Winter's Tale
Date: 2013-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Fantasy; Paranormal Romance; Romance; Erotica; Fae; M F Romance; Magic; Fairy Tales; Fantasy Romance
Description: Something sexy is afoot at Rackham's School for Young Ladies. Half faerie, half elf Hans Winter broke the heart of the wrong princess. Cursed to live as a statue at a school for human girls, only true love—and true bravery—can free him. December Worth never met a rule she didn’t want to break, as the numerous institutions that expelled her can attest. Bravery she can handle. Love she’s less sure about, especially if it involves believing in fairytales. A kiss seems like the last thing these lonely souls would share, until one night in the cemetery where Hans stands trapped, Fate brings stone a

Winter’s Tale

Emma Holly

Smashwords edition

Copyright 2013 Emma Holly. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission of the author.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This story is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. It includes sexually explicit content that is only appropriate for adults—and not every adult at that. Those who are offended by more adventurous depictions of sexuality or frank language possibly shouldn’t read it. Literary license has been taken in this book. It is not intended to be a sexual manual. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons living or dead is either fictitious or coincidental. That said, the author hopes you enjoy this tale!

Winter’s Tale is an approximately 31,000-word novella.

eISBN-13: 978-0-9888943-0-3

Discover other exciting Emma Holly titles at http://www.emmaholly.com
cover photos: Shutterstock—Andreas Gradin; elen studio

Other Indie Titles by Emma Holly

The Prince With No Heart

The Assassins’ Lover

Steaming Up Your Love Scenes (how-to)

The Billionaire Bad Boys Club

~

HIDDEN SERIES

Hidden Talents

Hidden Depths

Date Night

Move Me

The Faerie’s Honeymoon

Hidden Crimes

Winter’s Tale

Something Sexy is Afoot at Rackham’s School for Young Ladies . . .

HALF faerie, half elf Hans Winter broke the heart of the wrong princess. Cursed to live as a statue at a school for human girls, only true love—and true bravery—can free him.

December Worth never met a rule she didn’t want to break, as the numerous institutions that expelled her can attest. Bravery she can handle. Love she’s less sure about, especially if it involves believing in fairytales.

A kiss seems like the last thing these lonely souls would share, until one night in the cemetery where Hans stands trapped, Fate brings stone and flesh together.

reviewers rave about Emma’s HIDDEN series

“A truly fantastic read! Ms. Holly turns the shape-shifting world on their respective ears! . . . 5 of 5 stars!”—badasschicksthatbite.blogspot.com

“I don’t know how Emma Holly does it but I hope she keeps on doing it . . . a smoking HOT read and a great story.”—In My Humble Opinion (inmho-read.blogspot.com)

“Hidden Talents is the perfect package of supes, romance, mystery and HEA!”—paperbackdolls.com

CHAPTER ONE

DECEMBER Worth never met a rule she didn’t want to break. Golden-haired and willful, she was the daughter of old money—as unlike her folks as if a pigeon’s egg had been slipped into a swan’s nest. Behaving as a girl of good breeding ought seemed beyond her capacity. December’s mother claimed she was so much trouble they dared not try for a boy to continue the family name. December suspected the real reason lay in her mother’s fondness for keeping her trim figure.

True to her devilish nature, she expressed this opinion whenever her mother expressed hers.

Not surprisingly, December grew up an only child. Her knack for embarrassing her parents got her shipped off to boarding school. There, more rules had an inevitable effect. By her count, she’d run through eleven institutions by the time she was eighteen.

The twelfth was the direst she’d been to yet. Rackham’s School for Young Ladies was in upstate New York, crouched among the hills above a village called Kingaken. Reputed not to refuse any girl who could pay, Rackham’s was a not-quite-crumbling stone fortress: castellated, towered and prohibitively gated with Victorian era iron.

Behind the repressive walls, fifty-eight souls resided. Four were teachers, six were staff, and one was a headmistress. The odds would have been against these few authorities maintaining order, except that the students—who ranged in age from eight to eighteen—were remarkably spiritless. Her first night there, December failed to convince a single girl to escape the dorm with her. She was informed the headmistress had no liquor cabinet to break into, the sleepy village was too far to reach before morning, and in any case the thick woods that clustered about the school were “scary” after dark.

Every girl who’d ventured into them had gotten lost and needed to be rescued.

Such stories were unlikely to deter a brave young lady like December. Twenty minutes past Lights Out, she pulled her winter coat over her black-and-blue plaid pajamas and her boots over her bare feet. Breaking into the headmistress’s office was a snap, given its old-timey lock. As was her habit after arriving at a new school, once inside she read the latest additions to her file. Finding them depressing—because, really, could her previous keepers mention nothing beyond her misbehavior?—she left to explore. Illuminated by the burglar’s penlight she’d brought along, the halls resembled scenes cribbed out of Jane Eyre. Heat was not a priority at Rackham. The chilly air caused her breath to gust whitely in front of her.

Nothing living ought to be living here.

Despite the thought, no ghosts flitted out. December crept unmolested down a creaking wood staircase. The door at its base opened into a moonlit yard. There, brown winter grass lay matted beneath a layer of frost, the covering thick enough to crunch under her boot soles. No flowerbeds spruced up the area, in which Rackham’s students took exercise like the virtual prisoners they were. The single noteworthy feature was a small iron gate in the opposite wall.

December switched off her burglar’s light. Accustomed to using caution on forays like this, she glanced up before starting toward the tantalizing portal. The school formed a rectangle around the forlorn yard, which the windows of the girl’s monkish dorm overlooked. Fearing she’d be tattled on if spotted, she stuck close to the wall under them.

The gate she reached was smaller than expected—child sized, really. Loops of chain secured it, but the lock was rusty. She was able to snap its shank by wedging a stick inside. Though December wasn’t tiny, she believed she’d fit through the opening. Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, she bent her five feet five inches and squeezed outside.

A hook in the stones above caught her coat as she did, pulling back its hood and spilling her long flaxen curls down her shoulders. Those curls had been her pride and joy since she was a child, the only thing her mother seemed to like about her. But the loss of the head covering didn’t matter. Finally, she’d found something interesting.

She’d stumbled into a small graveyard—not one currently accepting residents. Planted on rolling ground surrounded by bare-branched trees, the gravestones were worn and white. Most were leaning, weathered by many decades of wind and rain. None of the dates chiseled in the stones were later than 1910. Eustace Diggle said the first she encountered. 1876-1908. Honest husband. Faithful son. His wife Constance—hopefully also honest—lay beside him, succeeded by a row of markers for the Lang family. A marble fox, carved to look as if it slept, curled nose to tail on the resting place of Abigail Justice. Stone ducks waddled over a child called Buster, while a small granite bench invited folks to set a spell with “Old Maude.” She, evidently, had lived a whole century.

Charmed by the hinted-at histories, December continued on. The longer she walked, the grander the markers grew. The number of plots surprised her. The graveyard hadn’t seemed this large when she stepped into it. She thought about turning back, but some compulsion she couldn’t ignore led her on. Surely something wonderful would appear right ahead. She began to wonder how far right ahead was when, in the cemetery’s apparent center, she came upon a beautiful statue.

The figure was a life-sized naked man on a low pedestal, his form so white the marble he was carved from could have been sugar. The level of detail astonished her. Nails, lashes, the veins that fed each graceful muscle were all there. Whoever the man was, the sculptor had caught him with one hip shot and his head hanging. His hair was thick and slightly shaggy, his lips full and sad. Frost rimed his pale stone torso, feathers of it creating a patchwork over his washboard abs. A fig leaf the size of her hand guarded his male modesty.

“No full Monty for you, eh?” she murmured, fighting a shiver.

Wondering who he was, she crouched for a better look at the low block of granite on which he stood. When she scraped away the crackling leaves and twigs, she found no name or date. All the inscription said was, “For His Cruelty.”

“Huh.” She squinted up the tall body. Set against the dark gray sky, the marble figure appeared to glow. That was impossible of course. Grabbing the statue’s knee for purchase, she pulled to her feet once more.

How sad the face was—and how old-fashioned in its remorse! Did modern men feel guilty for being cruel? The spoiled rich boys she tended to meet through their sisters only minded being accused of it. December stepped onto the pedestal to examine the statue’s features more closely. The stone man was taller than she was: six two or three, she judged.

“Someone flattered you,” she said into the lowered eyes. “Men from your day were short.”

She thought they were at least. Who knew when this one had been born or died?

“You’re certainly pretty,” she added, noting the narrow nose and the clean carved lines of the cheek and jaw. “I confess you don’t look cruel to me.”

The night wind kicked up, skittering leaves and frost across the graveyard. December became aware of her solitude. If she screamed, it seemed unlikely anyone would hear. The school was far behind her. The woods she’d been warned were scary weren’t more than a stone’s toss away. Though the area wasn’t silent, no sounds of human civilization penetrated the dead’s abode. She felt off balance perched on the pedestal, tense in her muscles inside and out. Without thinking, she curled her fingers around the statue’s impressive upper arms. They were as developed as a gymnast’s—or maybe a swordsman’s. Helpless to resist, she rose onto the balls of her boots, leaning closer to the mysterious snow-white face.

As if they were long-lost puzzle pieces, her lips molded over the full cold mouth.

A thrill ran through her, icy turning hot where rivers of excitement hit her between the legs. The stone mouth fit hers, its lips silky and inviting despite their temperature. The wind seemed to sigh with longing. What would it be like to make love to a man like this? He was so hard, so perfect, so temptingly unable to get away.

In December’s experience, love was a challenge to hang onto.

Her grip tightened on the statue’s taut biceps. Goaded on by curiosity, she licked the marble lips. Arousal flooded her at the touch, so savage it frightened her. December had fooled around with boys of course, but she’d never longed for one like this, as if she’d die if a hot hard cock didn’t slide into her at once. Images bombarded her: of tearing off her clothes and rubbing her warm naked breasts over the statue’s chest, of climbing to its waist and impaling her steaming pussy all the way down its dick. The stone man wanted her to do this. He’d been trapped too long without comfort or release. Even statues weren’t meant do without pleasure forever.

Girls like her weren’t easily unnerved, but those strange fantasies did the trick. The images didn’t feel like they came from her own head. Shaken, December hastily pushed back . . . and fell onto her butt.

She’d forgotten the inches between the base of the statue and the hard ground.

The unexpected drop jolted more adrenaline through her, confusing her perceptions as much as the moonlight. Did the statue’s lips appear slightly parted? Was that a flush washed across their stone? The color ebbed even as she questioned its existence. She’d seen a shadow, a trick of the eye or brain.

Heart pounding, face hot, she scrambled onto her feet again.

“Just a shadow,” she said.

She couldn’t have explained why, but her gaze slid to the statue’s carved fig leaf. Her imagination must still have been running riot. The leaf seemed to thrust out farther than before, seemed in truth to curve over a noticeably un-modest bulge.

How long did statues need to get full erections?

“Idiot,” December snorted.

New schools always required a period of psychological adjustment—wondering how long she’d take to get settled, if she’d make allies or enemies. Then came the issue of how many months she’d last before she ran afoul of the wrong person and was chucked out. If that didn’t strain a person’s brain, she didn’t know what would.

Tugging down the hem of her coat, she swiped leaves off her backside. Nerves now under better control, she offered the statue a two-fingered mock salute. Then she turned on her heel to go.

Save me, rustled a whisper as soft as the wind wearing deeper grooves in the old gravestones. December’s stride hesitated, but she refused to spin around.

Statues didn’t whisper. As to that, they didn’t blush or get boners. She was alone out here. Her emotions were simply wrought up and confusing her.

I don’t hear you, she thought for good measure.

She hurried back to the prison she’d so recently wanted to escape.

~

December didn’t get a chance to question her fellow inmates until lunch the following day. She carried her tray to the table for popular girls. Over the years, she’d learned if she acted like the elite, her chances of fitting in improved greatly. Rackham’s inner circle wasn’t nearly as tough as some she’d cracked. The half dozen girls gaped at her for sitting without permission, then launched into the usual inquisitional ritual. Soon enough they determined that, yes, her folks had money and, no, she didn’t have a boyfriend—a deficiency females who had one generally seemed to enjoy.

December didn’t pretend she’d gone off boys. That sounded too much like an excuse, like she couldn’t bag a beau if she wanted to. To claim she hadn’t found one lately whom she considered worth chasing would only brand her a liar and a loser. Predictably, her interrogators also had to ask if her riot of long blonde curls was naturally that color.

December confirmed it was, but didn’t hold her breath on being taken at her word.

“Switzerland,” repeated a slender girl with shiny straight brown hair. Her name was Nina and her clothes were impeccable. Her parents might not want her around, but they weren’t shorting her wardrobe allowance. December remembered mentioning her last school was in Lucerne.

“The mountains were pretty,” she said, realizing she was addressing the queen bee. “And the food was better than here.”

“That’s no feat,” commented another girl, prodding her mystery meat with a fork. None of the popular girls were eating. Between the six of them, they barely had ten fat cells. Compared to them, December’s curvaceous body was exotic.

“Tell me about the graveyard,” she said, judging she’d passed muster sufficiently to pose her own question.

An attractive redhead whose name December hadn’t caught leaned over her untouched tray. “It’s haunted,” she confided with ghoulish enjoyment.

December bit into an apple, which was surprisingly sweet and crisp. She decided she’d stick to fruit until she was certain the meals were edible. “People have seen ghosts in the cemetery?”

“Well, no,” the redhead admitted. “But everyone who goes there get shivers.”

“The graveyard is weird.” This declaration came from Nina’s flunky, Alicia, and was underscored by a nod. “You think you’re just strolling into a little place, but somehow you never come to the end of it.”

“Like the Tardis,” December said, gratified to know she wasn’t the only one.

“The what?” Alicia’s mouth hung open like a doll’s. A mental giant she was not.

“The phone box on Doctor Who. Bigger on the inside than on the out.”

“We don’t watch that show,” the redhead informed her with a snooty toss of her head.

“That’s too bad,” December responded. “I think people should choose what they like for themselves.” She added a tiny smile to the calm response, silently telling the girl she knew her opinion didn’t matter. As expected, the redhead dropped her eyes.

Simple anthropology, December thought. Confident monkeys climbed taller trees.

“What about the statue?” she asked aloud.

“The naked guy?” Alicia shivered and said brr. “I heard he killed someone.”

“I heard he strangled a herd of cats,” said another.

“No, he ditched his fiancée at the altar, and she leaped to her death from the clock tower in Kingaken.”

December glanced at Nina, but the top girl didn’t jump into the chorus. That was disappointing. She was the one December hoped might know.

“Does he have a name?” she asked. If he did, she could research his past herself.

“His name is Hans,” Nina said, parting with the information reluctantly. Her gaze locked on December’s. Her eyes were dark like her hair and very beautiful. For a hanging second, December had the impression no one but the two of them existed.

“Hans what?” she pressed.

Nina’s flashing eyes hardened. “You should stay away from him.”

“Why?” December asked softly. A taunt she couldn’t quite control crept into her tone. “He’s only a statue. Surely he can’t hurt me.”

The queen bee pressed her lips together, possibly annoyed by the insinuation of cowardice. “You already know why,” she said, her voice as quiet as her challenger’s.

A tingle slid across December’s shoulders, obliging her to grit her teeth or risk the reaction turning into a shiver for all to see. Had Nina slipped out alone to visit the statue? Had she also been tempted to kiss its lips? December thought she saw genuine fear behind the badass warning Nina was trying to give. What had happened to the girl when she’d ventured into that still graveyard?

“It’s just a statue,” she repeated.

To her amazement, Nina slid her untouched tray away on the table, rose stiffly in her Manolos, and clicked off.

Her coterie gawked at her departure. Apparently, this wasn’t normal behavior for their liege. They took a moment to recover, after which they pelted December even more unabashedly with questions about Switzerland and skiing and which designers Europeans were wearing on the slopes.

December enjoyed being the center of attention, but knew it wouldn’t last. Maintaining a circle of sycophants took time and determination she didn’t have. Girls like Nina were better suited for it. They believed being top monkey was worth something.

Hans, December mused with an unoccupied corner of her mind.

She might doubt lots of things in this world, but not that Nina was right about the name.

~

Getting kicked out of French class after lunch was a breeze. The instructor’s command of the Gallic language was shaky, to say the least. Muttering corrections of her tenses beneath her breath achieved December’s goal handily.

“Go then, if you’re so clever,” the weary woman said. “Bring me a short biography of Victor Hugo before start of class tomorrow. A thousand words . . . en francais, s'il vous plait.”

Since this was an assignment she could do in her sleep, December curtsied and said merci.

The dusty computer lab was between the student’s common room and the library. The units were five years old, but they accessed the Internet. To her delight, the Kingaken Courier’s digitized records went back to the 1850s. A search of earlier articles for anyone named Hans got results. A farmer by that name won a plowing race at a fair. Another, a blacksmith, had a daughter who married the mayor of Kingaken’s son. Two different Hans’s in two different years crashed their jalopies into the same pharmacy’s storefront. Sadly, none of these men seemed likely to have been the subject of the statue. Her Hans was handsome, and he’d had some big scandal attached to him. The examples she uncovered were unremarkable.

She came up short on her other searches as well. Clearly, local records didn’t cover what she was looking for. Was her mystery man older than they were? Did he perhaps predate the cemetery and the school?

I have to sneak out to him again, she thought. See if I can find more clues.

She gripped the edge of the dinged-up carrel in which she worked. She didn’t think she was afraid to return. To be honest, as she sat there staring sightlessly at the wall, she wanted to squirm in her chair for different reasons than nervousness.

~

Rackham’s architects must have believed privacy led young ladies into temptation. The dormitory housed girls in groups of ten. Hospital-style curtains separated narrow beds, each of which were supplemented by a wardrobe, a nightstand, and a chest for sitting on or storing possession. Despite the equalizing effect of uniform furnishings, Rackham’s students found ways to declare which rung of the ladder they wished to claim.

Nina, December noted, slept in an honest-to-God Parisian lace peignoir. At the moment, she was rather ostentatiously pretending to be unconscious. December expected this was because she herself was undressed.

She smiled with private amusement as she donned a pair of white-piped dark gray pajamas. She hadn’t missed that every open eye in the place was checking out her figure. Her mother often tried to make December feel bad about her body. They saw each other maybe once a year, and the first words out of her mouth would be, “Good Lord, December, those pants make your hips look enormous.” Meredith Worth didn’t realize that, in all their time apart, December had made peace with her own lushness. She was healthy, and boys liked the way she looked. More importantly, she was fine with it herself. Whatever Nina’s clique of twigs might whisper behind their hands, she knew some part of them was jealous.

I’m what they won’t let themselves be, she thought.

She climbed into bed and dug out her e-reader. Lights Out was harder to enforce in the age of batteries.

“Aren’t you sneaking out?” a hopeful voice whispered from the bed opposite hers.

Her questioner was Alicia, Nina’s faithful second in command.

“Not tonight,” she said truthfully. She planned her next visit to the graveyard for daylight, when her eyes and emotions were less apt to play pranks on her.

Alicia’s covers rustled as she worked up the nerve to speak again. When she did, her words rushed out breathlessly. “Is it true you were caught sucking off the headmistress’s nephew at your last school?”

December tossed her curls and grinned. “Nothing of the sort,” she said. “He was caught sucking me.”

Alicia’s gasp of reaction was everything she’d hoped for.

