Chapter Three Zara
Chapter Three
Zara
Max and V don’t come back.
Not right away.
And with Neo hurting, our wheels undrivable, and our warmth leaching away minute by minute while snow blankets the hood and windows, I’m in zero mood to wait.
My guys wanna protect me, same as always, so of course they urge me to be patient. But Neo needs help, like now.
So I’m totally determined to act.
In the end, Lucius lifts my pregnant self carefully from the car, carries me over the ditch, and offers to carry me all the way to the cottage. But I’m not that pregnant.
I mean, I can still walk. Even in snow.
Still, I’m not too stubborn to grip Lucius’ arm for balance. Together, we all flounder through the drifts beside the road into the forest’s dark hush.
As I clump along in my snow boots and parka, Lucius wields the emergency flashlight from the gear box under the seat to light my way. But Ronin leads the whole procession with the flaming ball of golden psi fire that floats above his palm. With witchcraft like his, that warlock’s a human torch.
Right now, I’m extra grateful.
Even under the silent sentinels of the towering trees, with bristly boughs of evergreen pressing close to block the wind, the snow is falling so thickly—flakes big and soft as cotton balls floating past—that golden orb of psi fire is the only way we can even see Ronin.
Right behind Ronin, Ash trudges through the blizzard like a Clydesdale stallion (or a reindeer) with Neo in his arms. Bundled to the eyebrows in every hat and scarf and parka we could wrap him in, my fated mate feels foggy and drowsy in our bond.
Mumbling that he can walk on his own, Neo droops in Ash’s strong arms, with his curly head resting on Ash’s broad chest and his trusting arm wrapped around Ash’s neck.
Zephyr darts in and out of sight in our periphery, so light on his feet he’s like Legolas in Fellowship of the Ring, practically walking on top of the snow. Before we left the SUV, the Dark Fae King snatched his swords (plural) from his duffel.
Now he’s gripping both of them, blades glowing like lightsabers with pale blue witchfire that hisses and steams whenever snowflakes kiss the steel.
That’s Zephyr planting himself fiercely on defense.
Even though we’re all hoping there’s nothing inside Theo Mercury’s magical wards—like a mountain lion or a bear that’s not hibernating—that can hurt us.
I guess you can take the Dark Fae King out of Avalon.
But you can’t take the Dark Fae King out of Zephyr.
He’s still feral. He’s one of my kings and I love the hell outta him, we all do, but he’s feral.
Mordred brings up the rear behind Lucius and me, the demon’s brawny arms loaded with luggage and all the Christmas parcels he won’t part with.
My unpredictable dash of Valyrian foresight is pinging, that shit’s singing like a choir since our fender-bender.
That’s why I asked our resident demon to carry as much of our stuff as possible.
Since Mordred’s half kraken, he’s manifested a few tentacles to carry extra.
The rest of us are toting whatever we can. Even I’m schlepping a vital piece of survival gear—Vasili’s Louis Vuitton cosmetics case. (Without it, he’s hell to live with.) That’s the only light luggage anyone will let me carry.
I know my Goblin King.
Wherever we end up spending Christmas Eve, he’s gonna want to look pretty.
Even with my hot pink parka zipped up to my nose and my hood up, gusts of snow buffet my body and scour my face.
Cold creeps under the hem of my parka and numbs my legs through my yoga pants.
I grip Lucius’ supportive arm and flounder with determination through the drifts.
With every step, my boots break through a crust of snow.
“Cheese on toast, Teach,” I mutter. “This is like an actual blizzard.”
“Just a few more steps, my queen.” Even in this near emergency, Lucius is his usual formal self. “There’s Ronin at the cottage already.”
“Thank fuck for that.” I sigh.
Even if we can somehow haul the SUV outta the ditch, I have real doubts we’re gonna be driving any farther tonight.
Let’s just hope whoever lives in that cottage is friendly.
Hearing my thought, Lucius growls under his breath. That’s his wolf, bristling at the concept of his puppies and his mates in danger.
