Magic & Mistletoe: 15 Paranormal Stories for the Holidays Page 5

  Zoraida assumed her seat with all the grace of a queen accustomed to wearing such finery as she ascended her throne. It dawned on Hans that she could well be a queen—he’d assumed that because she wore rags, she was his inferior, but now…

  He swallowed. “Lady Zoraida, forgive me if the fare is not what you are accustomed to. I am but a baron, one of the lowliest nobles in the kingdom, and my household had little notice of my return, so if this meager feast is not enough, then on the morrow, I can—”

  She shook her head. “As long as it tastes better than burned fish pottage, I wouldn’t even consider turning you into a frog, a fowl, or any manner of beast.”

  Elena laughed, then smothered the sound with her hand. She evidently knew something Hans did not, he thought. Perhaps Elena had not been the only one telling tales tonight. He felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy. He wanted to hear the lady’s tales.

  “I am grateful,” Hans said slowly. “What did you turn your last host into? The one who served you bad pottage?”

  “Oh, that would be my attempt at supper tonight. I was not taught to cook. I’m also not very good at animal transformations,” she said. “I’m better at elemental magic. Fireballs. Air currents to slow my descent if I open a portal too high up. I think I made it rain once. Oh, and portals, of course. Like the one that brought us here.”

  Intrigued, he asked, “You mean, you travel like this all the time? Magically?”

  She nodded. “It’s necessary, what with fairy godmother duties and all. Truthfully, I am an enchantress, but I haven’t been one very long, so I tend to stick to the easy tasks. Blessing babies. Looking after children when they hit adolescence, at least as much as I am able. I’m told they require less care once they marry, but none of my godchildren are old enough for that yet. George, the eldest, will not reach marriageable age at all if he keeps challenging dragons.”

  Hans wanted to ask a thousand questions, starting with whether she’d actually seen a dragon, but the servants began serving the meal and he was soon far too busy filling his plate and then his mouth. His belly reminded him that he hadn’t eaten this well in weeks. The pork alone was everything he’d imagined and more.

  Gentle laughter brought his attention from his plate to his guest. He was a poor host, Hans realised.

  He swallowed his mouthful of roast pork, then washed it down with some cider. “Is the food to your liking?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “I had thought to conjure a feast for you in thanks for your hospitality, but I see that there is no need now. I would still like to offer a spell in payment for your kindness. If there is anything you want, name it, and if it is within my power to grant it, you shall have it on the morrow.”

  It was Hans’ turn to laugh. “I am home, sharing a Yule feast with a beautiful, charming enchantress. What more could I wish for?”

  9

  What more indeed? Hans might well be the first man she’d ever met who was happy with what he had, Zoraida decided as she realised he meant every word of what he’d said. Granted, he was not a poor man by any means, but he was hardly the richest in the land. And yet…he seemed happy, for all his servants said he was lonely.

  She ate her fill of the rich food, which was quite delicious, despite having different flavors to those she was used to. Just as she was debating whether she could manage to eat another piece of the sharp, white cheese, Hans rose from his seat.

  “I promised the Lady Zoraida some mulled mead! Where is the alewife?” Hans demanded.

  “In the kitchens, preparing it, m’lord,” a manservant answered.

  “Have it sent to my solar. This hall is too draughty when the wind blows from the north.” Hans bowed and held out his hand. “If you will accompany me, my lady, I believe I promised you a proper Yule with mead and mulled wine and the finest puddings you have ever tasted before a roaring fire.”

  Though the thought of more food sounded like madness, she didn’t hesitate to give him her hand. Even after a cup or three of wine, the man was still as charming as he had been in the hut.

  They reached the archway which led to the rest of the keep, but Elena blocked their way. She pointed upward. “’Tis bad luck not to kiss a maiden under the kissing bough,” she admonished, wagging her finger.

  Both of them glanced up. Zoraida saw nothing but a tree branch, wound round with mistletoe. Perhaps this was some unusual northern custom she hadn’t yet heard about.

  “Forgive me, Lady Zoraida,” Hans said. “But my housekeeper is right. I would not let bad luck touch a lady like you. Better to be kissed than cursed.”

  Zoraida disagreed. She’d never been kissed before, but breaking curses was easy. She’d just…

  Oh.

  His arms wrapped firmly around her, warm and secure, like he wanted to keep her safe.

  His breath smelled of spices and apple as he gently brought his lips to hers. A chaste kiss, no more.

  Zoraida breathed a sigh of relief, though he still held her close.

  “Must do a proper job of it,” he said.

  Then his lips were on hers again, more insistent this time, and she gasped at the intensity in his eyes. Not lust. More…determination, she decided. But all coherent thought fled as his tongue teased hers, lightly at first, becoming bolder as she responded in kind. She wanted to taste him, the tart cider on his tongue and the promise of more, if she wanted it. So much more.