CHAPTER TWO

DECEMBER set her plan into motion early the next morning. Miss Westin, the French teacher, had an office in the opposite wing from the library. December intended to slip her whipped-up paper on Victor Hugo under the door. That demand satisfied, she hoped not to get into too much trouble for skipping class again.

She’d rather not be tossed out of Rackham before solving its mystery.

“Huh,” she said when she arrived at her destination. Miss Westin’s door had the first decent lock she’d seen at the school.

December’s inner felon itched to take a crack at it.

That challenge would have to wait until she saw to other priorities. Crouching, she started to shove her report under the narrow gap.

“Entree,” Miss Westin said as she did.

December straightened, mouthed a curse, and opened the dark-stained door. Miss Westin turned in a creaky banker’s chair and looked up at her.

“Sorry,” December said. “I didn’t know you were here.”

With the exception of a small square window, the little office was lined from floor to ceiling with jammed bookshelves. Most of the books were old. Few seemed to deal with the French language, which might explain why the teacher’s grasp of it was weak. Apparently, Miss Westin had a fixation with folklore and fairytales. She could have stocked an antique bookstore with her supply. December longed to cough at the musty smell the pages exuded, but worried that would insult the instructor.

Shifting her gaze to Miss Westin’s desk, she saw it rivaled the shelves for clutter. Its surface was piled with papers and what appeared to be girl’s journals. A number of them were pink and studded with cheap crystals. December couldn’t imagine they were the teacher’s. Had Miss Westin confiscated them from her students for some reason?

December didn’t ask. Questions were for people who wanted to give away their thoughts. Miss Westin might suck at French, but that didn’t mean she was a fool.

“This is a surprise,” the teacher said.

“I brought the paper.” December held out the pages. “I wanted you to have it on time.”

Miss Westin took the printout and flipped through it without expression. Dressed in a tweedy suit that might have been a Chanel, she had the same underfed appearance as Nina’s crew. December’s mother liked to say fifty wasn’t old. Possibly she was right, but starving herself at her age wasn’t doing the French teacher any favors. Her looks were haggard rather than chic, her features too sharp and her cheeks sunken.

Then again, maybe being stuck at this third-rate girl’s school had worn her out.

“Well, you didn’t buy this off the Internet,” Miss Westin acknowledged grudgingly, done with her page flipping. “And clearly I can’t improve your fluency. This is admirably colloquial.”

The comment felt like an accusation, one Miss Westin’s cool gray eyes seconded.

“I’ve attended schools in French speaking countries,” December said.

“Quite a few of them, I gather.”

To this, December had no retort. Not prone to blushing, she waited as stoically as she could under the teacher’s stare.

“Fine,” the woman at last relented. “I’ll draw up a list of assignments. Turn them in on time and acceptably, and I won’t demand that you attend class.”

December refrained from pointing out that if she decided to ditch, no force on earth could compel her differently. “That’s . . . decent of you,” she said, surprised that she meant it.

“Decent is my middle name,” Miss Westin said dryly.

Her tone was odd, as if she didn’t like this quality in herself.

“Well,” December said, not knowing how to respond. “Thank you for understanding.”

Miss Westin waved her away and returned to her papers. Knowing she was dismissed, December began to leave. At the last moment, she turned back impulsively. “Miss Westin?”

“Yes?” the woman said, swiveling back to her.

“Do you know much about the graveyard behind the school?”

“The graveyard.” Miss Westin’s face settled into pinched disapproval.

“It seems . . . very colorful. And the statuary is interesting.”

Miss Westin leaned back in her chair, steepling her hands as if December had amused her. Skinny or not, as she crossed her legs at the knee, December noted her calves were world class.

“So,” the teacher said, her lips curved in a faint smile. “You’re going to be one of those.”

“One of those?”

“The girls who fall for our naked statue. He’s quite the rock star around here.”

December’s cheeks felt hotter than normal. “Do you know who he is?” she asked stubbornly.

Miss Westin didn’t quite pull off her Gallic shrug. “As far as I’m aware, no one knows anything about him. Lots of girls call him Hans, but whether that’s actually his name, I couldn’t say.”

December was abruptly certain the teacher could. She could tell if adults were lying almost as easily as she knew when her peers were. “Are there histories of the school I could check?”

Miss Westin’s eyes iced over. “Mrs. Blake would know. She’s the librarian.”

December nodded and left for the second time. As she stepped into the hall, her knees didn’t want to move smoothly. She realized she must have locked them against shaking.

They’d steadied by the time she took a seat at the back of her first class. This was a prep course for college qualifying tests. Parents probably liked that Rackham offered it, but she didn’t see the point. Minds were meant to think. If all a school trained students in was how to take exams, it might as well close up shop.

Nina and her crew seemed to view the class’s mission as life and death. They clustered in the front row, knees pressed prissily together as they peppered the young instructor with questions. No doubt they hoped to trade this humiliating educational backwater for a spot in the Ivy League.

December had no clue what her scholarly future held—or even if she had one. She suspected she could go Ivy if she wanted, despite her inability to last in one place. As long as the school was prestigious, her parents would pony up. And teachers seemed to enjoy bemoaning the gap between her potential and performance. If you’d just apply yourself, they’d say, you could be something. They didn’t understand that until December knew what she wanted, applying herself to things that didn’t naturally interest her was impossible.

Her head now weighing a ton with boredom, she laid it on the desk. If she didn’t decide on a career path, she could try being a cat burglar. She’d steal evil corporate secrets and sell them to the media. She bet her father hid a few skeletons at the family conglomerate. Or maybe she’d concentrate on reclaiming conflict diamonds. She’d fund scholarships for too-smart smartasses with the proceeds she didn’t need. None of her mother’s friends would have a bauble left. Smiling at that idea and too tired to fight the urge, she let herself doze off.

She snapped into the dream like a stretched rubber band contracting, without warning or transition.

She stood in a forest a recent snowfall had frosted. White thickly heaped the branches, but she thought the woods were the same that circled the school’s graveyard. The sun shone above the treetops, its disk bright but not blinding. As she squinted, a cardinal darted across her field of view, its plumage a vivid red. The forest was so quiet she heard each soft downbeat of its wings.

“These are Dire Woods,” a low male voice informed her from behind. “They’re the closest I come to going home these days.”

Heart beating in her throat, December turned slowly. The statue man faced her. Though he was dressed and in living color, she’d recognize his lovely solemn face anywhere. His sad eyes were ice-washed blue, his shaggy hair a slightly darker golden brown than his skin. His clothes would have made an excellent get-up for a woodsman at a medieval fair. A lace-up-the-front brown tunic topped thigh-hugging buckskin pants. His shirt was clean white linen, puffing between his vest’s leather ties while mysteriously still coming off as masculine. His face and form were so perfect he hardly seemed a real person. For a drawn out moment, he stared without blinking into her eyes.

Since she was staring back the same way, she had no basis for complaining.

“I wasn’t sure I could summon you,” he said. “So many girls don’t make it all the way.”

“You didn’t summon me,” she corrected. “I fell asleep voluntarily.”

He smiled, amused, but his manner struck her as cautious. He stood maybe ten feet away and made no move to come closer. His shoulders were wider than they had any right to be. His hips were narrower than hers. December strove not to be annoyed by that.

“Will you stay with me a while?” he asked shyly.

She wasn’t certain she bought his shyness. He couldn’t be unaware that he was movie star handsome. “If I do,” she hedged, “I’ll need to know what to call you.”

“Hans,” he said.

She shuddered just a little. “Hans what?” she insisted, ignoring the deja vu.

His smile broadened, brightening his sad-gorgeous face. “Names have power. How do I know you won’t use mine against me?”

“I’m called December.”

“December what?” he teased.

December folded her arms, the conversation making a dreamlike sense to her. “Uh-uh. You’re the one who wants company.”

Hans’s amusement faded. He considered her for a few seconds. December didn’t try to look trustworthy, merely like she wasn’t about to budge.

“Very well,” he relented. “My surname is Winter.”

“Hans Winter,” she repeated musingly.

“You could give me your family name as well.”

December flashed a grin of her own. He frowned at that, then surrendered with a shrug. “As you wish, though I’d appreciate you not sharing my confidence. I wouldn’t want my identity reaching the wrong ears. Would it please you to stroll through these woods with me?”

Still not stepping closer, he extended an ungloved hand. December sensed that accepting it committed her to something. “You won’t try to keep me here against my will?”

“I don’t have that power. As it is, my opportunities to enjoy . . . company are limited.”

His voice had dropped huskily. As she stared at him in surprise, fire flickered into his ice blue gaze. The look was unmistakably sexual. This man knew what he wanted to do to her—and how to do it well. December’s nipples tightened behind her crewneck sweater. She realized she wasn’t the least bit cold, even without a coat. In spite of this, she shivered.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he said softly. “I promise my intentions toward you aren’t hurtful.”

The implication that she might be afraid goaded her to prove she was not. She wasn’t Nina, hiding her head in a pillow when things got interesting. She crossed the snow to him in two strides, wrapping her own hand around the one he held out.

Possibly she did this too firmly. He looked like he was about to laugh.

“You’re a brave one,” he observed admiringly.

His palm was warm, his fingers bigger and harder than hers were. The unusual smoothness of his skin notwithstanding, his most definitely wasn’t a boy’s hand. His grip was too confident, and his thumb turned the simple act of rubbing her knuckles into foreplay. Tingles ran through her at the contact—not subtle ones either. December’s already toasty body heated between her legs, liquid arousal welling from deep within. She couldn’t remember a male having this strong an effect on her, not when he’d done so little. Her cheeks began to sting with self-consciousness.

Her companion’s breathing changed when he saw that.

“God,” he said, deeper color washing his face as well. “What I wouldn’t give to kiss you again.”

“Do you kiss every girl who visits you?”

He dragged his gaze reluctantly from her mouth. “Only if they kiss me first. I can do nothing without that.”

“Are you powerless unless I kiss you now?”

The effect this conversation had was more dramatic than it should have been. Hans was panting, every muscle in his body seeming ready to leap on her. He didn’t leap, but his hands held hers almost painfully. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting here? Can you even conceive of it?”

“How long?” she asked weakly.

“Lifetimes without knowing true pleasure, without a woman accepting the fullness of my desire.”

The rasping of his voice mesmerized her. Waves of sweltering heat swept her body, and her knees literally weakened. She and the former statue were toe to toe. They would have been nose to nose if he hadn’t been so tall. He wet his lips, clearly imagining kissing her. December wanted to lick the shining surface in the worst way.

Careful, she told herself. Only a fool would trust a man this seductive. Hoping to avoid disaster, she pulled her hands from his.

“It sounds as if any willing female could give you what you need.” She meant to sound flippant but was too breathy. For the second time in minutes, he had to drag his eyes upward.

“I won’t lie to you,” he said. “I wish any female could.”

“Then what sort can?”

“Only the bravest. Only the truest. If I can’t find her, I’m doomed to burn forever.”

December’s spine shuddered with longing. “Because of your cruelty,” she whispered, remembering the inscription of his pedestal.

His expression tightened with anger, though the lust in it didn’t fade. “Kiss me,” he commanded, the arrogant order of a prince. “Put your lips on mine, and I’ll show you how cruel I am.”

She’d never seen a look as intense as his. Frustration colored it, and pride, and a fury so impotent it seemed a cousin to despair.

She didn’t kiss him. She slid her hands up to cup his cheeks instead. His skin was hot and recently shaven, leaving not a hint of bristle beneath her palms. The strangest tenderness rose in her. The simple pleasure of stroking her thumbs beside his mouth blanked her thoughts for a few seconds.

“I may be brave,” she said, “but no one’s ever accused me of being true.”

This wasn’t what he expected her to say. He blinked, startled. His lips spread in a surprisingly sweet smile. “If you’re true to me, that will be good enough.”

His hands slipped under her sweater’s hem, his warm thumb and fingers gently rubbing her bare waist. He made a humming noise and looked to down to where he touched her. His lids were heavy with enjoyment of the caress.

“Please kiss me,” he requested more humbly.

“Lean down,” she responded.

He slid his arms around her as he bent. A shock ran through her when their mouths met. His kiss was delicious: firm, pliant, the tip of his tongue tickling wetly as its tip slid between her lips.

“More,” he murmured. “Kiss me as hard as you’d like me to kiss you.”

Maybe he couldn’t kiss her back without that. The idea unraveled her inhibitions. She leaned into his chest, pressing eagerly at him with her mouth, with her tongue, with the wild unexpected passion he stirred in her. He moaned low and hungrily. The muscles that held her contracted to lift her off the ground. Her legs were dangling, but her weight seemed easy for him to support. As he kissed her voraciously, his hand closed around her bottom, squeezing it and rubbing the seam where her jeans curved around the cleft.

She guessed he liked the squirms this inspired. His second hand joined the first in clamping her butt cheeks.

“Up,” he pleaded, tearing his lips from hers. “Climb my waist and ride me.”

She wasn’t shy enough to refuse. She climbed, and he hiked, and a hard thick ridge ground against her through the front of his buckskin pants. Groaning like this was both hell and heaven, he rocked his solid erection over her pussy. She could have cursed the sturdiness of her jean’s denim. Aroused though she was, she needed more pressure to go over.

“Good?” Hans panted, reclaiming her mouth before she a chance to say.

She understood why he couldn’t wait. She didn’t want to stop kissing him either. No kiss had existed before this one, and it mustn’t ever end. Crazed to get what she needed, she reached between them instead, opening the metal button at her waist and dragging down her zipper.

She guessed he knew what a zipper was. He heard the rasp and stiffened.

His cock stiffened too. She felt it kick and then throb more violently against her. God, that was exciting. Though their lips remained together, his eyes opened. His lashes were spikes of dark gold honey.

Their kiss slowed but didn’t stop. Breathing hard through her nose, she reached behind her for the wrist of one of his kneading hands. He didn’t resist as she dragged it around to the front of her.

Neither of them spoke as she pushed his hand under her panties.

She was too wet not to be a teensy bit embarrassed. Luckily, embarrassment wasn’t his reaction. A pleasure-pain sound broke in his throat. Long male fingers delved deeply into her folds.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh yes, sweetheart.”

He pushed her slick flesh apart with his fingertips, the first knuckle of the longest curling gently into her opening. His thumb went the other way, stopping when it found the pulsing swell of her clitoris. No more than an inch from hers, his pupils expanded.

“Tell me what you want,” he said.

“Hard,” she whispered against his mouth. “Rub it hard in a big circle.”

She had to bite her lip when he did. He pressed the heart of her ache just right, gasping sharply with his own excitement. Her hips rocked closer. Because his hand was between them, he rubbed himself against its back, his erection adding more heat and force to the proceedings.

“Don’t stop,” he urged. “I want to feel you go over.”

Knowing he was turned on by her arousal did crazy things to her. Her head fell back with longing, her fingers digging hard into his shoulders. His touch felt amazing, better than anything ever had. Groaning, he opened his mouth on the crook of her neck and sucked. He was going to give her a hickey, and she damn well didn’t care. His breathing was hot and ragged, the movement of his hips jerky.

In thirty seconds, the combination of pleasures added up to too much for her. She wasn’t coming, but Lord she wanted to. To save her life, she couldn’t restrain her moan.

The sound yanked her awake before she had a chance remember she was sleeping. She couldn’t doubt she’d moaned in real life. When she finished blinking, the entire class of a dozen girls was snickering at her.

The teacher kind of looked like she wanted to laugh too.

“That must have been some dream,” someone drawled knowingly.

Though part of her could have dug a hole in the floor to hide, she knew better than to admit she was mortified. “Hey,” she said, brazening it out as best she could, “at least I wasn’t drooling.”

~

After her unfortunate napping episode, December needed a distraction. More determined than ever to pursue her inquiries, she grabbed a bag of potato chips, another apple, and slipped out of the lunchroom. Returning to search the school’s computers for “Hans Winter” and “Dire Woods” was a bust. Probably she was silly to expect differently. Those words were random phrases from her subconscious. She shouldn’t be treating them like clues.

Unless they were clues. She shoved her chair back from the carrel and rubbed her throat where Hans had sucked it. That graveyard was peculiar. This whole school was. And her dream had been uncannily detailed, as tangible as real life. Maybe her neck wasn’t marked, but the statue’s touch felt imprinted between her legs. She had to squeeze her thighs together on account of how hot and achy she got from recalling his caress. She’d never experienced a dream that lingered this powerfully.

I need to dig deeper, she thought. Hans had said Dire Woods was the closest he came to going home these days. He’d claimed that unless she saved him, he was doomed to burn forever. The vividness of her dream aside, neither of those things made him seem like a real person.

They made him seem like a fairytale.

She frowned, instinctively resisting that idea. Fairytales were just stories. Hans Winter had touched her. He’d been as solid as the chair she sat on.

Because you dreamed him that way, she snorted to herself.

“Do you need help?” someone asked.

Long years of secret keeping had her instantly closing the search window. Only when she’d done so did she look up at the intruder.

The aisle to her row of carrels ended in a plain door marked LIBRARY. A woman had opened it. She looked like December thought a librarian ought. Short and plump, she wore a pale green cardigan and calf-length skirt. A pair of colorfully framed glasses hung from a chain of beads on her neck. She was smiling and her bosom was motherly.

“You must be the new girl,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Blake, the librarian.”

“Oh.” December was startled into showing her manners and rising. This must be the Mrs. Blake Miss Westin had mentioned. “I’ve been meaning to come see you.”

Mrs. Blake beamed at her. “Excellent. I take it you’re skipping lunch. You can join me for a cookie.”

There seemed no way to avoid following the woman into her domain. The library was dusty but comfortable. Its windows overlooked the school’s front grounds, where an attempt at landscaping had been made. A scattering of wind-stripped maples broke up the long slope to the front gate and the access road. Benches sat beneath a few, empty for now, as were the flagstone paths. If December hadn’t been one of Rackham’s students, she’d have assumed the school was closed.

What had her parents been thinking when they banished her to this bleak outpost? Her last expulsion really must have pushed some bad buttons.

“Here you go,” said Mrs. Blake beside her. “Don’t worry. I bake them myself.”

She held out a plate of small hill-shaped cookies. They were the tired gray of old oatmeal.

“Um,” December said, struggling not to show her alarm. “I, uh, don’t really have a sweet tooth.”

This was an outright lie, but those cookies looked miserable.

“No?” Mrs. Blake responded with a slight pout. A moment later she laughed brightly. “Well, then, I guess there’s more for me!”

For the sake of her research, December prayed Mrs. Blake was a sharper tack than she seemed. She trailed her tentatively to the Victorian checkout desk. If the hand-carved mahogany had been polished, the piece would have been gorgeous. As it was, it seemed too large to service Mrs. Blake’s apparent dearth of patrons. December couldn’t see all the stacks, but to go by the hush, they were the only two in the library.

“I hoped you had some histories of the school,” she said. “And if you could point me toward the folklore section, that would be great.”

“The history I can help you with.” Mrs. Blake bent over as she spoke, pulling a huge scrapbooking sort of thing from the under-shelves of the checkout desk. She dropped it onto the counter with a thud and a puff of dust. “I’m afraid the folklore section is sadly sparse. Miss Westin has a nasty habit of squirreling away its contents in her office.”

“Does she?” December asked.

“I scold her, but she doesn’t listen. She claims students don’t appreciate such things.” Mrs. Blake shook her plump-jowled face mournfully. “Even as a girl, she was just that selfish.”