Through a curtain of flying snow, the warm glow of mullioned windows appears. The homey scent of burning applewood, sweet with the cinnamon spice of baking pie, seeps through the night. Snug stone walls, sheltered by generous eaves, block the wind.
Thankfully we lumber after Ash toward the porch.
The front door stands ajar, spilling firelight onto the steps. A lavish Christmas wreath, bedecked with a red velvet ribbon and nailed to the open door, adds a festive air.
Zephyr flits past us, past the heavily laden Ash with Neo, both swords still hissing with witchfire.
“Easy with those lightsabers, Your Radiance,” I call after my guy in a puff of frosty breath. “They’re friendlies inside, they’re Neo’s dad’s tenants. We don’t wanna scare ‘em.”
“I shall make certain,” Zephyr calls back grimly.
Intent with purpose, he prowls up front with Ronin. At least Ronin tamps out his fireball before he goes in. Because, like, fire hazard.
Those two warlocks, Ronin and Zephyr, slip inside together.
Admittedly, I need to actively resist my own powerful instinct to lead the charge. I’ve had to learn to resist many of my old daredevil ways while I’m preggo with these kids.
Hearing no violent outcry from inside, Ash clumps across the porch, stomps the snow off his boots, then shoulders inside with Neo.
Lucius helps me up the steps and hovers protectively at my shoulder as I edge my pregnant, parka-clad body through the door. Mordred is right behind him, with tentacles hopefully not too obvi under all that luggage and Christmas loot.
Just in case Neo’s dad’s tenants are normals.
Mordred manifests one more of his extras to pull the door shut behind us.
“Whoa.” Two steps into the warmth and light of the great room, I stop in my tracks and gaze around with appreciation. “Am I dreaming?”
“Zang.” Mordred moves up next to me, one tentacle snaking around my waist. Under his blue whiskers, his brown face is slack with awe. “If you are, we’re all havin’ the same dream.”
I mean, the place looked nice from the outside.
But dayum.
Inside, this joint’s halfway between an Elizabethan Tudor manor and Santa’s North Pole cottage.
Gleaming hardwood floors spread under whitewashed walls paneled with polished wainscoting.
The halls are decked with Christmas wreaths and velvet bows and boughs of holly.
Ivy garlands the low-hanging wooden rafters between bundles of fragrant herbs hung near the fire to dry.
Clusters of mistletoe, bright with berries, dangle from every doorway.
“Fa la la la la,” I hum under my breath. Because I literally can’t resist.
A massive Yule tree, glittering with tinsel and crowned with a blazing Star of David, totally fills one corner. Welcome heat and light crackle from the fire that dances in a stone hearth big enough to roast an ox.
Along the wall, a long table waits, festive with Christmas china and studded with flickering candles that exude a yummy bayberry fragrance.
That table’s set for nine.
Which is the exact number of bodies in our polycule.
My wondering eyes drift to the old-fashioned gramophone in one corner. The rich bass voice of Burl Ives pours through the gleaming horn, singing “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas”.
In direct contrast to all this Christmas cheer, my warlocks are spreading out warily to case the joint. All except Ash, who beelines straight for the fire with Neo.
“Um, hello?” I call. “Anyone home?”
Max appears suddenly in the open kitchen door. “There is no one else here, my sovereign. I have searched this kitchen and the wine cellar and the pantry. But… it is strange. As though the owners have only just left.”
“Maybe they’re hiding? I mean, we are kinda scary, I guess.” My gaze drifts from the burly kraken standing at my side with tentacles waving, to the Dark Fae with his blazing swords prowling suspiciously around our perimeter.
I eye the staircase rising along the back wall. “Has anyone checked up there?”
“I have.” Vasili emerges at the head of the stairs and glides down to join us, dark overcoat whispering at his heels. “There’s nothing up here except a loft bedroom… with a very large bed. An Alaskan king.”
He says that pretty pointedly, punctuating the statement with one arched eyebrow.
That’s because we sleep in a puppy pile, back home at the Icarus Academy, in an Alaskan king bed.
