Elf Gratification

12 Nights of Christmas: Elf Gratification Cat Marsters All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2005 Cat Marsters

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ISBN (10): 1-59596-275-1

ISBN (13): 978-1-59596-275-1

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This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Chapter One “You have got to be kidding.” Calascien stared at the image in the ice. Oh, she was hot, sure, but she was a she. Undoubtedly a she. And a hot she, too. He looked at the man beside him, his plumpness faded to grey illness, and shook his head. “No, seriously, sir. You have.” Santa gave him a tired smile. “She’s the one, Cal.” “She’s a she, sir.” “Yes, I am aware of that. As demonstrated by my cunning use of the word ‘she’.” “But -- sir --” Cal struggled to put it into words. Santa’s office was a male one. He was Father Christmas, for God’s sake, not Mother. Santa was supposed to be a big fat jolly old man. Not a really hot young blonde girl downing tequila shots. “There isn’t much time, Cal. You must fetch her. Tell her -- tell her what you like. But she must be here before the big day.” Cal looked over his boss in slight alarm, the girl forgotten. “You’ll still be here then, though, won’t you?” Santa said nothing, but stood slowly, and moved away. “Sir?” Cal said, swallowing past a lump in his throat. “Bring her as fast as you can,” Santa said, and left the room. Cal stood staring into the ice crystal, his jaw tight. He couldn’t remember a time without this Santa. He’d just always been there. Sure, every now and then one of them died or retired, but never in Cal’s lifetime. Losing Santa would be like losing a parent. He looked at the girl again. She was now licking tequila off the stomach of a skinny young man with bulging jeans. Giggling, she unfastened the top button of said jeans and carried on licking.

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Seriously, she couldn’t be Santa. She was an infant. What sort of person went around licking spirits off other people’s bodies? Cal tried not to think about her little pink tongue licking his body. He spent too much time with the reindeer, that was his problem. He needed to go out into the world and socialize. Apparently there were some really hot women down in the cities. Women who flitted from nightclub to nightclub wearing almost nothing, which was pretty impressive for a human in the Scandinavian climate. His nose wrinkled. Of course, the cold didn’t really bother him. Not like it bothered humans. He glanced back at the ice crystal, then did a double take. The blonde was sucking tequila off the guy’s cock now. Her little pink mouth worked around his skinny dick, sucking and licking, as he thrust up toward her. Cal almost wished the crystal had sound, and then he decided that listening in on other’s sexual acts was disgusting. Almost as disgusting as watching them. Yes. Surely, it should be disgusting. He nearly erased the image, but then the girl lifted her head and smiled, licking pink shiny lips, and peeled off her minuscule T-shirt. She had a little tiny waist and full round breasts that bounced happily when she freed them. No bra. Plump pink nipples. Despite himself, Cal’s cock started getting hard. She leaned forward and rubbed her breasts all over the guy’s dick. Cal swallowed. He bet that felt pretty good. It had been far too long since he was in close proximity to a pair of really pretty bare breasts. The lucky guy who was getting all the action hauled her up his body and fumbled under her miniature skirt. He didn’t look like he really knew what he was doing, Cal thought critically, even as his own hands fumbled under his own clothing for his own cock. If it’d been him there with the blonde, he’d at least have taken the courtesy of removing her clothes and admiring her naked body before he started trying to fuck her. Pencil-dick hadn’t even touched her, on her breasts or her pussy. She was doing all the work.

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She started moving on top of him, and although Cal couldn’t see past her skirt, it looked like pencil-dick had finally managed to get inside her. He was thrusting hard and fast, too hard and fast, Cal thought, stroking his own cock slowly. The blonde looked like she wanted to go slower, but pencil-dick wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed her hips and bounced up into her, coming far too quickly. The girl moved a little more on him, looking disappointed, not smiling any more, but he shoved her off him and curled away sleepily, his limp shiny cock hanging out of his jeans. The girl knelt there, watching him for a minute or two. Cal felt -- hell, he almost felt sorry for her. She was a vapid little party-whore, he reminded himself. He was about to tuck his own cock back into his jeans when she rolled onto her back, shucked her semen-soaked panties and skirt, and slipped her hand between her legs. He hesitated, watching her. Somehow the sight of her pleasuring herself was way hotter than watching her fuck pencil-dick. Maybe because the fucking had been so empty. He ran his hand around the head of his cock as she stroked her own clit. Her other hand moved up to toy with her breast, pinching the nipple. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Cal murmured, mesmerized. “Gently, like that.” She let out a little shudder, her hand moving more surely between her legs. With her thumb on her clit, she slid two fingers into her cunt and thrust them in and out. Stroking herself, her hips shifting, moving on the mattress as if the fingers in her pussy were her lover’s cock, thrusting slowly. Cal’s hand sheathed his cock, imagining her wet pussy around it. He thrust in time with her movements, lost in the moment, caught up with her. Whatever else she might be, she was lonely, and so was he, but for this moment, they were together. He almost felt her orgasm as she started to shudder, her eyes closing and her mouth opening in a silent cry. Pencil-dick never moved beside her as she shivered through the orgasm he hadn’t given her. Cal tightened his hand like her pussy would have tightened, thrust harder, and came too, wishing that he were inside her as he did.

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The blonde wiped her hand on pencil-dick’s T-shirt, turned away, and pulled the sheet over herself. As she closed her eyes, Cal thought he saw tears there. Oh, fuck. Now he’d gone and started really feeling sorry for her. And worse than that, he’d just jerked off over the future Santa. If the other elves heard about this, he’d never, ever live it down.

Chapter Two Candy wasn’t exactly unused to waking up with a hangover. Time was, she hadn’t even woken up sober. She was, however, a little surprised to be woken by someone poking her shoulder and commanding sharply, “Wake up.” “Fuck off,” she mumbled, and buried her head back in the pillow.

“Candy Kane?”

“It’s Candice,” she mumbled, resolving for the zillionth time to get her name

changed back to what it used to be. Candice Sims. A nice, sensible, rational name. Right now she sounded like a porn star. “You sound like a porn star,” the voice said, and she peeled open one eye to glower at him. He glowered back at her, all seventeen feet of him. Well, maybe not seventeen feet, but she was lying down and he was pretty tall. Big shoulders, big chest, big frown on what might have otherwise been a handsome face. “Look, whoever you are, please go the fuck away,” she said.

“I can’t,” he said, and looked pretty pissed off at the prospect.

“Why? Glued to the floor?”

“No. I can’t leave here without you.”

That wasn’t something she heard often. Well. Occasionally, of course, in certain

clubs and bars, but not at this time of the morning with this kind of hangover. She knew she looked like seven kinds of shit. And she felt like hurling. “Who the fuck are you?” “My name is Calascien. I’m… well, this might take some explaining. It’s probably better if you come with me, somewhere we can discuss this?” Candy didn’t answer. She was concentrating really hard on not throwing up. “Miss Kane? You… You are…”

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She shuffled to the edge of the bed, pretty sure she was going to be sick and not wanting to lie in it. Whoa, this Cala-whatever guy had weird shoes. Looked like he was wearing snow boots. In L.A. “Dude, the Ugg look is so over,” she started to say, but as soon as she opened her mouth, she was vomiting last night’s tequila all over his snow boots. “… going to be sick. Charming,” the dude said, and scooped her up in his arms. Candy, who still felt like there was more to come, didn’t dare resist in case she threw up again. And even though this guy might be pretty annoying, she still had enough dignity to not want to do that. He carried her into the tiny squalid bathroom, set her down on the floor by the toilet, and reached for a washcloth. Feeling wretched, Candy stared at him through bleary eyes. “Seriously, dude, who are you?” “My name is Calascien. I’ve been sent here to fetch you.” “Fetch me? For what?” She tried to remember what she’d done last night. “Am I in trouble? ’Cos if I am, I didn’t do it.” “No. You’re not in trouble. Although I might be, if I turn up with…” His voice faded to a sort of babble. His image blurred. Candy’s head slumped to the side, and she slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

*** She woke somewhere soft and warm, somewhere that smelled clean and woodsy, like a log cabin. Since her apartment was in an ugly concrete block and had absolutely no real wood in it whatsoever, this was a little confusing. She ran last night’s events through her mind. Drinks with the crew, then that guy from Lighting had taken her to some random party in the Valley. She might have gone to bed with him. Yes. Yes, she had.

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Groaning, more at her behavior than her hangover, Candy shuffled around under the heavy covers until she was on her back. She peeled open one dry eyeball, saw the pixie face looking down at her, then closed it. A dream, surely.

She opened both eyes this time. The face was still there.

Candy screamed.

The pixie screamed.

The door flew open and two men rushed in, one older with white hair and a

beard, the other younger, very hot, and faintly familiar. The hot one saw Candy, glowered at her, and said, “What is going on?” “I didn’t do anything!” the pixie cried, shrinking away. “Of course not,” the older man soothed. “She just woke up and screamed,” the pixie said, pushing her hair back. It was blue. And her ears were pointed. “Who are you freaks?” Candy gasped, terrified. “Who are you calling a freak, tattoo-girl?” the hot one snarled. Her eyes widened. Her tattoo was right above her pussy, a little row of stars and the line ‘You like me, you really like me!’ He couldn’t have seen it unless she’d been naked. Wait a minute. She shifted under the covers. She was naked! As she stared, startled, at him, she remembered him turning up last night and saying he had to take her somewhere. He’d kidnapped her! Kidnapped her and taken her away somewhere, naked, and God only knew what he’d been doing to her while she was out! She felt hideous, so he’d probably drugged her. Yes. It wasn’t the tequila, it was drugs. Of course.

“What did you do to me?” she whispered, and he rolled his eyes.

