Tropical Christmas Stag Read online

  Conall waited for it.

  “I used to hurt people for a living. I don’t much like to do that no more, but know that I could, if something happened to gazelle.”

  “There’s a big ocean out there a body could be lost in pretty easily,” Bastian added with a cheerful smile.

  And, they were back to threats of violence.

  Conall honestly wasn’t sure if these were serious.

  Chapter 13

  When Lydia’s voice had grown rough from telling stories, Jenny and Saina arrived. Saina sang mesmerizing Christmas songs about snow and reindeer and Santa Claus.

  Jenny brought snacks. It was dark out, and Gizelle grateful ate pieces of cheese and circular brown crackers. She had not expected Lydia’s work to take so long or make her so hungry.

  Finally, Lydia told Gizelle, “You can get up now.”

  Gizelle barely could. She had been sitting so long that her feet tingled when she stood on them, and her fingers felt numb where she’d been gripping the arm of the chair too tightly. Lydia had turned on the lights at some point, and when she led Gizelle to the corner with all the mirrors, Gizelle felt like she was in a spotlight on a stage.

  It was like looking at someone else.

  Lydia had washed and brushed through all of her hair, leaving it shining and glossy, and so silky that it didn’t feel like Gizelle’s head anymore. Then Lydia had trimmed it, leaving a pile of foot-long pieces all over the floor. And finally, she had braided it, with the sides pulled up to the top of her head. The braid, dramatically dark and light, swung down to her waist, with a short little swirl of soft hair at the end.

  Gizelle’s neck felt naked. Her scalp felt tender. Her balance was off, with the weight of her hair tugging her backwards.

  She looked at her nails, all perfectly rounded and shining with color. She wriggled her toes and wrinkled her nose.

  She looked around, and realized that Lydia, Saina, Jenny, and Laura were all staring at her, waiting.

  “You made me look pretty,” she said shyly. “Thank you.”

  They all clapped and broke into happy chatter.

  Lydia brought her a red dress. “This one laces up the sides so we can make it fit you,” the swan shifter told her as Gizelle shimmied out of her sundress, careful of the swinging braid.

  “I won’t shift in it,” Gizelle promised. If she could sit through this, she’d be able to get through a dinner without panicking.

  Probably.

  “It’s red like Christmas,” she said dreamily, as Lydia laced up the dress. It felt different than her usual loose dresses or plain wraps. It hugged her thin form, making her think too hard about her skin where it touched fabric. That made her think about other people touching her skin.

  She unexpectedly didn’t think she’d mind if Conall did.

  Her reflection blushed as she felt her cheeks heat, a phenomena that fascinated her.

  She was trying to touch her own blush in the mirror, chasing it around the corners, when Lydia asked her, “Are you ready?”

  Gizelle straightened, leaving her reflection with a flip of her new braid. “I’m ready,” she said with confidence she only sort of felt.

  “Breck’s set you a table in a private corner. Chef’s made you something you’ll like,” Jenny told her.

  “If you need anything, you just have to raise your hand and ask for it,” Laura reminded her.

  “I’m ready,” Gizelle repeated, less sure than ever.

  It felt big.

  It felt one step from terrifying.

  She caught her breath starting to quicken and her eyes were already searching for an exit.

  No.

  She was going to do this. She wasn’t going to shift. She wasn’t going to be weird.

  Well, not too weird.

  She let Jenny take her hand and lead her down the white gravel path to the back entrance of the restaurant.

  Chapter 14

  Conall was at the restaurant at six, dressed in a suit and tie.

  His assistant had packed his clothing, and every tie she had packed was a Christmas monstrosity. He was wearing the least objectionable, with muted maroon poinsettias all over it. He tried not wearing the tie, but the result was not what he’d hoped for.

  At least he wouldn’t have to look at it himself.

  The waiter from lunch raised an eyebrow at his early arrival, but didn’t comment; his table was already prepared.

  Fully half of the outside restaurant deck had been cleared for them. The other side was over-crowded with guests, clearly curious, but a barrier of chairless tables fenced them out quite effectively.

  At the very end of the deck was a single table with two chairs, not too close to the railing.

  Probably-not-Brick led him to the table, smirking mysteriously in return for every curious stare and probable-whisper that they got.

  “Can I get you a drink?” the waiter offered.

  Conall was sorely tempted, but shook his head. “Just water.”

  The ice in his water glass had melted and been replaced several times by the time seven came and went. Conall began to wonder if his gazelle was going to be coming after all. Possibly-Brick could only give him a shrug when he looked pointedly at his watch.

  Conall ignored the continued stares from the far side of the restaurant and buried himself in work, answering emails on his phone until nearly eight, when his elk gave a snort for attention.

  His mate stood in the employee entrance, the waiter smiling at her side as he gestured her towards the table.

  Conall felt his heart catch in his throat at the sight of her.

  She wasn’t looking at the waiter, or at Conall.

  She was looking at her feet.

  Conall realized that they were bare, but not before he realized that she was the most stunning woman he had ever seen, and he had never wanted anything so much in his life.

