Tales of the Otherworld (25 page)

“Which is why I’m not suggesting that,” she said. “Bullets and arrows are as bad as paintbrushes and paper. Supplies, not presents. A gift should be something different, something he doesn’t already own.”
She moved down the row and stopped at a bow display. “Does he have a crossbow?”

I shook my head.

“Has he ever said he
doesn’t
want one? Tried one and didn’t like it?”

“Nope.” I bent to look at the crossbows. “That’s what I’ll get him, then.”

“You don’t have to. It’s just a thought—”

“It’s a great thought. He likes trying new stuff. Thanks.”

Her lips curved in a shy half-smile. “You’re welcome. Oh, but make sure you save the receipt. And pick out something not too expensive, so he won’t feel bad if he doesn’t use it.”

Logan bent beside me. “You know, that
is
a good idea.” He slanted a look my way. “Clay must have told you a lot about Jeremy, huh?”

Elena shrugged. “This and that. He sounds…well, I look forward to meeting him.” She blinked fast. “Assuming, I mean, that I will meet him. I’d like to, of course …”

“You will,” I murmured.

“Someday, right?” She hesitated, as if considering something, then said quickly, “Maybe you can set it up when you’re home for the holidays.”

“I…sure, I could …” I glanced at Logan for help, but he’d busied himself with a racquetball display.

“Not a weekend visit or anything big like that,” Elena hurried on. “We could meet halfway, like in Buffalo for dinner.”

“That would be a good idea.” I turned. “Hey, Logan. Help me pick out one of these, will you? I’ll buy the bow, you can pitch in with the arrows and stuff. Make it a joint gift, then get the hell out of here and track down lunch.”

Logan looked over at Elena, then nodded and walked back to help me.

That night, when I returned after walking Elena to her dorm, Logan was in the living room, flipping television channels. I stopped in the doorway.

“I gotta get one of these,” he said without turning.

“A TV?”

He gave an exasperated sigh and waved the remote over his head. “This. Mine is still one of those old ‘get off your ass and do it yourself’ jobs.”

“Speaking of getting off your ass, you can do that right now. Time for a run.”

He still didn’t turn. “You have to tell Jeremy.”

I wanted to say “About what?” but I knew.

“I will,” I said. “As soon—”

“I know, all along I’ve been telling you there’s no rush. No need to worry Jeremy over a fling. But obviously that’s not what this is.”

“I told you—”

“That you were serious. I know. But what the hell do you know? It’s your first time, and it always seems serious the first time. Then there’s Elena. She might not—” He paused, lifted the remote again. “But she does. So that’s that.”

He turned to another channel. Canned laughter filled the room. A quick flip and the evening news came on.

Logan continued. “Jeremy was right. All that stuff about how your moods were about searching for a mate. It sounded like bullshit to me—Jeremy taking the wolf stuff too seriously again. You’re a man, not a wolf. A little fucked-up sometimes, but still a man.”

Another channel change. A cooking host exhorted her audience to use only whole peppercorns, freshly ground. Logan turned the television off. Then he looked over at me.

“I’m getting worried,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

I flexed my hands against the door frame. “I’d never hurt her.”

“Are you sure?”

I met his eyes. “Absolutely.”

He locked gazes with me. “Good, because if you ever …” His eyes sparked with anger, then he jerked his gaze away and got to his feet. “You have to tell him. Soon.”

“I will.”

A
RMS LOADED WITH WRAPPED GIFTS, I TWISTED
sideways to push open my dorm room door. I held the door with my foot, then managed to swing around and get out of the way before it hit me. Penny sat on my desk and watched me struggle.

I lowered my load to the bed. The stack looked impressive, until you realized this was every gift I was giving this year. They were all for friends, stored and wrapped at Clay’s apartment because I knew if I’d kept them here, one or two would be missing by wrapping time.

Not that Penny would covet any of my friends’ presents—they weren’t her style and certainly not her quality—but she’d likely have scooped a couple and passed them along as duty gifts, to cousins, aunts, and the like, because, god knows, Christmas shopping can really take a toll on your social life.