  When he released her, she nearly swooned—she, an enchantress! To be floored by a simple kiss. Ah, but there was nothing simple about this kiss. There must be some magic in this mistletoe, she was certain of it.

  Hans caught her before she fell, and offered his arm as support. “I think that will keep you from being cursed now,” he said gravely. “Shall we?”

  “Of course,” she replied. For the second time tonight, she felt like she was falling—with no snow to cushion her when she landed. If she landed. For her heart beat so fast it seemed ready to take flight.

  10

  For one terrible moment, Hans thought she would faint. Was his kiss so awful? He’d certainly enjoyed it, and he’d thought she had, too, but now he wasn’t sure. Her breathing had quickened, as if she feared another kiss. He resolved not to frighten her, and offered his arm instead. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks when her fingers wrapped around his forearm.

  Hans took her upstairs to the solar, the room at the top of the keep. It was bigger than the trapper’s hut, but infinitely more cosy. His mother had insisted on piling rugs and cushions on the chairs by the fire, so that more than once Hans and his father had fallen asleep while sitting in them. His mother might be gone, but her memory lived on in the soft touches she had left behind. Now he was more glad of them than ever, as it meant he could offer Zoraida more comfort than the shack they’d almost had to share.

  As she took her chosen seat by the fire, once again he was struck by her queenly demeanour. As though this was her kingdom, and she belonged here. His mouth turned dry at the thought of sharing his home—his life—with her. But she was no ordinary woman. She might even outrank the queen, for magic was rare in the world these days, and he’d felt her power coursing through him when they’d kissed. Too far above him for a lowly baron to even raise his eyes to her, let alone ask for her hand. But for a night, she had accepted his hospitality, and he would honor her properly. With food, and drink, and what little entertainment he could offer—stories of his travels. And perhaps…perhaps she would tell him a little of what it meant to be an enchantress, so that for one night, he might dream he shared a life with her.

  11

  “...My skirt caught fire, so I opened a portal, saw snow, and stepped through. And that’s how I ended up in the northern wastes on Christmas Eve with my favourite white gown in tatters,” Zoraida finished. She expected more questions from Hans, who had proved to have an almost insatiable curiosity for the most mundane things about her life as a fairy godmother, but the only sound he emitted was a snore.

 
She smothered a giggle. She’d drunk too much mead, she was sure of it, but the sweetness and the spices and the soul-warming heat of it had persuaded her to indulge in a little more than usual. And Hans…the man was such pleasurable company. The way he spoke of his dreams for the future—for his ships, for his home, and for some sort of trade agreement that had made him trek across the northern wastes to where she’d first encountered him. Could a girl fall in love with a man for his kindness and his dreams? Oh, and his kisses. She would like more of those. But not tonight. She would let him snore in his chair, if that’s where he chose to sleep, while she retired to the room Elena had assured her would be prepared for her.

  As she crossed the courtyard, Zoraida paused to take another look at the crumbling towers Hans had vowed to rebuild. It was Yule, and she’d given him no gift yet. She’d told him her powers lay in the elements, in fire and air and water and earth. What was stone but the mother of earth, after all?

  Wrapping her cloak around her, she lifted her arms, and cast a new spell.

  12

  Hans jerked awake, desperate to find the woman who’d filled his dreams, but he was alone in his solar. Someone had tended the fire while he slept, and removed what remained of the jug of mead he’d been drinking last night, but the beautiful lady proved to be nothing but a dream.

  What had her name been? Something exotic. The Lady Zoraida, that was it. An enchantress who fought dragons and could travel miles in the blink of an eye, but who couldn’t cook the simplest of meals. Hans laughed to himself. He’d even dreamed up an imperfection in the perfect woman, to make her seem more real.

  He should probably head for the hall to break his fast. Smoked fish was what he wanted this morning, with some of that sharp white cheese and fresh bread. He dressed in a fresh tunic and hose, then trotted down the steps to the courtyard.

  Hans stopped. If he had dreamed the woman, how had he come home? Was his whole trade agreement a dream, too? Losing the lady was one thing, but to find out he was no closer to rebuilding his home than his father had been would be an even lower blow. Hans glanced out the window, feeling his heart break anew at the sight of the ruined south tower.

  Except…the tower stood tall and whole, right up to the slate tiles on the roof. It wasn’t possible.

  Hans rubbed his eyes, certain he was still dreaming, but the tower did not disappear.

  He stumbled down the remaining steps to the bailey, where it had been his daily habit to survey the keep before breakfast, vowing anew every morning that he would restore his family’s home. Now, on Christmas morn, his vow died on his lips as he saw the castle as his grandfather must have, its towers rising to the heavens as though nothing had ever toppled them.

  He felt tears prick at his eyes, and closed them. Barons did not weep.

  “Did I do them wrong?” a female voice enquired. The sweet voice of a dream. “I have never built towers before, but the stone walls seemed to almost shape themselves, they were so eager to be whole again. The walls are sound, but the rooms within are cold and empty. It takes more than shaping stone to make a house a home.”