  In a graceful, effortless way, she was shifting in place like she was ready to bolt away at any given moment. With her hair pulled back away from her face, every perfect plane was exposed to the subdued restaurant lights. She had high, defined cheekbones, and a proud forehead over arched brows. She wasn’t short, but she was very slight, with perfectly-shaped, lanky legs.

  She was wearing a sleeveless red dress laced tight across her torso that flowed silkily to her knees, and her arms were long and slim, hands nervous at the asymmetric hem of her dress.

  Then she looked up and spotted him.

  The idea of someone freezing had always been an imaginative metaphor, but his mate actually seemed to; she was suddenly and abruptly utterly motionless, staring at him with wide, dark, unblinking eyes from across the restaurant.

  He wasn’t sure when she started moving, it was so incredibly slow and deliberate.

  One foot padded in front of the other in a smooth, unbroken motion, and suddenly she was standing across the table from him.

  “Hello,” Conall breathed.

  She blinked.

  Was it the first time she had blinked since she first spotted him? Conall wasn’t sure.

  “Hello,” she answered shyly.

  Conall would have paid his entire sizable fortune to hear her voice, even for just that one word.

  He considered standing politely while she sat, but something about the tension in her beautiful body, a slight shiver to her frame, suggested that staying seated was less likely to frighten her off.

  “Will you join me?” he asked quietly.

  She circled the chair, glancing at it suspiciously, then perched on it with her feet beneath her, cross-legged.

  The waiter offered her the napkin from her setting, and she spread it out in her own lap like a royal garment as he filled her water glass.

  “I’ve never eaten in the restaurant,” she confessed to Conall with a smile that crinkled her entire face as the waiter vanished.

  It was a smile like the sun, and Conall felt the corners of his mouth turn up irresistibly. “I’m Conall,” he said, and he
offered his hand across the table.

  The smile, and her entire body, froze again.

  “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” she said frankly, looking him square in the eyes. He could see the conflict there; desire and fear and confusion.

  Conall recalled his hand carefully. “You don’t have to be,” he assured her.

  He stuffed his elk’s protest down resolutely and picked up his water.

  It was going to be an interesting dinner.

  Chapter 15

  Gizelle had never seen anyone as gorgeous and grim as her mate before.

  Her mate.

  Her gazelle gave a happy little caper.

  He looked like longing and sadness and loss. Making him smile, even briefly, was a moment of triumph.

  But then he wanted to shake her hand, like people sometimes did, and Gizelle wanted his touch so badly that she knew she would come undone if she got it.

  “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” she confessed.

  The shape of his mouth remained on his face like a mask but all the smile in his eyes vanished. “You don’t have to be,” he said, pulling his hand back so gently that it wasn’t frightening.

  “I’m Gizelle,” she said, smoothing the edge of the tablecloth.

  “I’m an Irish elk,” Conall replied.

  Gizelle blinked. “I’m a gazelle,” she replied. She had been expecting his name, but perhaps he was aware that she already knew it.

  He was looking at her with a confused expression, staring at her mouth.

  Had she forgotten to look at him, or covered her face with her hair? Gizelle put a hand to her face to check and remembered that Lydia had put her hair back in a braid, which was why the breeze felt so prying.

  “Er, your name is...?”

  “Gizelle,” she repeated uncertainly. Was she saying it wrong? It would be like her to say her own name wrong.

  His confusion resolved into embarrassment. “Oh,” he said. “Your name is Gizelle. A gazelle named Gizelle. That explains so much.”

  “Neal named me,” Gizelle added, not sure how it explained anything.

  “Who is Neal?” Conall asked.

  Gizelle didn’t want to talk about Neal. “Neal left,” she said. “Do you know about Christmas?”

  He blinked at her. “What about it?”

  “Lydia was telling me about Christmas in Mexico.” Gizelle tried to remember the stories the swan shifter had told. “About cakes with babies in them, and these things you hang up and hit.” She was explaining it badly, so she hurried on. “And there are presents and... wiggy pudding...” that wasn’t right. “It all sounds very exciting. Do you like Christmas?”

  His beautiful brows were wrinkled up next to each other as he puzzled at her mouth and Gizelle very badly wanted to wrap her braid around her face and hide but reminded herself not to.

  “I... I used to like Christmas,” he finally answered when she could make her mouth stop talking.

  “But you don’t any more? Why not?”

  She regretted the question as soon as she asked, because his face went so sad and cold and complicated.

  “I used to like the music most of all,” Conall said.

  “And you can’t hear it now,” Gizelle realized out loud.

  He winced, and she flinched.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  She only recognized that she’d looked down when he echoed her, “I’m sorry, what?”

  Everything about the situation made her want to bolt. She’d hurt him, and it made her feel terrible to the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t doing a good job of remembering to look at him when she spoke. It would be easier to run.

  “Gizelle?”

  She looked up to find Breck holding two plates. “Oh, thank you,” she said, because eating would give her something to do besides panic.

  Breck served them both and refilled their glasses, then vanished again too soon.

  Gizelle picked her fork up in what she hoped looked like a familiar fashion. She didn’t use it often, but this was what people were supposed to use, so she was going to.