December’s curiosity was truly prickling now. “You knew her?”

“Of course! We were both students here.”

December fought not to let her jaw drop. Why would anyone who attended Rackham stay an instant longer than they had to?

“That’s nice,” she said weakly.

The librarian seemed not to recognize her horror. She flipped open the giant book and turned it around for her. “Here we are,” she said, pointing at a photo. “First and second in our class.”

Their class had come through in the seventies. The girls stood side by side under the Gothic arch of the main entrance. Mrs. Blake was colorful but not exactly attractive in her wide flowered bellbottoms. Miss Westin fared better in a fringed suede mini-skirt and platform sandals. She wasn’t as skinny as she was now, but her legs were already showstoppers. Neither of the pair was smiling.

“Wow,” December said, for lack of a better word.

“Those were the days,” Mrs. Blake said wistfully. “Sonia and I had quite a rivalry.”

“Uh, well, those things happen sometimes, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do, dear. That table by the window is nice and sunny. Why don’t you settle in and read there?”

Her gentle suggestion was impossible to resist.

~

The status-challenged, Dr. Who-hating redhead’s name was Brianne. She had the bed to the right of December’s and nearest to the door. She waited until December slid under the chilly covers to come around the separating curtain with her peace offering.

The girl held out a beautiful red apple—locally grown, she guessed. December didn’t recognize the species.

“You missed dinner,” Brianne said defensively. “I thought you might be hungry.”

December had missed dinner. She’d returned to the library after classes—a waste of time, as it turned out. Mrs. Blake had been correct. None but the most watered-down, Disney-fied fairy books remained on the shelves.

Naturally, Hans Winter’s story was not in them.

Since every trace of daylight was lost by then, she’d put off revisiting the graveyard.

This all flashed through her mind as Brianne waited for an answer. “You shouldn’t starve yourself,” the girl insisted, seeming unaware of the pot-and-kettle irony. Brianne’s arms were sticks in her not-as-cool-as-Nina’s pink negligee.

“O-kay,” December said, accepting the pretty apple. Unsure whether to take the offering at face value, she bit into it carefully. The fruit was delicious: crisp and sweet and tasting faintly of cinnamon. “Thank you.”

Encouraged, Brianne took a hesitant step closer. Around her neck she wore a delicate chain with a gold wishbone. Perhaps from nervousness, her fingers toyed with the charm. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed about falling asleep in class. I do that all the time.”

December bet she didn’t wake up moaning with desire. She contemplated how to respond, but didn’t get the chance.

“Jesus,” Nina snapped from her Queen Bee bower on the other side of December. “If you two have to kiss and make up, get a room.”

This was too much for Brianne. Flushed hot pink beneath her red hair, she scurried back to her own section.

Smiling to herself at Nina’s tartness, December dug in her bedside drawer for her e-reader. As she did, the hair on her nape stood up. When she’d last put the tablet away, she’d left the charging cord coiled precisely on the screen’s center. Now it lay on the drawer’s bottom. Someone had rummaged through her belongings.

She stiffened but didn’t say a word. Nothing seemed to have been taken. She turned on the small computer and checked the battery icon. The power level was lower than before. That mystified her. Why would anyone care what she had on here?

She glanced around the dormitory’s students, none of whom were paying her any mind. Girls at boarding schools could be nosy. Maybe they’d hoped to find naked pictures or sexting. December didn’t keep a digital diary. She had a decent memory and valued her privacy. Not knowing what to make of the situation, she took another bite of apple.

“Stop chomping like a cow,” Nina ordered. “Some of us want to sleep.”

December blew a kissing noise in her direction, but put the apple down. She wanted to think before she dozed off. She had important issues to consider.

She fluffed her pillow and sighed, in response to which Nina sighed louder.

December grinned, but was too tired to yank the other girl’s chain again. Thinking could wait a little. She’d just shut her eyes a second . . .

CHAPTER THREE

DECEMBER had the impression that she woke up rather than fell asleep. The cemetery’s forest had undergone a thaw. Patches of grass glowed among the snow, tiny crocuses poking through as purple and yellow buds. As graceful as a painting, Hans stretched on his side on a pale blue blanket that matched his eyes. December swallowed at the sight of him. God, his body was long and buff. He wore the same buckskin trousers as before but no shirt. His bare upper torso was ten times as amazing transformed from stone into flesh. It flexed as he shifted onto one elbow, muscles contracting in his arms and belly, copper colored nipples tightening on his pecs . . .

“Sit with me.” He patted the blanket in front of him. “Unless you’d rather stand there gawking.”

Drooling was more like it.

Gathering her long curls behind her, she lowered herself to the pale blue wool, mimicking his posture on her elbow. He wasn’t as calm as he pretended. A pulse beat so she could see it in the hollow of his strong throat. She slipped into the logic of the dream state without effort.

Hans smiled and held her gaze. “These garments.” He touched the button between her breasts.

“Pajamas.” The ones she wore tonight were red with white polka dots.

“They hide you.” Lips pursed in mock disapproval, he stretched his pinkie sideways to brush her erect nipple. Sensation streaked through her at the light contact.

Wanting her wits about her, December caught his hand and tugged it away. “You seem to have no trouble guessing what’s underneath.”

Hans’s gold-lashed eyelids hooded his amusement. Surrendering for the moment, he let her trap his hand. “I’m sorry we were interrupted when we were last together. And that you were embarrassed.”

“You know about that?”

“My consciousness was able to track yours for a short distance. I’m marginally aware of the world outside through the perceptions of the people who visit me.”

“You mean the girls. I saw photographs of some of them in a book, getting their pictures taken by your statue. There must have been at least a dozen.”

“Yes.” He didn’t seem to like the reminder. His knee shifted forward and bumped hers. In spite of her resolve to maintain control, she went wet in two seconds. Maybe he knew. His temperature jumped, the change impossible to miss when they were this close. Waves of heat beat out at her from his groin, where a growing bulge was tightening his pants. She wanted to ravage him, to climb on top of him and go wild.

She had no doubt this was exactly what he intended. He laid his hand on her waist, and she didn’t push it away.

“What do you know about me?” she asked breathlessly.

“That you’re a student at that school. That you’re passionate and brave and you try to be fair. I can tell you’re intelligent. Your mind has a certain energy to it.”

“Now you’re just sucking up.” She probably shouldn’t have mentioned sucking. The word made her imagine doing that to him. Would his cock be extra smooth like his hands? Would it fit even halfway inside her mouth? The bulge she couldn’t help noticing seemed to be increasing. She suspected she’d need more than her mouth to pleasure it. Then again, if he’d gone without release as long as he said, he’d probably enjoy whatever she managed.

He must have guessed what she was thinking. His Adam’s apple jerked, and his response was hoarse. “My faerie blood renders me incapable of lying, though not—I confess—of stretching the truth.”

The fog in December’s brain cleared slightly. He had faerie blood? And was incapable of lying? From what she knew of men—or boys anyway—that was a claim worth testing. “If you’re a . . . a faerie, how did you get turned into a statue?”

His eyebrows rose. “I take it you’re not going to treat me as if I’m a figment of your imagination.”

“For the moment.” Feeling daring she pushed his chest. His sternum felt as hard as iron beneath the little shove. “Answer the question.”

“I’d rather kiss you.”

“I see you’re capable of evasion.”

His tiny smile said he didn’t mind that she’d scored a point. “Very well. I was cursed by an angry queen. My queen, as it happened. She said I’d broken her daughter’s heart and deserved to be punished.”

“Had you?”

“Not intentionally. I thought the daughter hated me. She was . . .”

He trailed off and stopped speaking. “Why do you hesitate?” she asked.

He pulled a rueful face. “You’re listening now, but you’re a human from the human realm. Your kind doesn’t believe in magic. I wonder what you’ll think of this story when you wake up.”

Had other girls doubted him? Was December different from them or the same? “You’ll never know until you try me.”

His eyes turned sad. Clearly stalling, he pulled her long fair hair from behind her, combing the curls gently down her breasts. Liking the feel of that better than she ought, she held her tongue and waited. His answer was preceded by a soft sigh. “The daughter was a faerie princess, the purest blood the realm of Faerie boasts. I’m half faerie and half elf, and I was her father’s huntsman—a mere servant. I could hardly have been lower compared to her if I’d been a troll.”

“But she fell in love with you anyway.”

He pursed his sculpted lips. “Perhaps she did. She convinced herself of it. Elves are earthier than faeries. I think it was a bad boy thing, as your kind put it. She struggled with her obsession for far longer than I had any clue of it. Finally, when she could resist no longer, she offered herself to me.”

“And you turned her down.”

“Believe me, her offer wasn’t flattering. She attached to it every insult toward my mixed genes and my occupation she could devise. Despite being her social inferior, my opinion of myself wasn’t humble. I didn’t cavil to refuse her, nor did I give her feelings another thought. I had no idea she was suffering. Out of pride, she’d returned to her old-cold manner. It was only when she flung herself into the sea from the Cliffs of Doom that I knew she’d been unhappy. Her mother blamed me, as mothers will. She banished me here, where our two worlds overlap, until I’m able to inspire true love in a true woman.”

This was a lot to take in. Too easily distracted, December licked her lips, wanting to cruise her hands all over his bare tanned skin. The dip of his navel, a shallow comma within his hard six-pack, fascinated her nearly as much as his now giant erection. She could tell where the head was behind the buckskin, and that it flared like a bell. The rim formed a lovely circle to run her tongue around . . . or to anchor tightened lips while she sucked him dry. With an effort, she dragged her attention back to his lovely face.

Surprisingly, the eyes that looked back at her were grave. “You seem adept at inspiring infatuation.”

He shrugged one shoulder, dismissing the compliment. “Females like my appearance.”

“It’s more than that. You seem sad and lonely. You have a romantic air.”

His mouth slanted. “Do you like my romantic air?”

“What do you think?”

Enjoying that, he laughed throatily. “Now who’s being evasive?”

She liked his laugh, liked quite a lot of things about him, to be truthful. Despite feeling sorry for his situation, she couldn’t help wondering if that were smart.

“How many girls have come to you?” she asked.

“Many visited me in dreams, though none with the clarity that you have. Every year or so, I catch a glimmer of a new one. In a hundred years, two asked to hear my story, but neither believed it when they woke. None treated me as if I were as real as them, not even when they were here.”

“None?”

“None.”

His clipped tone didn’t ask for pity, but she felt it anyway. She thought of Nina and her warning to stay away from him. “Maybe they believed but were afraid to admit it to themselves.”

“Maybe.” His smile was wry. “None felt as real as you to me either.”

December brushed one fingertip across his lips’ meeting. Mesmerized by their satiny smoothness, she didn’t expect to draw the sheen of emotion into his eyes.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t—” He swallowed and began again. “I don’t know how many times I can keep trying to win free before I give up all hope.”

She uttered a noise that betrayed her sympathy. Hearing it, he choked out a laugh. “I shouldn’t speak this way to you. You’re so young. It isn’t fair to expect you to understand.”

“I might be young, but sometimes I feel the same. Every new school I’m sent to seems to end up disappointing me.” Her mouth twisted like his had. “Probably the schools think it’s the other way around.”

He tapped her nose with a fingertip. “Two misfits then.”

Her vision blurred at his affection, rare enough in her gypsy life. He stroked the side of her face, the pad of his thumb brushing off a hint of moisture. “Such pretty eyes. Like bluebells sparkling with dew.”

“I like your eyes,” she said shyly. “Everything about you is perfect.”

He wagged his dark gold eyebrows. “Everything?”

She slid her hand down his warm hard chest, folding it when she reached his navel so that the backs of her fingers ruffled the line of hair that dove lower. His breath caught as she touched him there, the expansion of his pupils darkening wintry irises.

“Everything,” she insisted. She pushed her fingertips beneath his waistband into heavier curls. Given his erection’s size, touching it was impossible to avoid. His hardness throbbed as her hand glided under it, its thickness held close to her explorations by his trousers. Her desire to claim this personal part of him drew her thumb and index finger into a not-quite-closed circle around his base.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his hips squirming.

Because she could, she curved her other digits over a testicle. His scrotum’s plumpness and weight was unexpectedly appealing.

“This is real to you, isn’t it?” she asked, continuing to squeeze and rub gently.

He was temporarily robbed of speech. His hips writhed against her grasp, his hand coming between them to press the shaft of his cock into her forearm. Watching him squeeze himself through his trousers, knowing he couldn’t help betraying his need, was unbelievably arousing.

“Don’t tease,” he pleaded between gasps. “I need release too much.”

“Do you want to take me?”

His tortured eyes opened, all their ice melted and set ablaze. “Right this moment, I want to take you more than I want to be free again.”

“Do it then,” she said recklessly.

He stared, lips parted and face flushing beautifully. Even his nostrils flared with excitement.

“I mean it,” she said, answering his silent question.

His doubt was broken. He pushed her back onto the blanket and straddled her. The hasty shift dislodged her hand from his genitals. Seeming not to care, he gripped the neckline of her pajama top and tore down its buttons.

Before the disks finished flying into the grass, a growling noise rumbled in his chest. He fell on her naked breasts, turning his head between them, caressing them with his face like he’d never felt anything that nice. His smooth-lipped mouth chose the tight right nipple to latch onto.

He sucked its peak so strongly the tug thrilled all the way to her toes.

“Oh my God,” she moaned, clutching his head to her as she arched upward. His thick hair was a shock to her tense fingers, so incredibly warm and silky she couldn’t resist forking through it to knead his scalp.

Hans groaned and switched to the other breast, pulling that nipple just as hungrily. Feeling him suck with such enthusiasm, she could believe it had been a hundred years for him. An ache shot through her pussy, her legs and hips moving restlessly. Taking advantage of their lift, Hans grabbed the waist of her pajamas. In a single motion, he yanked them to her ankles.

He rose up then, rearing over her on his knees. He was satyr naked, his rampant phallus arching up from a nest of surprisingly pretty curls. December gaped at the visual like a fool. A narrow slick of wetness, shiny as rain on stone, marked his hard-on from crest to root. She wouldn’t have believed his perfection could be real, except stone didn’t shake like he was, didn’t jerk and flush as if the veins that fed his cock were pumping blood in faster than his flesh could handle.

“Where are your trousers?” she asked. As far as she could tell, they’d magically disappeared.

“Gone,” he growled, so maybe her guess was true. He tugged the tangle of garments off her feet. Then he shifted his knees between hers, making her realize how widely she’d sprawled her legs.

She didn’t have it in her to be embarrassed. She wanted his cock inside her like she could not believe. As if he knew, Hans’s fingertips trailed down her quivering centerline. They paused the edge of her triangle.

“December,” he said, her name a match struck against the air. Her arms had fallen to her sides on the blanket, her body declaring its surrender in every way possible. She was his to do with as he pleased—to plunder or order as suited him. Evidently, he knew what suited him right then. Gathering up her wrists, he pulled both hands onto his blazing cock. “Touch me, December. Rub me, before I lose myself in you and forget.”

Energy seethed inside her, none of it unsure. To be asked was the same as wanting to fulfill his craving. She only wished she had more hands. His hips danced for her as she caressed him, his hold remaining on hers to guide and encourage. He seemed to want her touch everywhere at once: pulling up his engorged penis, squeezing his heavy scrotum, rubbing back and forth along the firmness that stretched behind his balls.

“God,” he breathed, spreading his muscular thighs and thrusting his pelvis forward to give her more access. “You have no idea how wonderful that feels.”

She thought she did. Touching him was a pleasure headier than any she’d known before. She sat up to kiss his chest, giving in to the temptation to leave a hickey on one nipple.

He sucked in a noisy breath, but seemed to enjoy the sting. “Do the other,” he demanded.

When she did, his head fell back. That his anguish was erotic she couldn’t doubt. She had to grip his waist as tight as she could to control his writhing.

He kissed her mouth afterwards—so deeply, so profoundly, she decided there might be reasons to give up oxygen.

“I need you,” he panted when he broke free. “If I could take longer with you, I would, but I’m completely mad to get inside your body.”

Oh, she loved hearing him say that. Nothing could be better than reducing a man like him to insanity. Savoring the moment, she smoothed her hands down both sides of his ribcage. Even his sweat was silky, his broken breathing like music. She sensed he wouldn’t take her until she gave permission.

The devil in her had to delay a few more seconds.

“I’m yours,” she relented then, low and rough. “However you want me.”

She’d loved his kiss before, but at this he kissed her so intimately her heart stuttered. His hands had been palming her bottom. Now they closed tight around the upper part of her thighs, parting them and lifting her body. His hot wet crest split her pussy’s folds—probing, finding, gliding inward for a long incursion.

Sound broke in his throat as he entered her. Her body didn’t resist, the excitement of his lengthy penetration smoothing its own way. He shook his head from side to side, as if in disbelief at the sweetness of the pleasure.

He wasn’t the only one enjoying it. Humming with lustful bliss, she wriggled down on him greedily. She wasn’t sure the world contained better sensations than his hard thick heat filling her.

When she’d surrounded him all the way, his fingers clamped on her ass cheeks to keep her from moving.

He tried to speak but couldn’t. Locking gazes with her instead, he lowered both their weights to the blanket. As her back hit the wool, she discovered his cock could in fact squeeze in a bit farther.

Her spine arched with ecstasy.

He groaned at that, catching her knee to press one folded leg back to her. Her breathing quickened. Her pussy felt even fuller in that split position. He felt something too—more tightness possibly. His face twisted and his eyes shut briefly. Resettling his knees, he planted his free hand on the blanket.

Liking being loomed over, December slid her hand up the knotted muscles of his supporting arm. Hans was flushed all over, his little nipples standing out in points on his chest. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured.

He didn’t answer, but a tiny shiver shook his shoulders. He dragged his cock halfway from her body. Then, as if he couldn’t resist, he hung his head to gaze at their joined bodies. Seeing this must have been arousing. His flesh twitched inside her, and one fat sweat bead rolled down his corded neck.

“Hang onto me,” he said.

His words were so roughened by desire she wasn’t certain she’d understood. When he lifted his head, she clutched his shoulders instinctively.

“God,” he said, like all the contact was too much to process. His body shuddered a second before he began to stroke.

Pleasure cries echoed from them both at that.

His size in motion was amazing, the way his organ stretched her as his hips pushed. She was grateful that she was wet, and that his thrusts felt so good she simply got creamier. A steady pace seemed to be his goal. He took her in even drives, long ones, firm ones, grimacing as he tried not to go at her too hard.

Given how long he’d waited, this had to be difficult. She sensed he made the most of every millimeter his cock could travel. Her nerves certainly relished his thoroughness. Every part of her passage was stroked and rubbed, until her pussy drew on him without her consciously trying to. With the strength of the leg he hadn’t trapped, she pushed her hips at him.

Groaning, he dropped onto one elbow. She liked him being nearer as he worked himself into her, his heat and sweat a visceral enjoyment.

“Can you take more?” he asked. “Can I go faster?

Too aroused to answer, she wrapped her calf around him and pulled.

She didn’t recognize the language he cursed in, but his control must have been closer to snapping than she’d known. He shifted from half-restrained to berserk without any more warning. He fucked her then—strong, hard—his head thrown back and his mouth gulping air. Veins bulged in his neck, and his hand clamped her hip. The sounds he made weren’t words: pleasure, torment, a white-hot need that had built for centuries. Though her body ached for its own release, she could hardly pay attention to herself. She was too enthralled at watching him seek his.