They’re pretty rare. Even a monster bed like that one isn’t truly big enough for nine of us, especially now when we’re preggy.
But it’s the biggest bed we can usually find, so we make it work.
My gaze shifts from V’s suspicious face to the warm glow of the kitchen behind Max. Enclosed in the warmth of the cottage confines, the rich smells of cooking food emanating from that kitchen are stronger.
That’s when I notice Max gripping a big serving fork, the tines impaled with a hefty wedge of pink meat. With a total lack of manners, my alpha dragon lifts the fork to his mouth and tears off a ravenous bite.
I give a deep sniff with my shifty-sharp nose. “Is that…?”
“Honey-baked ham,” he affirms, mumbling around the meat. “This kitchen stove is busy with pots and pans. Someone is cooking a very large Christmas dinner. And I am very hungry. This little bite will not be missed.”
He pairs this statement with a starved and pleading look from his big golden eyes. His slitted dragon pupils widen in an imploring way.
I don’t have the heart to scold him.
But our headmaster does.
“For pity’s sake, Maxim.” Poor Lucius looks and sounds appalled. “We can’t simply walk into a stranger’s home and start eating their food—”
“Don’t scold him, Teach. We’re all hungry. And cold.” With a sigh, I unzip my parka and lumber toward the fire’s welcome warmth, where Ash is settling Neo carefully into an overstuffed leather sofa.
Lucius follows me to relieve me of V’s cosmetics case. “Zara, my dear, we’re not even invited…”
“Aren’t we?” I shoot a pointed look at the table set for nine, candles merrily burning, ruby wine decanted in a crystal carafe circled by nine waiting glasses.
“The door was wide open when we arrived.” Vasili slips out of his overcoat and sashays over to join us near the fire. “Fire lit, pots bubbling, Burl Ives singing Christmas carols on the gramophone.”
Right on cue, the needle skips to the next track. The melodic strains of “Silver and Gold” fill the air.
I guess we’re literally getting the whole soundtrack from the old Claymation version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Anyway, the tune seems to shake Neo out of his drowsy stupor.
“Oh my gosh,” our bookworm exclaims, struggling out of the sofa’s engulfing depths.
“Take it easy, kid, lemme take care of you—” Ash tries to ease him back down, but Neo’s having none of it. Behind the steamy lenses of his glasses, Neo’s leaf-green eyes are wide with wonder.
My fated mate gazes all around the great room, at the table set for nine and the halls all decked with boughs of holly and the nine Christmas stockings hanging expectantly from the hearth, just waiting for Santa to pop down the chimney and fill them with loot.
“What?” I demand, struggling out of my parka, because now I’m finally warm. My tummy flutters with the fish-swimmy feeling of one of my babies—maybe more than one—squirming around in there. We’ve all been pretty active, tromping through the snow, and I sense the kiddos are all awake.
“Wow.” Neo cradles his poor bruised head in his hands. “It can’t be.”
I sink down next to him, easing the strain on my lower back, and squeeze his thigh for mutual comfort. “What is it, baby? You know where we are, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Neo stops clutching his curls and blinks up at Lucius and me in consternation. “We’re inside my dad’s wards, all right. This is the gatekeeper’s cottage. And, uh, we really shouldn’t be here. Not in this exact place.”
“Bloody hell.” Ronin pivots away from the antique gramophone he’s been examining with a scowl. “Why the fuck not? Invited here, weren’t we?”
“We were invited to the manor. But we weren’t invited to this cottage.
” Neo gives us all an apologetic grimace.
“This house has a mind of its own. My dad didn’t build it and he doesn’t own it.
It doesn’t even stay in one place. It comes and goes.
Sometimes it’s gone for years. Then it just… kinda… shows up on its own.”
“Dear fuck.” V looms over the couch to stare down at him. “Darling, you can’t possibly be trying to tell us this gaudy Christmas monstrosity of a domicile physically moves?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Neo swallows hard, then says softly, “And there’s something else. Now that we’re here… uh… it’s gonna be hard to leave.”