I woke the next morning with Connor’s revelations still rattling around in my head, but because he was acting almost studiously normal, I decided I had better let it go. If he wanted to tell me more, he could. That was his decision, though. I wouldn’t be the one to force it.
Because it was Christmas Eve day, I sort of thought maybe he’d close the gallery early, but I thought wrong. When I asked, he gave me his trademark raised eyebrow and said, “No, I’ll close at five. Gotta catch all those last-minute desperate men buying things for their wives.”
“I wasn’t aware paintings and sculptures were such a hot item with procrastinators.”
He grinned and shook his head. “They aren’t, but we also sell jewelry from local artisans, and that is the sort of stuff that tends to fly out the door at four forty-five. Besides, Joelle does need to leave early so she can head out to Winslow to be with her family. So I’ve got to close up.”
My disappointment must have shown in my face, because he made an odd little movement, as if he’d been about to reach out and brush my hair away from my cheek, and then realized that wasn’t a very good idea. “You won’t be alone on Christmas Eve. I’ll be here by five-thirty.”
I wanted to tell him I hadn’t been thinking that at all, but it would have been a lie. “Okay,” I said, then added, “Sorry I don’t have anything to give you for Christmas. I haven’t been able to get out much lately.”
“Very funny,” he remarked, and then gave me a half-wave and headed out the door. I’d noticed that he never put on an overcoat when going straight to the gallery, so there must have been an inside hallway or something that connected the apartment to the shop on the ground floor.
Unlike the tamales, the dinner of duck with port cherry sauce and wild rice I had planned wasn’t something that was going to take up my entire day. And even though I knew that technically I wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Eve, I still had a very long stretch ahead of me with not much to do in it.
Although I wished I could push the thoughts away, I couldn’t help brooding over what was happening back in Jerome. Yes, the solstice and Yule were big deals, but we sort of let Yule blend into Christmas in a week-long excuse for parties and dinners, and caroling along the town’s steep streets. Cheerful lights and Aunt Rachel’s melt-in-your-mouth butter cookies, and standing rib roast on Christmas Eve. Would they be doing any of that this year, or were they too busy worrying about me?
No, I didn’t think that would be the case. I was their prima, but my not being there shouldn’t be a reason to keep them from enjoying their holiday. They had to be worried, not knowing exactly what was going on with me, and I realized I’d been selfish to not stay in contact more. Connor had already basically told me it was all right for me to use his laptop. So shouldn’t I use it now to give my family the only thing I could give them this holiday — the knowledge that I was okay?
I went upstairs then, to Connor’s room. Just like the last time I’d entered it, the place was scrupulously clean, the bed made, no dirty clothes strewn around the way I’d always imagined the room of a guy who lived on his own must look like. The laptop still sat on the table, power cord connected.
Once again, I knew an email to Aunt Rachel wouldn’t get read right away, but this time I didn’t let that stop me. I went to Gmail and opened up a new message, then wrote quickly, Aunt Rachel, I’m not sure when you’ll get this, but I just wanted to wish you and everyone back home a very happy holiday. I don’t know if you’ll believe this or not, but I’m being treated well (except for not being able to leave). I’m safe. I know that sounds crazy, but I really think I am. Love you all. Angela.
I sent it as soon as I was done writing it so I wouldn’t have second thoughts. Maybe it would upset her to hear how I was trapped here. And maybe she would think that the Wilcoxes had made me write the email. No way to prove that, so I could only hope she’d detect the truth in my words.
My gaze strayed to the Facetime icon in the dock at the bottom of the laptop’s screen. Aunt Rachel didn’t have any iThings, as Sydney liked to call them, so using Facetime to try to get in touch with her directly wouldn’t work. Adam had an iPhone, though….
On second thought, that probably wasn’t such a good idea. Things were strange enough between Connor and me right now that I didn’t even know what I could say to Adam. I certainly couldn’t admit I was developing feelings for Connor, feelings no McAllister should have for a Wilcox. Saying anything on the subject would only hurt Adam. True, I could ignore the topic completely, but Adam would want to know where I was, who I’d been staying with. Once it got out that the “Chris Wilson” he knew was actually Connor Wilcox….
Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.