“December,” he gasped, slamming desperately into her.

He ground his balls against her, an extra, emphatic push she discovered she couldn’t get enough of.

“Yes,” she urged. She was holding onto him for dear life, her grip sliding on his perspiring back. His muscles tightened, his sweatiness increasing. He went faster, snarling now, straining to come and at the same time to keep experiencing the heavenly sensations. His cock grew stiffer, longer, delicious flashes of heat driving up the nerves of her pussy.

“Go,” she said, wanting it for his sake, reveling in everything.

His face was a mask of need, the hammer of his erection slicked by her hot desire. Their pelvises slapped wildly together. In he pumped, stretching her clinging pussy, shoving her with his thrusts until finally he exploded.

His long cry of pleasure was bestial. Crammed deep inside her, his strong hips held hers aloft. From the iron lock of that position, his seed shot into her in a flood: hot, hard, coming and coming as if he’d never be emptied. He overflowed her, his powerful body shuddering violently with spasms.

December loved every second, stroking her hands up and down his spine as if the caress could prolong his ecstasy.

He sighed as the climax tapered, letting her down, his weight sagging over her. Beneath her smoothing hands, his back heaved with hard breathing.

When she lowered her bent-up leg, he moaned an objection.

She laughed at him. “You can’t need me to stay that way. In case you hadn’t noticed, you came like Noah’s flood.”

“I liked your leg up there,” he complained, stroking her trembling thigh. “God, you’re body is gorgeous.”

Seeking more admire, he slid his hand to her breast, cupping its fullness and thumbing her nipple. A fresh hot ache rippled through her pussy, making her almost too aware of how well she’d been pummeled. Sensing this, Hans lifted his very tousled dark gold head.

“You only came once,” he said.

She supposed she had come. She’d have felt a lot more needy if that weren’t the case. She feathered her fingertips over his big shoulders. “I enjoyed watching you find pleasure.”

A low male laugh vibrated in his chest. His blue eyes were drowsy, but embers still smoldered. “I suppose I put on a show.”

“A good one.”

He clucked his tongue at her. “You know you deserve better than watching.”

She bit her lip, wanting to admit it but strangely reluctant to demand repayment. Usually she had no problem being bold. Of course, the sexual partners she usually fooled around with weren’t in the same league as him. More often than not, they needed direction.

“Is that how it is?” he teased. “I have to guess what will pleasure you?”

She might have nodded too eagerly.

He laughed again, the sound too knowing for her pride, though she supposed she shouldn’t begrudge him his triumph.

“I should warn you faeries can’t read minds unless they do a spell,” he said.

“Can’t they?”

“No. Plus, my elf half isn’t nearly as magical. I’ll simply have to do the best I can.” The twinkle in his eye warned her his best was plenty. She gasped as his gently rubbing thumbs found unexpectedly sensitive places on the underside of her breasts.

“Let’s see,” he said, grinning wickedly. “Could it be more kisses that you desire?”

He dropped them along the length of her squirming body, interspersing little love bites with silken soothing from his warm lips. His hands smoothed up and down her legs as he lingered at her hipbones and belly. Evidently, he liked the curves of both.

“Yes,” he murmured when her squirms increased. “I believe I’m getting close.”

She choked out a sound as he spread her folds to kiss her clitoris. The movements of his mouth were delicate, his tongue’s tip no heavier than a feather against the swollen rod. He sucked, and tiny jolts of sensation zinged up it. Her pussy clenched with longing, creaming once more for him.

“Please,” she begged breathily, needing to go over.

“A little more,” he whispered against her. “Don’t tell me you can’t stand it.”

Compared to him, she supposed she ought to be able to. Despite not having waited centuries, her body jerked helplessly as he tormented her. For five more minutes, he held her on the edge, making pleasured noises at her responses that just aroused her more. Patience wasn’t one of her virtues. It wasn’t long before she was mewling, hands clenched on fistfuls of blue blanket.

She tried touching him, but that didn’t help her frustration. He wouldn’t be rushed, and holding his head sent too many tingles streaking into her palms. Maybe his skin was infused with magic—faerie or elfin, she couldn’t say. She simply knew his fingertips felt like they shot trails of sparks. The soles of her feet vibrated from him cupping and rubbing them. He made her feel more desperate than any male before him.

“Please,” she said more insistently.

Hans lifted his head from her pussy, looking up her body with burning eyes.

The way that look went through her tightened her aching sex much more than it needed. She was going to scream if he didn’t pay off this tension soon.

“Shall I finish you with my mouth?” he asked smokily. “Or would you prefer I penetrate you with my manhood?”

He was hoarse enough that she shuddered.

“You,” she said. “I want you in my body.”

He crawled up her pantherlike, his erection hanging hard and thick and not straight down from his groin. Impressed by his defiance of gravity, she spread legs and arms for him. Hugged by both, he slid into her like a sweet dream.

“Mm,” he crooned as he pushed. “This is even better the second time.”

He rolled onto his back with her on top of him. As her weight settled on his cock, it seemed to fill even more of her. The size of him amazed her.

“How can you be this hard again?”

He smiled so beautifully her heart ached worse than her pussy. His hands slid up her front to cup and support her breasts. “With you for a lover, how could I be otherwise?”

She couldn’t resist a man this good for her ego. Smiling back, she braced her hands on his chest muscles. She began to ride him, loving ever gasp and wriggle she drew from him.

“You’re good at this,” he admired breathlessly.

She rolled her hips more persuasively. “How could I not be, with you to inspire me?”

He liked that. His grip on her hipbones tightened, his need to ejaculate obviously rising.

“Hold off,” she said.

His eyebrows went up.

“I’m feeling too greedy to come just once this time.”

His teeth flashed brilliantly in his tanned face. “Want help with that, sweetheart?”

She did, and he gave it with warm long fingers, squeezing her labia tight to her clitoris as she worked herself along his hardness. The stimulation was unfamiliar but very effective. An aura of need expanded quick and hot through her abdomen. She had five good rolls before the climax clamped tight on her.

It was sweeter after all the waiting, and the strength of it caught him too.

“Fuck,” he gasped, straining into her as her walls contracted around his cock. He must have wanted to savor that. He held there, frigging her harder with his fingers. Her climax climbed to a second crest, this one so intense it stole her breath.

He growled as he felt it ripple. Then—probably because he couldn’t prevent it—he let go again with her.

His moan and the rush of heat added to her pleasure. Her arms would have buckled if he hadn’t pulled her down to him.

“Good,” he said gruffly against her temple, stroking her tangled hair.

December sighed and snuggled closer, her body glowy all over. He’d wrapped her in his strong arms, his hold undeniably possessive. Since the last thing she wanted to do was leave, that seemed pretty wonderful.

“What happens if I fall asleep in a dream?” she asked drowsily.

“In a magical dream, you wake to your own reality.”

That lifted her head from his shoulder. “Really?”

“Really.” His hand continued to stroke her, his expression gone sad again.

“What we did tonight wasn’t enough to free you.”

“No,” he agreed. “For that you truly have to fall in love with me.”

December opened her mouth, then shut it and thought for a moment. Was she ready to take that leap? Was it even something she could decide should happen?

“Do you have to love me back?” she asked.

He shook his head, fingers brushing a corkscrew curl off her forehead. “Those aren’t the conditions of the spell that imprisons me.”

“Well, that’s not fair!”

He laughed softly. “No, it certainly is not.”

She believed he couldn’t lie then. Telling her what she wanted to hear would have improved his odds. “How long does it take to fall in love?”

“Sometimes it takes a lifetime, or so I hear.”

“Have you ever?”

He shook his head as wistfully as before.

“I don’t think I have either. Just crushes here and there.”

They contemplated this together.

“I loved my mother,” he offered. “She was a brave woman. My father left before I was born. All by herself she tried to defend me against the queen. She was only an elf, not highborn, and not nearly as powerful. Even worse, the queen had lured me to a sacred pool, where there was extra magic to draw upon for her curse. My mother rushed at her with a knife. She never had a chance. She was torn apart by the dogs the queen set on her. The queen let me watch her die before she imprisoned me. I held her hand as the light went out of her eyes. The queen claimed this was better than I deserved, because I’d robbed her of the chance to be with her daughter during her last moments.”

“That’s terrible!” December exclaimed. “Her daughter made her own choices. What an awful woman.” She sat up to look at him. His softened body remained in hers, his graceful hands moving to caress her thighs. “The land of Faerie sounds dangerous.”

“It can be. There are balances if your luck runs true.”

“Will you go back there if you’re freed?”

“I’m not sure. I think I’d like to explore your world. I’ve grown interested in it since I’ve been trapped here.”

He didn’t mention taking a companion.

“December,” he said, his manner serious. “I want to thank you for what you did today. To share pleasure after all these years . . . I’m not certain I can express the gift that was to me.”

“It was my pleasure too.”

His strong silken fingers rubbed warmth into her knees. “Will you return to me again?”

He looked at her through his lashes, his sudden diffidence startling her. “I suppose you get lonely when no one comes.”

“There are stretches,” he admitted. “Great yawning gulfs of silence. On my own, I don’t dream of people. I only dream of this.”

He spread one hand to indicate the pristine woods. December tried to imagine so much solitude, but it was beyond her power. That he hadn’t gone insane was abruptly impressive.

“Your face,” he said, touching her chin so she’d look at him. “It’s not any company I wish, it’s yours. Solitude is preferable to some visitors.”

That she believed—and maybe the rest as well. He can’t lie, she reminded herself.

She pulled her thoughts together with an effort. “Won’t I come back automatically the next time I fall asleep?”

“I can try to summon you, but the magic that rules these matters is unpredictable. If you call to me before you slumber, your return is likelier. If you . . .” He hesitated. “If you knew another of my names, I expect you’d come whenever you wished to.”

“Another of your names? How many do you have?”

He smiled foxily. “Nearly as many as a pureblood faerie. My mother was chary as well as brave.”

“Okay,” she said, wanting to be casual but not too. “I’d be honored if you’d entrust me with another of your names.”

He reached up to clasp her face, catching all her attention. “William,” he said. “Hans William Winter.”

She repeated what he’d said.

“Think it before you go to bed,” he advised. “Don’t whisper it aloud and don’t write it down anywhere.”

“I won’t,” she promised, glad she was good at keeping secrets—and at remembering. She bit her lip, wondering if she ought to trust him a little too.

“My last name is Worth,” she blurted.

His hands stroked her face, his blue eyes glowing with emotion. “December Worth is a good name for you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

A miniature golden wishbone swung above December’s face: back and forth, back and forth like a metronome.

Wake up, December Worth, said a voice. Wake up and tell me everything.

December’s eyes snapped open. The redhead Brianne stood beside her bed, hanging over her. Had she been the one who spoke? She was watching December intently.

“What the hell are you doing?” December demanded.

She guessed this wasn’t the reaction Brianne expected. She jolted away in shock. “N-nothing. You were making noises. I thought you were having a bad dream.”

Had December talked in her sleep? Her jaw ached like she’d been clenching it. God, she hoped she hadn’t said anything she shouldn’t.

“Just stay away from me,” she said, covering alarm with anger.

“Sure.” Brianne retreated nervously, fingers clutching her dainty gold necklace. “No problem.”

December heard the girl get back into her own bed. She looked at her night table. The apple Brianne had given her earlier sat there. Maybe because there wasn’t much light in the dormitory, the places she’d bitten looked like they had turned black.

Had the girl drugged her? Maybe with something to induce dreams? Hans had said his ability to summon December was unpredictable, but December had traveled to him twice now with no problems. Perhaps Brianne had been trying to eavesdrop. Perhaps she was another of the girls Miss Westin claimed fell for the school’s statue.

Reluctant to touch the apple, December grabbed it with a wad of tissues. Her skin protected, she carried it to the hall bathroom. The overhead light revealed bite marks gone black as pitch, as if the flesh alone had rotted while somehow leaving the red outer skin perfect. If she’d been prone to booting, December would have done it then. Luckily she wasn’t. She flushed the disgusting thing instead. Then, her willies settling, she sat in the stall to think.

She was no expert, but she didn’t think a crushed-up sleeping pill could have done what she’d seen happen to that fruit. It had looked and tasted normal, though it was so pretty it had been hard for her to resist.

Snow White had ended up in a coma from eating her apple.

December grimaced. Snow White was a fairytale . . . but then so was Hans. If fairytales couldn’t exist, neither could cursed statues.

Hans is real. He’s really trapped in that marble. I truly made love to him in a dream.

Was the fact that she believed this laudable or disturbing?

December gripped her head in both hands, hoping to squeeze more sense into it. She wondered if she should confront Brianne. The girl was no badass. She wouldn’t withstand much pressure, but maybe December should dig up more info. Weren’t interrogations supposed to go better if you knew some answers?

She stared at the graffiti inside the stall’s old door. Evidently, someone named Bridget had a rep for being a big fat liar.

If December wanted to sort truth from lies, she knew only one place where finding it seemed likely.

~

December took way too long picking Miss Westin’s upgraded lock. If she didn’t learn to do better, her future as a cat burglar was in jeopardy.

Closing the office door behind her, she ran her penlight across the shelves of old fairytales. The number of books was daunting. Even glancing through all of them would require many nights breaking in. For now, she chose three that had less dust and looked more handled, then sat on the floor with them. She found a greater variety of monsters in the illustrations than she’d anticipated. Princesses and dragons were just the start of it. Will of the wisps lured unsuspecting travelers off their paths. Trolls hid under bridges and ate people. Mandrake roots took creepy human form as homunculi. Most unnerving to her were the black demon dogs: red-eyed beasts who snapped people’s necks if they knelt down to pray. She didn’t see how that was fair—not that she prayed all that often.

Finding something interesting, she turned a book sideways. Miss Westin had scribbled in the margin beside the entry on black dogs. The hounds of Queen Araun? the pencil scratches said. After that, she’d written Woden, Dip, and two question marks.

December puzzled over that. Were these the names of the dogs who’d killed Hans’s mother? Was Queen Araun his faerie nemesis?

If Miss Westin had uncovered this, her research was leagues ahead of December’s. December should have asked Hans if he’d met the French teacher. Or Brianne. December knew far too little to understand what she was up against.

That thought drew a realization after it. Miss Westin had been piecing together what other students at Rackham knew. That’s why she’d been taking girls’ journals. Chances were, the teacher had rifled December’s nightstand to see if she had one.

Relieved she didn’t, December jumped up to dig the diaries out of the paper piles on her desk.

None belonged to current students, but all were well thumbed through. Conveniently, the teacher had folded down the pages that dealt with Hans.

Tonight, he told me his name . . .

I wish I knew how to make myself dream about my mystery man more clearly . . .

He seems lonely. I’d give anything to save him . . .

Oh, he’s so beautiful. No other boy can measure up.

By the time December finished reading, her cheeks were hot with embarrassment. These girls had written some god-awful goopy stuff. Miss Westin had been right to call Hans a rock star. Rackham’s female students were fangirls, desperate to claim a connection to an unattainable romantic figure. December wasn’t at all sure she was less pathetic.

The journal writers wanted to escape their humdrum lives, to feel they were loved and special. If a person craved that badly enough, how many ridiculous things might they convince themselves were true?

Fuck. December closed the last bedazzled pink diary. She wanted to believe she was smarter and more independent than other girls, but when it came to wanting to feel loved, she knew she was vulnerable. As she forced herself to face this, her stomach clenched and her spine shivered. Hans claimed only a “true” lover could break the curse. Was her doubt a betrayal of his hope or one last glimmer of sanity?

Oh, whatever, she thought, tossing her curls in dismissal. Just because she might be deluded didn’t mean the real deal behind Hans’s statue wasn’t worth unearthing. She owed it to herself and the him she’d imagined not to give up just yet.

Footsteps sounded in the long corridor outside, kicking a surge of adrenaline through her. Trying not to panic, she hurried to put everything back where she’d found it. It wasn’t yet 4 a.m., but teachers lived in at Rackham. If Miss Westin had decided to burn some midnight oil, December had no explanation for her presence.

As she shoved the journals under their respective piles of paper, a post-it note that had lost its stickiness fluttered out. December recognized Miss Westin’s chicken scratch.

“B has the crystal,’ it said. “She may be summoning Her.”

B as in Brianne? And who was the Her who warranted a capital letter and an underline?

The heeled footsteps clacked closer. They had to be Miss Westin’s. As vain as the French teacher was of her legs, she probably slept in stilettoes. December slipped the sticky note back among the clutter. God, why had she found this clue at the last minute? As silently as she could, she climbed the shelves that had been built under the square window. Stacks of books wobbled but didn’t fall. The window’s mechanism cranked open with mouselike squeaks. December squeezed halfway through and glanced around quickly. To her left was a drainpipe, beneath her a narrow ledge. Giving thanks for a brief flirtation with gymnastics, December rolled out and onto it.

Her curvy hips just fit through the opening. Heart pounding, fingers sweaty, she caught her balance on the drainpipe and pushed the window closed.

She nearly plummeted the full story when the office light snapped on.

If her nerves hadn’t been in shreds, she’d have risked peeking in. As it was, she hoped she was steady enough to descend the building without falling.

She didn’t fall, but she was shivering like crazy by the time she hit grass. It was freezing out, and she didn’t have a coat—just her usual men’s pajamas and wool socks.

“Shit,” she hissed through chattering teeth as she hugged herself.

A creak from above warned her Miss Westin was leaning out her window. She must have noticed her stuff had been touched.

Her stolen stuff, December reminded, shrinking out of sight closer to the wall. She refused to feel guilty for breaking in to study it.

Guilty or not, now she was stuck outside the school. She could try sneaking in through the graveyard’s gate, but that meant crossing the inner courtyard where she risked being seen.

The library might make a good entry point. It was on the ground floor, on the opposite side of the school’s rectangle from where she was. Hopefully, she’d find a window she could open.

Running in a crouch across frosted ground got her chilled blood pumping. She was almost warm as she rounded the corner to the front of the building.

Crap. The library’s lights were on. Didn’t anyone at Rackham sleep through the night like normal?

But that was fine. More people up and about meant more opportunities for spying.

She crept to the first tall Gothic window and peeped in.

Mrs. Blake wasn’t alone in her domain. Brianne was with her. December couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the girl looked worried. December seriously envied her the lumpy knitted sweater she’d wrapped around her pink negligee.

Though it wasn’t good spy behavior, December gasped when plump and jovial Mrs. Blake suddenly slapped Brianne across the face. The redhead cringed and began crying. December couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She was relatively sure corporal punishment was frowned on, even at Rackham.

Hoping for a better vantage point, she moved farther down the line of windows. Luck was with her. An empty soda can sat forgotten on the ledge. By pressing it between the glass and her ear, December was able to create a sound transmitter.

“You failed me,” Mrs. Blake was saying.

“She didn’t fall asleep good enough,” Brianne pleaded. “That bitch Nina kept her from eating the whole apple. I promise, Mom, I did exactly as you said.”

Mom? December’s eyebrows rose. Obviously, she should have been paying more attention to school scuttlebutt. She’d had no clue these two were related.

“I got you two more names,” Brianne wheedled. “That’s not nothing.”

December cursed silently. The girl had to mean Hans’s middle and last names. They were the only ones December could have revealed while she was sleeping.

The librarian crossed her arms. “You know I need four before my reward is guaranteed. Now I have to call the queen for more dream potion. Worse, your behavior made the girl suspicious.”