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“We didn’t do anything,” the older man said, not unkindly, and she turned her eyes to him, seeking sanity. He sniffed. “Sila, do you think you could arrange for our guest to freshen up, and then we will have some breakfast?” The pixie girl nodded bravely. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered. “I need some air.” Candy sniffed at herself as subtly as she could. Okay, she smelled a little smoky, and she could do with a shower, but surely she didn’t stink that bad? “Oh dear,” the older man said. “Are you telling me I smell?” Candy said, outrage overriding fear. “No,” the older guy said. The younger one nodded. What was his name? Cal? “Yes,” he said, and the next moment he’d lunged forward, thrown the covers back, and swung her over his shoulder. “Hey!” she yelled, whacking his back, acutely aware that her backside was up in the air by his face, and that she was totally fucking naked into the bargain. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” “I’ll, er, be outside,” the older man said, making a sound like a laugh hurriedly turned into a cough. “You stink,” Cal said brutally. “I do not!” “You don’t remember throwing up all over yourself yesterday? I wiped your face but it’s in your hair too,” he said, kicking open a beautifully carved wooden door and carting her into a gorgeous bathroom. Candy had upside-down views of wooden decking and piles of fluffy towels before she was hauled back over Cal’s shoulder and dumped unceremoniously on her ass by a gigantic bathtub. He tossed a toothbrush at her and turned the water on in the bath. “I’ll be outside,” he said, and after he closed the door she heard the lock turn. “Bastard,” she yelled after him, but got no response. She looked at the toothbrush in her hand, saw a tube of toothpaste sitting by the sink. At least, she guessed it was toothpaste. The words were in Norwegian or something.

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Grumpily, she brushed her teeth, making faces at her reflection. Her hair was all matted and he was right, it did smell. Great. Her skin was pasty, her eyes were pink and squinty with hangover, and she felt tired and achy all over. A bath would be really nice about now. However, escaping would be better. She eyed the window thoughtfully, then grabbed a towel to tie around herself -you never knew who might be outside -- and pulled over a small wooden chest to stand on. The window was frosted and it was impossible to see out of, but she could see whiteness and guessed it was another building. If she was high up she’d be in trouble. Maybe there’d be a fire escape? She worked at the catch, which was stiff, and shoved the window open to be hit by a blast of air so cold it made her scream and topple off the box. The door was open before she’d got herself upright, and Cal ran in, looking almost frightened. And pretty hot. “Candy! Are you all right?” She winced, rubbing her elbow where she’d fallen. “Don’t you knock?” “Not when I hear screams and falling noises, no.” He glanced at the window, and his face fell. “Don’t tell me, you were trying to make a run for it?” She scowled at him and picked herself up. “Look.” He opened the window wider, and she shivered in the freezing air. “What can you see out there?” She peeked out grumpily. “Snow. Where are we? Big Bear or somewhere?” He looked at her for a moment. “Why would we be in the stars? You can’t escape out there. You’re wearing a towel. It’s below freezing. You’d be dead in an hour or two.” His expression seemed to suggest that this wouldn’t be a bad thing. “Just get in the bath,” he said, gesturing her toward it. She made a move to do so. “Are you gonna watch?”

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“This time? Yeah. Just to make sure you don’t go anywhere.” She gaped at him. “You pervert!” He didn’t move. Candy clutched the towel tighter around herself. “Dude, I am not getting naked with you watching.” “You were naked when I met you.” She felt herself go red. “That’s not my fault.” Cal sighed. “Candy, I don’t want to argue with you. Just get in the bath. Please?” “No.” She folded her arms stubbornly. He picked her up and tossed her in. “Hey!” Spluttering, she shoved her hair from her eyes. He was laughing! He was fucking laughing! She plopped the soaked towel on the floor and he laughed even harder. She narrowed her eyes, and before he’d had time to work out what that might mean, she’d yanked him off his feet and into the water with her. This time it was her turn to laugh as he came up, spluttering invective. “You little bitch!” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Immature little bitch,” he corrected, standing up and peeling off his sodden Tshirt. Candy had a moment to admire his washboard abs and rather beautiful shoulders before she realized that he was now unfastening the snap of his pants, and shucking them too, spraying her with water and leaving her face to face with the biggest cock she’d ever seen in real life. Her mouth dropped open. That thing was huge! Thick, long, hanging soft right now but with definite potential. She didn’t realize she was reaching forward for it until she lost her balance, careened forwards in the water, and narrowly missed head butting that magnificent cock. Instead she whacked her head into his hip, bounced back, and cracked her skull against the side of the bath. And he laughed.

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“Bastard,” she muttered, tears coming to her eyes at the pain.

His laughter faded. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m crying for fun,” she said, swiping angrily at her eyes.

He swooped down and pried her hands from her head, probing the tender spot

on her temple where she’d hurt herself. Candy resisted for a moment or two, but he was being surprisingly gentle, so she relaxed a little as he knelt before her. “Does it hurt a lot?” “Kind of. Mostly when you touch it.” He held up his hand in front of her face. “How many fingers?” “Three.” He nodded. “I think you’ll have a bruise there, but you should be okay.” He stroked her wet hair back from her face, peering intently at her temple. His face was inches from hers, handsome and intense, frowning slightly. His eyes were blue, she noticed, and his dark hair had chestnut highlights that shone even through the water slicking it back. And he was hot, his body radiating heat that warmed her damp skin.

And he was a bastard. She had to remember that.

“I should do some, uh, you know,” she said. “Cleaning. Of me. Clean myself.”

“Want a hand?”

“Pervert,” she said, but she didn’t put much feeling into it. She reached for the

shampoo, hesitated, then said, “Okay, what language is this in?” He smiled and handed her a bottle with pink flowers on it. “Swedish.” “Why is it in Swedish?” “Because it came from Sweden.” Fine, whatever. She scrutinized the bottle, trying to find a word that looked vaguely familiar. Blondin. Well, hopefully that had some relationship with blonde. Candy was very careful about what she put on her hair. She poured out a glob. It smelled okay. She started rubbing it in. “Ow!”

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“What?” She made a face, prodding at her elbow where she’d fallen earlier. “My arm hurts. This is all your fault.” “How is it my fault?” “It just is.” She stretched her arm up again. Again it hurt. “You could help me.” Sighing as if it was a great task, he pulled her against him so her back was to his chest, and started rubbing the shampoo in. “And massage it in, too,” she said. “Right down to the roots.” “What are you, a hairdresser?” “Kind of.” He hesitated. “You’re a hairdresser?” “Make-up artist, actually. But I do hair too. I have a diploma in beauty.” Cal muttered something that sounded like one of the words on the shampoo bottle. “You’re a beautician?” “Make-up artist,” she repeated. “I’ve worked with all the stars. Could tell you any gossip you like.” “I’m not really interested in gossip.” “Hollywood gossip? You picked me up in L.A. You do know I work in Hollywood, right?” “Yes. I got that part.” “And you’re not interested in the gossip?” “No.” Candy tried to figure this out. She’d never met anyone who didn’t want to hear about Jennifer Aniston’s skin tone. Weird. She got him to pass her the soap and started washing herself, debating the probability of finding a decent body lotion in this place and calculating the odds at slim to none. And soap was so drying, too.

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He was rinsing out the second lot of shampoo when she felt it. That mega-cock, pressing slightly against her back. Getting harder. Bigger. Very much bigger. Candy tried to work out whether to ignore it or not. This was such a highly surreal situation that she had no idea what to do. Ostensibly, he’d kidnapped her and was holding her against her will, somewhere miles and miles from home. Possibly in Sweden. But he hadn’t tried to hurt her, hadn’t made any threats against her, and was actually treating her pretty well, if you discounted the nakedness. And really, when he looked this good, who could mind the nakedness? Candy frowned. The whole time she’d known him she’d been naked. He was naked now, and he was getting a stiffie, but he’d never made a move on her. Guess she could thank the vomit for that. But she wasn’t afraid of him; wasn’t afraid he’d hurt her or rape her. For some reason, he inspired trust. Even if he was an absolute bastard. She ran the soap up her arm, slowly, then over her breast. His cock stiffened a little more. Pleased with herself, Candy slid the soap in a circle around her nipple. Cal started breathing hard. Idly, as if she’d no idea what she was doing, she soaped up her other breast, then worked the lather in. He actually groaned, and she smiled. “Cal?” His voice sounded strained. “Yes?” “My hair isn’t going to condition itself.” He scrabbled for the bottle, and she smiled some more, rinsing off her breasts. Her nipples were hard now, sensitive to her own touch. “Make sure to rub it in properly, now.” He seemed to be conditioning the same bit of hair over and over. Candy rubbed the soap over her nipples, gasping a little at the sensation. She stroked them, pinched them, rolled her head back to rest on his shoulder as she touched herself. His cock was getting pretty hard now.

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“Oops,” she let her hand go loose, “I dropped the soap.”

“I’ll get it,” Cal said, so hurriedly the words all ran together.

“No, you have to rinse out my hair first.”

She fished around in the water as he rinsed her hair, so quickly she knew he

wasn’t doing it properly. She didn’t touch herself: if she did she’d come straight away, and for once Candy wanted to have an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced. So she touched him instead. Raising herself up, she reached between her legs and found his balls, swollen with wanting. How perfect to touch and stroke. She had an idea that it was severely impairing the washing of her hair, but for possibly the second or third time in her life, Candy didn’t care. “About that soap,” Cal said, his voice kind of high.

“Can’t find it,” she said.

“How about I help?”

His hands slid over her thighs, parting them, fingers sliding over her sensitive

skin. Candy tensed, holding her breath in anticipation. He was nearly there, nearly, nearly -Someone knocked on the door, and both of them whipped their heads toward it. “M -- er, Miss? I, er, have some, er, clothes for you…” It sounded like the nervous pixie from earlier. Candy wished like hell she’d go away. Cal’s hands were on her thighs and her clit was throbbing desperately. “Shall I bring them in?” “No!” Candy and Cal both yelped. “Mi-Miss, is there someone in there with you?” “No,” Candy squeaked. “No, why would there be?” Why would she have her freaking abductor in the bath with her? Christ, she was getting Stockholm syndrome already. It was all Cal’s fault for mentioning Sweden. “Oh… all right. I’ll… leave them out here, and, er, I’ll, er, come back…” Behind her, Cal swore.

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“Wait a minute,” Candy said. His hands were still on her thighs. “Why didn’t you want her to know you’re in here?” “Because I’m not supposed to be.” Abruptly, nearly making her fall over again, he stood up. Candy tried to get her brain in gear. All it seemed to want was Cal’s hands back on her. “Why not? Why -- who are you, anyway? Nobody has told me anything. Why am I being held here?” “You’re not being held.” He stepped out of the bath, picked up his clothes, and glowered at them. “Well, you’re not letting me go.” “I can’t.” “Then isn’t that the same thing?” Cal wrapped a towel around his waist and glared at her. “No. Finish washing, then get dressed. Silasthra will be waiting for you.” “Who?” “The elf you terrified earlier.” “The -- pixie girl?” His eyes flashed. “We are not pixies.” Then he was gone, and Candy was left in the bath alone, horny and more confused than ever.

