Caribou's Gift (9 page)

The inability to act, burned. If only he could get Gigi away from the insane bastard, then he could take care of the jerk.
I have to do something. I must rescue her.
It drove him into a dark place he’d not visited in a long time to feel so helpless.

He won’t win. I won’t let him. Hang on, sweetie. I’ll think of something.

Crystal still tried to reason, but her fear rolled off her in palpable waves. “Malcolm, you can’t seriously think you can just waltz out of here with me and Gigi as hostages. The clan won’t stand for it.”

“They will if they want you both to stay alive. Now stop your jabbering and get over here. Now!”

“No.”

It wasn’t Crystal that said it, nor Kyle, who still wore his majestic—yet currently useless—form. The tiny no came from a little girl. A little girl who, while scared out of her mind, stood up to the bully.

“No.” She said it louder and then sank her teeth into Malcolm’s arm.

Nothing like a pair of sharp cub teeth sinking into flesh to make a tough guy scream like a girl. Malcolm let out a high-pitched holler and thrust the little girl from him.

Just what Kyle wanted.

He charged in while Crystal, still naked—except for that damnable thong—darted to Gigi.

Bang
.

Oh no.

It should have been him. Why was the idiot not focused on him?
I need to really work on mission #732
because perhaps had his reputation preceded him then Malcolm would have aimed the gun Kyle’s way. But no, the sick stalker aimed at Crystal, who, intent on reaching Gigi, couldn’t even dodge. The bullet hit her high in the thigh, and she yelped in pain as she crumpled to the ground.

Then Kyle lost track of her as his tines hit Malcolm, sank into soft flesh and hit a few major arteries. Malcolm didn’t even manage to utter one last squeak. As soon as Kyle had him impaled, he heaved the dying wolf in the air.

People often wondered how strong a caribou rack truly was. How deadly. Well, given Kyle was able to hoist Malcolm on his pointed spires and trot with him over to a certain ravine that cut through the town, and all without effort, anyone could conclude his rack was built to wreak havoc. It was also great for tossing the carcass of a pesky wolf that had stalked his last victim down to a watery death in the icy current.

Would he regret his actions later? Feel remorse?

Nah. Welcome to a shifter’s world. Rules existed to keep them in line and to keep their existence secret. Break them and there was no lengthy trial, no jury. Just swift and final justice.

For a man who thought it was okay to threaten a little girl and her mother? There was no second chance. Not in Kyle’s world.

Goodbye, Malcolm.

A cry caught his attention.

“Gigi, come back.”

Off he trotted, back to where he’d left his girls, but although he’d been gone only for a few minutes, it was only Crystal who sat slumped on the ground, hands pressed over a bloody swath of skin.

“Kyle,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s Gigi. She’s run off and I can’t follow because of my damned leg.”

Such a tough cougar, bitching about getting shot rather than the fact that she sat in just a thong—a thong that taunted—in the fucking snow. At least she wouldn’t suffer for long. Kyle could hear the shouts of clan folk as they ran their way, the gunshot having drawn their attention.

Knowing Crystal would soon have all the help—and clothes—she needed, Kyle took off in search of one lost little girl.

Lucky for him, Gigi kept her human shape because, had she shifted in to a nimble cat, he might not have found it easy to follow, especially if she’d clambered in to the trees lining the ravine’s edge. Her little snowbooted steps proved easy to trail, and he had no fear of startling her, not with those damnable bells on his harness still jingling.

Oh, and he wasn’t going to discuss the flashing red nose that had managed to hang on during the entire ordeal.

He’d just begun to wonder if he’d ever catch up to her—little or not, the kid could move!—when he caught sight of movement. Now keep in mind that given the darkness and fir trees, light wasn’t exactly abundant, and his eyesight wasn’t as great as his rack. So Kyle held himself ready, one hoof lifted, rack slightly inclined, ready to dash or charge, depending on what lumbered from the shadows.

This time of the year, all kinds of nasty beasties roamed, usually not this close to town, but one never knew. The abominable snowman did so enjoy hyping the rumors of his existence. Now
there
was a beast who didn’t need help with his reputation.

So, given what Kyle knew of the dark and its hidden possibilities, he held himself at the ready. But, in this case, what flew at him was a pink cutie who came hurtling from behind the safety of some branches, threw herself at him, and hugged his neck as far as she could reach.