  His mother had made this house a home. How much he longed for someone to help him do the same.

  Hans turned, not believing he would see her, for his eyes had played too many tricks on him this morning. Yet there Zoraida stood, wearing a green wool gown today instead of white, with a smile on her face that lit up the whole world.

  “You’re real,” he choked out.

  She nodded. “Indeed I am. If you ever doubt it, remember the fish pottage. Enchantresses do not make good cooks.” She eyed the towers. “If you wish me to change them, or undo the work I have done, simply say so and I shall. I promised you a wish, a spell, but you would not name your desire, and as gifts are traditionally given at Yule…”

  Gifts. A clove orange. A new cloak. A book of hours. Not a rebuilt keep. She had given him far more than he could ever repay.

  “I have only one wish,” he said. “That you stay under my roof for another night, and tell me more tales of what you have seen.”

  She began to laugh. “But that will only place me even more in your debt for the hospitality. Tomorrow morning, I will ask you to make another wish.”

  Hans took a deep breath. “And it will be for another night, and another, and another. Until one morning I work up the courage to ask for your hand, so that you will stay. Last night was…the happiest night of my life. I wish for a lifetime more.”

  Violet eyes stared at him for a long moment. Finally, Zoraida said, “Then I shall stay. And when you find that courage you say you lack, I want a bower at the top of that tower.” She pointed. “For I must teach our children somewhere, and your solar is so cosy, I fear they will fall asleep and learn nothing. But at the top of the highest tower…there, they will see the whole world.”

  It took Hans a moment before he could close his mouth. “You…will?” At Zoraida’s nod, he continued, “Last night, when I saw a shooting star blaze across the sky, I wished I might find a woman, nay, a wife, to grace this keep. I tried to retrieve the fallen star, but you fell at my feet. Now, I find you have done more for this keep in one night than my family have for two generations. How is any of this possible?”

  Zoraida smiled. “It is the time of year, I think. The time of mistletoe, magic and kisses. I hope there shall be more kisses.”

  Hans took her in his arms, prepared to provide a lifetime of kisses for the lady of his dreams.

  Author’s Note

  Fall is the prequel to Enchant, a retelling of Beauty and the Beast which involves Hans and Zoraida’s daughter. If you’d like to get Enchant and a bundle of other books for free, go to: http://smarturl.it/Fallfairytale

  About the Author

  Demelza Carlton has always loved the ocean, but on her first snorkeling trip she found she was afraid of fish.

  She has since swum with sea lions, sharks and sea cucumbers and stood on spray-drenched cliffs over a seething sea as a seven-meter cyclonic swell surged in, shattering a shipwreck below.

  Demelza now lives in Perth, Western Australia, the shark-attack capital of the world.

  The Ocean’s Gift series was her first foray into fiction, followed by her suspense thriller Nightmares trilogy. She swears the Mel Goes to Hell series ambushed her on a crowded train and wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Want to know more? You can follow Demelza on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or her website, Demelza Carlton’s Place at:

  www.demelzacarlton.com

  Frost Bitten

  an Olde Town Pack Prequel

  Katie Salidas

  Copyright © 2016 by Katie Salidas

  EBOOK EDITION

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Characters in this story belong to the Olde Town Pack and Immortalis series books by Katie Salidas.

  Rachel

  Loping into the wintery forest, Rachel hardly had time to appreciate the chill of powdery snow under her paws. A life spent in the south had never given her the experience of a real winter.

  Her kind were meant for this weather. In her wolf form white fur thickly layered every inch of her body, the perfect defense against cold leaving only the pads of her feet exposed to its bite. Even that felt no more bothersome than a nibble.

  Long, piercing howls, carried on the win
d, telling her the pack was not too far behind. How had they found her so quickly? She’d done everything right this time; put hundreds of miles between herself and her old life, used a false name, and borrowed a credit card to pay for travel.

  Out in the middle of nowhere Massachusetts, running deep into a nature preserve, miles from the nearest road, Rachel had thought she’d escaped without a trace. And yet, the howls persisted. Craig’s hunting party.

  They might have caught her scent, but Rachel vowed never to go back to that asshole.

  She’d die before she let him or his lackeys ever lay their disgusting hands on her again.

  Stopping for a moment to catch her breath, she listened to the forest. Cold and unfamiliar as it felt, the woods were far from desolate.

  Teeming with life and creatures used to the harsh weather, it had a gentle symphony of white noise. Birds chirped and flapped their wings as they flew between branches hunting for food. Bunnies hopping around in the freshly fallen snow. Somewhere in the distance she heard larger animals slowly meandering by. Filtering through each sound, she listened closely for specific noise that might signal danger.

  Craig never traveled alone. Proper little prince as he was, the great Alpha’s son, he always had his bodyguards along with him. They’d run as a pack. Louder and faster than the tall elk. Lower to the ground, they’d run with a purpose, their steps uniform and quick unlike the random hops of a bunny.