*** “Mother Christmas,” Cal stormed as he trampled past Sila, who looked pretty startled to see him wearing just a towel. He ignored her and stomped off down the corridor. “Mother freaking Christmas. What the hell is wrong with this picture?” He slammed his fist at the elevator panel and glowered at the doors until they opened. When the elevator arrived and two young elves from the packing room stood there gaping at him, he glared at them. “What are you looking at?” They hurriedly looked away.

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A female Santa. It was ridiculous. Whoever heard of such a thing? Mother fucking Christmas. No. No! “I heard they brought the new Santa,” one of the younger elves said to his companion, who nodded eagerly. “I heard he’ll be touring the floor this afternoon,” she said. “Not he,” the first elf said. “She.” The girl elf stared. “A she?” Cal sneered. Not just any she, the most brainless, annoying she there ever was. A she who got him hot -- on purpose! -- and was therefore evil and wrong. Having lusty thoughts about Santa was clearly wrong. Very wrong. “That’s so cool,” the girl elf breathed, and jumped back a whole foot when Cal growled at her. He stomped across the frozen, snowy paddock on bare feet, cursing Candy with every step. It was ridiculous that he should want her. Sure, she was kind of cute, but there were hundreds of even cuter elves hanging around, right within groping distance. What the hell had made him grope Candy, a girl who slept around and drank until she threw up? Clearly, there was something wrong with him.

Chapter Three Candy stood looking at the clothes laid out on the bed for her. Surely they were kidding? Red velvet pants, white trim, matching coat -- what the hell was going on here? The boots were nifty, she’d give them that. Knee high, buckles, shiny black patent -- although they’d benefit from a little heel. The clothes fit okay, and they’d even got her underwear size right. Creepy. That was probably why Cal had been feeling her up in the bathtub. She pulled the white singlet over her head, fastened the suspenders that seemed to be necessary for holding her pants up -- although they sure got in the way of her boobs -- and shoved her feet into the boots. She looked like a deranged Santa.

A knock on the door made her look away from the mirror.

“Are you ready, M-Miss?”

That girl has really got to learn to stop stammering. “Yeah, I’m ready,” Candy sighed,

and opened the door. “How do I look?” The little blue-haired girl looked at her with wide eyes. “You look like Santa,” she breathed, as if it was a great compliment. “Great,” Candy mumbled, and set off down the hall after her. “Who picked these clothes?” This seemed to confuse the girl. “Okay, how did you know my size?” Still confused. “Something simple, then. What’s your name?” “Silasthra.” “Sheesh, what a mouthful. Can I call you Sil?”

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“You can call me anything you like,” Sila said in tones of adoration.

Riiight.

They reached an elevator.

“Where are we going?”

“To the boardroom, M-Miss.”

“Look, stop calling me that. My name is Candy. Candice,” she corrected. She was

trying to establish some sort of authority here. If she was going to bargain with her kidnappers, then it wouldn’t do to be seen as silly and girlie. Candice was a much more grown-up name. “Yes, M-Mi -- Candice,” the girl stammered.

“What boardroom is this? Are we in an office block?”

Again, that look of confusion. “Er, no, M -- Candice.”

Where else had boardrooms? “Some company headquarters conference hall?”

Where else? Did ships have boardrooms? Oh hell, did they? Some of them did! “Are we on a boat?” “No, Candice, of course not.” “You can stop calling me Candice.” “Yes, Miss.” “And that too.” “Then what should I call you?” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Call me Candice, just don’t use it in every goddamn sentence, all right? Are we nearly there?” “Yes, M -- er, yes.” The elevator doors opened, and Sila gestured for Candy to precede her through another gorgeously carved set of wooden doors, into a large room with a gigantic wooden table that was laden with all sorts of rather delicious-looking pastries and plenty of coffeepots. At one end sat the old man from earlier, wearing a similar outfit to Candy’s. He was a dead ringer for Santa Claus, beard and all.

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Freaky, Candy thought, but then she saw the other people sitting around the table. Cal, for one, glowering at her from under a damp fringe of dark hair. And then the others -- hell, the others! If she’d thought Sila had mad brilliant hair, it was nothing compared to the girl with bubblegum pink hair, or the guy whose ’do was streaked with red and purple. Or the girl with white hair, and blue skin. Some of them appeared to be very short, less than three feet. Some were massively tall and willowy, well over seven feet. Some of them had stripes -- actual fucking stripes! -- on their hair and skin. They all had pointy ears. And they were all looking at Candy. All this color was a little too much for her hangover. “So what is this, like a Star Wars convention or something?” she joked thinly. Most of them looked puzzled. A few smirked. Cal looked pissed off. “Who does your hair and makeup? It’s pretty neat,” she said, on firmer ground now. “Love the ears. Very Lord of the Rings. Hey, you got a Legolas here?” Cal snorted. “It isn’t makeup,” the Santa guy said. “Sure, and Michael Jackson never had surgery.” “Who’s Michael Jackson?” a purple-haired girl asked her stripy-skinned neighbor. He shrugged. “It isn’t,” Cal told her. “No one here is wearing any makeup. Or hair dye. This is how we were born.” And this is my real hair color, Candy thought. “So how come you look so… Well, I was going to say ‘normal’ but that would be a stretch,” Candy snapped. “Elves come in different colors,” he said, “just like people.” “Elves? What are you smoking?” “Not what you were smoking last night,” Cal said, and Candy blushed a little. Then she said, “Hey! How do you know what I was smoking last night?”

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This time Cal colored. “Children, please,” the Santa guy said. “Miss Kane, would you take a seat?” Cal sniggered. “What?” Candy snapped. “Candy Kane,” he said. “What are you, a stripper?” “No,” she said as she took a seat opposite him, “not for like three years now.” The whole room went silent. Candy hadn’t been aware that anyone had been making any noise before. It seemed they’d all stopped breathing. “What did you say?” Cal said, a horrible gleam in his eyes. “I said I don’t do that shit any more. I quit when I finished college.” “You were a stripper?” She lifted her chin. “Look, I was poor, okay, and I needed money for college, and I earned like three hundred dollars a night. And I didn’t do any of the other stuff, you know, no selling myself. It was ‘Look, don’t touch.’ I was really strict about that.” They were all staring. The old guy mopped his face with a handkerchief. “Right, well, that’s nice to know. Miss Kane -- is that your real name?” Candy glowered at the table. “It was my professional name. I’m gonna change it back.” “You legally changed your name when you started stripping?” Cal asked. He looked as if he was enjoying this a lot. “No,” she said, because that would have been stupid. “I legally changed my name when I got married, okay, it’s just coincidence that’s how it ended up.” And then her new husband had been eager for her to start stripping. And then she’d divorced his worthless ass and had to carry on stripping to pay for that. Then came her decision to get a beauty diploma, and that cost money too… “Miss Kane, do you know why you’re here?” the old guy asked. “I figure he kidnapped me.” She jerked her thumb at Cal, who scowled. “And I don’t know what the bath and the clothes are all about, but I can tell you now, there will be no sexual favors for anyone. Anyone, okay?”

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“Sure about that?” Cal muttered, and she heroically managed to ignore him. The old guy coughed. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m very sorry if you believe you’ve been kidnapped. It wasn’t our intention. Miss Kane… We’ve brought you here to fulfill your birthright.” “My what?” “What you were born to,” Cal said, managing to sound scornful and disappointed, all at the same time. “I don’t understand,” Candy said, looking around. “My birthright is, what, to teach you guys about hair and makeup? ’Cos I figure you’ve pretty much got that sorted.” “No,” the old guy said, “listen, and I will tell you.” And he told her. He told her about ancient winter deities and primitive people praying for the sun in the depths of winter. He told her about winter festivals and sacrifices to the gods. About how complex religions had formed and absorbed the pagan rituals, assigning new significance to winter rituals. He told her there had always been a Santa. In the coldest days of the coldest months, people had always saved up and feasted, hoped, prayed. In this modern world where no one needed to pray for the sun to help them survive the winter, Christmas had taken on a new meaning. Children prayed for gifts and adults prayed for harmony. But there was still a Lord of Winter, hidden away in the far north where no one ever ventured. Chosen from birth, he lived for hundreds of years, orchestrating the great winter festival and taking care of the elves who had migrated away from human memories. Candy listened, and when he was done, she stared. He was a nice old guy, but clearly insane. “And, what, you think I’m supposed to be the next Santa?” They all nodded. “And you’re all Santa’s elves?” They nodded again.

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“You deliver presents to children, ride around in a big sled pulled by flying reindeer, keep a list of who’s naughty and nice?” More nodding. “And you really think you’re elves?” Cal rolled his eyes, but nodded with the rest. Candy looked around at the pink and purple, green and blue, yellow and red hair and skin and pointy ears, and finally at the guy in the red velvet suit, and said, “Is everybody here really stoned?” “No,” Santa said. “Am I really stoned?” “There’s that possibility,” Cal muttered. “This is insane, okay, and if you really don’t mind, I have a life to get back to, so if it’s all right with you --” Cal stood up and moved over to a door on the far wall. Candy stood up too. Thank God they were finally seeing reason! “Okay, thank you. It’s been really nice meeting you and all, and I really am impressed with your hair and makeup. And --” Cal opened the door, and she stepped onto a balcony. A balcony above a packing room. A packing room that was filled to the brim with more people just like the delusional ‘elves’ in the boardroom: bright hair, bright skin, funky little tunics, packing millions of boxes with toys and gifts. The floor was littered with scraps of bright ribbons and paper. Carols played in the background. Candy blinked and clutched the railing. This could not be real. “Everybody,” Cal called, and they all stopped and looked up at him and Candy, who was standing frozen in the doorway. “May I present your new Santa!” No. He was clearly mad. Or she was.

