Tropical Christmas Stag Read online

  “You’d be Conall,” the stranger said. “Gazelle’s mate.”

  The fist had not been gentle, but Conall guessed that if it had been a genuine attack, he would not still be standing.

  We could take him, his elk said confidently.

  “I’m Conall,” he answered out loud.

  They stared at each other for a long moment.

  The other man finally said something that must have been his name. He didn’t offer a hand to shake. Conall wasn’t about to ask him to repeat the name; names were tricky to read.

  He was finally rewarded when the other man looked faintly uncomfortable and said, “We’re all quite fond of her.”

  Conall, who had never been chatty even before he had lost his hearing, flailed for an answer. “I’m sure she’s...” amazing? Everything? They hadn’t even exchanged words and he knew to the bottom of his soul that she was something incredibly precious and rare. “... great,” he finished lamely.

  “If you hurt her, I’m going to have to pound you to a pulp.” The man had the grace to look vaguely chagrined about the threat.

  “Naturally,” Conall agreed.

  There was another moment where no one attempted to say anything.

  Finally, the gardener nodded briskly. “Alright then.” And he turned and went elsewhere with his machete.

  As if meeting his mate hadn’t already proved complicated enough without threats of violence.

  Chapter 9

  Lydia looked up curiously from the nails she was painting when Gizelle padded into the salon.

  “Gizelle,” the swan shifter said gently, the way everyone did. “What a lovely surprise.”

  Gizelle didn’t like the salon much. It smelled delicious but everything she tasted was terrible. There were noisy dryers, and it was usually too busy for Gizelle’s tastes.

  But she liked Lydia. Lydia was quiet and graceful.

  “Can you make me pretty?” Gizelle asked. She surveyed her reflection critically in one corner.

  She didn’t look like other women. She was too skinny, she thought, turning and watching her reflection turn. Her elbows were pointy. “Can you give me soft parts?” she said longingly. “And pretty hands? And maybe purple eyes?”

  Lydia finished swiftly with her guest, who looked amused at the interruption instead of annoyed. “What if we start with your hair?” she suggested, rising to stand beside Gizelle.

  Gizelle cocked her head at her reflection. Her hair didn’t look like other people’s. Sometimes they had lighter strands in their hair, but Gizelle’s white streaks were unnaturally bold against her dark hair. It was long, like Magnolia’s, but it didn’t hang in such tidy waves. She wasn’t supposed to hide in it, she reminded herself, or Conall wouldn’t be able to hear her.

  “Alright,” she said reluctantly.

  Lydia took her hand and led her to one of the chairs by the sinks. With one smooth move, she twirled a smock over Gizelle’s dress. Lydia’s hands were even more gentle than her voice, stroking over Gizelle’s head with clever, investigative fingers.

  “Do you want it cut?” Lydia said, a note of hesitation in her voice.

  “No,” Gizelle said at once, nearly leaping out of the chair. If the smock hadn’t been tangled around her, she might have made it further.

  “Okay, okay,” Lydia said swiftly, with gentle pressure on her shoulders. “We’ll just trim a little off the ends to even it up, that’s all.” She continued to explore Gizelle’s hair, and asked, “Have you been washing your hair, dear?”

  “I don’t like the water falling on me,” Gizelle told her. “It’s too noisy on my head. So I just go swimming. Bastian showed me how.”

  “Swimming in a bathtub?” Lydia said hopefully.

  “No,” Gizelle said frankly. “In the saltwater pool.”

  Lydia was quiet for a long moment as she tugged gingerly at the knots and tangles. “This is going to take a while,” she finally admitted. “And I’m going to need some help.”

  “I’m ready,” Gizelle said.

  She hoped she really was.

  She let Lydia put entire bottles of scented things on her head and start massaging it in.

  Laura came to help, shaking her head over the task. “What did you do to your fingernails?” she exclaimed.

  “Nothing,” Gizelle said defensively. “They just do that.”