But Sydney had an iPhone. Things were probably crazy at her house, since I knew her parents generally hosted the family parties because their house was the largest in their extended family. Her father was an engineer at the cement plant in Clarkdale, and her mother a supervising nurse at the local medical center; they were doing all right, especially by local standards. Cottonwood, Arizona, wasn’t exactly Beverly Hills when it came to the average income of its residents. However, I also knew that Sydney was not exactly the same whiz in the kitchen I was, and tended to stay out of the way after the obligatory table-setting and bathroom cleaning was done. Anyway, it was worth a try.
I entered Sydney’s email address in the Facetime app and waited, unconsciously crossing my fingers while it made the odd little ringing sound as it attempted to connect. Just when I was sure she wasn’t going to answer, that her mother had made her put her phone away so she could play nice with the relatives, she picked up, her face sort of swinging into view as she angled the phone toward her.
“Hello?” Her eyes widened. “Angela! OmiGOD, where are you?”
“Flagstaff.”
I didn’t think her eyes could get any wider, but somehow she managed it. “But I thought you never went there. I mean, you were gone, and Adam had this shiner like you would not believe, and no one was telling me anything, and I was starting to wonder if you guys had gotten in a bar fight and you’d been kidnapped by bikers or something, and — ”
“It’s sort of complicated.”
“Try me. I’ve got nothing but time.”
“You do? I thought your relatives would be coming over.”
She rolled her eyes. “They’ll be here at six. My mother’s gotten enough slave labor out of me today. I came up to my room for a breather because I couldn’t take it anymore. I cannot wait until Christmas is over, actually.” Seeming to recover herself, and realize that I was waiting patiently for her to finish, she said, “Okay, enough about that. So you’re in Flagstaff. Why are you in Flagstaff?”
“Is Adam okay?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
“You just said he had a black eye.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I mean, it was a black eye, but it’s not the sort of thing that sends you to the hospital or anything.” She tilted her head and squinted at me, and I realized she was trying to get a glimpse of my surroundings. “So you’re in Flagstaff. Where? That doesn’t look like a hotel room.”
“It’s not.” I hesitated. “You know how I said there were things I couldn’t really talk about?”
“Yes.” Her eyes lit up. “So are you going to talk about them now? Spill it.”
“I don’t have time to go into everything, but…let’s just say that not all witch families are on the best of terms with one another. And the clan here in Flagstaff, the Wilcoxes — well, they’ve always been our enemies.”
“But you’re there now.” One hand went to her mouth. “Oh, God, you were kidnapped, weren’t you? But…now you’re using Facetime like it’s no big deal? I’m confused.”
Get in line, I thought. “I told you it’s complicated. Yes, they did bring me here, and I’m not exactly free to leave, but Connor has been very nice to me.”
She must have detected a change in my tone. “Connor, huh? Is he cute?”
“Well, you thought so.”
A blank stare. “Huh?”
“Turns out Chris Wilson and Connor Wilcox are the same person.”
“Holy shit. Seriously? Is that where you are now — his place?”
“Yes.”
“So…” She drew out the word as if trying to process the situation. “You’re, what, just staying there?”
“Basically.” I took a breath. “Actually, it turns out that he’s my consort.”
“Are you serious? He’s the man of your dreams?”
“More or less.”
“Boy, did you luck out.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “‘Luck out’? I wouldn’t exactly call getting kidnapped from my room in the middle of the night ‘lucking out.’”
“Well, it could have been worse. It could’ve been bikers. Big, hairy bikers. But Chris — I mean, Connor — is seriously hot.”
“He’s also the brother of the leader of the Wilcox clan…the man who planned the kidnapping. He thought he was going to make me his consort, but it sort of backfired.”
“Because Connor is your real consort.”
“Yes.”
She paused. I could practically see the wheels in her head going around. “So…do you like him?”
“I — “ I floundered for a second. “Sydney, his brother kidnapped me.”
“I know, you told me. That’s not what I asked. If it wasn’t Connor’s idea, why is there a problem?”
“Well, he didn’t do anything to stop his brother.”
That halted her for a second. Then she said, “Could he have? Stopped him, I mean.”
