m fine. I just want to rest. I want these two weeks. This retreat is at the top of my Christmas list. It took a lot of planning and a waiting list before I finally got in. I’m going. Tell everyone Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Thanks for understanding.”
Before she could respond, I clicked “end call.” I deliberately did not tell her where I was going. It would be just like my family to show up unannounced even though the place I’d booked was a six-hour drive from my house, and eight from theirs.
I took a deep breath and glanced about my bedroom until my gaze fell on my half-packed suitcase. My heart leaped up. This was it. I was committed now. Mom would be mad for a short while, then she’d get over it.
I couldn’t wait to leave.
My destination: Winter Wonderland Wilderness Lodge.
It had amazing reviews. The photos had pulled me right in. The lodge itself was a huge A-frame cabin structure. Three stories. It had rooms like any hotel, and a restaurant, but also scattered about the grounds were private cabins within easy walking distance and a beautiful surrounding forest perfect for shifters. On each cabin door was a Christmas wreath. A few night photos showed everything was decorated with golden light strings. Even the trees lining the driveways were decorated.
I’d booked one of the one-room cabins. I was already looking forward to hot cider and popcorn by warm hearth fires. Restaurant food. Room service. Small town glamour. And quiet. So much quiet.
The website boasted a sister lodge down the road about a quarter of a mile away. Both were identical, but one was more geared for humans. Not that we couldn’t mix. Some humans had alpha and omega traits. But for me, booking the shifter lodge made me feel more comfortable in every way. If I wanted to strip and run out into the snow in my reindeer skin, no one would bat an eye. If I suddenly went into heat in the middle of dinner at the lodge, I could get up and leave and everyone would understand.
A cozy getaway and a dream come true awaited me. I vowed not to think of the firm or any of my work while I was there. The law offices were closed up tight until January. No one would be pinging me.
I checked the weather. A recent snowfall had covered the mountains with fresh, new powder. Winter Wonderland sent emails saying the nearby ski lodge would be open to us, plus they had cross country ski trails, sledding areas, snowman building contests and more. They assured us that the heated indoor pool, sauna, three hot tubs and the gym would all be available for use. And for us shifters, well, we were allowed to roam as we pleased as long as we did not hunt game and kept the forest as pristine as we found it.
I hurried to pack my warmest clothes. I planned to leave early in the morning so I would arrive before dusk.
I went over my vehicle checklist. Chains for the tires, if needed. Fresh oil change. Full gas tank. Spare tire recently filled. All done. Emergency water and food kit in the trunk. Check. Extra blankets. Yes.
I was about as ready as I’d ever get.
I probably wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight. I was like that when traveling. But that didn’t matter. Once I arrived at Winter Wonderland, I could catch up on all the sleep I’d missed this year. I’d be able to sleep in and laze about in my pajamas watching movies if I wished, calling room service for delicious meals. I could get up and wander about the grounds whenever I wanted, build a snowman, shift.
And if I did get lonely, I might walk to the lodge and hang out in the lobby in front of the big hearth drinking spiked cider and eggnog and do some people watching.
No excited kids rushing around my feet. No family fighting over which Christmas movies were the best and what we should watch next. No piles of torn wrapping paper to gather up on Christmas day and burn or take out to the trash.
I loved my family. I really did. But this was my gift to me this year.
I couldn’t wait.
Falling for the Masked Omega by Jena Wade
Chapter 1
Dain
I stood off to the side in my boss’s office, quiet but letting my presence be known. At six-six and two hundred and forty pounds, with enough muscle to crush the skulls of our enemies, it wasn’t difficult to be the intimidating presence I needed to be.
Based on the way Mr. Mauni was sneaking terrified looks at me while he sat on the edge of his chair, the intimidation was working. It usually did.
I’d been working for Cael for many years, and in addition to being his head of security, I could also scare the life out of his enemies.
“We either have a deal or we don’t, Mr. Mauni. Make your decision.” My boss, Cael, tossed a pen onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. He had his own commanding presence, but that mostly came from the wealth and power he wielded rather than his size. Though as a dragon, he was a looming presence no matter what he did. The fire in his eyes and the smoke that sometimes curled from his nostrils when he was angry kept his associates like Mr. Mauni quaking in the boots.
The lion shifter across from him squirmed in his seat, sweat beading on his brow. Cael hadn’t even flashed his scales yet.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he said.
“Not really,” Cael said. “But if you make me wait any longer, I can make it more difficult.”
“You have a deal.” The lion reached out a hand.