I’d hoped she’d be gone by now; she’d said she was leaving for home this morning, but for Penny, I guess morning was anytime before dark. I could only hope she wasn’t desperate enough to snag a prewrapped gift, in hopes it contained something suitable for Aunt Milly.

“He called five times,” she said. “I’m not your freaking answering service, Elena.”

Normally, “he” meant Clay, but even he wouldn’t have called five times in the twenty minutes it would take me to walk from his apartment.

“
Who
called?” I said, unwrapping my purse from my arm.

“Your ex.”

I swore under my breath. “Jason, you mean. He’s not my ex.”

“Whatever. Just tell him to stop phoning. Other people have to use this line, too, you know.”

“If he calls back, you have my permission to hang up on him.”

She was about to answer when the phone rang. I busied myself rearranging the parcels. Penny grabbed the receiver and passed it out to me without answering.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hey, gorgeous,” slurred a male voice. “Why’d ya take off so early this mornin’? I wasn’t done—”

I held the phone out to Penny. “It’s for you.”

So Jason was back. Not unexpected timing, considering that for the past three years, he’d used the holidays as an excuse to get in touch. He’d say he had a present for me. No strings attached. He just wanted to give it to me and say hello, maybe have a coffee. The first year I’d fallen for it.

I’d ended up getting groped in a dark parking lot behind the coffee shop, until he’d ended up with a knee to the crotch. I should have kicked harder. As it was, that little jab wasn’t enough to deter him from trying again.

I didn’t return Jason’s call. Even phoning to tell him off only encouraged him. In a few hours, I’d be lunching with friends before they went home. From there I’d head straight to Clay’s for Christmas Eve. If I could make it through the next few days without a Jason encounter, his “Christmas gift” excuse would expire.

I wrapped the gift I’d bought for Clay. One gift. Not even a very big one. I turned it over in my hands, wondering whether there was still time to race out and buy something else.

I did have another present for Clay. Something I couldn’t wrap in a box. But the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced it wasn’t just the lamest gift idea ever, but inappropriate.

A gift implies something you selflessly give to another person, with no expectation of deriving anything from it yourself. To apply that concept
to the gift I had in mind was hideously old-fashioned. And just plain wrong. But couples gave each other mutual gifts all the time, things they could both use, like a new stereo or a romantic getaway. So I was giving him this in that spirit, and could only pray he didn’t say, “Hmm, thanks, but I was really hoping for a new pair of socks.”

“Just one,” Clay said, sliding his foot under the tree and nudging the stack of gifts. “Look, lots there. Opening one early won’t hurt.”

We were stretched out on his living room carpet, surrounded by shortbread and gingerbread cookie crumbs, two mugs of hot chocolate leaning precariously on the deep carpet pile. I’d made the drink from scratch, with baking chocolate and milk, spiked with a dollop of crème de cacao and topped with real whipped cream. I’d even grated extra chocolate on the whipped cream. Turned out pretty good, which was more than I could say for the gingerbread men. They tasted fine but looked like circus freaks—one drawback to having two non-artistically-inclined people fashion cookie men without cutters.

Clay waved his cookie toward the tree, scattering more crumbs. “Go on. Open one. You’ve been eyeing them all night.”

“Have not.”

“Have too.” He hooked one with his foot and punted it out. “There. It fell off the pile. Don’t make me put it back. Open it.”

“But if I open one, then you should open one, and I only brought—”

“I don’t need gifts. I already told you that. And I’m
far
more patient than you.”

I snorted a laugh. “Who burned his tongue on the hot chocolate after I told him it was still too hot?”

“That’s different. That was food.”

He twisted and stretched over to the end table, reached up, and grabbed a tissue. Then he took two cookies from the plate and wrapped them.

“There, a gift for me,” he said.

“But you already know what it is.”

“Doesn’t matter. If it’s edible, I’m not complaining.” He unwrapped the tissue. “Oh, look, a hunchback cookie. Thank you.”

He bit off the head.

“There,” he mumbled around the mouthful of cookie. “I’ve opened and accepted my gift. Now your turn.”