Good question. The truth was, even if Connor had tried to argue against the plan — and for all I knew, he had — he wasn’t strong enough to stop Damon.
No one was, apparently.
“Probably not,” I admitted.
“Well, then,” she said. “Come on, Angela, you’re shacked up with the man of your dreams, and you’ve admitted that he’s your consort, so I don’t see what the big deal is. Get moving and tap that ass.”
“Subtle, Sydney. Real subtle. Did you not hear what I told you earlier? His clan and mine have been enemies for generations.”
“Oh, don’t hand me any of that Montague and Capulet crap.”
I blinked. I had no idea she paid that much attention when we read Romeo and Juliet in English class. “It’s not crap.”
“It is. If he’s your consort, and you like him…what’s the problem?” Her eyes narrowed. “Does he not like you? Because if that’s what’s going on, I’m going to have to drive up there and give him a lecture on his taste in women.”
Oh, for Goddess’ sake…. “No, that’s not the problem. I think…I think he doesn’t want to do anything that feels like he’s forcing me, I guess.”
“Would he be?”
Time to own up to that one. “No, not really.”
“Well, then.” From somewhere off in the distance I heard a disembodied voice yell, “Sydney! Get down here! Your cousins will be here any minute!”, and she grimaced. “I’m being summoned. Look, you’re going to do what you’re going to do, and I get that. But don’t let this history between your families get in the way. That’s just dumb. I mean, Dad isn’t that thrilled about Anthony being Native American — ”
“Seriously?” I broke in. “What year is this?”
“I know, right? But anyway, I’m not going to let that get in my way, because it’s stupid. Just like this McAllister/Wilcox feud or whatever it is shouldn’t get in your way. Just be Connor and Angela. The rest will work itself out.”
“Sydney!”
“Coming!” Another eye roll. “Jesus. Anyway, I really have to go. Just think about what I said, okay? And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” I replied.
She winked and then shut down the app, and the screen went dark.
I sat there for a minute, then glanced up at the time display in the upper right-hand corner of the computer screen. Five fifteen. Close enough. It was about time to get down to the kitchen and rev up my domestic goddess routine.
As I closed the laptop and got up, I thought again about what Sydney had said. Just be Connor and Angela. The rest will work itself out.
Maybe it was time to give that a try.
The table was set, the duck roasting away in the oven. I’d planned dinner for seven, just to be safe, but by now it was past six and still nothing from Connor. If he was closing the store at five, then what in the world was taking him so long?
Maybe a customer had come in at the last minute. Even so, it shouldn’t be taking this long. I turned on the oven light and peered in, but I was still far from having to worry about overcooking the bird; it had only been in there for half an hour. No, my checking on it was nerves more than anything else.
For a minute I contemplated running upstairs to check my hair and makeup, but I hadn’t done anything to mess up either of those, so that was just me coming up with a way to kill some time. I didn’t have any footwear except the riding boots I’d picked out at Nordstrom Rack what felt like eons ago but I knew was only two months past. But with dark skinny jeans tucked into them and that gorgeous concho belt riding my hips, and a dark teal sweater over a lace-trimmed cami, I thought I was looking better than usual. Whether Connor would notice was a different story.
Then I heard a sort of thump-pause, thump-pause coming from the corridor outside the front door. Frowning, I left the kitchen and headed to the entryway, then stopped. It wasn’t as if I could open the door to see what was going on out there.
As I was wondering whether I could press my face up to the peephole without getting one of those nasty magically induced shocks, the door swung open. Connor stood on the threshold, gripping a gorgeous Noble fir with a look of grim determination on his face.
I stared at him, mouth slightly agape, and he said, “I thought we should have a Christmas tree,” before tightening his grasp on the tree and coming inside.
At once I moved out of the way so he could take the tree past me and on into the living room. I noticed that it had a plastic water bowl already attached to it, most likely put on by the people at the tree lot.
“How in the world did you get hold of a Christmas tree that nice at five o’clock on Christmas Eve?”
The green eyes glinted. “Magic.”
I tilted my head. “Magic.” I didn’t know Connor all that well yet — heck, I wasn’t even exactly sure what his talent was, although I figured it had something to do with illusion — but I did know his was not the type of magic that controlled minds or involved any other sort of coercion. No, that was more up Damon’s alley.