“God, Mom, why does it matter? You can’t force that man to love you. Even if you could do it magically, it wouldn’t be real love. Don’t you realize your plan is effed up?”

December hadn’t known Brianne had the nerve for this sort of speech . . . or the intelligence. Her mother wasn’t going to thank her for it. Her eyes narrowed with hot scorn. “You’re an idiot,” she said.

More than her mother’s glare caused Brianne to back away. “Please,” she said, trying to retreat but stopped by a reading table. “Can’t you summon the queen by yourself?”

“You know I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d been able to attract Hans. You could have gotten his names for me. Since you were hopeless at that, the least you can do is help with the ritual.”

December couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Mrs. Blake had wanted her daughter to seduce Hans in order to nab him for herself? That was effed up, all right. But maybe now wasn’t the moment to dwell on that. Doing a ritual sounded ominous. She gnawed her lip as Mrs. Blake walked behind her fancy carved checkout desk. From the shelf where she stored her scrapbook, she drew a large milky rock. The hunk of quartz filled her arms like a baby. It must have been heavy. She set it on the counter with a loud thunk.

This had to be the crystal Miss Westin mentioned in her sticky note. December had been picturing a cute quartz point on a chain. This crystal wasn’t cute. This crystal meant business.

“Get the chalk to draw the circles,” Mrs. Blake ordered her daughter. “We need Araun here and gone before first light.”

Brianne was staring at the quartz like it horrified her.

“Chop, chop,” Mrs. Blake prompted.

Her stupor broken and her courage spent, Brianne dashed off. As she did, the librarian came around the desk to roll back the worn carpet. December stood on her toes to see better. Old chalk smears marked the dun gray linoleum under it. She shuddered as she made out a pentagram. Didn’t people use them to protect themselves from demons? Was this Queen Araun so evil she needed to be trapped?

Still working on rolling away the carpet, Mrs. Blake made creaky-joint, out-of-breath noises. She hardly seemed up to controlling a faerie queen. The librarian wasn’t stupid, but neither was she a genius. Hell, her teenage daughter was her flunky. That didn’t strike December as a sign of competence.

More like she was a bully.

I have to warn Hans, she thought. Before Araun shows up.

December suspected the queen who cursed him had her own reasons for answering Mrs. Blake’s summons.

~

Maybe because of what she’d just learned, the cemetery seemed spookier. The moon was bright, but wispy clouds blurred it. Shadows that seemed to have no source flickered past the edges of her vision.

“Rest in peace,” she muttered to the bodies she hurried over, fighting shivers from more than the temperature. In her present mood, even the stone ducks on little Buster’s grave appeared menacing.

When a growl trickled through the darkness she understood what people meant by jumping out of their skins. She froze and looked around but didn’t see anything.

She’d probably just heard a branch creaking. Or a seriously pissed off squirrel.

She jogged faster, having spotted Hans’s statue up ahead. Was it silly to feel safer because of that? He was stone after all. He couldn’t save her from killer ducks.

She’d braced for the sugary white marble to glow like it had the first night. Maybe she shouldn’t have. Of all the monuments she’d passed, his seemed the most lifeless.

“Hans,” she whispered, as if she could draw his attention with a hiss.

She stepped closer, unaccountably gripped by dread.

“Oh no!” she cried when she got a clear look at him.

His stone was cracked. A jagged fissure had crawled up his slightly bent right leg. The split extended from his ankle to halfway through his thigh muscle.

She moaned in horror, falling to her knees in front of him.

Had her doubt done this to him?

“I believe in you,” she whispered, gingerly touching his cold calves. “Don’t give up, Hans. Please try one more time for me.”

Nothing changed. The statue remained dead stone. Could her dream self get through to him? She didn’t see how she’d fall asleep in the frigid air—and certainly not on short notice. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so quick to flush Brianne’s disgusting apple. At least the potion in it had worked.

Don’t regret what you can’t undo, she told herself, advice she’d had occasion to use before.

Her knees were melting the frost beneath them, dampening tonight’s gray-and-white striped pajamas. She pushed to her feet and looked into Hans’s sad-lovely face. Never mind Helen of Troy. A thousand ships would be privileged to sink for him.

With a silent prayer that she wouldn’t make the crack worse, she stepped onto his pedestal.

“I’m here,” she murmured, stroking his cold smooth cheek. “I haven’t given up.”

She pressed her mouth to his sculpted lips. They didn’t warm even a little. Ignoring how her heart sank at that, she closed her eyes and played her last card.

Hans, she thought. Hans William Winter. It’s December Worth. I ask that you hear me.

The gust that blew across the grass sounded more like simple wind than a sigh. I need you in my life, she insisted. Don’t leave me alone out here.

Another cracking noise rang out. December sucked in a breath as a chunk of stone fell from Han’s front. It hit and broke on the surface between her feet.

“Damn it,” she said, trembling all over.

She was terrified to look down to check for damage. Actually, she was afraid to move.

She did, though, and found the only thing that had fallen was his fig leaf. His cock and balls were uncovered. His shaft was thick, its length curving as it hung. If he’d been sculpted for real, she’d have said the artist exaggerated his manly charms. Few males had quite this heft when they were at rest.

She remembered her impression from the first time she’d kissed him: that she’d left his statue with a slight boner.

“Um,” she said, peering into the marble face. “Is this supposed to be a hint?”

The motionless stone features weren’t giving her any clues.

Not knowing what else to try and aware time was of the essence, December stepped off the low pedestal to the ground. She ran her hand down his side, from the graceful curve of his ribs to the tempting V of his Adonis belt muscles. She wished she’d asked his dream self if his statue could feel kisses. Sadly, she’d been too busy rolling around on his blue blanket.

“Do you feel this?” she asked softly. “Do you know how beautiful you are to me?”

She rubbed his hip and the silky bulk of his thigh muscle. Her knees were sensitive, so maybe his were too. She trailed her touch around his stone kneecap, her thumb and fingertips ever so gently squeezing them. Thank the Lord nothing more crumbled. A shadow flickered between his legs—a trick of the light or maybe this was working.

Time to bring out the big guns, she thought. She gave her hair a hasty couple of plaits to keep it behind her shoulders, trying her best not to dwell on the craziness of this plan.

If anyone came out here with a camera phone, she’d be viral on YouTube before she could say Robert Pattinson.

She soothed herself that no one was here but her and Hans. And she’d better act fast before that changed. Who knew how long it took to summon an evil queen?

She rolled one last glance to Hans’s face.

“If my tongue freezes to your penis, I’ll make you pay,” she promised.

Only half kidding, she experimented with a quick lick on his shaft. Her tongue didn’t stick. Hans’s stone skin was cool but not icy.

If he were aware of what she did, this would be the most tormenting sexual tease ever.

An unexpected wave of heat rolled through her. She guessed she liked the idea of pleasuring a lover who couldn’t move one muscle.

She licked again, this time at greater length, then dragged her face across his package. Her cheeks and mouth brushed surfaces as satiny as skin. She tongued up one side of his hanging organ and down the other. A subtle tingle, one she hoped she wasn’t imagining, shot from the marble phallus into her lips.

She eased back, her heart pounding. Weren’t the veins in his shaft thicker? Wasn’t the head more lifted, and didn’t the crest flare wider?

Knowing he’d feel her there if he felt her anywhere, she lapped that most sensitive of curves.

She could swear the slit was deeper as she dragged her tongue over it. She brought her hands up to cup his balls, their roundness inviting her to rub. Her thumbs found the back of his penis. As they stroked the length of his raphe, her body tightened with arousal.

It was as if her flesh responded to the pleasure that she gave his.

She backed her mouth off to consider this. Maybe Hans couldn’t bear for her to stop. His stone cock jerked, a definite twitch of movement that brought it to half-mast—as if it were sitting up and begging for more kisses.

“Oh yes,” she crooned throatily. “That’s what I need from you.”

She drove her lips slowly up his shaft. A little pulse woke inside, his strut now parallel to the ground. He couldn’t thrust. He could only take what she gave. December kept her mouth on him now, pushing in, pulling back, warming him with her tongue and lips and his own helpless responses. She sensed him straining to get more without being able to move at all.

She came as close to deep-throating a man’s erection as she had in her life so far.

One hand seemed sufficient to play with his plumped-up balls. That decided, she ran the other back over his buttocks.

Though they didn’t give, they seemed to vibrate as she squeezed them. Still sucking him with her mouth, she tickled her finger along the crack between his butt cheeks. Up and down she went, from the dimples at the top, down between his legs, and forward to his balls.

How he must have wanted to clench his muscles, to push his cock farther toward her throat. Or maybe he wished he could relax. The pad of her middle finger found the tight creases of his anus. She bet he’d like her to give it more than a glancing rub, bet he’d love her to push it in to the first knuckle. He enjoyed her stimulating what she could. She couldn’t have said exactly when his shaft moved, but it stood higher than horizontal now.

She might, just maybe, be tasting the faint sweetness of pre-cum.

The hint increased as she sealed her lips beneath the flare and fluttered her tongue across. A groan echoed in her head that she didn’t think was hers.

Come alive for me, she thought. Let me prove how much I care.

The veins in his penis suddenly stood out more. She felt them like little rivers beneath her lips. An image came to her of hands fisting in her curls, pulling her back from him. He wanted more than she was giving him. Uncertain if the thought came from him or her, she knew she had to tear her clothes off or go crazy.

She was too overheated to hesitate, gripped by the fever of wanting him. The buttons of her top seemed to fly open.

Belatedly she remembered why she’d come here.

“Hans,” she said. “The school librarian has your names. Her daughter overheard me repeating them in my sleep. They’ve got a crystal and they’re summoning Queen Araun.”

Every sound around her fell silent. The wind dropped away, and the forest creatures stilled. The trees themselves seemed to hold their breath while he considered this development.

“Should I try to stop them?” she asked. “Bang on the window or throw a rock through it?”

She wished she’d thought of this before. If she disrupted their ritual, they couldn’t summon his enemy. She’d buy time until she could come up with a more permanent solution.

Hans didn’t agree. An image of herself being chucked out of Rackham in her pajamas sprang to life in her mind. Tall iron gates shut behind her with a clang. Locked out, she clutched the bars forlornly.

“I’d find a way back,” she insisted. “I’m resourceful. I wouldn’t abandon you.”

Leaves rustled, followed by another picture of her tearing off her clothes and climbing onto him.

“Hans, we don’t have time for that.”

The night seemed to gather closer, as if Hans were calling every scrap of magic in it to him. The sound of stone grating across stone stood her hair on end. The left leg of his statue shifted six inches in one lurch, planting his bare foot in a wider stance on the pedestal. Though she had faith he was in there, the movement stunned her formerly solid sense of reality.

“You’re damaged,” she said breathily. “I don’t know if you can tell, but your statue’s right leg is cracked. I don’t want to put stress on it.”

This time she saw an image of a princess throwing a snakeskin onto a fire.

“I have no idea what that means,” she said in frustration.

December Worth, came his voice in her mind. I call you to desire me.

A wall of excitation crashed over her, like she’d stepped under the Niagara Falls of arousal. She whimpered at the strength of it, at the ache that expanded through her pussy. It was all she could do not to grab her crotch and rub. Hard up didn’t cover it. This was the longing he felt, a craving to come so huge no one could have withstood it.

A man who’d been waiting as long as he had couldn’t be satisfied by a dream.

More than a little sympathetic to his condition, December threw off her top and shoved down her pajama pants, stepping out of them underwear and all. Naked but not feeling cold, her clit throbbed like a maraca, arousal trickling without stopping along her inner thigh. Unable to help herself, she pushed both palms up and over her pain-tipped breasts.

If he could see her, he was getting an eyeful.

“You better be right about this,” she gasped as she stepped jerkily to him.

His statue form didn’t move a second time. Maybe he’d shifted all he could when he braced his foot wider. The straddle certain showed off his equipment. His erection thrust like a spear from its pretty bush of marble curls. Being that hard and stretched looked painful, but sliding over him would be heaven for her right now. She caressed his length even as she climbed him, surprised again that he wasn’t icy but only cool.

“I love you,” she said. The words sounded strange, like they didn’t quite fit her mouth. She realized she hadn’t said them to a man before. She told herself she wasn’t rushing this as she eased herself down him.

That drove everything from her thoughts but him. She groaned with pleasure, the coolness of his long hard cock almost too welcome to her fire. The smooth head forged inward, deliciously spreading her. Once she’d engulfed it, she couldn’t wait. She had to start grinding her pussy on him immediately. Though she tried to be gentle, it was impossible.

Clutching his literally rock-hard shoulders, she rolled her hips up and down. For the first time in a long time, she wished she were a two-ounce sprite like Brianne or Nina. Moving her weight this urgently on him couldn’t be helpful.

You’re perfect, said his voice in her head. He sounded like he was smiling, his tone conveying a warmth she hadn’t thought anyone would feel for her. Affection colored the words, and amusement, and plain male lust all rolled together.

She curled her body closer, her hot cheek against his cool one. Feeling this connected to a person who couldn’t even hold her was ridiculous. But she held him for both of them, her arms wrapped up his shoulder blades from behind. Part of him wasn’t inanimate. His cock stretched inside her, quivering with need. She gave him all she dared, squeezing him with her inner muscles as she rocked in quick motions.

She was near to coming, and he wanted to go with her—needed to, she sensed. His desperation was as clear as her own passion. If he didn’t come, their chance would be lost. She’d be alone out here and . . . She lost the thread of his thoughts but not her understanding of how crucial this was to him. Overcome with his desire and hers, she rubbed her breasts against him.

She thought she heard a gasp of pleasure. Again stone grated, tiny marble particles raining from his joints like sand. She wanted to beg him not to move, to let her do whatever was required to bringing him to climax.

Her breathlessness stole her chance to protest. His stone arms had moved. His hands were cupped beneath her bottom before she gathered air to speak.

She really couldn’t speak afterwards. The touch made her crazy, motionless though it was. She tingled everywhere they came into contact, streaks of super-strong sensation pinging up adjacent nerves. Rubbing her skin on his became pure pleasure. Her head fell back, her long curls unraveling. She groaned as the orgasm gripped her pussy like a hot hand.

She tightened harder than she ever had in her life. This was what he’d needed. His not-quite-stone cock jerked at the constriction, then swelled, and then she felt a rush of extra wetness inside of her.

He was coming—physically ejaculating and not just experiencing ecstasy. She didn’t know what to make of that, but she didn’t have long to wonder.

A splintering crackle, like a sheet of ice put under too much pressure, was her sole warning. A second later his statue form exploded into a zillion cloudlike pieces.

Robbed of support, December dropped, landing on her naked butt and hands out of sheer reflex. Her ears rang with shock, or maybe from the amazing climax she’d been yanked out of. She shook her head to clear it, red spots dancing before her eyes.

Where he’d stood, the dust from a heap of white sand was settling. Even his pedestal had crumbled.

“Hans?” she called hoarsely, absolutely not ready to accept he was gone.

Hans didn’t answer, inside her head or out. To her dismay, the red spots she saw didn’t disappear. Instead, they were joined by the same low growl she thought she’d heard before: growls plural, actually. The snarls multiplied . . . three, then four. Holy crap, the red spots were eyes!

She scrambled to her shaky feet, grabbing her pajama top on the way.

“Nice doggies,” she said, shoving her arms into the sleeves. It was just as well she didn’t see her pants. Her knees shook too badly to have stepped into them.

Four giant hounds crept like shadows out from the trees. Their black fur was thick, their lowered heads as tall as her shoulders. Their lips curled back from their teeth, baring long yellow fangs.

December was pretty sure a game of fetch wasn’t on their game plan.

They must have been accustomed to hunting as a pack. She didn’t get the opportunity to decide if she ought to run. They spread out and surrounded her too quickly.

“Shit,” she breathed, her heart thumping hard enough to escape her ribcage.

Her father used Rottweilers to patrol their properties. When she was six, before she began her perpetual tour of the world’s boarding schools, he’d tried to involve her in their training. She’d liked the dogs well enough. They weren’t bad-natured, and they were very smart. When he realized she’d rather play with them than teach them to attack, he’d lost his temper. They’re not for cuddling! he’d scolded. You’re going to ruin them!

Right that moment, she’d have been grateful for a couple dozen of his most disciplined canines. Right that moment, she’d have been grateful to see him.

But maybe both wishes were pointless. These fae dogs would make mincemeat of a hundred normal ones.

I’m not prey, she thought firmly, trying to square her shoulders. I will not show fear to them. She also wouldn’t kneel, in case the praying part of the story was accurate.

She didn’t know if her mental bravado had an effect, but one of the dogs lay down on his forelegs and haunches. He must have been the lead beast, because the others followed his example. December took an experimental step to her right, but immediately had to freeze. The alpha dog’s head lifted in warning.

His hair-raising growl didn’t sound natural.

“Okay,” she said, her adrenaline level off the charts. “Nobody’s going anywhere right now.”

The dog seemed to understand. Though it put its great head back on its paws, its eyes watched her warily. The glowing red color subsided to dark brown.

“Very wise,” said a woman’s voice. “My pets get cranky when my guests try to leave early.”

The woman stepped from between the trees much as the dogs had, a slender shadow taking material form. The best word December had to describe her was dazzling. Her beauty attracted moonlight like a magnet. The gathered rays lit up her hip-length hair, which appeared to be true silver, each filament seeming spun from sterling. Her skin was snow kissed by berries, her dress and slippers sparkling like sunshine on a lake. Pigeon’s egg rubies glowed in her golden crown, its design too solid to be a tiara.

“You’re Queen Araun,” December said.

“I am.” She smoothed graceful hands down her spangling gown as if she liked the feel of it on her body.

“You escaped the librarian’s pentacle.”

“Of course I did. I’m not a demon. It suited me to let her think she could contain me in that fashion.” She cocked her head to the side to examine December. Her eyes were a light glass green. Something about her fixed attention stuck December’s breath in her throat. The queen was fingering the hilt of what December sincerely hoped was a strictly ornamental sword.

Sometimes it really was better to fade into the background.

“So,” Araun said. “You’re the mortal who finally captured Hans’s full attention. I admit I never thought he’d go for a human. Hence my banishing him to a place where humans were all he’d meet.”

December swallowed so she could speak. “I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

The queen laughed like an actress in an old movie, the prettiness of the sound more important than being convincing. “You are amusing. And appropriately modest. Given the paragon of grace and beauty his life could have been blessed with, a cow like you can’t measure up.”

December didn’t like being called a cow, though she wasn’t certain the faerie meant the same sort of insult a human would. “Your daughter died a long time ago.”

She stated this quietly. She wasn’t trying to be mean; just pointing out a fact. Araun’s elegant white face tightened with anger.

“That bastard’s betrayal of my darling will never be forgotten.”

Or forgiven apparently.

“I love him,” December said, deliberately using the present tense. She didn’t look at the heap of sand his statue had turned into. Hans wasn’t necessarily dead. If this had been a fairytale, he wouldn’t be. Banishing doubt—including doubt in herself—she braced and went on. “I’ve been as true and brave as anyone could ask. The terms of breaking his curse are met.”

The lead dog curled its lip and growled. December realized she’d taken a step closer to his mistress. She guessed the dog regarded this as a threat. Araun didn’t. She examined her fingernails.

“You seem to be accusing me of something,” the queen observed.