“You found me.”

Well, duh, of course I did.

“You saved me.”

Hell yeah.

“I like your red nose.”

Oh crap, she thinks I’m Rudolph.

“Love you, Kyle.”

No. Oh no. Caribou do not cry. They blink nonexistent snowflakes from their eyes. They sniffle because they have a cold, but they do not cry. Ack. Argh.
Sigh. Kyle melted like a marshmallow over a lit butane torch.

Okay, so he was a tiny bit touched by her words. He nosed her arm and then licked her cheek.

She giggled. “Ew, I like real kisses better.”

He made a noise and waggled his head, kind of shy about shifting back. It was one thing to appear naked in front of Crystal and other grown women, another to do it in front of a little girl.

Luckily, Gigi was as smart as she was cute. She understood the situation, but then she really tested his affection for her when she clambered up his broad side, using the straps holding the damned harness with bells on.

When she perched herself astride his back, he couldn’t move, mostly out of shock.

Help! Someone’s trying to ride my majestic beast!
Not just someone. Gigi.

For her, he would allow the ignoble gesture—but gore anyone who remarked on it.

Nobody else wanted to die that night apparently because nothing was said other than a happy “Munchkin!” when Crystal caught sight of her daughter.

After that, things got a little wild as the town swept them in their tide and brought them back to the center, where someone gave him some clothes—which included a fugly Christmas sweater—and the doctor patched Crystal’s leg and told her to take it easy.

Mission #748: No stairs for Crystal.

Like he needed an excuse to carry her. Hell, he carried both his girls up the steep flight to their apartment when they finally managed to escape the busy community center for somewhere a little more quiet.

After a shower parade, where they all sluiced the day’s events from their skin and dressed—him in an early gift from Crystal of Rudolph-patterned flannel pants and a shirt imprinted with a fat Santa that said “Poke me and die!”—they sat down to eat a frozen pizza they’d cooked in the oven—cheese only of course—plus a giant salad. They watched a Christmas flick, and then Kyle got to help tuck Gigi in.

A hug and a sloppy kiss were given to Crystal. “Night, Mama.”

“Night, munchkin.” Crystal hugged her daughter tight and kissed her a few times before releasing her and making room for Kyle.

He perched himself on the side of the bed and obeyed when a pair of wee arms stretched out demandingly.

“Night, Kyle.”

He also got a wet, smacking kiss on the cheek. Damn cold. He sniffled. “Night, sweetie,” he murmured in a husky tone because of his clogged—surely getting sore—throat.

He went to lay her down, but she wasn’t done.

“Do you think Santa will find me?” she whispered, her eyes almost shut.

“I’ll make sure he does, even if I have to hang that bright flashing nose from the chimney,” Kyle promised.

Mission #749: Find a ladder.

He left before he made any more outrageous promises.

Crystal laughed as she shut the door. “You know she thinks she has you wrapped around her baby finger.”

“What do you mean thinks? She totally does,” he boasted with a big smile.

As Crystal chuckled, Kyle carried his cougar to the couch, conscious of his duty to keep her from stressing her leg until it healed, which, given her shifter gene, wouldn’t take long. By morning, it would appear as a fresh scar.

As the mobile one, it was up to him to gather the few bags of presents, wrapping paper, tape, and scissors. It seemed Crystal had not jested when she said they’d wrap.

As he wadded his fiftieth piece of sticky tape, he admitted defeat. “And this is why I pay someone to wrap things for me.”

“Tell you what. I’ll wrap, and you sit there looking pretty.”

He ogled her. “Why do I feel complimented and insulted all at once?”

An impish smile curved her lips. “Because I’m that good.”

Indeed she was. With only the gentle glow of a lamp and the sparkling ones off the ugly tree, which wasn’t as ugly now that Kyle was used to it, he could finally claim relief, relief that the day, while tumultuous, had ended up turning out okay after all.

When Crystal placed the last present under the tree, Kyle noted a decoration on her battered coffee table. The thing looked ancient, and for some reason, Kyle grabbed it for a closer look. He fingered the tattered Santa, the red velvet of its suit worn smooth in spots, but the rosy painted cheeks and the mischievous twinkle in the eye were standing well against the test of time. Unlike poor Saint Nick’s hand-held little bell. Made of a shiny golden-colored metal, it didn’t ring.