“Okay, a judicious bribe. Anyway, I had to go by our storage unit to dig out the box of Christmas ornaments, so it took me a little longer than I thought.” He sniffed the air. “That smells awesome.”
“Well, fingers crossed that it’ll taste as good as it smells.”
“I’m not worried about it.” He adjusted the scarf around his throat, and I noticed he was still only wearing a sweater and shirt. It seemed way too cold outside to not have an overcoat. “I have to run back down to the car and get the box. I’ll be right back up.”
He went back out — leaving the front door slightly ajar. I stared at it for a long moment. It couldn’t really be that easy, could it? I could just walk out of here and….
And what? Leaving aside the impracticality of wandering around sub-freezing Flagstaff on Christmas Eve in only a thin sweater and a camisole, was I prepared to do that? Walk out and leave?
I realized I wasn’t. Right now, this was where I wanted to be.
Maybe it was a test. Maybe he wanted to see if I would leave. That seemed more like something Damon would do, though, not Connor.
He came back with a large cardboard box in his hands. I was watching him carefully to see what he would do when he realized the door was open already and I hadn’t bolted, but beyond the slightest lift of his brows and maybe a small shrug, I didn’t notice anything. Once he was inside, he pushed the door shut with his foot, and that was that. No more chances at freedom.
Not that I’d really wanted them.
After setting the box down in the living room, he turned and glanced back at me. “How much time until dinner?”
“A half hour or so.”
He nodded. “Think we can get this decorated by then?”
“Maybe. Some of it, at least. We can always finish up after dinner.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let me get a fire started, too.”
I’d noticed the fireplace, of course, but despite the chilly weather, he never seemed to use it. Now, though, he went over, opened the glass doors, and touched one finger to the wood stacked inside. A spark touched the bottom-most log and spread out quickly. Soon the entire stack was crackling away happily.
So he had that power as well. It was a minor skill, one Adam possessed, too, but I did find myself wondering how many others Connor had up his sleeve, since he seemed to studiously avoid using magic whenever possible.
“I need to get back in the kitchen in about fifteen minutes,” I warned him as I came into the living room.
“That’s fine. We’ll do what we can. I’ll get these lights on at least.”
The box of ornaments was very organized, the white lights wrapped neatly around spools instead of thrown into the box in a jumbled mess the way the ones Sydney’s family used always were. I’d been at their house once or twice for their tree-decorating, mostly because Aunt Rachel never got a tree and I felt like I wanted to participate in the holiday at least a little bit. Also, a plate of her holiday cookies was usually all I needed to bribe my way into the Hodges’ family tree tradition.
Connor plugged the lights in. A whole section was dark, and I shook my head, wondering how long they’d been kept in storage. At least twenty years, probably, if everything had been packed up after his mother died.
“No worries,” he said, and touched the wire connecting the lights. At once the whole thing lit up.
“That’s handy. My friend Sydney’s family would love to have you around when they’re decorating their tree. I swear, every year they have to stop the whole process and have someone run off to Walmart to buy a new set of lights.”
“They probably don’t put them away properly. It looks like my father is the one who boxed all this up. He always was anal about keeping things organized.”
Connor sounded casual enough when he mentioned his father, so I thought maybe I could try asking a question or two. “From what you said about him, he didn’t exactly sound like the Christmas type.”
“He wasn’t. The tree was something my mother wanted. It’s one of my earliest memories, actually…reaching out to try to touch the ornaments on the tree and my father yelling at me about it.” His expression darkened, and I wished I hadn’t said anything. “Since that was before things got bad, I’m guessing I must have been around two. Anyway, all this stuff went into storage after she died. No more Christmas trees in the Wilcox household.”
As he said this, he was studiously looking away from me, intent on winding the lights around the pretty little tree. It wasn’t very big; he stood several inches taller than it did.
“We never had a tree, either,” I said, hurrying in to break the silence. “My aunt was fine with other people in the clan celebrating the holiday if they wanted to, but she always said she certainly wasn’t going to bother, since she wasn’t Christian. I did get one this year, since it was my own house and I could do what I wanted, but….”