  Laura put Gizelle’s hands in tubs of squishy stuff, then scolded her when she tried to play with it. “Just sit,” the wolf shifter said firmly. “Tex told me that you asked him to arrange a dinner date,” she added.

  “Dinner?” Lydia exclaimed, stilling her fingers for a moment. “Don’t you want to start with something... simpler?” she suggested.

  “Isn’t dinner what most people do?” Gizelle said, squirming. “Maybe we could have drinks, instead.”

  “Oh, no,” Lydia and Laura both said, with voices that edged on horror.

  “Stop wiggling,” Laura said. “Just sit.”

  So Gizelle sat, while Laura did things to her fingernails and toes that tickled and smelled bad.

  Chapter 10

  After the encounter with the gardener, Conall went, resigned, to the restaurant. It was lunchtime, which was apparently a meal limited to the buffet.

  He was no hungrier than he’d been the night before, but he picked some food he knew would sustain him while he continued to wait.

  Conall had never been particularly good at waiting. As a child, the months before Christmas had been a torture of anticipation. More recently, waiting for the awful, ubiquitous Christmas holiday season to finally end was the real test of his patience.

  As Conall picked at his plate he became aware of someone standing by his table. He looked up to find a waiter hovering.

  Probably he had been clearing his throat or some other useless thing, and Conall answered with his most off-putting scowl.

  But the waiter’s unexpected words made him regret it. “Gazelle wants to see you.”

  It was like an electric jolt directly to his heart and Conall pushed back his plate and started to stand.

  The waiter shook his head. “Not now! Sorry to get your hopes up, handsome.”

  Feeling like he was on some sort of cruel roller coaster, Conall sank back into his chair. “When?” he asked shortly, actively watching for the answer.

  “Tonight. She wants to do dinner. We tried to talk her into something more casual, but once she gets her head wrapped around something, it’s like trying to stop a runaway train.”

  Conall looked around. “Here?” Guests at nearby tables were pretending not to eavesdrop and turned away to convenient conversations as his gaze raked over them.

  “We’ll set you up in a quiet corner out of the way,” the waiter promised. “The fewer distractions the better, believe me.”

  Before he could stop himself, Conall gave a helpless guffaw of laughter. “I imagine so,” he agreed.

  “I’m...” The waiter’s name was probably not Brick. He extended a friendly hand, and Conall shook it firmly.

  “Conall,” he said, though clearly probably-not-Brick had known who he was. Probably everyone at the resort knew who he was at this point. “What time should I be here?”

  “Lydia’s got her work cut out for her,” certainly-not-Brick said mysteriously. “I think seven is as early as you can hope for.”

  Conall made a note to be there at six. “Thank you,” he said stiffly.

  He wasn’t sure what to make of the staff who had so clearly rallied around their strange ward. On the one hand, he’d had no fewer than three threats on his continued health if he hurt her. On the other, they persisted in calling her a gazelle, rather than allowing her the dignity of a name and seemed to treat her like a simple-minded child. The barest glimpse into her eyes made Conall sure there was much, much more to her than they were giving her credit for.

  “One more thing,” not-Brick added. “Chef wanted me to let you know that he has a kitchen full of very sharp instruments and he wo
uldn’t hesitate to use them on you if you let gazelle get hurt.”

  Make that four threats.

  Chapter 11

  Gizelle sat obediently while Lydia continued to tug gently on her increasingly tender scalp.

  “I got an unexpected letter in this morning’s mail,” the swan shifter said conversationally.

  “Do tell,” Laura encouraged.

  “A great resort in Cabo San Lucas offered me a salaried lead spa position. Numbers before tips to take my breath away.”

  Gizelle went still with worry. Would Lydia leave?

  “Are you going to go?” Laura asked, so Gizelle didn’t have to.

  “I thought about it,” Lydia admitted. “But I like what I have here.”

  “And your mate Wrench,” Laura said, nodding sagely. “He’d have a hard time getting work there, with his criminal record.”

  “It was enough that he wouldn’t have had to work,” Lydia said in wonder. “And they included a pretty top-floor condo.”

