Winter's Tale (9 page)

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.