Turning it around in his hands, Kyle found a switch on the bottom and flicked it. Nothing, He shook it. Poked it. But nothing he did got the chubby red man to ring his bell.

“Don’t bother,” Crystal said as she leaned away from the tree to nestle herself against him—where she belonged. “He hasn’t worked in years.”

“So why keep him?”

“He originally belonged to my great-grandma, so I guess that makes him a family heirloom. When I graduated and things started going to hell for me, she gave him to me because he was supposed to bring good luck.”

“Kind of like a rabbit’s foot?”

“I guess, except we didn’t use him to make wishes. The way he’s supposed to work, or did, was every Christmas Eve, before bed, Nana and I would poke him in his fat belly. He’d say “Ho! Ho! Ho!” and ring his little bell. When he did that, Nana said that meant we’d have a year of good luck.”

“When did he stop working?” he asked, even if he could guess.

“He hasn’t spoken or rung his bell since the year I got pregnant and Nana died.” She uttered a chuckle tinged with a touch of bitterness. “I guess he’s my version of a broken mirror. But enough of sad things in the past. Tonight is Christmas Eve. A time of goodwill and all that stuff. A time for new beginnings,” she murmured against his neck before placing a kiss.

Which turned into a suck.

Which turned into him lying on his back, her sprawled across him and necking like people in love.

The L word should have frightened him. The last time he’d thought himself in love he had been betrayed in the worst possible way. But Crystal wasn’t like that. She wasn’t fickle. She would stay true. Especially once he got her trust and love.

Mine.

A claim he must have murmured out loud because she whispered back, “Yes, yours.”

Say what you would, there was something wickedly sexy about a woman you’d set your sights on admitting aloud she belonged to you. It made a man want to truly claim her. Not just in body but soul.

If there was such a thing as a mate bond, Kyle was going to find it, right here, right now, with this woman.

The only thing that gave him pause was her injury. He’d have to take her gently, even if she seemed intent on ignoring her wound.

She growled as he kissed her sensually and let his hands roam the skin hidden by her pajama top. “Would you stop pussyfooting and make love to me, dammit.”

“First off, I hoof it. Second, yes, ma’am.” What could he say? He was a man who liked direct orders, especially when they aligned with his own desires.

It wasn’t long before they were skin to skin. Except for one itsy bitty item.

“You tease me all day with memories of a thong, and you wear these now?” he grumbled as he caught sight of her panties. White cotton and, on the front, a certain happy reindeer.

“But they glow in the dark.”

Seriously?

This he had to see. Off went the lamp, but he didn’t need to figure out how to switch off the tree because the room was dark enough for him to see the bright red circle.

“Crystal, with your panties so bright, won’t you guide my—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” she interrupted with a laugh.

“Fine, but I’m thinking it.” He sat on the couch beside her and gathered her into his arms. She fit perfectly. Soft skin, lush curves, a berry scent that made his mouth water.

Their lips found each other and slid with a passion no longer content to go slow. Need built. Urgency throbbed.

As did his shaft.

He grunted when she slid a hand between their bodies and grasped him, the tip of her thumb brushing the pearl drop at the head. With slow strokes, she petted him, the smooth glide of her hand on his cock making him hiss as he struggled to hold on.

How he wanted her.

His fingers threaded through her hair as he dragged her in for a rough kiss. Hungrily, he devoured her mouth and sucked at her tongue. Their steamy pants bespoke their rising excitement.

“I want you, Kyle,” she murmured, the soft wind of her words sending a shiver through him.

“I need you,” he admitted.
I think I love you.

She froze.

Uh-oh. I think I said that aloud.

“I think I love you.”

Given the way Kyle froze—a buck caught in headlights—she assumed she’d not misheard him. She also guessed he’d not meant to say it aloud. At least not yet.

The tenseness of his body hinted he might flee. The poor guy, he’d already bent so much. It took a strong man, a decent man, to vanquish his vanity to please a little girl. It took a man with courage to come to their rescue. It took a man in love to allow himself to be assimilated, um, she meant domesticated, and in such a short span.