“I accuse you of breaking your word,” December responded, reckless enough for that, though not to move her feet again. “I was under the impression your kind weren’t supposed to lie.”

“Oh we don’t,” Araun agreed. “It’s highly uncomfortable. Like a migraine with Hydra heads. Telling part of the truth, however, is perfectly easy.”

She seemed to relish confiding this. Her light green eyes glinted.

“What do you mean?” December asked uneasily.

“What I mean is I might have failed to mention the curse’s most important clause to Hans. Yes, love and courage could save him . . . but only if he returned the sentiment. So you see, my little mortal, you aren’t his True Bride at all. Like my daughter, you gave your heart to him for nothing. His own faithlessness insured he earned destruction, just as I counted on.”

If she was so sure, why did she need to travel here to confirm?

December was assessing whether to ask when someone blundered toward them in the graveyard. It was the librarian. Sensibly enough, Mrs. Blake was dressed for the cold in a baby blue ski outfit.

“Liar!” she screamed, as much as someone can scream when they’re running and out of breath. “Look what you did to him! You’d promised you’d hand him over if I met your demands.”

Two of the devil dogs lumbered to their feet, forcing Mrs. Blake to a halt well out of arm’s reach. Cowed but still angry, she flapped her hand at the pile of sand. “Look at him!” she repeated.

The queen smiled pleasantly. “Firstly, as far as I’m concerned, the bastard never looked better. Secondly, you gave me three names, not the four I required to control him reliably. Thirdly, of course I’ll hand him over. I do hope you brought a sack.”

“Bitch,” Mrs. Blake burst out. December supposed her fury overruled her good sense. She barreled toward Araun as if she were an ordinary woman and not the magical queen of who-knew-what. “He’s mine! I gave my whole life to winning him!”

The final two dogs leaped up at her rush.

“Stay,” Araun ordered, making a sharp hand gesture.

With a champion fencer’s alacrity, she unsheathed the fancy sword she carried. The blade flashed in the moonlight. Mrs. Blake either didn’t notice or couldn’t stop in time. The momentum of her rage carried her onto the point. The metal slid into her baby blue ski jacket like it and she were butter.

“Wha-?” the unfortunate woman said, gaping down at the weapon. Her knees sagged, but Araun’s grip on the hilt held her up. She must have been strong. Red bloomed quickly outward from the entry point.

“There,” said the queen, barely out of breath from her labors. “Now you’ve given your life for him.”

She jerked the blade upward through flesh and bone. Mrs. Blake gasped, and then the light went out of her eyes. This didn’t faze Araun either. She pulled the sword from her victim with no more effort than it had gone in. Blood coated the metal from tip to hilt, though the mess hadn’t spurted or splashed on her. Her support lost, Mrs. Blake toppled to the ground. The beautiful queen stared down at her.

“That,” she said, “was extremely satisfying. Perhaps I’ll kill you without magic too.”

She turned to December. The light that had gone out of the librarian’s eyes now blazed in Araun’s. Her irises were pale green flames. Disturbingly, December noticed her fine silver hair was floating.

Despite her resolve to show no fear, December took a shaky step back from her. “Why would you want to kill me?

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re an insult to my daughter’s memory.”

“But you said yourself I gave my heart to Hans for nothing. I didn’t win his love either.”

“You should want to die,” said the queen. Her glowing eyes were eerie as she prowled forward, December’s gradual retreat pulling her like a string. She had the bloodied sword up. By now, December was aware she knew how to handle it.

“Here’s the thing,” she said, wondering if she remembered the graveyard’s paths well enough to beat the queen and her dogs back inside Rackham’s walls. “I’d really rather not die tonight. I know I’m just a human, and I’m certainly not perfect, but I think Hans was fond enough of me that he wouldn’t want me to give in without a fight.”

“Fond enough,” the queen repeated. This of all things shocked her to a halt. “You think the fondness of a dead man is reason enough to live?”

December guessed faeries didn’t take rejection well . . . and that she was composed of sterner stuff. It helped that she didn’t believe Hans actually was dead. Okay, maybe he was, but she wasn’t going there a second before she had to.

“Hell, lady,” she said, “I’d live another day to drink a cup of hot cocoa.”

She turned and ran while Araun was spluttering.

Her head start lasted the length of three grave mounds. Then the dogs were on her. One took a single bound to knock her headlong. Another pounced on her back and squished the breath out of her. The third nudged her around until she flopped face up, which she hadn’t known canines were clever enough to do. The fourth—the alpha, she thought—crouched above her and growled. Heard from so close, the sound rolled through her like the very essence of nightmares.

“Crap,” she gasped, her hands shooting to its ribcage to hold it off.

The warmth of its fur shocked her, the steady thrum of its heart, the undeniable reality of what wasn’t a natural beast. She reminded herself that if this dog were like her father’s rotties, it wouldn’t tear out her throat unless it was given an order. Aside from having her breath knocked out, the pack hadn’t put a scratch on her.

The brown eyes gazing down at her were crazy intelligent.

“Okay,” she said, wondering if the creature was smart enough to be reasoned with. “I know you don’t really want to hurt me. You’re just doing what she tells you. If you had your choice, you’d probably be chasing squirrels or peeing on supersize hydrants.”

The dog shut its mouth with a snapping sound.

“Heel,” the queen ordered, calling the pack to her.

She’d taken her time catching up. Though she hadn’t put her sword away, her manner was unruffled.

“It’s a pity I have to kill you. You really do have spirit.”

December’s hand closed around a jagged rock. Throwing it at the queen was madness, but she did it anyway. She’d played softball here and there, and her arm was strong. Plus, the queen didn’t dodge. The stone struck her temple and broke skin. Araun touched her fingertips to the spot, seeming stunned to find blood on them. December didn’t know if the queen was normally harder to injure, or if she was just amazed that a lowly human dared attack her.

“Well,” Araun said, shaking off her shock. “At least you’re making this easy.”

CHAPTER FIVE

ARAUN placed the tip of her sword at the base of of December’s throat. The edges were razor sharp, and a bead of blood welled immediately. I’m going to die, she thought, all out of bright ideas. The queen filled her lungs in preparation for pushing down.

Before she could, a whistling sound split the air, followed by a meaty thwap. Araun staggered to the left, the sword’s tip luckily knocked away without doing more damage.

“What—?” exclaimed the queen, ironically echoing Mrs. Blake’s tone of disbelief. She gawked down her sparkly dress’s front, where a couple inches of arrowhead and shaft were poking out her sternum. A normal person would have crumpled, but evidently not a fae queen. The stagger and the shock were the extent of her reactions.

“I have more where that came from,” Hans said. He strode up in his huntsman’s outfit, with the critical addition of a longbow and quiver. He looked better than anyone or anything December had ever seen: strong and tall and radiating confidence.

Araun was less delighted to see him.

“No,” she said. “Your statue form disintegrated. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I was. Temporarily.” He looked down at December and gave her a big wink. In a more practical gesture of reassurance, he tossed her the thick wool socks she’d thrown off earlier. Wherever he’d found them, they were welcome. “Sorry I took so long to re-form.”

December didn’t have breath to answer. Despite the arrow shaft spearing her, Araun was able to speak first. “You can’t have resurrected. You don’t love her.”

“Apparently, I do.” Grinning brilliantly, Hans nocked another arrow and aimed it at the queen. Realizing the danger must not be over, December scrambled to her feet. The socks felt awesome. She promised herself she’d totally crow about him loving her later.

“We’re getting out of here?” she asked.

“Yes, we are.” He circled the queen with his bow pointed. “Once we leave Dire Woods, she can’t use magic.”

“Like you’ll get that far,” sneered Araun. She was panting, one hand wrapped around the arrow’s shaft. December guessed she was made of flesh after all. The thin trail of red on her spangly gown inched longer.

“You should have checked on me before now,” Hans said. “And not simply through third parties. You’ve forgotten fae and mortal realities overlap in this area. Already your magic is weaker than normal.”

“It’s . . . stronger than yours, huntsman.” Throwing up her hand, she spat a string of words in a strange language. The air in front of her palm shimmered like heat fumes, which suddenly shot snakelike toward both of them. Dizzied by whatever was in her magic, December’s knees went out from under her.

Hans resisted the spell better. Bracing his feet, he muttered a foreign phrase in return. Araun didn’t turn to stone, but she stopped moving. Mercifully, her weakening charm fell away. Hans had frozen her in place with her arm still up, like stop motion on a film. One of the black dogs whined and paced around his mistress. Feeling like she’d dodged a bullet she didn’t understand, December got to her feet once more.

“Wow,” she said, giving Hans wide-eyed look. “I guess elf-faerie hybrids still have mojo.”

Hans was less impressed with himself. “Come on.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled. “I caught her unprepared to counter that. My spell won’t hold her long.”

“Not that I’m bloodthirsty,” December said, running along with him, “but can’t you just kill her? Maybe cut her head off with a buzz saw?”

Hans hurdled a grave marker and shot her a startled look. “She’s my sworn liege. There would be magical repercussions.”

“Really? She killed your mother and cursed you to be a statue for, like, forever, but she’s still your sworn liege?”

Hans laughed, which kind of surprised her. Then again, maybe after all those years imprisoned in marble he was giddy to be moving. “You think that doesn’t make sense? You threw a rock at a powerful fae queen. With your mere human arm. You’re a little insane, my love.”

December discovered she didn’t mind being called either of those things.

“This way,” he said, pointing toward a staggered line of trees at the graveyard’s edge.

“You know where we’re going?”

“Trying to hide from her Sight is a waste of time. We’re taking the straightest shot out of the Overlap.”

The straightest shot didn’t involve the convenience of a path. Since December wasn’t Hiker Girl, she appreciated Hans’s help to avoid tripping. He was as surefooted as a deer on the uneven ground, leaping nimbly over roots and rocks like they were nothing.

“Woodcraft,” he said, noting her raised eyebrows. “My elf half excels at it.”

The idea of her studly lover being an elf amused her. “Why don’t you have pointy ears?”

“Only purebloods have those.”

Fortunately, he didn’t view this as a rude question. She came up short in front of a large fallen tree. Hans reached back and grabbed her beneath the arms, swinging her over the obstacle. When he set her down, they were chest to chest—him in his huntsman’s clothes and her in her rather breezy pajama top. He was so warm, so alive she started breathing faster for a different reason than running for her life.

Hans didn’t let go of her right away. His eyes were the same burning blue ice she remembered from her dream. “Thank you for saving me,” he said huskily.

“Thank you for saving me,” she responded. Her nipples contracted at his closeness like hot pebbles.

Hans’s fingers tightened on her elbows. “I want to chain you to a bed for a year.”

“Only a year? I was thinking more along the lines of ten.”

Her lover’s beautiful face darkened. He wet his lips, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Twenty. And when I’m finished with you, you can chain me for the next decade.”

The sound of dogs baying in the distance jerked them around before she could tell him he had a deal.

Hans swore in frustration. “The queen has thrown off my spell. We need to get going before her pack catches us.”

He pulled her along behind him, their progress made harder by the sudden steepening of the slope. No wonder the girls at Rackham hadn’t wanted to sneak out here. They’d have ruined their pedicures. December’s wool socks were better than bare feet but not as good as shoes. Her naked thighs were soon covered in branch scratches.

“Next time I flee an evil fae,” she panted, “I’m wearing combat boots.”

Hans squeezed her fingers. “Save your breath, sweetheart. The Dire Woods border is close now.”

Maybe elf-faeries could naturally sense such things. December just saw more bare-branched, trippy-rooted trees. Then she heard it: the distant whoosh of car tires on asphalt. The road to Kingaken village must be at the bottom of this last incline.

She tried to get her trembling legs to move faster, but they weren’t having it. In the end, it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Damn,” Hans said. “I don’t hear the dogs.”

Her body realized the truth before her brain did. She dug in her heels but instead of stopping the way she wanted, she fell onto her ass and began to slide. For once, no roots or rocks curtailed her momentum. Nor could Hans pull her up. He had her hand and skidded down the hill with her.

They fetched up in a dry gully, no more than ten feet from a wall of red-eyed black fur. The pack had circled ahead of them. The two-lane road stretched behind the snarling line, teasing them with its—at the moment—futile promise of freedom.

“Got any more magic tricks up your sleeve?” she asked from the side of her mouth.

“Black dogs are hard to spell,” he answered in the same fashion. “They’re naturally resistant.”

The lead dog lifted its head and barked, in all likelihood signaling its mistress that her prey was cornered. December’s heart thumped unpleasantly, but she told herself not to panic. If Araun took her time catching up like she had before, they might have a chance to try one more thing.

Being resistant to magic didn’t mean these dogs were resistant to their training.

“Dip,” she said, using the command voice her father had tried to teach her six-year-old self so long ago.

The third dog in the line looked at her. This was better than nothing, though she’d hoped to hook the alpha with the names Miss Westin had jotted in the margin of her fairytale.

“Down,” she said, adding the hand gesture. The dog wriggled and whined unsurely, his eyes sneaking leftward to his leader. Whatever the lead dog conveyed in his gaze kept Dip from obeying her.

“What are you doing?” Hans asked in an undertone.

“Hoping the only other name I have is the one that matters.” She drew breath for the human version of magic power. “You,” she said, catching the alpha’s eyes. “Woden.” She gave his name the German pronunciation, with a V and a good strong O. “Sit.”

His great jaw fell open, but his butt plopped onto the ground. His reaction was so funny she almost smiled.

“Stay,” she said even more firmly. “Woden, Dip, all of you, sit.”

The pack dropped their furry asses like dominoes.

“Wow,” Hans murmured, taking her elbow so they could edge around the pack. “If I didn’t love you already, I surely would after that.”

Naturally, escaping couldn’t be that easy.

“Stop,” said the thready voice of the queen on the hill above. She was crashing through the undergrowth, her footing not so even—perhaps because of her injury. Disturbingly, she hadn’t bothered to tug out the arrow.

“Run!” Hans urged, grabbing December’s hand again.

They ran past the dogs and onto the county road’s gravel verge.

“Hans William Winter,” intoned the queen, “I order you to fall.”

She must have put every drop of power she had left into the compulsion. If she’d had four names, like she’d wanted, December didn’t know what would have happened. As it was, Hans tripped and caught himself on his hands. December stopped and looked back. The queen was among the trees, her dress blazing like sunshine.

“You should have loved my daughter,” she cried.

Hans struggled to get up, but his palms were magically superglued to the road.

“You should have loved her better,” he panted. “When she was alive, you two were at each other like cats and dogs.”

“Liar,” screamed the queen. “I loved her with all my heart.”

The instant the words were out, she clutched her brow with one hand, as if a killer headache were splitting it. She screamed again, apparently unwilling to face her dishonesty. December knew something bad was coming then. Guilt and fury weren’t a good cocktail. Araun’s arm lifted, descended, and a long shape flashed between the trunks, seeming to turn in slow motion. The flash came from the metal of queen’s sword. She’d thrown it like a circus performer’s dagger straight toward December’s trapped lover.

Hans was a sitting duck, and December had no weapon but herself to smack the spinning missile off its predestined course. Suspecting it was spelled to hit its target, she swung her right fist toward it with the same force she’d use to spike a volleyball at someone she disliked . . . a lot.

She guessed there were benefits to not completely hating sports. She caught the hilt, but the blade twisted weirdly, not obeying the laws of normal physics. Pain burned across her right shoulder. She cursed and grabbed it, knowing she’d been cut. She’d succeeded other than that. The sword clattered to the road harmlessly.

For the moment, the queen seemed out of juice. Hans gained his feet again. Seeing December had been hurt, he scooped her up in his arms and began running down the dark two-lane.

The queen didn’t follow, but her black dogs did, setting up a more-than-natural baying that shook her eardrums. December didn’t hear the car accelerate behind them until it was on top of them.

“Get in,” demanded a voice she wasn’t sure she wanted to recognize.

Miss Westin’s dark green four-door was keeping pace with Hans. “Get in,” she repeated. “You can’t outrun fae dogs.”

Hans had more coordination than she thought “woodcraft” could cover. Forced to accept Miss Westin’s logic, he opened the back door to the moving vehicle and leaped in—all with December in his arms. The instant he slammed the door shut, Miss Westin stomped on the gas.

“Is the girl all right?” she asked, glancing at them in the rear view mirror.

“Just drive,” Hans said. “I’ll take care of her.”

He was worried. She could see it in his face from where she lay in his lap. Her shoulder throbbed and felt wet. She guessed it was bleeding. Hans checked the rear window. Not to be punny, but weren’t they out of the woods yet?

“The dogs?” she asked woozily.

“Dropping back. They’re fast, but we’ve crossed the border. They won’t track as well in the human realm. Actually, they dislike it here. If Araun can’t force them to continue, they’ll return to Dire Woods.”

“Good,” she said and closed her eyes.

They snapped back open when Hans knotted a silk Gucci scarf—probably one Miss Westin had tossed in the back seat—around her injury as a tourniquet. She winced, but he didn’t apologize. “Stay awake. I don’t have enough power to heal you. I used all I’d stored up breaking my statue.”

“You broke your statue? I thought that was my fault.”

“I told you it was like the story of the Princess and the Snakeskin. She had to throw the prince’s reptile form on the fire to free him from turning into it. Don’t you read anything at school?”

“Not what I should, I guess,” she joked.

Hans touched her face, stroking her tangled curls off at the same time. She wanted to soak up the love in his expression like a hot bath. No one in her life had looked at her like that.

“Beautiful man,” she murmured up at him.

He began to smile, but something out the back caught his attention. “They’re turning.”

December craned to see over his shoulder. The pack had turned. The big black shapes were receding fast as they galloped the way they’d come. As they went, a scream of rage unfurled. The sound was human and something more, something older and deeper than December was used to. She shivered as its primitive power brushed her.

Araun must have sensed the dogs abandoning the pursuit.

Miss Westin had been easing up on the gas. “Floor it,” December urged, seized by instinctive dread.

“What?” the teacher asked, her head twisting. “What was that sound?”

“Floor it!” Hans seconded.

Miss Westin complied, but December wasn’t certain she’d done it soon enough. The snake of energy the queen had sent after her and Hans before stretched toward them through the darkness—her vengeful will given a half-visible half-form. The leading tip of the snake glowed like an undersea creature’s tentacle. If it caught up, would it stall the car? Would Araun find the strength to cross the non-magical border? Was her hatred for the man who supposedly wronged her daughter intense enough for that?

“Spirit of my mother,” Hans whispered, his fisted hand to his heart. “Defend me one more time.”

The tentacle’s tip flared bright. December gasped. It was going to touch the rear bumper.

Before it could, an invisible something attacked it. The queen’s projection shredded, like a million tiny shark teeth were tearing it apart. December’s arms rippled with gooseflesh. If that was Hans’s mother’s spirit, she was no sweet Casper.

“Jesus,” Miss Westin swore, so shaken she nearly ran them off the other side of the road. She wrenched the tires back from the ditch at the last moment.

“It’s over,” Hans said. “The queen overreached her magical resources. She’s been yanked back to her own realm. You can feel the atmosphere is clearer.”

Maybe he could feel it. Miss Westin and December needed a few deep breaths. Once she’d taken them, Miss Westin reasserted her control of the vehicle, straightening their wobbly line of travel into the right lane again.

“Jesus,” she repeated. “You’re certain that thing is gone?”

“Yes. If it makes you feel better, you could continue another mile.”