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Every one of the elves cheered. Every one of them, with their mad skin and pointy ears, and oh Christ, some of them even had the cute little pointy shoes, they were like pixies, packing pixies, it was insane! The cheers rang in her ears. Candy felt faint, dizzy. The noise crowded her brain and she had to get out. “Air,” she mumbled, her hand gripping Cal’s shoulder, “I need air.” “What? Are you okay?” As he bent toward her, his hair shifted and she saw the tips of his ears. Pointed. “I need to get out!” She backed away, scrambled through the door, back into the boardroom where the other elves were cheering, so much noise ringing in her ears, it was all insane! Bolting across the room, Cal yelling behind her, she wrenched open the door she’d come in by, and stared at the corridor beyond. A tiny girl with cornflower yellow hair was coming toward her. “Out,” Candy cried, running toward her, “how do I get out?” The girl pointed, terrified, to a door, and Candy ran toward it, yanked it open, and ran into the snow. Endless drifts of snow, coming at her from above, left and right, mounds and mounds of it everywhere. Beyond the small impacted path just in front of her was a yard full of twinkling lights, carols blasting out from a loudspeaker, and hundreds of elves, just thousands of them, carrying presents from one pallet to another, packing and storing in the constantly falling snow. Candy ran a few steps in her shiny boots, stumbled on the snow and went down, snow soaking through her red velvet pants and freezing her hands. The elves caught sight of her, and one by one they stopped and stared, and then they all started cheering, more noise echoing around her. Candy huddled there in the snow, horror-struck, frightened, unable to move for the shock, cold and confusion.

Chapter Four Cal left the other department heads running around like headless chickens, caught Santa’s eye for a brief second, and ran after Candy. She wasn’t hard to find, right out there in the yard, a bright splash of color against the white. “Are you hurt?” He skidded to a halt by her, dropped down and grabbed her shoulder. “Candy, are you hurt?” She stared at him, her face white. Fear coursed through him. “Can you move?” She swallowed, then shook out her arms and legs. “Get me out of here,” she whispered, and he obliged. Scooping her up into his arms, marveling that she weighed so little, he carried her away from the loading bay, holding her close and trying to warm her. Elves were used to sub-zero climates, but they still dressed carefully to go outside. Candy had on a pair of pants and a singlet, and her skin was blue. By the time he got her to the stables, she was shaking. The factory might have been warmer, her room perhaps, but the stables were the only quiet place he could think of. No one came here, except for Santa, occasionally, or sometimes Sila. And right now they’d both know better than that. Her clothes were wet from the falling snow. He could see her bra through the thin singlet, and it was turning him on more than was appropriate. “You need dry clothes,” he told her, and she nodded shakily. “I don’t have any.” “I do. Wait here.” He deposited her in some fresh hay, pulling bits over her to keep her warm, and sprinted to his room. His taste in clothes ran a little more human than most of the elves,

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which was probably a good thing. Candy might get even more freaked if he lent her a primary colored tunic with bells on it. He grabbed the warmest clothes he could find, thick socks and a towel, and ran back to her. She looked tiny and lost in the deep hay, blonde hair plastered to her head, lips trembling as her teeth chattered. Cal handed her the flask of highly potent elf brandy he’d brought with the clothes, and watched her take a shaky sip, then shudder as the heat ran through her. He held out the clothes. “Put these on,” he said, a little more roughly than he’d intended. But Candy was shaking so much she couldn’t. Sighing, trying to ignore his body, which was jumping up and down yelling “Yes! Yes!” he pulled her out of the hay, stripped off her damp clothes, and stood looking at her for a second or two. “Pervert,” she shivered, and reached for the sweater he was holding. She protested when he finished dressing her, but not too much, since she was shaking too much to do it herself. He drew her down into the hay with him and wrapped his body around hers, trying to get some heat into her, and to his surprise, she snuggled against him, soft and perfect. “Can I ask you something?” she said, when the shivers had subsided a bit. “Sure.” “Why’d you bring me to a stable?” He smiled. “It’s warm and quiet. I figured if I took you to your room, everyone else would follow.” “They won’t come here?” “People generally don’t.” “Oh.” She was quiet a minute, just breathing in his arms. Cal thought how beautiful she was when she wasn’t talking. “What just went on back there? I mean, dude, those people are crazy, right?” He sighed, the illusion shattered. “No,” he said, “not crazy. They really are elves, and there really is a Santa.” She reached up, tentatively, and brushed back his hair to expose his ear.

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“And I’m really an elf too,” he said gently. She stared at his ear, breathing hard. “You look so normal,” she said, “otherwise.” She touched the shell of his ear, gently tracing the extended point. Cal tried not to react to her searching fingers, and failed. His cock stiffened and he prayed she wouldn’t notice. She tugged on his ear. “Ow,” he said pointedly. “It’s really not fake,” she said, musingly. “No,” he said. “You know, if I did that to your boobs in the interest of finding out if they were fake, you’d brain me.” “Yeah,” she said, “right between your legs I’d brain you.” She gave up on his ears and slipped her arms around his neck, tucking her head in against his neck. Cal breathed in the scent of the shampoo he’d rubbed into her hair just an hour or so ago, and sighed. “Were you really a stripper?” She made a noise like a muffled groan. “Yes, I was really a stripper. And yes, I really married someone whose surname was Kane. And I regret that much more than the stripping.” Something tight clutched Cal’s chest as he realized something. “Are you still married?” “God, no. I divorced his ass after I found it naked in my bed with one of the girls from the club.” “What?” “Yeah. He was an ass-hat. And you know what? He said it was my fault for not being sexy enough. I was like, hello, I’m shakin’ my booty up there on that stage every night for plenty of men who think I’m sexy enough. He said I didn’t give him enough in bed. I gave him plenty. I told him, if we’re gonna talk about who doesn’t give who what in bed, then you’re in a whole lot of trouble, mister.” Cal concentrated on breathing, fury rising over him in waves. Candy winced. “Sorry. TMI?”

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“What?” “Too much information? I still tend to go off on one about that. Still raw, you know? Last night was the anniversary. Hence the hangover. Hey, buddy, you wanna loosen up there? I’m not made of steel.” Cal realized he’d been gripping her with unnecessary force, and relaxed his hold. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling her soft hair against his cheek, her warm curves filling his arms, gazing down at the perfect sweetness of her face and wondering what the hell had been wrong with her husband that he’d had her and wanted someone else. If he had her, he’d never let her out of his sight. “You okay?” His nostrils flared. “No, I’m not okay,” he said. “Did he really say those things to you?” She shrugged. “Yeah. Like I said, he was an ass-hat.” “He was a complete, grade A, class act idiot,” Cal said, and when she turned to him with a look of surprise, he qualified, “completely brainless. To have you and go looking for someone else… And then to say that? What the hell is wrong with that guy?” “He kept his brains in his penis,” Candy said, “and every time he came he lost a little.” “Must have lost them all when he got to you,” Cal said. “Candy, you are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.” She blinked, then blushed a little. “Yeah, but all the women you’ve ever met have pointy ears,” she said. “Not so. I lived in Stockholm until I was seventeen. It’s chock-full of sexy women, and their ears are all totally human.” She twisted in his arms. “You lived there with these ears?” “They weren’t so noticeable when I was a kid. My mother used to explain them to doctors as a genetic abnormality.” “Was she an elf too?” He nodded.

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Elf Gratification

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“Do all elves grow up in Stockholm?” He laughed at that, his anger dissipating. “No, most elves grow up here. My mother wanted to be different, so she took me to live in a human city.” He frowned. “You seem to have changed your mind about us all being crazy.” “Well, I’m starting to think maybe I’m the one who’s crazy. Maybe someone spiked my drink last night and this is all a trip. Or maybe it’s all real. I don’t know. My brain just isn’t working right now.” “Where did you grow up?” he asked to divert her. “All over. Foster homes.” At his look, she explained, “My mom was a small-time actress with a big-time drug habit. She cleaned up a bit when I was born, but not much. She died of an overdose when I was four.” Cal thought of his mother, warm and cozy, always baking something, always friendly and welcoming. “And your father?” “In and out of jail my whole life. Small crimes, mostly, but they got worse and worse. Drugs and armed robbery. I don’t even keep up with his rap sheet any more.” Cal’s father had taught him everything about the elves, about Santa, and most importantly, about the reindeer. Strong, quiet, and patient, he’d loved Cal’s mother for over a hundred years and didn’t show any signs of stopping. “Wow, that’s depressing,” he said, and she shrugged. “Yeah, but only if you think about it. Which I don’t. Hey. What’s with these stables? Does Santa like to ride?” Don’t think about riding, Cal told himself desperately, don’t, don’t -Too late. “Uh, no,” he managed, “he, er, these are for the reindeer.” “Reindeer?” Her forehead wrinkled, then smoothed out. “Oh no, wait, to pull the sled, right?” “Yes.” “I was joking.” “I wasn’t.” “Your reindeer can fly?”

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“Yep. You want to meet them?”

She twisted to face him. “Meet them?”

“They’re quite friendly.” He thought about that. No one else ever came in the

stables but him. “Well, they are to me.” “And are you, like, the… er… reindeer keeper?” He smiled. “Yeah, I am.” “You don’t do the packing and loading stuff? You just look after reindeer?” “Just? I get up at five am to ‘just’ look after them.” “Sorry. But how come you do this, and not the other stuff?” Cal was nonplussed. “I… I always have. My father trained me.” “Is it like a family thing?” “I… I don’t think so. No, it isn’t. But when I came here, I knew it was what I wanted to do. And Santa was amenable, so my father trained me, and then he retired.” Candy seemed to be thinking about this. “How many reindeer are there? Are they really called Donner and Blitzen and things?” He laughed. “No, they’re not. I have thirty-seven, but only use eight at a time.” “So why have so many?” “Some are too old, some are too young. I have backups in case one gets sick or is injured. The herd changes. I use whoever’s best for the job at the time. The current first team -- the one we’ll use this year -- are Brigetta, Blyn, Magna, Rika, Kalle, Mikka, Kimi and Ayrton.” “Ayrton?”

“Not a Formula One fan?”

“Uh. No.”

A noise from deeper in the stables caught his attention and made Candy clutch at

him. “What was that?” She was so round and soft, clinging to him like that. God, it felt good. “I think that’s Dalla,” Cal said distractedly.