  Chef had made a vegetable omelet, to her delight. Something easy to cut, not too messy. It had less cheese than she considered ideal, but that would hopefully keep her from getting confused by ridiculous strings of it. Hopefully she could make it through without embarrassing herself or saying anything else wrong.

  Conversation was problematic.

  “Your chef is good,” Conall said approvingly after only a few bites.

  “He sings,” Gizelle said cheerfully, before she remembered that singing was music and would make him remember what he’d lost again.

  They ate in silence for a while and Gizelle had to stop herself several times from losing track of eating to trace paths in the condensation on her glass.

  “You know we don’t have to do this, right?” Conall said.

  Gizelle could think of too many things they might not have to do. “What do you mean?” she asked, hating that she had to.

  “Dinner. Dating. Conversation by candlelight.” He put his fork down. “Whatever conventions you think you might need to do, you don’t have to. We could go somewhere you’d be more comfortable, do something different.”

  “Oh,” Gizelle said thoughtfully. “Oh! I know where we can go!”

  Chapter 16

  Conall hated how uncomfortable she looked, and when her face brightened at the idea of somewhere else to go, he took his napkin from his lap and was prepared to follow her anywhere. He wasn’t expecting her to leap to her feet and lean over the table to gaze into his eyes.

  He definitely wasn’t prepared for the fall.

  But the landing wasn’t problematic; he was simply standing, disoriented, in a bright field of waist-high grass.

  This is unexpected, his elk said, and Conall turned to find his animal companion at his side.

  I’m not sure what is happening, he confessed, and he turned again to find Gizelle standing next to him, her gazelle bouncing a little in place beyond her.

  This is my safe place, she said proudly. I can always run here.

  He could hear her, in some bizarre way, but it wasn’t really hearing.

  Just like he could touch her, when she offered him her hand, but it wasn’t really touching.

  Her hair was loose, smooth and glossy, and she was standing straight.

  Where are we? Conall asked. His words came echoing back.

  He had forgotten all about echoes, he realized with a pang.

  I made this, Gizelle said proudly. Only I can open the door.

  Conall looked around in bewilderment. It stretched impossibly in every direction and the sky was black and smooth despite the illumination, without sun or sky or stars. Where does it go?

  It doesn’t go anywhere, Gizelle said. It goes everywhere. I’ll show you.

  Then she was pulling him into a laughing run.

  It was like nothing Conall had ever done. There was no effort to it, even when his elk was running flat out beside him, snorting happily. The gazelle frolicked joyfully before them, and the horizon never changed.

  And finally, Gizelle stopped running and tackled him, rolling him down into the whispery grass.

  She was laughing, her whole face and all her limbs more relaxed than Conall had yet seen. He caught her in his arms and wanted badly to kiss her, but it was different than his impulse to kiss her in the other world. There were no demands of his body here, only the curiosity to see what she would do, and the cerebral desire to make her smile and laugh forever.

  But he wasn’t sure how this would translate back to where they were sitting in the restaurant, and what qualified as consent in imaginary worlds, so he held himself back and she gave a sigh of something he couldn’t pin down.

  They sat up and his elk trotted over and put his nose in Gizelle’s hair, snuffling.

  She looked fearlessly up at his great bulk and rubbed his velvety face. You are very beautiful, she told him.

 
Thank you, his elk said back, enormously pleased. Conall was never going to hear the end of his satisfaction with himself now.

  The gazelle tossed her long, spiral horns and danced.

  You’re lovely, Conall told her honestly, lest she feel left out. And she was a lovely gazelle, with long, graceful legs and large, expressive ears framing curving, spiraled horns.

  The gazelle dipped her head in acknowledgment.

  She doesn’t speak, Gizelle said, and the gazelle came over and touched noses with her affectionately.

  At all? Conall asked. Or just to other people?

  She has always been silent, Gizelle explained.

  You could take a lesson, Conall told his elk wryly.

  It was distinctly odd to see his elk flatten his ears and toss his head, not just know that he was doing so.

  I like it, Gizelle said, scratching behind the gazelle’s ears and laying her forehead to hers. There’s usually too much noise and we know each other better than words.

  How long have we been here? Conall asked. Does time pass here like it does back there?

  It depends on how wide I leave the door open, Gizelle said, as if it were perfectly logical.

  Of course, Conall said, mystified.

  Gizelle gazed up, an unexpected expression of dread creeping onto her face.

  There’s rain coming, she said.

  Conall looked up. Above them, it was featureless and black. No stars. No clouds. How can you tell? he asked.

  Gizelle ignored him. There’s rain coming, she repeated. A rain of blood. And the earth splitting and the cage breaking.

  Gizelle?

  She looked at him, but it didn’t seem like her eyes. Everything will come undone, she cried. It will be my fault!

  Then he was blinking back at the restaurant as couldn’t-be-Brick was snapping fingers in front of his face.

  Gizelle was gone.

  “What...?” He was half-standing, crouched at the table as if he’d been right in the middle of standing. His muscles ached.

  “That probably could have gone better,” the waiter said with a shrug, gathering up the uneaten food and dishes.