Miss Westin’s hands shifted nervously on the steering wheel. “No problem,” she assured him.

Teeth chattering from shock and cold, December realized she was clutching Hans’s leather tunic almost hard enough to rip it.

“Thank you,” he said to their driver as he patted December’s hand. “You probably saved our lives.” His tone was formal, or maybe just cautious. He didn’t know why the teacher had helped them any more than December did.

Miss Westin nodded, took a couple seconds, then addressed him.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” she said.

“I regret to admit I don’t.”

The teacher let out a breathy laugh. “I was her once. Head girl at Rackham. I tried to save you. Didn’t get as far as some. A kiss on your marble lips. A few vague dreams. All of which gained me nothing but a lifelong obsession.”

Hans looked uncomfortable. “Many girls came to me.”

“Oh yes.” Miss Westin’s amusement was very dry. “I’m aware we must have been quite a blur to you. I kept track of many over the years, hoping they’d discover a key I could use to free you. And now this one’s done it, before I could steal the prize.” The teacher’s gaze returned to the tree-lined road. At this hour, theirs was the only car on it. “I suppose she risked more for you than I did. Throwing herself in the path of that sword was impressive.”

“We are grateful for your aid,” Hans said.

Miss Westin smiled cynically into the mirror. “I’d ask if there were more like you at home, but with my luck, I’d just lose them to someone else. I guess I should be grateful awful Bridget Blake didn’t win you either. I’m spared her crowing, at least.”

Deciding discretion was in order, December kept what she knew about the librarian’s fate to herself. She wondered if Brianne would miss her evil-summoning mother or if she’d be better off orphaned.

~

“This is as far as I go,” Miss Westin said.

She’d stopped her car at the edge of Kingaken village. Main Street dipped up and down before them, little shops and businesses dark for the night. A quaint clapboard steeple, complete with a tiny belfry, stood watch from the nearest rise. The town was so small it barely had streetlights.

Hans looked out at the strange territory and seemed satisfied. He opened the car’s rear door, turning back to lift December once more into his arms.

Miss Westin rolled down her window and gazed at them. Her expression was shuttered. “The nearest emergency room is twenty miles that way.”

“We’ll be fine,” Hans said solemnly. “You may leave us with a clear conscience.”

Miss Westin frowned at the mention that she had one. “Do you need money?”

“We’ll be fine,” he repeated. “You have done all decency could require.”

She shook her head at his answer, then put her car in gear and drove off. Her tires spun a bit too fast for her exit to qualify as peaceful.

December waited until her taillights disappeared around a corner. She was dizzier than she wanted to think about. And freezing. And unless those drifting white flakes came from a soap factory, it had begun to snow. The fall was pretty, just not terribly cozy to be out in. “Is there a reason you didn’t ask her to drop us at a hospital?”

Hans shifted her to a more comfortable position. “I’m glad she helped us, but she’s a very unhappy woman. I don’t think we could trust her for much longer. We’re better off parting ways with her.”

December laid her head on his broad shoulder, trying not to cling too hard to his warmth. “Are we going to be fine?”

“My faerie half is lucky. I’ll find somewhere safe for us to spend the night.”

He began walking down the sidewalk, his soft-soled huntsman boots quiet on the concrete. Somehow, December knew he was smiling.

“You’re happy.”

“I’m happy,” he agreed. “I’m free, and you’re with me, and I’m finally exploring a world I’ve been growing more and more curious about. I’m going to seize whatever comes and enjoy it.”

Considering they were—what?—true bride and true groom, it was good to know he was low maintenance. Smiling herself, she patted his chest. This had been one strange night. She hoped his lucky faerie half could score her some panties.

She must have fallen asleep. She woke as he set her gently onto her feet. They’d stopped in front of a small junkshop called Ring My Belle’s.

“How are your breaking and entering skills?” he asked. “I like the feel of this place, and the sign on the door says it’s closed tomorrow.”

December was about to say she’d need something to pick the lock when she spied a paper clip on the threshold. Maybe his faerie half’s good fortune was rubbing off.

Luckily, the lock was simple, and the shop had no alarm. Despite being logy, she picked it in record time. As soon as they were inside, Hans scooped her up again.

“I have legs,” she objected, though being carried felt really nice.

“You need to rest until I recharge enough to heal you.”

Questioning whether he really could seemed rude, so she glanced around instead. Like a lot of junk shops, this one was bigger than it appeared from outside. Room led to room, piled with furniture and toys and lamps and old-timey this’n’thats, more or less organized by type. She’d lost her penlight during their pell-mell escape but turned out not to need it. Vintage signs lit each new twist in the warren, as if the place were designed for burglars’ convenience.

Beneath an old ESSO gas station sign, they encountered a section that made her heart sing.

“Clothes!” she exclaimed happily.

Hans found her a beautiful hand-knit sweater and a warm pair of corduroys, both of which he helped her put on. Her shoulder had stopped bleeding but hurt too much to move freely. His luck didn’t end with finding her an outfit. In the next room, an ancient but functional Frigidaire yielded thick roast beef sandwiches and Orange Crush soda. December showed Hans how to heat the sandwiches in the microwave. She could feel her blood supply increasing as she dug in.

Hans sipped curiously at the soda before deciding it was all right. Maybe they didn’t can drinks where he came from.

“A feast,” he declared from the opposite side of a rickety card table. Their ordeal seemed not to have flustered him. He looked relaxed and ridiculously vital lounging in an old vinyl chair—real and not real at the same time. The glowing “Miller Time” clock on the wall behind him gilded his shaggy hair, making the locks resemble actual gold. Beauty like his would never be ordinary, no more than the wonderful warmth that shone from his ice blue eyes.

December reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “You’re a miracle.”

He grinned. “I guess in your world statues don’t come to life every day.”

“That isn’t the only reason. It’s a miracle that you love me, that you—” A fit of shyness caused her to hesitate. “That you risked death to be with me.”

“Had to. The queen was coming. I couldn’t let you face her alone.”

“But if I hadn’t truly loved you, for all you knew destroying your statue would have destroyed you. I’m not sure I would have taken that big a chance. I . . . there were a couple moments when I had trouble believing.”

Hans rubbed her knuckles, his smile and his eyes gentle. “You’re young yet, but you’ll learn. True love doesn’t mean being without doubt. It means the faith part is stronger.”

“Am I too young?” she blurted worriedly.

He laughed and chucked her chin. “I’ve known thousand-year-old faeries who acted like they were ten. Compared to them, you’re a wise woman. And let’s not forget you’re also brave, beautiful and fun. You suit me, December Worth. You suit me very well.”

She liked the way he said that. It made her feel warm inside.

“You need to sleep,” he said, noting her drooping eyelids. “Let’s see if we can find a bed.”

They found a kid-size four-poster with flannel cowboy sheets. December began to see how matters normally went for him. She wasn’t at all surprised to discover a small bathroom too, complete with packaged toothbrushes, soap and clean towels.

No spa could have left her more refreshed than using all of them.

“Faerie luck,” she said, squeezing into the little bed in front of him. The pair of them filled the mattress completely.

He pulled her closer, his body heat welcome. “It’s handy as long as it’s working.”

December rubbed her cheek against his bicep. His muscle was hard and smooth. “Why does your magic work outside Dire Woods and not the queen’s?”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean for me to gain an advantage, but because she banished me to the Overlap, I had centuries to acclimate to the energy of this realm. I take longer to recharge here than in Faerie, but I can.”

“You know you can’t do magic in front of other humans, right?”

She felt him smile as he kissed her hair. “I know. Your world isn’t a complete blank to me—though my knowledge of girls boarding schools is disproportionately thorough.”

That spurred a different train of thought. “What do you suppose will happen when Rackham finds Mrs. Blake’s body?”

“I rather doubt they will. I expect Queen Araun will give it to her pack.”

“Eww.”

“There’s more than one reason black dogs are feared.”

His tone was matter of fact, his arm draping her waist without tension. Regardless of what those dogs represented to others, they weren’t bogeymen to him. December had a feeling he was out of the ordinary even where he came from.

She rubbed his forearm for comfort. “Will Araun come after you again?”

“She may try, but she won’t find it easy. Magic has its own laws. I won free of her fair and square.”

December wriggled, enjoying the feel of him behind her. Though she’d been no innocent when they met, she hadn’t snuggled with a man like this before. His thighs were as formidable as his chest—even with their hard muscles relaxing. Hans behaved like spooning her was the most natural thing in the world. The idea that he’d probably hold her all night was strange and appealing.

“What will happen to us?” she asked.

“I don’t know, my love. I’m not a fortune teller.”

She meant would they stay together forever. People did in fairytales, but this wasn’t precisely one. She gnawed her lip, not ready to ask plainly—in case she didn’t like the answer.

She’d never been in a relationship that lasted forever.

“Why couldn’t I find your story when I searched Miss Westin’s books?” she asked instead.

“People don’t write stories about curses that haven’t broken yet.”

That made sense, she supposed. “Do you think someone somewhere will write about you now?”

Hans laughed softly above her head. “Beloved, I’m happy to answer all your questions, but you’re not the only one who needs sleep tonight.”

She shut her mouth and smiled secretly. She didn’t mind being told to keep quiet when he called her Beloved.

CHAPTER SIX

“THE sun is up,” Hans said.

December didn’t see the sun. She saw the inside of her eyelids. She’d been slumbering extremely soundly, and she wanted more of it.

“Mmph,” she said, burrowing into the soft pillow. Hans wasn’t spooning her anymore. To judge by the direction of his voice, he was kneeling beside the bed, leaving the narrow mattress entirely to her. She was unabashedly prepared to wallow under the cowboy sheets till noon.

Hans wrapped his palm and fingers around her shoulder. “My battery is charged from sleep. I’m going to heal you now.”

A dull ache shot through her where she’d been cut, followed by a heavenly wash of warmth. The sensation was like melting chocolate swirled with the afterglow of a good climax. The ache in December’s shoulder shifted between her legs. Her arousal was so strong she squeezed her thighs together.

Her lover bent to murmur against her neck. “Do you know what monstrous morning erections fae wake with? Can you imagine how badly I want to pleasure you?”

She hunched her shoulder and tried not to giggle. “You’re already pleasuring me.”

Hans wrapped his warm hand behind her neck, pulling her gently but irresistibly upright. “I want to pleasure you in the flesh, my love. I’ve barely begun to do that.”

She gave in and hugged him, loving how he embraced her in return. His big male size was tremendously satisfying, the strength and the give he managed to combine. She dragged her sleepy face across his shoulder. “You smell good.”

“You smell good,” he replied.

She rubbed his back and sighed happily. Daylight filtered through the doorway of the room they’d slept in. They were surrounded by pieces of beds and bureaus in various stages of repair. Dust floated in the air, but nothing seemed truly dirty. She guessed the absent shop owners took good care of their stock.

“Eyes open yet?” Hans asked.

“Maybe.” She pushed back and smiled at him.

He smiled back at her. “I want you,” he said. “No kidding.”

He was shirtless, which explained why hugging him felt incredible. He’d left on his buckskin trousers. The bulge that pushed out their front was X-rated.

Not done exploring him just yet, December sifted her fingertips through his dark gold chest hair. “When I touch you, my skin tingles.”

“When I touch you, mine does.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“But I’m not magic.”

“The combination of human and fae tends to be . . . combustible. It’s one of the reasons someone always sneaks between the realms, no matter how tense relations between our races sometimes become.”

Fae and humans had relations? She made a note to ask about that later. In the meantime, she dragged her nails in firm circles over his straining hump. When she reached the head of his penis, Hans sucked a sharp breath of reaction. “Relations are looking tense right now,” she teased.

Despite the state of his arousal, he leaned to kiss her light as a feather on her mouth. Her lips tingled like her fingers had. “Take pity on me,” he whispered. “I want my cock inside you.”

“Will you always ask my permission?”

“Always. Just as I’ll always use my powers of persuasion to coax you to give in.”

“Do I, er, need protection?”

He shook his head. “For you and I to have children would require a ritual.”

His beautiful eyes gazed deeply into hers. She felt as if he were silently saying he wanted kids with her. Maybe the two of them were special faerie soulmates, but having children was a serious grown-up thing. Panic gripped her for a second but relaxed soon after. He said he’d always ask permission. He must mean about things like that as well.

“We have time,” he said softly. “We have so much to learn about each other.”

Tears burned across her eyes. “I want to know everything about you,” she declared impassionedly.

He laughed. “Not right this second, I hope.”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “Not this second. I have more urgent issues I’d like you to see to.”

He liked that answer. A salacious glint entered his expression. Though her shoulder was healed, he helped her peel off the borrowed cable knit sweater. As gently as if she were a child, he shifted her tumbled curls behind her shoulders.

“So beautiful,” he said, his fingers smoothing her breasts’ lush curves. “Like a healthy peasant girl on a farm.”

She smiled. Worths weren’t generally considered peasants, but she guessed to him this was a compliment. He was engrossed in drawing circles around her areola when she unbuttoned and unzipped the corduroys she wore.

“I can help with that,” he said.

She propped her hands beside her hips to brace, perfectly willing to let him. He stood, moving to the end of the little bed to pull the pants down her legs. Once they were off, his strong and sensitive hands rubbed pleasure back up her naked limbs. He stroked and kneaded her calves, her thighs, the slightly ticklish bend behind her knees. She expected him to rush toward the main event, but he’d told the truth about enjoying touching her. He kissed every scratch on her legs from their dash through Dire Woods, healing each one in turn. She could tell from the in and out of his ripped stomach that his breathing had deepened.

In the mood to tease, she nudged his thigh with her toes. “You going to stand there dilly-dallying forever?”

He caught her ankle and worked his thumbs into the arch of her foot. “You can’t be trying to hurry me. I have centuries of unfulfilled fantasies to make up for.”

He was teasing too. The twinkle in his eyes said so. Despite this, December’s neck arched with sudden, uncontrollable pleasure. The nerves his thumbs were pressing tugged unexpectedly on her clit.

“Oh my God,” she gasped as moisture welled from her.

Hans pressed the sole of her foot over his huge erection.

She wouldn’t have guessed that would be a thrill, but his shape and hardness sent electric currents up the same rewarding path. For him too, apparently. His hips rolled against her foot, both his hands pressing it to him as he groaned. She curled her toes, and he writhed harder. Then, as if he couldn’t wait a second longer, he released her leg and ripped the ties of his trousers loose.

She was more than ready for that, grateful to see him shove the pants to his hips and let his trapped cock spring free. God, it was hard, its skin flushed with excitement, its pulse beating visibly. She could hardly drag her gaze from it to him as he descended over her on the little bed.

His knees hit the mattress, and his hands reached for the headboard. His fingers squeezed and released the wood like his muscles needed more to do than he was giving them.

“Open your legs,” he rasped.

She spread them so that her calves hung over the sides.

The position exposed her more than she would have wanted if she weren’t so aroused. Hans looked at her sex, then her belly, and her breasts again. That he admired everything he saw was obvious.

“Touch me,” he said when his ogling reached her face.

She laid her hands on his pounding chest, smoothing them around his ribcage and down his sides. He shuddered and closed his eyes.

“God, I want you so much,” he said.

Saying that simply made her bolder. She trailed her touch to his rigid cock, gathering her hands together and pulling up the hot pole. The hungry sounds he made were delicious, the beads of wetness that welled from the slit. She spread the silky drops around his corona, delighting in every gasp and quiver she drew from him. With the pads of her thumbs, she rubbed the hot spot beneath, lubricating it as well. His breath rushed out with pleasure. She wanted to suck him, but that would mean dragging her gaze from his exalted expression.

No one could doubt how passionately he desired her.

“Take me,” she said. “Make up for your lost time.”

His eyes opened. The gleam in them was unfocused, like he’d come back from a very dirty and pleasant dream starring her. He lowered his hips with her hands still on his cock, letting her guide the head into the best home for it. She let go when he was there, smoothing her touch up his sides again.

The moment felt monumental, as if her life was finally beginning. He came down onto his elbows, his eyes blazing into hers. His tip pulsed rapidly against her.

“You have my heart forever,” he said.

He pushed in before she could answer, startling a gasp from her. Holy hell, he felt good: thick, hot, smooth. The tingling magic of his skin radiated even more strongly from his penis. Her hands tightened on his muscled back as he forged slowly into her tight passage.

“My God,” she gasped, her spine arching as he stretched her walls.

He wedged one hand beneath her bottom, pulling her to him as he pushed harder.

He moaned long and low when he reached the end of her.

Being filled by him was almost too good. Her pussy throbbed like a drum around him—or maybe he was the source of that lovely thick percussion. Probably it was both of them. Not that it mattered. When she wriggled to get closer, the throbbing increased deliriously.

He gasped, his hips grinding closer. “I have to move. Tell me you’re ready.”

“Yes,” she urged. “Please.”

He drew back, drew breath, and then he pumped his cock into her.

She loved that better than she’d ever loved anything, digging in her heels, clutching at his waist to help him go at her harder. He seemed to feel every stroke, seemed to appreciate every burst of sensation from the quick slick friction. He pushed one of her legs higher on his back. Very much a fan of this, she used its strength to push her pelvis over him.

“Hans,” she groaned, unable to keep his name inside. She swelled with so many feelings: pleasure, love, hope so sharp it was frightening. The barricades around her heart were cracking, letting his fully into it.

He caught her urgency. His thrusts came faster, his grunts of need and pleasure rising in pitch. The joints on the little bed creaked like mad, but thankfully didn’t break. Maybe to help support it, he put one foot on the floor. That gave him even more leverage, which he couldn’t seem to resist taking advantage of. He braced one palm on the headboard, so as not to crack her skull against it.

Oh it was all so good, but she had to have more. She changed the angle of her hips, and he went deeper. She cried out hoarsely at that pleasure. The hammer of his cock was concussing some previously hidden nerve. Her pussy tightened, her anticipation of what was coming mixed up with an unbearable tenderness.

Her heart longed for him as much as her body.

He knew. He found her clit with two fingers and the tenderness exploded. She came in hot streaks of feeling. They shot up her clit where he pressed and rubbed, through her pussy, pleasure zinging out through every toe and fingertip. Hans let out a strangled sound and swelled inside her.

The hand that had been braced on the headboard grabbed the thick curls behind her neck, winding them around his wrist like she was his captive. She had no fear of him abusing the control. She loved that he secretly craved to possess her. She only wanted him to be as overwhelmed as she was. She licked her longest finger, reached down his body, and pushed it into his tight asshole.

The nerves she woke shoved him past the edge. He slung into her and came, jammed deep, spilling hard and moaning with ecstasy. Each burst of seed added a glow to her long climax.

“December,” he groaned as his own continued. “God.”

If they’d been in his world, perhaps the peak would have gone on forever. Her world had beginnings and endings. On the bright side, this meant she could look forward to him rocking her universe again.

“Wow,” she breathed, when his strength gave out and his torso dropped onto hers. She patted his sweating back, enjoying that she’d made him pant this hard.

Then again, he had her trembling all over.

He put one weakened hand on her breast and sighed. “Thank you. That was an excellent start.”

“An excellent start! If you’re just starting, I need a break before next time.”

“As you wish. Just . . . going to . . . close my eyes one second.”

He closed them for a lot more than one second. For a minute, December enjoyed petting his unconscious spine. Then she fell asleep herself.

~

When she woke, Hans was dressed. He’d moved an upholstered granny rocker beside the bed and was sitting pensively in it. Seeming to know she was awake without looking, he stretched one hand to rub her bare shoulder. The caress was absentminded but very sweet.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“The beer clock says ten fifteen.”