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“What’s a Dalla?” That made him smile. “One of the younger does. She had twin fawns last week, and she doesn’t have enough milk for them. I have to hand feed them.” He made to get up. “Where are you going?” “They’re hungry.” She got up with him, no longer shaking but a little unsteady, holding onto his arm. Cal tried to mind, and failed completely. Dalla was lying on her side in her stall, making pathetic noises as her babies tried to feed. They were tiny, wobbly little things, fluffy and adorable with big Bambi eyes, and Candy immediately fell to her knees, reaching out to them. Dalla bellowed, and Candy drew back sharply. “She’s a little protective,” Cal said, and scratched the doe’s head placatingly. “But she lets you feed them?” “Sure. I’m part of the herd.” With that odd comment, he vanished to get the fawns’ milk, returning a moment later and scooping one of them out to hold on his lap like a baby. “They’re so cute,” Candy cooed. “Do they have names yet?” “Sure. This is Gretel, and that’s Hansel.” “Cute.” “I thought so.” She watched him feeding Gretel for a while, then said, “So if I’m gonna do this whole Santa thing, do I get to drive the sled?” “Eventually. You’ll have to learn.” “How hard can it be?” He gave her a look. “Precisely how many flying vehicles have you piloted?” She scrunched up her nose. “And do I have to wear the, you know, velvet ensemble? With the fur? ’Cos, you know, that felt like real fur to me.” “It is real fur.”

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“Ew! Ew ew ew! Real fur? Like, dead animals?”

“That’s usually where it comes from.”

“I am not wearing real fur!”

“You did this afternoon.”

“Well, that’s before I knew what it was. And, there was nothing else to wear!”

Cal wondered why this was a problem. Imagining her striding into the

boardroom wearing nothing at all, his temperature shot up. “I’m sure you can get a new outfit,” he said, his voice thin with effort. “What from, like, one of those costume companies? Knee high boots and tiny little fake-fur-trimmed negligee?” The naked image got replaced by one of her in the boots and red, fur-trimmed underwear. It wasn’t much help. Candy reached out and stroked Gretel’s head, her fingertips brushing Cal’s chest. He wanted to throw her down in the hay and ravish her until she screamed. Peel his old sweater and jeans from her body and lick her soft, creamy white skin all over. Fill his hands with her high, round breasts. Bury his aching cock in that sweet hot cunt of hers. Her eyes were soft, watching the baby deer feeding from the bottle. Wisps of blonde hair fell over her face. “She’s so cute,” she murmured. “Mm-huh,” Cal said, nearly panting with the effort of holding onto Gretel and not pouncing on Candy. When she was finished feeding he was going to -“When I’m Santa, do you think I can feed the baby deer?” His lust came to a screaming halt. “When you’re what?” “Well, I haven’t decided yet. I mean, I get to say no, right?” “I, uh, yes, I suppose --” “’Cause it’s kind of a big decision.”

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Cal nodded weakly, suddenly realizing he was screwed. If she accepted, she’d be his Santa, and it was just unthinkable to sleep with her. He couldn’t lust after Santa. It was practically incest. But if she declined, then she’d leave, go back to L.A. and her meaningless tawdry one-night stands, and he’d never see her again. Either way, he was screwed.

Chapter Five God, he’s hot. Candy kept one hand on Gretel’s tiny furry head, and the other firmly tucked beneath her as she knelt there, her face inches from Cal’s. What would it be like to lean over and kiss him? What would he taste like? Bad Candy, bad. Cal was a mean, rude, antisocial lunatic. Even if this Santa gig was for real -- she wasn’t ruling out the possibility -- it would pretty much just figure in her life -- and he really was an elf, he was still extremely unpleasant. Even if he did look absolutely adorable with that tiny deer nestled in his arms. Dammit. “You know what,” she said, standing up so quickly it made her dizzy, “I think I oughta go and find out about that new outfit. Do you have a mall around here?” “A mall?” Cal looked up at her, surprised. “Uh, no. We’re several hundred miles from anything even nearly resembling a mall. If you want new clothes, it’s probably best to talk to Sila. She’s head of housekeeping.” “Okay.” Candy turned to go, relieved to get away from this infuriatingly confusing and horribly sexy man. “Candy!” She turned back. Cal looked like he was in two minds about what he was about to say, but he finally bit out, “You -- er, you should take a coat or something.” She blinked. “I don’t have a coat.” He replaced Gretel in the pen with her mother and dashed off again, returning with something thick and fleecy. “Here.” “It’s not real sheepskin, is it?” His eyes dropped. “Of course not.”

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Liar, she thought, but clutched it around herself anyway, and made her way out of the warm, dark stables into the freezing clarity of the outside world. The huge building Cal had called the factory stood silhouetted against the dark sky. Either it was the middle of the night, or they were far enough north that it never really got light. Either way, the factory, the prettiest she’d ever seen, was lit up like a giant log cabin, warm and inviting. She stumbled over the snow and went in search of Silasthra.

*** In her dreams, Candy rolled hot and naked in Cal’s arms, her fingers exploring his hot skin, his firm body. The tension left his face and he laughed as she kissed his stomach, working down each perfectly formed ab until she reached the dark hair between his legs. His cock stood tall and proud, strong, thick, inviting, and she reached out to taste it -Bang bang.

She glanced over his hip at the door.

“Whoever it is, leave it,” Cal said, breathless.

“Sure,” she said, and turned back to the task at hand.

Bang bang.

“They’ll go away if you ignore them,” he said, and Candy licked her lips.

Bang bang.

“Please go the fuck away!” she yelled, and then with startling clarity realized she

was awake, and the knocking at the door was real, and there was no naked Cal in bed with her. “This better be good,” she grumbled, pulling the covers about herself. She’d slept naked in the absence of any pajamas, and now the sheets were twisted around her hot, bare skin. Her nipples puckered against the soft linen. “Who is it?” “Silasthra,” came the voice, and Candy almost heard the gap where the elf nearly said “Miss.” “I brought your new clothes.”

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- 37 -

“Already?” Candy started untangling herself. Last night she’d explained her dream outfit to the elf, who had said she’d do her best to get exactly what her new Santa wanted. Candy figured the outfit would be a sign; if it was good, she should take the job. If it was horrible, she’d leave. Leave and go back to L.A., to the endless circus of gossip and backbiting and using and abusing. To boring men and bad sex. To an ugly apartment and part-time, selfish friends. To her dull, empty, half life. Maybe she’d fallen down the rabbit hole here, but it couldn’t be worse than where she’d come from. Okay, everyone here had pointy ears. And either they were crazy, or she was, but she was starting to believe the whole gig might be real. If the clothes weren’t right, she’d leave here, but she wouldn’t go back to L.A. for any longer than it would take to sell her apartment. She’d go to New York or London or Paris. Whatever happened from now on, L.A. was in the past. Wrapping the sheet around herself, she tripped over to the door and opened it. The little blue-haired elf stood there, a garment bag across her outstretched arms. “Wow, you found somewhere with express delivery,” Candy said, stepping back to let her in. “Express…” “Never mind. Whadda we got?” Sila proudly hung the garment bag up and took a second bag off her shoulder. “This is the prototype,” she said. “If you like it, I can make more.” “Make? You made this?” “Most of our clothes are made here,” Sila said, as if this was perfectly normal. “Cal likes to buy human clothes, though. I looked up some human designers to get what you wanted.” “Good,” Candy said faintly, as Sila took out a pair of incredibly beautiful black leather boots. Tall, soft, exquisitely fashioned, they had a small, elegant heel that was practical as well as gorgeous. A strap with a buckle ran around the slender ankle. “Very nice,” she conceded. “What else?”

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Sila brought out a pair of black pants and a roll-neck sweater, close-fitting, made from the sort of insulating material that skiers wear under their ski pants. Candy wriggled into some underwear and slipped the clothes on, and they fit perfectly. In the boots and slinky black clothes she felt like a cat burglar, which she guessed was mildly appropriate, since what did Santa do but break into people’s houses? Although he left stuff rather than taking it -- or, Candy thought, getting a little excited at the prospect, she did. “This is great,” she told Sila, who blushed prettily. “What about the coat?” Sila bit her lip and unfastened the garment bag. “I tried to stick as closely as possible to what you described,” she said. “Although without a live model I couldn’t get a perfect fit… I can make adjustments if it doesn’t fit right.” Candy barely heard her, instead staring in rapture at the incredibly beautiful coat Sila had just revealed. Full length, double breasted, nipped in at the waist with a black leather belt, full-skirted, trimmed with white fur and gold buttons and little epaulettes at the shoulders; it was a work of art in deep, blood-red cashmere. “God, it’s incredible,” she moaned, feeling the fabric. Inside the whole coat was lined with white fur -“Fake, not real fur, just like you said,” Sila explained hastily -that was so soft and warm it made Candy want to curl up in it. The coat fit like a dream. She stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself. She really looked like she could do this. And, as any beautician knew, looking the part was more than half the battle. “There’s a hood too,” Sila said, demonstrating how it would fasten inside the furtrimmed neck of the coat, “or a hat, if you’d prefer.” Candy shook her head. “This is amazing. You’re a genius, you know that?” Sila blushed a little. “No, you are.” She gave the little elf a hug, which seemed to embarrass her horribly, and asked her to make multiple versions of the outfit. Then it occurred to her that she’d probably only need it for one night of the year.

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“Oh no,” Sila said, “there’s Hanukkah and Divali and all the others. There are many nights you’ll need to fly out. And many outfits to match. I could show you what Santa wears, and we could adapt those things, if you like?” “There’s a Santa for Hanukkah?” Sila gave a shy smile. “Santa goes by many names. That’s just the most famous.” Dressed in the red coat and boots, Candy followed Sila to a workroom where she was shown different outfits for the different occasions. It began to dawn on her that being Santa was no one-day-a-year job. She’d be the overseer of a huge operation, caregiver to a whole species, a gigantic family who looked to Santa for guidance. She’d be their parent. She’d be responsible for keeping the winter festivals alive. She’d be a deity, of sorts.