This time he did pause. His eyes met mine, and I felt a little shiver go through me. There was something naked in those green depths, worry and regret, and something more. Longing?
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I’m sorry we took you away from your home, from your family.”
The words it’s all right rose to my lips, but I didn’t say them. As much as I felt myself softening toward him, what his brother had done was definitely not all right.
“Well, we have a tree now. I don’t care if it’s commercial and Christian and not what witches are supposed to do — I like Christmas trees.”
“I had a feeling. That’s why I got it.”
Once again our eyes locked, and I could almost feel the flow of energy between us, the pull of the bond so strong that I took a half-step forward before I realized what I was doing. I froze, then forced myself to drag my gaze away from his and made myself look up at the clock.
After clearing my throat, I said, “I need to get back in the kitchen.”
He blinked. “Sure. I’ll just finish with these lights and then come open the wine. We’ll do the ornaments after we eat.”
“Sounds good.”
Pulse racing, I went back to check on the duck. Bending down to peer inside the oven gave me a chance to at least attempt to pull myself together. I’d known this would be hard, but I hadn’t realized how hard. It was easy for Sydney to tell me to ignore all the “Montague and Capulet stuff,” as she put it. She hadn’t been raised to think of the Wilcoxes as the big bad. I wanted Connor; I wasn’t going to deny that. But I knew what a break it would be with everything I’d been taught if I gave myself to him. I could only wonder what cruel fate had determined that he should be the bond of my blood, the consort to make me complete.
I took a deep breath, then another. The fate of the clans did not have to be decided tonight. I just needed to pull myself together and get this dinner finished.
Which I did, letting my training with Aunt Rachel kick in so that I managed to get the duck, the cherry sauce, the wild rice, the salad, and the rolls all to the table more or less when they were supposed to. Connor had turned down the lights and lit the candles at the table, and the fairy lights on the tree and the warm flicker of the fireplace in the living room only enhanced the feeling of quiet, of intimacy. We were in a little island of warmth and comfort. Just the two of us.
That was the problem.
We both sat down, and Connor paused. “I suppose this is where people are supposed to say grace or something.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “But I wouldn’t exactly call this a normal Christmas dinner, so….”
“You’re right, of course.” He picked up his napkin and put it in his lap. “Even so….” After stopping for a second, as if to gather his thoughts, he said, “I’d just like to say thank you for what you’ve done since you came here. These dinners, and….” Once again his words trailed off. He seemed almost nervous, which for him felt out of character to me. I’d seen him diffident, closed off, quiet, but never nervous. “‘Grace’ is actually a good word for it. You’ve shown a lot of grace these past few days. So thank you for that.”
I stared at him, words seeming to flee my mind as I tried to think of a way to respond. Never had anyone said anything like that to me. Finally I managed, “Well, you have, too. You’ve made this all…bearable.”
There went the eyebrow again. “Bearable?”
“Oh, you know what I mean. It could have been horrible, but it’s been…all right.”
“All right?”
Now I could tell he was teasing me. “I am not going to say that I’ve had a wonderful time being locked in your apartment away from my family, Connor Wilcox.” As I said this, I kept my tone light so he’d — hopefully — know I was teasing him right back.
His face went still, though, and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. “If I could have sent you back, I would have.”
And would I have wanted to go? A few days ago I would have known exactly how to answer that question. Now, though….
“I know you would have, Connor.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I know this isn’t your fault. I just wish I knew what you expect me to do.”
“I don’t expect you to do anything.” Finally he reached out for the bottle of wine and poured some into my glass. To my surprise, it was a soft, deep pink. “Anything more than you already have. Actually, I didn’t even expect that.”
“I haven’t done that much,” I said. “I made some tamales.”
He shot me a sideways glance. “You’ve done more than that, and you know it. But those tamales have definitely been appreciated.”
“Good.” After I’d packaged them all up, Connor had taken most of them over to his cousin Marie’s house as his contribution to the Wilcox potluck. Of course he still said he wouldn’t go, that he wouldn’t leave me alone on Christmas Day, even though I’d told him I really didn’t mind. Maybe I did, a little; sitting here alone while he was off at a get-together didn’t sound all that appealing. But I didn’t want to be the reason he avoided going. Truthfully, I sort of wished I could go, too, if only for the anthropological curiosity of seeing a bunch of Wilcoxes in their natural habitat.