I laughed. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him. He kissed me and I tasted gingerbread. The kiss deepened and I pressed against him, feeling the first lick of heat. My mind tripped to what I had in mind for tonight, and the heat spread, confirming what I already knew—that I was ready to pass that last signpost, and had been for a while. I was glad I’d slipped into the bathroom a few minutes ago to prepare. I only hoped I’d put the damned thing in right.

After a few minutes of kissing, Clay pulled back and twisted as he reached behind him.

“Now for your gift,” he said.

“You mean
that
wasn’t it?”

“Nah, I don’t reserve that for special occasions, darling, or I’d have to make up a whole lot of them. Two-month anniversary; two-month-and-one-hour anniversary; two-month, one-hour, and twenty-three-minute anniversary …”

He lifted the gift and rolled back to see me staring down at him.

“What did you say?” I said.

“I said I don’t reserve that for special occasions, or I’d—”

“No, what did you call me?”

“Call you?”

“Maybe I misheard. I hope so, because if you have to call me something—” I shook my head. “Never mind. Just give me the gift.”

“So we’ve gone from ‘Oh no, I don’t really want one early’ to ‘Hand it over’?”

I sighed and snatched the gift from his hand. It was rectangular, about half the size of a shoe box, with something inside that jangled.

“It’s a present, not a psychic test,” he said. “Just open it already.”

I ripped off the paper, opened the box, reached inside, and pulled out a key. Two keys, actually, looking remarkably similar to the set I had in my purse.

“They’re for the apartment,” Clay said.

“That’s what I thought.” I lifted them from the box. “Oh, wait, it’s a new keychain. No, that’s the free one they give you at the key-cutting place.”

“The keys are the gift, not the chain.”

“A set of keys to match the set I already have?”

“Right.”

I looked at him.

“Backup keys,” he said. “If I piss you off, and you get the urge to throw my keys away, go ahead. You now have replacements.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“Only if the purpose is really to break up with me. If you just want to tell me I’m being a jerk and I’d better shape up, then this works fine. Symbolic key whipping without the risk of keyless inconvenience.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I could get you a nicer keychain.”

I laughed and flicked cookie crumbs off the carpet at him. As I took another swig of hot chocolate, I glanced at the tree again.

“What, eyeing the pile, hoping there’s something better in there?”

“No, I was just—” I leaned toward the presents. “What happened to that one? Looks like you used a whole roll of tape on it.”

“I ran out of paper, so I covered the hole with tape.”

I inched toward the tree. “Meaning, if I look closely, I can probably see right through it?”

“Don’t you dare.”

As I lunged for the present, Clay scissored his legs around my waist. I squirmed, and almost got free before he grabbed my arm. I knew better than to struggle. Clay had a vise grip—once he got hold of me, I wasn’t getting away.

I let him tug me away from the tree. When he let go of my arm, I shot back toward the gift pile. My foot accidentally struck his jaw. He let out an oath and I turned to see him wincing as he ran a finger along his front teeth.

“Shit,” he muttered. “It’s loose.”

I scrambled back to him. “I’m so sorry. Which one—”

He grabbed me around the waist and yanked me off my feet. His hold slipped as my shirt pulled from my jeans, and I managed to twist almost out of his grip, but he moved fast, tugging me down as he rolled on top of me.

We tussled for a few minutes, laughing and cursing, depending on
who had the upper hand. Soon his mouth found mine and he pinned me, arms over my head, grip slack, letting me know I could get away anytime.

I caught his lip between my teeth. He growled, the sound sending shivers through me. I slid the tip of my tongue between his teeth and he let go of my hands, his fingers sliding to the back of my head to kiss me deeper.

I counted to three, then pushed out from under him, scuttling to my feet. He grabbed for me, but I danced out of the way. He rose up on one knee, then crouched there, body tight, tensing for the pounce.

His gaze lifted to mine and his lips curved in a tiny smile. The look in his eyes sent my pulse racing, and I could hear my breath coming in pants. I took a slow step backward, smiling a challenge. His eyes sparked and he let out a rough chuckle, almost a growl.

He pushed to his feet. I stepped back again. He matched me, step for step, keeping a small gap between us. When I feinted to the left, he quickstepped right, gaze locked with mine. Another feint left. He started to match it with a step right, then lunged left and wheeled around me so fast he was behind me before I knew it.