*** “Remind me how this is my birthright?” she said to Santa, as he was explaining the dates and comparative religions to her. He smiled. “I don’t know how,” he said. “I don’t even know who chose you. All I know is that it’s you. I’ve known since you were born.” “But why me? Is it like some genetic thing? Are we related?” “I doubt it. I bore little resemblance to my predecessor.” His predecessor. “How long did you have, before you had to take over?” “A year. You won’t have that long.” She looked at him, and knew that he wasn’t retiring. “How old are you? If you don’t mind my asking.” He smiled again. “Three hundred and seventy-nine.” She whistled. “When I came here I was thirty-seven, and confused as all hell. But I quickly realized that this was my… well, you could say destiny. You could say calling. But I knew within a few hours of arriving that I was going to stay.” Candy said nothing. “There has never been a female Santa before,” he added. “I don’t know why.”

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“Maybe the women were too busy in the real world.”

“Maybe.”

“With families and stuff.”

“That’s probably right.”

She hesitated. “Did you have family?”

“I had a wife. She died in childbirth.”

“I’m sorry. And your child?”

“Stillborn.”

His face was gentle, his eyes deep and accepting. Was that why he’d done it? To

take on all the world’s children? To have a family who would never die? “If I stay here,” she began, “does that mean… can I ever leave?” He seemed surprised. “I -- I don’t know. I don’t think anyone ever has…” “But that doesn’t mean they can’t?” “I don’t know.” To take on all the world’s children, but never have her own. Candy figured she was probably the worst person in the world to take responsibility for a child, let alone all children. Hell, she couldn’t even take care of a house plant. “Let me show you something,” Santa said, and she got up and followed him to a small, dark room with a large flat piece of ice in the centre. Oddly, the room wasn’t cold, but the ice wasn’t melting, either. “You know the rhyme about the list of who’s naughty and nice?” Santa asked, and Candy nodded. “How do you think I find out?” “I dunno, but I have the strangest feeling it all has to do with this funky ice thing.” He smiled, and touched the edge of the crystal. “Pakistan,” he said, “Gafar, Parvati.” The crystal shimmered, then cleared to show a moving image of a little girl in a sari, kneading dough and laughing with her sisters. “Whoa,” Candy said.

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“This is the present,” Santa said. “I can move it back.” He swirled his hand in an anticlockwise motion, and the image blurred, then cleared to show the same little girl, three or four years younger, chasing a puppy round a yard. “I can see all the darkness in her life,” he said, moving his hand along the bottom of the crystal, and showing little Parvati punching a younger sibling. “And all the good in her, too.” This time he touched the top, and Parvati was feeding soup to an old woman. “Neat,” Candy said. “Does it show the future?” “It can’t show what hasn’t happened yet,” Santa said. “Can you see everybody with this? Or just kids?” “Everybody.” He brought up the US president, eating lunch, then a couple of movie stars Candy had worked with in the past. “And it remembers everything it’s ever seen. Look.” He spoke a few names, and the crystal showed a boy in a sailor suit being reprimanded by a stern Victorian governess. The boy grew up before her eyes and became a father with his own children, a grandfather, an old man. “Speak the name of the person searching,” Santa said, “and it will show the last person they searched for.” “Does that mean everyone here uses it?” “Mostly it’s me or the senior elves, but anyone can. For instance, look. Calascien,” he said, “last search,” and the crystal showed a young woman who looked a lot like Candy. She had long, straight hair, massive bell-bottoms and a tie-dyed T-shirt. She had a shot glass in one hand and a spliff in the other and was swaying to some unheard music. “That’s my mother,” Candy said. “Previous search,” Santa said, and a young man shimmered into view, a gun in his hand, pulling a balaclava over his face. “And I’m pretty sure that’s my dad,” she said heavily. “I’ll leave you to watch,” Santa said, and withdrew from the room.

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Candy watched. She watched her father commit robbery after robbery, threatening with his gun, sometimes shooting. Occasionally killing. She skipped forward a little and saw his first meeting with her mother in some crack den, both of them off their faces. “It’s so romantic,” she muttered, depressed as hell, as the image faded out to ice again. End of message. “Previous search,” she said to the crystal, and the image blurred, faded, and then reformed. Her mother again, drinking, smoking -No. Wait. Not her mother. Herself. Candy watched from an outsider’s eyes as she stumbled around some dark little party in some shabby condo. There were red chili pepper lights strung around the bathroom door; it was the party she’d been sleeping off when Cal found her. He’d watched her at the party. No wonder he thought she was a stupid waste of time. Mortified, Candy saw herself get drunker and drunker, smoking and dancing and plastering herself all over some guy she hardly remembered meeting. Cal had found her in bed with this guy, talk about embarrassing -No. Wait. She watched herself drunkenly snogging him, bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other. Actually it was probably a reefer, not a cigarette. She couldn’t really remember. Dread mounting in her, she waited for the picture to end like the last one had, but it didn’t, it went on and on as she crashed to the bed with the anonymous guy and a bottle of tequila, giggling, and proceeded to slurp the alcohol off his stomach. His cock. God, she looked so stupid, so drunk, she didn’t even fancy the guy, but she always got so off her face on the anniversary of her dead marriage. Like it was an excuse to go crazy. And he’d been watching her, watching her make such a fool of herself. The image moved on, Candy fucking the guy, getting fucked, getting shoved away from him and bringing herself off because he’d been so fucking useless. Anger built in her but she wasn’t sure, just didn’t know if it was because she’d been so stupid

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or because Cal had watched her be so stupid. Had watched her have sex. Had watched her touching herself, self-gratification, a pathetic act. She watched what he had watched, and as her image turned aside and cried herself to sleep, the crystal picture faded away. For a long minute she stood there, mortification and fury rising in her, warring with each other until fury won, hot and red, boiling over inside her. Maybe he didn’t watch it all, she told herself, trying to stay calm. Maybe someone else did. No. Who else would? Of course it was Cal. That’s why he thinks you’re such a useless whore. He watched you. He’s such a pervert. A voyeur. Her fist smacked into the ice crystal, but it didn’t shatter. It didn’t even crack. Candy turned and ran out of the viewing room, out of the factory, snow crunching under her beautiful boots as she ran across the yard to the barn, the stables, slammed the door behind her and yelled, “Cal!”

Chapter Six The deer snuffled and snorted in their stalls. Candy jammed her hands onto her hips and yelled louder. “Calascien, you disgusting perverted elf, get your ass out here right now!” There was movement within, and then he strolled out in dirty jeans and a faded fleece, hands in his pockets, straw in his hair and dirt on his cheek. Hotter than she could ever believe, and so, so damn evil. “To what do I owe the displeasure?” Steaming with anger, Candy fought to control her voice. “Santa just showed me that ice crystal for viewing people.” “Ah.” She narrowed her eyes. He looked so damn casual standing there. “Ah?” “Yes, ‘ah.’ We’re all allowed to use it --” “For purposes of total voyeurism?” He blinked. “Do you usually use it to watch people having sex? Is it like some personal porn channel for you? God, you’re so sick. I can’t believe I let you get in the bath with me.” “As I recall, you shoved me in the bath with you. And you’re the one who started touching yourself.” “Hey, I was washing,” Candy spat, her face heating as she remembered how close they’d come. “The hell you were. Your tits didn’t need that much washing.” Her nipples puckered in memory. “You are such an asshole.” “At least I don’t go around having meaningless sex with -- what was his name?” Cal asked, pointedly. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

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“-- with someone whose name you never even learned,” Cal said. “Or were too stoned to remember.” “Hey, I was not stoned. I don’t do drugs. Well, I mean I rarely do. I thought it was a cigarette.” “Yeah, that’ll stand up in court.” One of the reindeer made a noise, and he turned away from her, looking casual, bored, gracefully sexy, at ease. Bastard. “Hey, where are you going?” “To do my job. Much as I enjoy standing here with you throwing abuse at me, I do have more entertaining things to do, like for instance shoveling reindeer shit.” She grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him back. “Oh no you fucking don’t. I am so not done with you.” He shook her off, starting to look annoyed. “What do you want from me? I had to see who you were before I came to get you.” “Did you have to watch me having sex?” “I figured it was a key part of your personality.” She slapped him for that, an angry crack across his cheekbone that left her hand smarting. She didn’t wince though, and neither did he, his hand coming up to gently probe his cheek. “Are you done now?” “No!” So angry she could hardly think, Candy crashed on. “You do not get to make cracks like that about me! So I have sex, all right, why shouldn’t I? I’m a grownup, I can make my own choices, I don’t mess around a lot, I’m responsible. Well, usually I am. You caught me at a bad time. The worst time.” “Ah yes, your anniversary.” “Yes, my anniversary. The details of which I poured out to you yesterday. Like, my whole heart got poured out then. It hurt, okay, the whole thing really hurt, and the memory of it hurts. I hate being used like that.” “He was wrong to use you,” Cal said, his voice softening a little, and Candy’s eyes stung.

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“Damn right,” she said fiercely, and regained a little strength as she said, “and you were wrong too! You were watching me like I’m some kind of fucking porn star, or a whore or something, and I already told you, I don’t do that shit. I did the stripping but I never let anyone touch me, okay, not for money, and I am so not into public sex.” “I didn’t tell anyone,” Cal began, and her nostrils flared. “That doesn’t make it any better! God, what is wrong with you? Watching someone have sex when you don’t have their permission is wrong!” “And having sex with someone whose name you don’t know is so right? Is it right to suck off a guy’s cock and then just roll over without expecting anything in return? Looks to me like he was the one using you, Candy, and you just let him. You let him fuck you and turn over and go to fucking sleep once he’d got what he wanted, and you’re telling me that I’m the one who’s in the wrong here?” That hurt more than anything, because she knew he was right. He just stood there, looking so cool, looking so good, and just laid bare everything that was wrong with her life. “What was I supposed to do, wake him up and demand he lick me out?” “I don’t know, something like that! Or at least let him know. Candy, if you don’t take the initiative then people are going to keep on using you --” “Hey, I take initiative. I take it all the time! I’m in charge of my own life.” “Yeah, I can see that. You’re so in charge you have to get yourself off when the guy who’s fucking you gives you nothing. That’s really taking charge. I commend your initiative.” She raised her hand to slap him again -- if that wasn’t initiative then she didn’t know what was -- but he caught her arm and wrenched it back, yanking her off balance. With a shriek Candy fell into him, against his hot, hard chest, and he reeled backwards under her weight. He righted himself and knocked her against the wall of the nearest stall. His body pressed hers into the wood, big and hard, hot, dominating her, and Candy struggled to get free for a moment, breathing in the scent of him, earthy and

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woody, elemental, strong. In that moment she hated him more than ever for making her want him even when he was being such an ass. As he started to straighten and lift his weight from her she grabbed at his shoulders, shoving him away. “Will you stop bloody hitting me?”