Even as I thought this, though, he said, “This all looks too good to let it get cold. So I’ll just say thank you to the universe for everything we have, and leave it at that. Sound like a plan?”
“Sounds like a great plan,” I replied, relieved that he wasn’t going to push things any more on that front.
For a while we were quiet as we ate our salads. After that came the duck carving, which Connor did a decent enough job of. Good thing, because it was a skill I definitely lacked. I just wanted to cook the birds, not have to cut them up afterward.
He took a bite and let out a sigh. “This is incredible. Better than anything I’ve ever had in a restaurant.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush. It shouldn’t be that hard to accept a compliment, should it? Especially since I didn’t feel as if I’d done anything that special. Aunt Rachel had done most of the heavy lifting in teaching me how to cook, and after that it was really a matter of following directions more than anything else.
We ate and drank, and again talked of anything except the Wilcox clan and Damon’s plots. The gallery, and how he was preparing to set up a new installation of an artist who worked in bronze and fused glass, and how he was excited about that. That led into my talking a bit more about jewelry making, and how I’d tried working with dichroic glass once but found it very difficult. And so on.
Through it all, however, I couldn’t help but be conscious of his gaze on me, the way he watched me. Something in that direct green stare made the heat within me flare up again, and I had to fight to keep my hand from shaking as I lifted my fork to my mouth or reached out to grasp the stem of my wine glass.
I want you, that stare said.
And Goddess, how I wanted him. For the first time I had the barest inkling of what it must feel like to be an addict, to have that need ache along every vein, every artery, through every cell in your body until you feel as if you’re going to cramp up forever because of it. But I couldn’t let myself give in to it. I couldn’t betray my family that way.
On the other hand, since Connor was my consort, wouldn’t I be betraying the very forces of fate by trying to ignore the bond between us? There had to be a reason why he was the one…didn’t there?
“Any more?”
I blinked. “What?”
A faint trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth, as if he might have guessed why my thoughts were wandering so much. “I was asking if you wanted any more duck.”
“No, thank you. I’m getting full, and I made cranberry tarts for dessert.”
That trace of a smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “Well, in that case, I think I’ll stop, too. Cranberry tarts? When did you squeeze that in?”
“They’re easier than they look,” I replied, which they were. Quickie cheesecake on graham cracker crusts and topped with a sweeter version of cranberry sauce. Easy peasy.
“I’ll have to take your word for that. As you know, I don’t cook.”
“I kind of got that impression.” This time it was my turn to shoot him a sideways look. “Which makes me wonder why you bothered with all those top-of-the-line appliances.”
He shrugged. “They’re the best.”
I didn’t really have an answer for that. Maybe I shook my head slightly. But since we were done, I just gathered up my plate and Connor’s, and took them into the kitchen, while he picked up the remaining serving pieces and set them down on the counter.
When I reached out to turn on the water to start rinsing off the dishes, though, he said, “Just leave them. I’ll clean up later. It’s the least I can do. Besides, we’ve got a tree waiting for us.”
Fine by me. Cleaning up afterward was always my least favorite part of cooking. I followed him into the living room, where he went back to the box of ornaments and started pulling out smaller boxes filled with beautiful decorated glass balls and what looked like icicles of hand-blown glass, and so many other things — drops of mirror and brass, jingling bells in red and green and gold, strands of tinsel. Everything looked almost brand-new, and carefully chosen to coordinate well.
Connor’s mother obviously had very good taste. Maybe it was her artist’s eye that had led her to choose these things, so different from the cheerful chaos of eclectic ornaments that decorated Sydney’s family’s Christmas tree.
By some unspoken agreement, Connor and I started hanging up the larger glass balls first, using them to create a sort of framework that we could fill in later with the smaller pieces. We worked without talking, focusing on the task at hand. Earlier he’d put on what sounded like a New Age holiday station, and the music played quietly in the background, mingling with the crackling of the fire.