She sat up and scrubbed at her face. The covers he must have pulled over her fell down. Not so absentminded after all, Hans looked at her breasts and smiled. December grinned back a bit smugly.

“We should decide what we’re doing next,” she said. “Besides having sex again.”

“I can escort you to your parents.”

That idea startled her.

“They’ll be worried,” he said. “Soon enough the school will tell them you’ve gone missing.”

“Assuming the headmistress can reach them. They’re probably in Europe skiing. Or Aspen.” She shrugged, her long curls whispering along her naked arms. “As for being worried, my father warned me the next time I got in trouble at a school, I could damn well get a job.”

Hans stared at her. “Your father said that.”

“He’s not a monster. Well, no more than any slightly unscrupulous hereditary head of a giant conglomerate. To be fair, I’m a handful. I wore out his patience. And eighteen is old enough to work.”

“But he’s your father.”

December squeezed Hans’s thigh. “He’s just an ordinary rich guy who doesn’t understand his kid. I don’t know why, but I was never like either of my parents, even when I was little. I had more imagination than they could cope with.”

“I suppose I should be grateful for your imagination.”

December wagged her eyebrows. “I suppose you should.”

It was a joke, but he looked away, clearly thinking hard. December had an inkling she knew what about. “Your mother was a hero, giving her life to defend yours. And watching over you as a spirit. I assume even in Faerie, that level of sacrifice is rare.”

“Yes.”

She let him muse on that for a bit. “I could probably find work as a waitress. I did that once before when a school chucked me out.”

“That’s too menial for a smart girl like you. I will play the Lottery.”

He was serious. “Hans,” she cautioned. “I don’t think—”

“As I understand it, winning depends on luck. My luck has recovered. I believe I’ll be successful.”

“Okay, but maybe we shouldn’t count on that.”

This time, he was the one to grin.

“Really?” she said. “Just like that, you can win the Lottery?”

“Not often. That would draw too much attention. I wish to pass as one of you. The human realm is your home, and you’ll be happier here.”

His consideration stunned her more than anything he’d done yet. She took a moment to regain her breath. “You did a lot of thinking while I slept.”

“Did I reach a wrong conclusion?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe I’d enjoy a peek at Faerie at some point.”

He stroked his fingers around her cheek. His ice blue eyes were soft. “If I find a safe way to visit, I’ll gladly give you one. There is, however, an imbalance I need to address first.”

“What imbalance?”

He looked down as if embarrassed. “I never considered what I did to those girls I lured out to my statue. I was too focused on breaking free of the curse. Now that librarian is dead, and your French teacher may have ruined her life for me.”

“I’m not convinced you should feel guilty about them. Mrs. Blake wanted to use spells to make you her toy. And you gave Miss Westin a glimpse of a world most people would kill to know was real. If she chose to let that make her bitter, that was her deal.”

“Nonetheless, in my heart, I believe I owe a debt.” He pressed his hand to his huntsman’s vest, beneath which she had no doubt his heart experienced everything he said. “I want to help human women find loves that bring them joy.”

So . . . not only was he magical and gorgeous but also principled. There had to be some illogic in her ending up with him.

“You mean you want to be a matchmaker?”

“Yes,” he said earnestly. “Would it be possible to start my own match dot com?”

She laughed. “Leave it to you to know what that is.”

“I only know in a vague fashion. I could provide a little faerie dust to facilitate good pairings.”

“Faerie dust is an actual thing?”

He twisted one of her curls around his finger. “It is, though I’m not as . . . dusty as a pureblood. I believe I’d fare better with a partner, one more familiar with how humans arrange romance.”

His tone was coy. December rolled her eyes. “When it comes to romance, I might have to study up as much as you.”

“But you think you’d like being my partner?”

She didn’t know how he could doubt it. “Better than waitressing. And working with you sounds fun. I’d like seeing your ‘dustiness’ in action.”

He leaned in to press his lips to hers. “I feel better now. I didn’t like that weight on me.”

“Mm. What sort of weight would you like on you?”

He pulled her into his lap to demonstrate—and to kiss her more deeply. That kept her quiet for a bit. Him too, if she didn’t count moaning.

She stroked his shoulders, then dug her hands into his hair. His neck rolled as her fingers massaged his scalp. The long ridge she sat on grew harder.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmured wonderingly against her mouth.

“Of course I am. I love you.” This time the words felt exactly like they belonged.

Hans pulled back to look at her.

“I love you,” she repeated.

He laughed breathily. “My being here is living proof of that, and still I adore hearing you say the words.”

She smiled. “Because you love me.”

He passed his hands up and down her back, shooting wonderful streaks of sexual buzziness through her vertebrae.

“I do,” he said. “You’ve grown too accustomed of making the best of wherever your parents threw you. I want to cherish you forever. I want to make up for everything that ever disappointed you.”

December was touched beyond expressing that he remembered her saying that. “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.”

“Well, well,” drawled a voice from the doorway. “Looks like we have our own Goldilocks.”

“Crap,” December gasped, realizing the junkshop owner must have come back early. She scrambled off Hans’s lap, remembering too late that she was naked. Hans yanked the blanket off the bed, handing it to her even as he turned to confront the intruder.

Once the covering was wrapped around her, December blinked in shock. Hans had his longbow loaded and pointed at the man. He’d done it so quickly she hadn’t seen him reach for the weapon.

“Easy, cousin,” said the lean dark-haired man. His palms were lifted peaceably.

“Cousin?” Hans growled the question more like a werewolf than a half elf.

The man smiled with a great many straight white teeth. December couldn’t help observing he was very good-looking. “I haven’t lived in the mortal realm long enough not to recognize a fellow fae.”

Hans wasn’t swallowing his charm. “Friend or foe,” he demanded.

The man stopped smiling, which immediately made him more imposing. He wore a plaid flannel shirt and dark khaki trousers. Despite this humble garb, he gave off a different air from Hans—more prince and less common man. December concluded he was the pureblood version of whatever sort of fae he was.

“Friend,” he said, “unless you give me reason not to be.”

“Duvall,” called a woman in the next room, “who are you talking to?” She stopped short in the doorway. She was pretty in a New England way. Long dark hair. Rangy body. Kick-ass riding boots that showed off her legs. She was older than December but not a lot. She seemed displeased to find her companion in Hans’s arrow sights.

“Goodness,” she said with deceptive mildness. “Please don’t point that at my husband.”

Hans didn’t precisely relax, but he lowered the bow. “I am Hans,” he said, “And this is my true bride, December. I apologize for our intrusion.”

“And for the sandwiches,” December added. “We’ll pay you back for them.”

“You’re the girl who ran away from Rackham,” the woman said. “Your picture was on the morning news.”

“She didn’t run away,” Hans corrected as if this were a slur to December’s character. “She helped save me from Queen Araun.”

“Queen Araun?” Duvall repeated, his mouth open. “Don’t tell me you’re the huntsman she turned into a statue for breaking her daughter’s heart. Good Lord, that had to be two hundred years ago!”

“I am he,” Hans said a bit stiffly.

“And you ended up at Rackham?”

“In the cemetery behind it. The villagers established it around my statue. They assumed I already marked a grave.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Duvall said. “Nasty piece of work, that Araun. Met her once at a party. I don’t suppose you were lucky enough to kill her.”

“Couldn’t,” Hans said. “Her husband was my king. I’d sworn vows to both of them.”

Duvall nodded as if this conversation were perfectly normal. His wife’s expression, by contrast, combined stupefaction with amusement.

“Are you human too?” December blurted out.

The question inspired more surprise than she expected. The woman pressed both hands to her mouth like she was about to cry. “Oh! Only the other morning I was wishing.”

“What did you wish, my love?” her husband turned to her to ask. His voice and manner had gone soft—protective too, like she was the most precious thing in the world to him.

Now that’s romantic, December thought.

His wife answered him with wide eyes. “I wished I had a female friend I could talk to about fae stuff. I love my brother, but some things I can’t share with him. Not that I’m assuming,” she said hastily to December. “You probably don’t plan to stay in Kingaken.”

“We don’t plan not to,” December said slowly. “Maybe we could for a while. Hans could use a chance to get his land legs.”

She glanced at him, and he shrugged, a let’s-see-how-it-goes gesture. Would he enjoy having another fae to talk to? The woman seemed kind of cool, but was this prince who dressed like a handyman bro-friend material?

We’re thinking about each other’s happiness, she realized. Maybe we won’t suck at this romance thing.

“I’m Belle,” the woman said, offering her hand.

December tucked the blanket tighter beneath her arms and shook it. She noticed neither Belle nor Duvall volunteered their last names. Good to know they expected strangers to earn their trust.

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said.

She shook Duvall’s hand as well, giving him a firmer than normal grip. Let him chew on the fact that she was no more of a candyass than his wife.

Maybe he guessed what she was doing. He began to smile a little. “This should be interesting,” he commented.

Belle slapped his arm as wife code for don’t be rude. “My brother owns a bed and breakfast,” she said to December. “And he knows about the fae. I’m sure he can put you up until you find your way.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Hans responded. “December and I will pay him back as soon as we win the Lottery.”

Belle burst into a laugh, which she cut short abruptly. She looked at her husband. “Seriously? They can do that?”

Not worried about the answer, December caught Hans’s hand. She squeezed his fingers, and he squeezed hers. His happy eyes crinkled with affection as he smiled down at her. She was sure they’d face challenges—how to explain events at Rackham, to begin with. No matter what sort of being Hans was, they’d have a real life and not a fairytale. That didn’t frighten her. With him beside her, every day would be magical.

Beloved, he mouthed silently.

December knew they’d won the biggest prize already.

EPILOGUE

“WE don’t have to do this,” Hans said, not for the first time.

December sat behind the wheel of their shiny gold Jaguar. Making good on his promise, Hans had won exactly the right sum of Lottery money to start their lives and their company comfortably. They’d based their matchmaking firm in Kingaken, which she’d initially had doubts about.

The stream of well-heeled professionals who sought them out from Manhattan soon cured her concerns. Hearts of Gold—Hans’s choice for their company name—was a nicely manageable success. Business was flush enough that they’d leased a little house and hired a few employees.

Thankfully, they weren’t so busy they couldn’t take off when they wanted to. Hans turned out to be as big an adventurer as she was. They’d seen the country from to New York City to Sedona to—God help her—Kalamazoo, Michigan. Lately, Hans had taken it into his head that he had to see Barcelona, Spain in order to determine if the architecture was fae-inspired. Duvall, their pureblood faerie friend, was working on “charming” up a passport.

Entertainingly to December, Hans still found the grocery store and gas station exotic.

He made grown-up life fun, more fun than she’d imagined it could be. She barely noticed she was working, and when she did, she was proud of it. This was lucky. Her father had cut her off after she skipped out on Rackham. Hans had spun a tale for the headmistress and the police that he, her slightly older secret boyfriend, had convinced her to run away with him.

One look at him and they’d believed it, though—interestingly—no one questioned either of them about the simultaneous disappearance of Bridget Blake. Sonia Westin had also left—to teach at a boys school, she claimed. December was pretty sure Hans’s faerie luck was responsible for both those conveniences.

Her father didn’t doubt their story. He simply thought it added up to no good; hence the financial snip. December was certain he’d anticipated her crawling back to him in short order: broke, dumped and with her tail between her legs. Instead, she sent him a scrupulously polite thank you note for his support up till then.

Satisfying though that had been, at the moment, she regretted the sarcasm. She was hoping to pull off more diplomacy tonight.

Having ignored the valet service, she’d parked behind the venerable Connecticut country club her parents had swanned around since she was a kid. Though she’d been here for Sunday brunches and birthdays, it was very much their turf.

She’d chosen it to increase the odds of them accepting her invitation to meet her fiancé.

“You don’t need their blessing,” Hans reminded. “You’re your own woman now.”

December knew that, along with being rock-solid certain that she was loving and loveable and could damn well be counted on. Hans had taught her that, and their new friends in Kingaken. Eight whole months in one place, with people she liked who liked her right back, had healed the wounds in her soul. Gypsy no more, she’d learned to be less suspicious of happiness.

As she squeezed Hans’s hand for courage, she savored the feel of her emerald engagement ring between their entwined fingers.

“I want to do this for me,” she said. “One last declaration of freedom from any hold my folks have on me.”

“In that case—” He treated her to the wink she loved better than any wink in the world. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

December undid her seat belt.

“Wait,” he said as he always did.

Even if he “let” her drive, which she was better at than him, he had to jog around the car and escort her out like a gentleman. December would shake her head but didn’t truly mind. Learning human customs—especially romantic ones—tickled Hans. If they could have bottled the boyish glee he took in it, none of their clients would have needed their services.

“I’m not nervous,” she insisted as he shut her door.

“Hm,” he said, clearly dubious.

She smoothed her snug-but-not-too-snug red cocktail dress. “I look too good to be nervous.”

“You look amazing. Perhaps you’d like to change out of your driving shoes.”

She cursed, because she’d totally forgotten she wore sneakers. Grinning, Hans pulled her heels from the pockets of his swank dress jacket. He couldn’t have looked smugger if he’d produced the shoes magically.

“You’re Cinderella,” he teased, bending to help her slip them on.

“Well, you’re definitely my prince.”

He straightened, holding her eyes with his. “You’re ready to do this. Nervous or not, you can face them.”

Because she was a little nervous, she gave him a quick hug. “All right,” she said, wishing her parents hadn’t trained her to expect the worst of them. “Show, meet Road.”

The flowers in the antique Chinese vase in the lobby were just as she remembered. Ditto for the starched maître d’ and the mingled scent of silver polish and martinis. Hans kept her hand in his as they entered the dining room. It was Saturday night, and the place was busy. Her parents were already seated at their favorite power table under the chandelier. They were bigwigs here, and she was their slightly embarrassing offspring.

She tried not to be too grateful that they’d showed up.

Her father rose when he saw them, buttoning his jacket, as tall and stern as ever. Not that she expected it, but he didn’t move to hug her.

“You look . . . well,” he said as if her not being a hobo were some kind of oversight.

Her mother, the arbiter of all that was chic, couldn’t agree with his assessment. She had to start in on her right away. “December,” she said, shaking her head mournfully. “That color—”

“I know,” Hans broke in as if her tone had been quite different. “December looks totally fuckable in scarlet.”

He’d put his faerie half’s mojo into his voice. Though he hadn’t spoken loudly, his admiring words carried through a room jam packed with her parents’ peers.

Her mother probably hated that her beautifully powdered cheeks went red. “If you like that sort of thing,” she said primly.

Hans laughed uproariously. “My God, who wouldn’t?”

Deliberate though it was, his humor was infectious, brimming with good nature and enjoyment of life’s pleasures. December saw smiles break out around the room.

“Hear, hear,” said a grinning woman at the next table.

Too smart to wait for an invitation to sit, Hans pulled out December’s chair and handed her into it. Then he took his own seat and shook out his napkin. Huntsman or not, he was completely elegant. Maybe all faeries were.

“This meal’s on me, Paul,” he said to her father. “Your daughter and I have a lot to celebrate.”

December looked at her father, curious to see his reaction. To her surprise, he seemed amused. He couldn’t have missed that Hans was usurping the alpha dog role from him. When her mother opened her mouth to object, his father shifted his hand onto hers to shush her.

“You must be Hans, the fiancé, ” he said. His corporate chairman eyes raked her beloved up and down, taking the measure of his glowing good health and looks, his beautiful custom suit . . . even his shaggy hair. Hans was no bum, but neither was he the type of male Paul Worth could easily pigeonhole. “There aren’t many men brave enough to take on a handful like my daughter.”

“Lucky enough,” Hans corrected. He dropped his hand high up on her thigh. “She’s made me the luckiest man in the world.”

He beamed at her, both putting on a show and meaning every word. He was so beautiful inside and out, so smart and sweet and protective that he brought tears stinging to her eyes. She tried to say she was the lucky one, but her throat was too tight to speak.

“Well,” her mother huffed, reduced to lame one-word protests.

“Very well,” December responded, locking her eyes with Hans’s. As unashamed as he’d been, she let her gaze tell him secrets and make him promises. Both his halves going to get extra lucky before this night was done.

“Good Lord,” he muttered after a bit of that. His eyes danced with laughter, but his fingers had gone tighter on her leg. He squirmed just a tiny bit. “Maybe you should pass me some ice water.”

Satisfied she’d made her point, December looked down and smiled. Whatever ups and downs they faced in the future, she’d always treasure this moment.

# # #

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

EMMA Holly is the award-winning, USA Today bestselling author of more than thirty romantic novels, featuring vampires, demons, faeries and just plain extraordinary ordinary folks. She loves the hot stuff, both to read and to write!

If you’d like to discover what else she’s written, please visit her website at: http://www.emmaholly.com. She runs contests and sends out newsletters that often include coupons for new books. To receive them, go to her contest page.

You can read more about Duvall and Belle in Move Me and The Faerie’s Honeymoon. If sexy shapeshifters are your thing, Hidden Talents, Hidden Depths and Hidden Crimes are set in the same general story world as Winter’s Tale.

Thanks so much for reading this book!

BELLE’s eccentric Uncle Lucky left her his spooky house in the tiny village of Kingaken. Twenty years ago, her little brother disappeared here, never to be heard from again. Returning to the place for the first time in so long resurrects more ghosts than she cares to face. When it also summons a sexy faerie, with an agenda of his own, Belle had best pray her luck is better than her sibling’s.

“A little mystery, a dramatic homecoming, and some seriously melt the snow hot sex.”—Guilty Indulgence
available in ebook and print

DUVALL of Talfryn adores his new human bride. She’s smart, she’s sexy, and they love each other—flaws and all. The half-magic city of Resurrection seems ideal for a honeymoon. It’s less dangerous than Faerie, and Belle can get her first real glimpse of his fae nature.

Problem is, Belle gets a glimpse of more than he counted on. Will this down-to-earth junkshop owner decide an entitled prince of enchantments isn’t who she signed on to wed? Can Duvall overcome his pride and bare his true heart to her?

a companion story to Move Me

“The Faerie’s Honeymoon was hot and erotic with wonderful discoveries that will keep you turning the pages.”—Joyfully Reviewed
available in ebook and print

THREE full-length paranormal romances: Hidden Talents, Hidden Depths and Hidden Crimes. Whether they involve irresistible werewolf cops, sexy wereseal kings or sassy firefighting tigresses, these adventures turn up the heat!

“The perfect package of supes, romance, mystery and HEA!”—Paperback Dolls on Hidden Talents

“You will fall head over heels [with] the amazingly sensuous and intensely graphic world . . . One of the best erotic romances I have ever read.”—BittenByLove on Hidden Depths

“If you are looking for suspense, passion and a touch of the paranormal, don’t look any farther than Hidden Crimes.”—Joyfully Reviewed
available in ebook and print

SELF-made billionaires Zane and Trey have been a club of two since they were eighteen. They’ve done everything together: play football, fall in love, even get smacked around by their dads. The only thing they haven’t tried is seducing the same woman. When they set their sights on sexy chef Rebecca, these bad boys just might have met their match!

“This book is a mesmerizing, beautiful and oh-my-gods-hot work of art!”—BittenByLove 5-hearts review of The Billionaire Bad Boys Club
available in ebook and print

Table of Contents

- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- EPILOGUE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR