The Elf and the Ice Princess (14 page)

“All things
that are rare. But real.”

Her laugh
sounded more like a groan. There was the thing, the crazy, the deal-breaker.
“You’re telling me you’re an elf. A real, magic-flinging, Lord of the Rings
elf.”

He licked
his lips. “I didn’t say that.”

Anger,
fearful and irrational, ignited at the lack of answer. “Well, then, why don’t
you just say one way or another? Are you an elf, Brett?” She was crazy for
asking it as a serious question, but somewhere in her addled brain it had
become possible.

His fists
clenched in frustration and his voice came out angry, the only time he’d
directed that fire at her. “Why does it matter?”

“Why does
it matter if you’re a human or a mythological being?”

He shook
his head as he stormed across the clearing to her. “You know me. You know I’m a
lawyer who wants to quit for a crazy dream job. You know I left home after a
fight in which I nearly killed a man, and I have no contact with my family. You
know I spend the holidays skipping work to entertain children at the mall. I
also go to hospitals dressed like that and hand out presents. It’s weird, sure,
but I look forward to it every year. You know I believe in us because the
moment I met you, I had faith we’d work out if I could just convince you to
give me a chance. These things are who I am, and if you want to turn me down
for any of that, I can’t argue with you. I won’t like it, but I can’t argue
with it.

“But
what
I am?
If I answer that question, one of two things will happen. Either I say yes, and
you’ll decide I’m crazy and leave. Or I say no, and you’ll be disappointed
and
leave
. Either way I lose. So I won’t answer. Instead, ask me a question that
matters. Will I outlive you or stay young while you grow old? No. Do I have
weird rituals or some dark occult practice? Unless you consider honoring the
seasons with good food and the occasional prayer, no. I have scars on my ears,
and the cold doesn’t bother me. Take what you will from those facts, but ‘What
am I?’ is the one question I will not answer.” He breathed deeply in and out,
his breath puffing whitely in the cold air. “Any other questions, any ones that
matter, and I’ll do my best to satisfy you.”

He seemed so
earnest as he caught and held eye contact. She wanted to run her hands through
his hair and direct that passion in his voice and stance onto her in a more
carnal way, to blanket herself with him and the force of his faith. His hands
were hot as they held hers, a lifeline from the chill. And it was all too good
to be true. “I can’t believe we’ll work. I’m not sure I believe in love at all
anymore.”

“Love is
the reason for—”

She cut him
off with a bleak chuckle. “The reason for the season? So’s Dongzhi.”

“What? What’s…
Never mind.” His hands shook, tightening on hers as if he couldn’t let her go.
“I can keep you warm. And I would never leave.”

Yes. Yes,
say yes.
“You can’t predict that.” She turned in the direction she thought was
down, determined to get out before she made a huge mistake. Her fingers slid
from his grasp.

He dropped his
hands in defeat. “Yes, I can. But I can’t force you to believe me.” The pain on
his face cut her.

“I’m sorry,” she
whispered. She really was. She backed up a step, unable to turn away. Her heel
caught in a tree root and she felt the plastic snap. “Dammit.” She tried to
unwedge her shoe and toppled to the side.

He caught her
shoulders, holding her upright as she struggled to unstick herself from the
plant. Her motion got frantic as each second of his touch made her long to
stay.

“Leave it,” he
told her.

Leave her shoe?
It was freezing. The ground was full of rocks and cacti and all manner of
things. She couldn’t leave her shoe. She’d hurt herself.

She looked at his
feet again. He’d ditched
his
shoes. Both of them. Intentionally. It didn’t seem
to bother him in the least to stand on the snowy ground with naked feet. That,
more than anything else, made her think maybe he was the real deal, a magical
creature with power over reality. Either he was crazy, or magic was real.

Brett cleared his
throat. “It needs faith to work. Doubt, and the ground will be hard and cold.
Believe, and you and I can walk barefoot through the darkness.”

How much faith
could she give him? What kind of leap was she willing to take to have the life
she wanted?

Would she ever forgive herself if she didn’t try?

Trembling
more from nervousness than cold, she knelt down and unbuckled her ankle strap.
She took his offered hand to help her rise and slipped her foot out of the
shoe.

Foot in the air,
her nerves failed her again, and she shot a questioning look at Brett.
He
could
go barefoot unharmed, but that didn’t mean
she
could. He was the elf, not her.

His eyes wide and
breath held, he nodded encouragement. Letting go of her fear, she chose to
believe.

She touched the
ground with her bare toes. Sun warm, despite the weather. Putting her whole
foot down, her toes sank into soft, dry earth. Brett and his shoeless ways
weren’t as crazy as she’d thought. Was she smiling? Yes she was. Smiling
barefoot in the snow with an elf who’d fallen in love with her.

But now she
was unevenly balanced. She started to kneel for the other shoe, but Brett
stopped her with a muttered, “I got it.”

He dropped to one
knee and propped her foot up on his leg. She reached down for his shoulder for
balance, laughing at herself and the wild wonder of the world.

He looked up at
her, an ecstatic smile on his face. His hands gently touched her foot as he removed
the strap and then slid the gold shoe off.

She put her foot
down and let the magic of the earth soothe her frozen-numb skin.

He stood up with
a teasing smile. “I told you the moral of the story was you had to get her
shoes off.”

She put the flats
of her palms against his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his fancy tux. “I
thought we’d decided that was a metaphor for something else.” Burrowing her
fingers into his shirt, she tugged.

Brett wrapped her
in his arms and kissed her. Fear and hope mixed with the perfect rightness of
Brett’s skin against hers, his tongue searching her, learning her.

She let him in as
best she could, trying to hold on to that version of herself that believed in
the future. It was hard. Oh, so hard even with all she’d seen. But in the
strength of Brett’s arms, with the scent of his winter skin and press of his
body, she thought she could do it.

He released
her just enough to nuzzle his smooth cheek against hers.

Reaching
up, she felt the scar on top of his ear. He stilled, as if surprised at the
touch, but didn’t stop her. “How did you keep faith in happily-ever-after after
what happened to you?”

He let her
trace the ragged edges with the pads of her fingers. It must have been so
painful to have them docked. “For a long time I didn’t. But I realized giving
up on joy was giving up on myself.” He held up the ring once again. A little
hesitant, maybe, but with the same eager desire in his eyes. “I also realized
that there’s always something new to hope for.”

She knew
what she wanted. Her nod was weak, but despite her fear, she managed it.

A smile started
on his face, like the first rays of sunshine after winter’s longest night. Her
nod turned vigorous. “Yes, yes. Oh, yes. I want it.”

Brett slid the
ring on her finger. The opal gleamed with the beauty of moonlight and snow.
“Happy Holidays, Carrie. May this be the first of a lifetime of holidays for
us.”

As a light
burned brighter inside her, Carrie thought maybe the reason for the season was
hope. She couldn’t have faith in them, not quite yet, and what she felt was too
new to call love, although staring into Brett’s eyes, she had a feeling that
could swiftly change.

But she could
find it in herself to hope.

“Maybe it’s not
such a bad time of year after all. Happy Holidays, Brett.” Wrapping her fingers
into the silky wildness of his hair, she pulled him close for a kiss.

Jax Garren is the author of the Tales of the Underlight—steamy, punk fairy tales set in the very near future. She’s descended from Valkyries and Vikings (she’s part Swedish) but was raised a small town girl in the Texas Hill Country. She graduated from The University of Texas with a degree in English and a minor in Latin and stayed in Austin to teach high school. During her eight years in public education she was in a riot, broke up fights, had cops storm her class with guns drawn…and met the most amazing young people who taught her more about life and hope than she taught them about any school subject.

Jax believes in happily-ever-afters. She married her real life hero, a handsome engineer who is saving the world through clean energy technology. Her heroine is Marion Ravenwood from Raiders of the Lost Ark, the perfect blend of tough and feminine. Jax blames Marion for her dream of traveling to Nepal to experience Himalayan palaces and monasteries and to drink yak butter tea.

Jax loves meeting new people, so if you see her out and about say hello! She’s always happy to raise a glass with her readers (or anyone else) in a toast to courage, adventure, and love. Online you can find her on Facebook as JaxGarren, on Twitter as @JCGarren and at her website: www.jaxgarren.com

Keep reading for an excerpt from the first book in the Tales of the Underlight’s Beauty and the Beast trilogy,
How Beauty Met the Beast
.

A fresh and innovative spin on the Beauty and the Beast tale, with a gutsy heroine and a damaged yet honorable hero who you’ll love to root for. I can’t wait to see what Garren comes up with next!"
~ Kristen Callihan, author of
Firelight

Hauk and Jolie’s love goes beyond the physical to something much deeper. Jax Garren has created something magical in How Beauty Met the Beast.
~ Jessica Scott, author of
Because of You

If you are the type of person who loves being put through the ringer right along with the characters, then you’ll love this book.
~ Jessie Potts, USA Today

...one of the most human portrayals of a damaged hero as I’ve ever seen in romance.
~ Jennifer Proffitt, Heroes and Heartbreakers

Monsters, magic, PTSD, burlesque, an unlikely hero, and even more unlikely villain, and the Greek pantheon versus the Norse. F*** yes. READ THIS SERIES.
~ Ginny Lurcock, Pure Textuality

An entertaining and fast paced plot with a scarred hero and a rebellious heroine kept me hooked.
~ Courtney, Literary Escapism

The chemistry between Hauk and Jolie is magma hot and when you combine that with the brilliant world building and the story arc set up, this looks like a series to watch out for.
~ Jo, Vampire Book Club

H
auk’s
steambike raced down the dark highway, seven of those damn mercenaries from The
Hands of Atropos in pursuit and gaining. “Come on…come on…” he urged his little
steam-engine that couldn’t.

“If
you break your bike, Tally will kill us!” Brayden yelled over the wind as he
desperately clutched onto Hauk.

“Tally
needs to speed it up! I can outmaneuver, but I can’t outrace a real
motorcycle,” Hauk shouted back.

“This
is a real motorcycle.”

“Ninety
percent of the time I’d agree with you.” Usually he appreciated the genius it
took to build a bike that used no gasoline and emitted no CO
₂
. But
right now the Hands were nigh on top of them and his accelerator was maxed out.
Practicality was about to all-too-literally beat the shit out of idealism.
“Just keep hold of that backpack and let me drive.”

But
there was no point. They were caught on the highway, where Hauk and his
inferior speed were at the disadvantage. Even swerving between cars he couldn’t
pull ahead. The damn Hands would take the shoulder and press on, police lights
blaring.

Oh
yeah, this time they had the law on their side. Political bastards.

“Godsdammit,
Hauk, why are you slowing down?”

“So
you can make a run for it with the stash. I’ll hold ’em off as long as I can.”

For
once Brayden was silent as the blaring sirens crescendoed.

His
silence didn’t last. “Even you aren’t bulletproof.” He drummed Hauk’s arm in
sudden excitement. “Exit here! Here!”

Hauk
would question later. For now he veered a hard right that snaked them across
two lanes of traffic and onto the feeder. Their tails didn’t make the cut in
time. Hauk exhaled in relief, but he knew their spot of luck wouldn’t last. The
Hands of Atropos would roll from the shadows like rats in pursuit of raw meat
and continue the chase.