As I moved I was far too conscious of him only a few feet away. We took care to maintain a safe distance between us, as if we both knew that a single touch would cause us to flare up hotter than the fire blazing in the hearth on the other side of the room.
I’d just reached up to hang one of those glittering mirrored ornaments from a high branch when a flicker of movement outside the window caught my eye. Lowering my hand, I squinted into the darkness outside. There it was again, a pale splotch against the black night. Then another, and another.
“It’s snowing!” I cried, and ran to the window, ornament still dangling from my fingers.
“You sound like a kid hoping for a snow day,” Connor said, hanging up the bell he held before coming to stand next to me and peer outside. “It’s just snow. We get a lot of it around here.”
“Well, we don’t in Jerome,” I replied, watching as the white flakes drifted down, swirling in a wind I couldn’t feel. It wasn’t entirely dark outside, of course; there were street lamps at regular intervals, and occasionally a car would go past, presumably running late to some Christmas Eve get-together or another. “It snows every once in a while, but it doesn’t last long. And Adam — that is, our weather-worker tries not to meddle with it too much. A couple of years ago, he tried to give us a white Yule, and the snow piled up so high it actually broke some basement windows.”
Connor’s lips twitched. “Well, it definitely snows here. Tomorrow morning you’ll get to see it piled up on every street corner.”
“You sound so jaded.”
“I was born here.” He shook his head. “Come on — we’re almost done with the tree. And then there are those tarts to eat.”
Truthfully, I couldn’t see as much as I would if it were daylight, so I let myself be persuaded to go back to the tree decorating. A few more minutes, and then it was pretty much done, except for the star to go on top.
That was a beautiful piece, made of cunningly twisted brass wire in delicate filigree designs, the sort of thing that looked as if it had been purchased from a local artisan. You didn’t see ornaments like that at your local big-box store. Connor had pulled the star out of the box earlier and set it aside. It was sitting on the coffee table, waiting to be set on the top of the tree.
We both reached for it. Maybe I could have pulled my hand back in time…maybe not. It was as if some part of me didn’t want to stop…wanted this to happen.
Our fingers touched. That same heat rushed over me, flooded every limb, every vein, sent the pulsing desire into raging life right in the center of me, into that emptiness I wanted filled. Filled with him.
For a second our eyes met. His seemed to glow almost as bright green as mine, and then we were falling to the rug, his weight on top of me, his mouth on mine. I opened to him, let him taste me, tasted the faint sweetness of cherry sauce and rosé wine on his tongue. My arms tightened around him, and I felt his hand drift up my waist, cup my breast, his touch so warm, even through my bra and camisole and sweater.
And then he paused, gaze locked on mine. His breath came harsh and ragged, just as it had that first night he had kissed me and awakened our bond. “Angela…are you sure?”
I didn’t have the power of speech in that moment. I only knew that I needed him, wanted him, and I didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore. Moving away from him then was as impossible as escaping the pull of a black hole.
Wordlessly, I nodded.
“Then I don’t want to do this here.” He let go of me, but only briefly, just so he could scoop me up in his arms and lift me from the floor, carry me up the stairs to his room.
It was colder there, away from the fire, but that didn’t matter, as the heat was still pounding in my veins, seeming to burn me from the inside. He set me down on the bed, and then he was on me again, mouth so sweet against mine, hands moving down my body so he could pull off the cardigan and lift the camisole over my head, unhook the fastener on the front of my bra.
His mouth closed on my nipple, and I cried out then, arching against him, feeling the heat and the need build even further. He reached down and fumbled with the heavy concho belt, trying to get it undone.
“I’m regretting buying you this thing,” he muttered.
I laughed and unerringly found the latch on the buckle, let the belt drop away and fall with a metallic thud to the rug-covered floor. He let out a little growl, and undid the button and zipper of my jeans, pulled them down, taking my underwear with them.
Then I was naked beneath him, no embarrassment at being completely exposed to him like this, nothing at all except the need to have him be as naked as I was. I reached up and grabbed his sweater and the T-shirt he wore underneath it, and pulled them over his head. His body was as beautiful as I’d imagined it must be, firm with muscle, stomach flat, skin smooth and warm-toned, a gift from that long-ago Navajo ancestor, perhaps.