Cael shook it, then they both signed whatever document they were debating. I hadn’t paid attention. It was not my job to know the business dealings, I was the hired muscle. I kept Cael safe from physical threats. He had other business associates who kept him safe financially.
Mr. Mauni stood, buttoned up his suit jacket, and shot Cael a glare as he and his own bodyguards left the room.
Cael grinned at me once we were alone. I had to shake my head at his antics. He knew the power he wielded in the business world. Thankfully for all of us, he used his powers for good—mostly. With a few shady business dealings here and there, he more than made up for it in how he took care of his clan and his employees. The rest of the world might’ve seen him as a monster; that was how he preferred it, but I knew after nearly a decade of working for him that the man had a heart.
I might’ve been a wolf shifter, but Cael had never treated me any differently than anyone else. I wasn’t an official member of his clan, though they did accept non-dragons. No, I preferred the lone-wolf life.
“A drink to celebrate,” Cael said. “Join me, Dain.”
I knew without looking at the clock what time it was and how much longer I had until my shift was over, not that I really operated on a shift schedule. I was Cael’s personal bodyguard, and with that came the responsibility for his safety being my number one priority, one hundred percent of the time.
“Just water for me, sir.”
“Ah, you never let me have any fun.” Cael pulled out his expensive scotch, poured two glasses, and handed me one.
It would be rude of me not to take it and a waste of perfectly good scotch.
“Sit down, Dain. I’m not going anywhere for the rest of the day. The only people in the house are the rest of the staff and my two kids. They’re home for once, instead of jet-setting across the world.”
I couldn’t argue with that. His eldest legitimate children, unfortunately, had not inherited their father’s work ethic yet and instead just spent his money like it was candy. Every week they had new projects, new cars, new women and omegas. It was hell for the security detail. Cael assured me they’d grow up someday. He told me endless tales of sowing his wild oats when he was their age.
“We received an invitation to one of Bex’s balls. One of the masquerade ones to help shifters find their mates.”
“Sounds exciting. Do you need a security detail? If you plan to attend, I will make arrangements.” It wouldn’t be the first time Cael had gone to a ball or party, though I doubted he’d be looking for a mate. Goddess help us if he did. Omegas around the world would mourn the loss.
“No, I will not be going to any such nonsense. The last thing I want in my life is a mate. I have enough children as it is.”
I waited quietly, not bothering to ask questions. Cael would explain to me why he was bringing up this ball. I wasn’t prepared for his reasoning, though.
“I want you to go. You have a tux; we’ll get you a mask.”
It was only through years of practice that I was able to sit there without reaction. It was my job to stand there and be a stone wall no matter what conversation was going on around. “Are these balls not designed for shifters to find their mates?”
“Yes, plenty of pairings come out of them. Bex has a gift. Come on, it’ll be fun.” He tossed the invitation at me. It was elegant; clearly, a lot of money and time was put into these things. The paper was thick, the scrawling letters were handwritten, and the edges were gold foil. I opened my mouth to decline, but Cael stopped me.
“This isn’t a question, Dain. It is an order. You are going to that ball.”
“Do you need me to do research or—” This had to be work-related. There was no way my boss was interfering with my personal life. My having a mate would not work with the schedule I kept.
“No, I need you to find your mate.”
Those were not words I expected from my boss.
“Sir—”
“Most of my guards are already mated, as well as a lot of my other staff. Those that aren’t are still young. But you, Dain, you’re pushing forty. A mate would settle you.”
I was forty-one, but I wasn’t going to correct him. “I didn’t realize I was unsettled.”
Cael shot me a look; his dark eyes would make any of his enemies cower. Lucky for me, I was not an enemy. The glare did nothing. It wasn’t the first time I’d been on the receiving end of it.
“With all due respect, sir, I must decline.”
“Nonsense. I think this will be good for you. And even if you don’t find your mate, you can at least relax and have a good time. When’s the last time you did that?”
“Sir, I don’t think a mate is in the cards for me. The hours I keep are not conducive to a family, and I like my job. I will not be attending this ball.”
Cael smiled. “It’s non-negotiable, Dain. I don’t care if you go there and stand against the wall the entire night. You’ll attend that ball. If a fated mate is meant to find you, they will.”
I sighed. When he was like this, there was no arguing with him. I was no different from Mr. Mauni had been a few moments ago. At Cael’s mercy, ready to cave.
“Of course, sir. I’ll go.” I would hate every minute, and I’d probably bitch about it the entire time. I damned sure wasn’t wearing a tux.
And I most certainly wouldn’t find a mate. That much I could guarantee.
Lorelei M Hart
Jena Wade