She shoved at him again. “Will you stop being so bloody incisive?”

Cal looked puzzled. “What’s that supposed to -- ow!”

She shoved him onto his back in the straw and straddled him, grabbing the neck

of his fleece and putting her face next to his. “Stop telling me what’s wrong with my life. I know what’s fucking wrong with it.” He grabbed her wrists, trying to get her off him. “I know it’s shallow, but I don’t know how to make it better,” she said, her eyes stinging again, and he took advantage of that to rock her off him and get her on the floor. “Have you tried not being so shallow?” She scrambled to her feet, coattails getting caught under her heels, tripping her. “Have you tried not being an asshole?” “Yeah, and it works just fine when you’re not around.” Cal rolled to his feet, effortlessly graceful, and came toward her. “But the minute you open your mouth, I’m just moved to amazing feats of chauvinism and misogyny.” “I’m so glad it’s just me. I’d hate to think you’re such a bastard to any woman unlucky enough to cross your path.” She reached out to hit him and he grabbed her arm again. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said as she struggled.

“Really? ’Cos I’m faced with an overwhelming urge to pound you into the dirt.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

She kicked out with one beautiful new boot, cracking into his shin, and he

stumbled backwards with a cry of pain. Candy whacked her fist into his nose. Thank God for self defense classes.

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“You don’t want to hurt me? Try not watching me having sex.” She kicked him again. “Try not trying to tell me precisely what’s wrong with my life when you don’t even know me. Try --” She made to hit him again, but he was faster and kicked her ankles out from under her, sweeping her off her feet to land in the straw. “But I do know you, Candy. I’ve seen your life in that crystal. I’ve seen the foster homes and the bullying and the loser men. I’ve seen your ex fucking all those other women.” Her treacherous eyes filled with real tears that spilled out and over her cheeks. The other women. She’d suspected but she’d never known. “You bastard,” she whispered, hauling herself to her feet, but he knocked her back down on her butt again and loomed over her, big and hot and angry. “I’ve seen you take charge of your life in every single aspect but one,” Cal said. “You let men walk all over you. You’re letting me do it n --” She kicked one foot up high toward his groin. He sidestepped that, and she grabbed his ankle and yanked hard to one side. He fell on top of her, and she rolled and pinned him down. “I am fucking not,” she spat, her face inches from his, feeling him heave beneath her, big and hot and hard. She was so wound up she thought she might snap. No one walked all over her. No one told her what to do. No one made her do anything. So angry she wanted to scream, so hurt she was crying, so turned on she nearly kissed him there and then, she sprang to her feet to run back outside into the freezing air. Maybe that would shock her into behaving rationally. “While you’re in the doorway, write ‘please wipe your feet’ on your forehead, would you?” Cal said from behind her. She shrieked and turned to find him standing, watching her. She shoved him back against the wall and pounded his head and made him shut up the only way she could think of, by kissing him. His mouth was hot on hers, his tongue demanding, but she fought back and took charge, really kissing him hard, finally, finally tasting him. He tasted good, so good,

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better than she wanted to admit. Heat pulsed between them as she pinned his body back with her own. Eventually she had to come up for air, shocked at herself, so turned on she couldn’t think, and when her eyes met his she knew he was feeling the same. He grabbed her head and kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her, lifting her to fit against him, and she tightened her thighs around his waist, felt the hardness of his cock through his clothes and hers, and kissed him back. He pushed her across the stall and she landed with a crash against the far wall, trapped between the wood and Cal’s hard body, momentarily winded. But then her breath returned and with it came a hot, screaming lust that had her hands tearing at his clothes, ripping open his fleece, biting at his neck, pressing her body against his, needing to feel his heat against her skin. His hands were holding her up, pressing into her ass so her pussy was right up against the bulge of his cock, so she had to use her own to unfasten her coat, desperate to feel her skin against his. She tore at her black pullover, exposed her bra, and Cal sucked her nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Blinding hot pleasure shocked through her at the heat of his mouth on her breast. Candy cried out and arched her back, pressing herself deeper into his mouth. Her hands scrabbled under his fleece, diving under the edge of his jeans to feel his hot, smooth skin, wrestling with the fly, freeing his cock and stroking it, making him moan. He lifted his head from her breast, his eyes big and dark with wanting. She fastened her mouth to his as she stroked his cock. Rubbing herself against it, feeling the heat through her pants, she pressed her aching clit against his hard flesh. He kissed her neck and she fought against the rising waves of pleasure. She wanted him inside her, wanted desperately to feel his thick cock sliding in and filling her. Almost weeping with frustration, she tore at her own clothes, yanked and ripped and finally freed herself. She was half naked under the big red coat, the soft fur lining caressing her bare butt.

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She yanked Cal’s head up to hers, met his eyes with fierce triumph as she lowered herself onto his cock. She took him all the way in, until he filled her completely. For a second neither of them moved. Cal’s face wore an expression of shock, as if he couldn’t believe he was actually in her. Then Candy clenched her pussy around him, and he moaned. He pulled back to thrust into her, deeper this time, then again, harder, harder, getting faster and deeper with each stroke. He felt so good inside her. He tasted good, smelled good, and for all her initiative Candy could do little but move against him, her eyes closed, trying not to come there and then because it felt so good she wanted to prolong it. He kissed her neck, licked and soothed and moved to her mouth, kissing her desperately. Candy felt her orgasm rising, high tide within her, too strong to fight. She wrapped her arms around Cal and just held on as he stroked so much power and heat and fierce pleasure into her that she screamed, writhing, panting, bucking against the wall and throwing him off balance to land on his back in the straw. The move shoved him even deeper into her and she spiraled off into another orgasm, even more intense than the first, nearly blacking out and almost completely unaware of Cal coming within her. When she came back to herself she was lying in his arms in the straw. Her clothes were half torn off, legs bare but for the shiny black boots, her nipples peeking out of her bra and rubbing against his bare chest. He was breathing hard, holding onto her tightly, smelling so good and feeling so wonderful she never wanted to leave him. No. That wasn’t right. “I still hate you,” she said between breaths. “Yeah.” His fingers stroked her hair. “I can’t stand you, either.”

Chapter Seven Cal stood watching her from across the yard with her blonde hair shining in the factory lights, and he dimly recalled a Santa myth that gave the old man a young blonde assistant. Which he supposed she was today. She was helping Santa into the sled to go to the Divali celebrations. Although he wasn’t required to distribute gifts, Santa liked to participate in as many winter festivals as he could. Tonight’s trip would take in Divali celebrations all over the world, and it would be the first time Candy had flown out with Santa. She had on her red coat and boots, but Sila had already shown him the sari she’d made for the occasion. Cal closed his eyes and pictured Candy wrapped in red silk embroidered with lotus flowers, blossoms in her hair, her beautiful eyes ringed with kohl. “I hope you eat rancid ghee and get food poisoning,” he muttered, and went back inside the barn. It had been three days since she’d come to him in the barn and completely blown his mind. Cal wondered if it really had been too long since he’d been with a woman, or if it really was Candy who made it so good. He suspected, although he didn’t want to, that it was the latter. She’d peeled off the rest of her clothes and stroked that glorious naked body of hers all over his until he’d been desperate to get inside her again, at which point she’d demanded another orgasm or two before she’d let that happen. There was a manic gleam in her eye that said she’d taken his words to heart and she was not going to let him get away with not satisfying her. Judging by the way she’d screamed, he’d succeeded.

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Cal slumped against the empty stall where Candy had repeatedly fucked his brains out. For a few hours, he’d seen God in her eyes and lips, her clever hands, her soft breasts and sweet pussy. Then she’d pulled on her red coat over her naked body -oh God, just the thought of the fur against her bare skin -- and walked out without a word. He hadn’t seen her since. Three days in hell, which he’d used to work and work. Cleaning out every stall, every day. Grooming and brushing the deer. Exercising them, training them, all the time, every day. And when he’d run out of things to do in the barn he’d gone running, set up some weights and worked out. He physically exhausted himself for twenty hours a day, because as soon as he stopped she was there behind his eyes with her smile and her soft skin and her devil-woman body, taunting him, tempting him. She was there in his head, but not in his arms. And it was driving him insane. He heard the whoosh of the sled flying over the barn. No bells tonight; they were just using it as a mode of transport. Cal had hitched up the deer and left before Candy turned up, totally unsure of what to say to her, mildly terrified he might fall on his knees and beg her to just fuck him one more time. Which probably wasn’t going to impress her much. He sighed, and went off to feed Hansel and Gretel. The day was long and dark, the sun barely rising above the horizon even at midday, and he spent it just like he had the last three; working his ass off, trying to beat her out of his system. It looked like she was in for the duration, which was a good thing; but also that she hated him, which could only be bad. Although, since she was going to be his Santa and all, it was probably good that they didn’t get involved. But he wanted her, wanted her with a desperation bordering on obsessive. And that was definitely bad. It was late and Cal was making a healthy dent in his vodka bottle when he heard footsteps on the brick floor of the barn. He didn’t look up, it was probably Sila or someone.

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But the footsteps didn’t sound like Sila’s light, hesitant movements. They sounded surer, stronger. He glanced up just as the door opened, and there stood Candy in her blood-red coat and fur-lined hood. Her cheeks were pink, her hair disheveled from the long flight, and she looked so incredibly beautiful Cal found himself on his feet and headed toward her before he knew what he was doing. She stepped back, and he stopped, surprised and a little hurt. “Santa wants me to do the Christmas runs,” she said, not really looking at him, her voice quiet. “Good, it’ll be good practice for --” “No. Not as a practice.” He stared, stunned. “By yourself?” It was a measure of how upset she seemed to be right now that she didn’t even bother to be sarcastic about that. “I -- I don’t think he has much time,” she said unevenly, and Cal was hurt as much by the pain in her words as by what she was saying. “He told me a year, but I don’t think…” “He doesn’t have a year.” “No.” A long moment stretched while she carefully didn’t look at him. “He wants you to teach me,” she said eventually. “How to drive the sled.” Cal nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. “I can do that.” “Okay.” She turned to go, still not looking at him, and he reached for her. “Candy --” She stopped, but still didn’t look at him, and Cal found it impossible to say what he really wanted to; that he was sorry about Santa, that he’d miss him too. That he was sorry he’d been so rude to her and he believed she could do it. But all he managed to say was, “How was the festival?” “It was great,” she said politely. “I’m tired. I should get to bed.”