But I didn’t have any more of a chance to admire him, because he lowered himself to me, trailed kisses down my neck, swirled his tongue around one nipple, then the other. I gasped, burying my hands in his heavy hair, holding him against me, even as I felt his fingers trace their way up the inside of my thigh, caressing me, coming closer, closer….
There. A groan forced its way from my throat as he stroked me, touched the heat in my core and made it flare up higher, higher….
Even with the response he was able to evoke from my body, I hadn’t expected I would come that fast. But I did, wordlessly crying into the darkness as he gave me the release I’d been denied for so long.
And he didn’t stop there, but moved slowly down my stomach, kissing his way over my flesh, until his tongue found the dampness between my legs, kissed and suckled me there, as I whimpered and gasped and felt the pulsing need build in me again, heat rising, until yet another orgasm rocked its way through me. My fingers tightened in his hair, holding him there until the last little ripples had finally worked their way through to my fingers and toes.
Then I realized he was still wearing his jeans, which just seemed wrong, so I found his belt buckle and undid it, and went to the buttons of his Levi’s and more or less tore them free of their buttonholes. Just as he’d done with me, I grasped the waistband of his jeans and the boxer briefs he wore underneath and pulled them down as one. He sprang free, large and hard…ready.
I wrapped my fingers around him, felt the silky smoothness of his skin and the rigid strength of the flesh beneath. My hand moved up and down, and up and down again, and he moaned, letting me touch him, bring him to the brink.
“God, Angela, you’re killing me,” he groaned.
“That’s the last thing I want to do,” I whispered. I stopped, fingers still holding him, but not moving.
“I want to…be in you.”
“I know,” I replied. Beneath the waves of heat I felt the slightest shiver of apprehension. Or was that anticipation?
“And you’re — you’re ready?”
Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded.
He took in a breath, then shifted away from me. I let go of him, wondering what he was doing. The answer became clear as he yanked open the top drawer of his nightstand, pulled out a little foil packet.
I almost protested. After all, a witch didn’t really need that kind of protection; my Aunt Rachel had taught me a simple charm to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. It was something all young witches learned, although I hadn’t needed it up until this point.
But then I thought of all those young women Mary Mullen had mentioned, the ones who had been here before me…here in this very same bed. Probably Connor had been careful with them, too, but why take the risk? At least, not until he could get tested and we’d know for sure.
These thoughts flickered through my mind, oddly not killing the desire I felt for him, but only increasing it, as if I needed to forge this final bond with him so the specters of those girls who’d come before me could be banished forever. I waited, time seeming to hang, suspended, as he opened the packet and then slid the condom over his shaft.
He moved back toward me, slipped between my legs. Once there, though, he paused, staring down at me, as if to reassure himself that I wouldn’t stop him.
I knew I couldn’t do that, not now when we’d already come so far. This would change everything, and we would have to deal with that, but for now I wanted nothing else but Connor against me, inside me.
“Please,” I said.
The softest of sighs escaped his lips, and then I felt him moving against me, his tip pressing against me, and then into me. For the briefest second there was a flash of pain, and I shut my eyes. But then he was within me, moving slowly and steadily, pushing his length into my core, filling me. And the heat was there again, pulsing stronger and stronger, as we rocked together, breaths mingling, no sound at all except our ever-increasing gasps for air, driving into one another, taking our two halves and making them a whole.
Then at last the climax, rushing over us, pulling us along with it, two hapless swimmers struggling against a current we could not control. In that endless, weightless span of time, I felt the bond that had begun with a kiss finally fuse into a link I couldn’t begin to describe, only that I no longer knew where my soul ended and his began.
And within me the power of the prima flared up, a new strength glowing within me, bringing with it at last the knowledge that within me was the ability to do so many things I’d never even dreamed of.
I had come into my own.
Connor stared down into my face the way a man dying of thirst might gaze on the oasis of his salvation. He bent and kissed me, and the tenderness in that kiss was enough to make me want to weep.
“I love you, Angela,” he whispered.
“I love you, too, Connor,” I whispered back.
For in that moment I knew I did love him, that I’d loved him for longer than I wanted to admit.
What it all meant, I had no idea.
I only knew that there would be no turning back from this now.