  “Oooo,” Laura said, then thoughtfully added. “That’s funny. Jenny got an offer from a rival law firm today, too. Said they offered her a partnership and a signing bonus that made her jaw drop.”

  “Is she going to take it?” Lydia asked as Gizelle dug worried fingers into her armrest.

  Laura shrugged. “There was no option to telecommute, and Travis has zero interest in living in Los Angeles, so I don’t think it will go anywhere.”

  “Funny that we both got offers, though,” Lydia said. “Let’s move to the sink.”

  That was apparently meant for Gizelle, and she obediently shuffled to the sink under her crinkling smock, Lydia holding her hair up.

  After she was done rinsing Gizelle’s hair of the flowery stuff it had been coated in, Lydia told stories about Christmas in Mexico, tales about parties and pinatas and Three Kings Day and cakes with toy babies baked into them.

  Christmas sounded too weird and wonderful to be true, and it made everyone feel fuzzy and warm to talk about it.

  Gizelle continued to sit through another round of combing and coating and rinsing, trying not to panic as it seemed like she was never going to be released. She reminded herself not to shift, that she was safe, and she would probably break a lot of things if she shifted and she really, really wanted to look pretty for Conall.

  She sat, eyes screwed shut, as she thought about not wanting to look weird for him. There wasn’t much she could do about what was in her head, or what wasn’t, but she could at least look normal.

  Chapter 12

  Not sure what else to do in the meantime, Conall finished his lunch and went to the pool.

  It was an impressive bit of architecture, with white marble columns and fancy water features at one end. Palm trees lined the far side; deck chairs were arranged along the near side. Several people were lounging in the shallow end, chatting and taking advantage of the dappled shade.

  Conall wasn’t interested in swimming, but he brought a book and found a lounge chair overlooking the beach to pretend to read it in.

  A cheerful dark-skinned waitress offered him a bottle of water that he gravely accepted. He supposed it wouldn’t make a good impression on his mate to pass out from dehydration halfway through dinner.

  She looked like she might want to talk, but Conall simply went back to his charade of reading.

  It wasn’t long before the dragon on the beach noticed him.

  Conall knew about dragons theoretically; some of the most prestigious law firms in Boston quietly boasted about the dragon lawyers on their staff. But it was quite different to see a dragon in its shifted form, casually surveying both the beach and the pool with watchful jeweled eyes.

  After a moment of unblinking consideration, the dragon got up from where it was curled around the lifeguard’s tower and padded towards the resort, laying one claw on the railing between the pool deck and the beach.

  He shifted seamlessly as he moved, and became a human figure, vaulting over the railing as if it had been waist-high instead of ten feet above the sand.

  He was also a clothing shifter, and was dressed in a bright lifeguard’s uniform, with a first aid kit at his waist.

  Without asking, the lifeguard came to sit on the lounge chair next to Conall, facing him. “You’re Conall,” he said. “Gazelle’s mate.”

  Conall put the book down and gave him a challenging look with no spoken answer. This was starting to become tiresome.

  The lifeguard looked chagrined. “I’m Bastian,” he introduced himself.

  “Conall,” he confirmed briefly in response.

  “I don’t know... what you know about gazelle,” Bastian said, running a hand through his short, damp hair.

  Not enough, Conall thought, and he sighed and sat up to face Bastian. “A little,” he said. “But I’d like to know more.” Was someone finally going to be able to fill in the many missing pieces of her story?

  “You know about the zoo?”

  Conall nodded slowly and his elk snorted in anger at the reminder.

  “And how she spent the next few months as a gazelle? We weren’t sure if she could shift, or if she ever had.”

  The waitress was back, sitting next to Bastian. “I’m Jenny,” she said, looking friendly. “Travis’ mate.”

  Conall gave his name in return, but was mostly watching Bastian for more of the story.

  “She’s shy and smart and scared,” Bastian said. Or possibly scarred instead of scared; they looked the same and Conall suspected that both applied. “And she’s not like other shifters.”

  “I’m not expecting her to be,” Conall said firmly.

  She’s better than other shifters, his elk agreed smugly.

  “She can... hypnotize people,” Bastian said slowly, probably knowing he sounded ridiculous. He glanced at Jenny for support.

  Jenny nodded. “I’ve only had a bit of it... she’ll sort of put you off in a trance when she goes, er, off script.”

  Bastian chuckled. “Well, she’s done it flat out to me. Me, Neal, and Travis, plus a handful of goons with guns who were trying to buy the resort out from under Scarlet. Damned unnerving, I’ll tell you. Like there was nothing else in the world for a while there.”

  A third figure joined them, a sultry dark-haired woman with sea-green eyes. Conall only caught fragments of what she was saying until Bastian nodded his direction in reminder.

  “My apologies,” the woman said without a trace of embarrassment as she sat close beside Bastian and twined her fingers into his. “I’m Saina. Gazelle has hypnotized me, and let me assure you, sirens are not easy to work magic on. I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”

  “Sirens?” Conall was surprised into saying. Surely he was reading that one wrong.

  But she nodded calmly. “I’m a mermaid,” she confirmed. “And my kind knows a lot about entrancement. This was nothing like our magic.”

  “Basilisk, maybe?” Jenny theorized.

  Conall had to see the word on Saina’s mouth a second time to make sense of it as she said, “Basilisk? I’ve heard of those, but I’ve never met one. And she’s pretty clearly a gazelle shifter.”

  Bastian nodded. “The point is, we don’t know exactly what she can do. We’re not sure she knows what she can do. But you should be prepared.”

  “... not sure you can prepare him for her with a week of warnings,” Jenny laughed.

  Bastian’s wry smile suggested he agreed. “You have to understand, too, that she’s got none of the background you’d expect. She’s never... been in a car, or a boat, or even seen a bicycle. She’s never used a phone, or browsed the Internet. She’s watched maybe six movies in her entire life, and almost no television. She doesn’t understand commercials.”

  “She doesn’t get any jokes that rely on modern culture,” Jenny said wryly.

  Conall’s expression amply conveyed how many jokes he had planned to tell.

  “She’s never been in a city, or traveled anywhere off the island,” Bastian said pointe
dly.

  “I’m not sure she’s ever worn shoes,” Jenny added.

  “She doesn’t have ID,” Bastian warned.

  “She spent a few days as a gazelle just a few weeks ago when an earthquake frightened her.” Jenny said.

  It was Saina who finally said what they were all clearly thinking. “You can’t just take her back to Boston with you.”

  “She’d be so frightened,” Jenny agreed. “Crowds? Airports? Oh heavens, can you just imagine her shifting on the airplane when it took off?”

  “I could get a private jet,” Conall mused. “Bypass most of that. I have a lot of private property.” But he could not picture the gazelle grazing on the groomed lawns of his family’s land.

  “What would she do there?” Bastian asked. “It might be years before she could handle being out with people who weren’t shifters.”

  “She wouldn’t have to,” Conall said defensively. “She would be safe in my home and have everything she needed.”

  They all looked at him skeptically.

  “Would you replace her old cage with a fancier one?” Bastian finally asked.

  Conall’s elk was outraged at the idea.

  A shadow fell over him and Conall looked up to find a great hulking man with tattoos spilling out of his staff polo shirt towering above him.

  “Lydia sent me,” he said. “I’m...” His name could not have actually been Wrench.

  Lydia had been the person with her work cut out for her. “Conall,” he replied as curtly. “Is she ready early?”

  “Hardly,” certainly-not-Wrench said. “Lydia wanted to make sure someone had gotten you ready.” He nodded at the others. “But I ain’t gunna be able to add anything to what they can tell you.”

  “... n’t think anyone can really prepare him for gazelle,” Jenny was saying with a shake of her dark hair.

  “Thank you all for the vote of confidence,” Conall said dryly to no one in particular.

  “One more thing.” That was the tattooed man who definitely wasn’t Wrench.