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With that she was gone, and Cal slumped back in his chair again, more depressed than ever.

*** Candy slowly unfastened her beautiful coat and unwrapped the exquisite sari Sila had made for her. Divali had been amazing and she’d thoroughly enjoyed the evening, right up until Santa had dropped his bombshell. Now she felt like hell, and on top of that she’d had to face Cal, who she’d been desperately avoiding since she’d boinked his brains out in the barn. It wasn’t that it had been bad sex. It had been fucking amazing sex. He was the best lover she’d ever had, the best she could imagine. But he hated her. It was pretty clear that he thought she was not only stupid in a professional sense, but in a personal one too. And what had she done to prove him otherwise? Fucked his brains out. Yeah, really the actions of a woman who wanted to be taken seriously. She flopped onto the bed, glaring at the wooden paneled ceiling. She needed to show him what she was really capable of. She’d watched Santa pretty carefully as he piloted the sled, and it didn’t seem to be that difficult. She understood the basic commands used to get the deer to start, stop, go higher or faster or lower. She’d do it without Cal. Ha! She’d do it without him, and she’d do it damn well.

*** Early the next morning Cal got the second team of deer ready. The first team had gone for a long run yesterday, the first of the season, and he didn’t want to tire them. Besides, the second team wasn’t as fast or as eager to try fancy stuff. Candy would be better off with them. He was whistling as he hitched them up to the sled. He’d get to spend all morning with Candy, maybe all day if he was lucky. Maybe he could apologize for whatever it was she was so mad about. Maybe she’d have sex with him again. Maybe he was being really pathetic.

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As he fixed up the harness to the sled, he noticed that one buckle had worn away and snapped. Frowning, he unfastened that section and went back into the barn for a new piece, fantasizing about sitting with Candy on his lap while he guided the reins. To teach her, of course. If she should end up unfastening his fly and rubbing that sweet pussy of hers all over his cock, then so be it. He grinned at the deer as he passed the first row of stalls. Hansel and Gretel ran over for attention and he stopped to pet them. “What do you think?” he asked them. “Reckon I have a chance?” Dalla snorted. “You’re probably right. But I’m going to try anyway.” He strolled back into the stable yard, and stopped, because the sled was gone. There were hoof prints, and tracks, and no sled. Panic hammered against his heart. “Santa?” he called. “Did you take the sled out? Sila?” Please don’t say it was Candy. Please. She didn’t know a thing about it. She’d crash -He stared at the piece of tack in his hand. The sled wasn’t properly attached to the deer. Without the momentum they provided, it would fall to earth. She’d be killed. Cal raced into the factory, barreled past a couple of startled elves, and slammed into the crystal room. “Candy Kane,” he panted, grabbing the edge of the crystal. “Show me Candy.” Surely she couldn’t have got far yet. He’d only been gone five minutes! The crystal shimmered, then cleared to show Candy at the reins of the sled, grinning broadly, handling it like a pro. He stared in amazement as she swooped around joyfully, crying something to the deer, cracking the reins. Her hair flew out behind her, her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled. She looked so beautiful. Lost in the image, Cal didn’t see the harness come loose. He only noticed when Candy’s smile abruptly vanished, the sled shook, and she hauled on the reins.

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The deer surged forward, the harness snapped, and suddenly, so suddenly that Cal’s heart stopped for a moment, the sled came loose and as the deer ran on, Candy started to fall.

Chapter Eight Cal clutched at the crystal, frozen in horror, watching her fall, and then something snapped inside him and he started moving. She’d been flying over the mountains to the north. The sun had been directly behind her, so she was heading northwest. He’d seen a fringe of trees in the background. He knew where she was. Racing back to the stables, he grabbed Olaf, one of the strongest bucks, slapped a bridle over his head, and raced him out to the yard. No one ever rode the deer bareback except for him. The deer wouldn’t let anyone else. Olaf pounded the snow for a few yards, then leapt into the air, taking Cal with him. He was a strong flyer, fast and sure, and within seconds the ground was far below, a distant white blur. Cal started scanning for the sled. The team he wasn’t too worried about; they’d find their own way to the ground, not weighed down by the sled. They were used to landing. Candy wasn’t. He saw a flash of color by the tree line and thanked all the gods he could think of that she hadn’t hit the trees. The snow could have cushioned her fall. She could be all right. Olaf landed on a gallop and ran in a wide circle as he slowed. There were more hoof prints in the snow: the team hadn’t landed far away. Cal didn’t wait for Olaf to stop but leapt off and ran, stumbling through the thick powdery snow to the small heap of red cloth lying a few yards away. She wasn’t moving. She was still and pale and she wasn’t moving at all. Cal fell to his knees in the snow, ripped off her leather glove to feel her pulse and yelled at her to be all right.

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“Don’t you dare be dead, Candy, don’t you fucking dare.” A pulse fluttered under her skin. He wanted to shake her, to make her wake up, but he was too scared she might have hurt her back. He was just about to yank off one of her high boots and tickle her foot when her eyes fluttered and opened and looked up at him, clear and blue. “Candy!” She blinked, looked up at him, at the sky and the trees, and winced. “Oh, crap.” “Can you move?” Cal asked urgently. “Your legs, your arms -- can you move?” She stirred, one leg at a time, then her arms, and Cal started breathing again. He swept her into his arms, crushing her against him, relief pounding through him, babbling into her cold, damp hair. “God, I was so scared, don’t you dare do that again, I thought you were dead, you could have been killed…” “I’m not dead,” Candy said, “although if you don’t let go of me I might run out of oxygen.” He released her immediately. “Are you hurt? Anywhere? Do you hurt?” “Are you kidding? I just fell like three hundred feet. Of course I fucking hurt.” “More like fifty,” Cal said, “and where?” “Everywhere,” she said, frowning, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, gently because she was fragile right now. She kissed him back so sweetly, holding onto him, trembling. “We need to get you back to the factory,” he said. “You’ll freeze out here.” She nodded. “Can you walk?” “Sure, that’s why I’m lying here.” He scooped her up and dumped her on Olaf’s back. “What about the other deer?” Cal picked up their reins. “They’ll follow us. I’ll come back for the sled.” She didn’t resist when he wrapped his arms around her and took charge flying back to the factory, leaning back against him and remaining silent. Cal, fearing the

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worst, unhitched the deer from each other but didn’t untack them, and started carrying Candy straight toward the factory. “I’m pretty sure I can walk the rest,” she said. “I’m not taking any chances. What if you fall?” “I won’t fall if you’re there to catch me,” she said, and he stopped. “Is that you asking for my help?” Her nostrils flared and he got the impression that if she’d been standing, she’d have stamped her feet. “Yes, all right, I am. Please help me. Since I’ve proved beyond all shadow of a doubt that I can’t do anything alone, it’s fairly clear that I need supervision in all areas of my life.” Cal paused a moment, then reversed direction and took her back to the barn.

“Now where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere I can talk some sense into you. Are you badly hurt? Do you need

medical attention?” “Uh, no, I don’t think so.” “Good. Then we talk now.” He took her to his bedroom at the back of the barn, warm and cozy with soft lighting and a big bed with a patchwork quilt. He dumped her on the quilt and stood back, hands on hips. She looked up at him, all disheveled blonde locks and big blue eyes. “You need to get out of those wet things,” he said. “That sounds like a line.”

“I’ll leave the room if you want.”

She looked surprised. “No. I mean, you’ve seen it all already.” She started

unfastening her coat, then paused when he just stood there. “Didn’t you want to talk?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. About the sled, Candy…” She made a face. “I know. I shouldn’t have. Big surprise, I did something dumb.” “Why?” She shrugged out of the coat. “I guess I… I wanted to prove I could do stuff on my own. That I’m not stupid.” “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

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She gave him a disbelieving look.

“Well, all right, you were pretty stupid today, but I guess you’re smarter than

you look.” She gave him a smile, sweet and unexpected. “Which isn’t hard,” he conceded, and she scowled at him. “I mean I…” He ran his hand through his hair. “Look. Just stop trying to run before you can walk, okay, and you’ll be able to do this.” “I don’t know if I have time to learn to walk,” Candy said, taking off her sweater and laying it on top of the coat. Under it she wore an undershirt in the same insulated material. It clung to her body, exposing her hard nipples. Cal tried to focus on the matter at hand. “Because of Santa?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Do you really think we’d leave you to flounder? You don’t have to do

everything. We know how this place is run. We’ll help you. Come with you on the deliveries, show you how everything works. No one expects you to do everything straight away.” Candy looked down, blinking rapidly.

“You’re our Santa,” Cal said. “We’re your elves. We’re family now.”

Her eyes were glistening. Crap, now what? “What did I say? You don’t want

family?” She looked up, tears on her cheeks. “No, dummy. It’s all I ever wanted. These are happy tears. I finally fucking belong somewhere.” He smiled, then he grinned, then he went to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back, nestling her head in his shoulder. “I’m sorry I called you stupid,” he said. “I’m sorry I called you a pervert.” “I’m sorry I told the guys in Packing you starred in a skin flick called Santa’s Little Stripper. Ow!”

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“You told them what?” Candy said, but her look of outrage wasn’t very convincing. “Did they believe you?” “I didn’t really tell them.” She punched his shoulder again, not as hard this time. “I even made up a sequel,” he said, seeing a smile break through on her face. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. It’s called Elf Gratification.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, that’s bad!” “Hey.” He cupped her cheek. “I thought you liked it.” She looked around as if afraid someone would hear. “Sure, but don’t tell anyone. I’m going for this liberated woman, taking charge of my sex life thing.” “How’s it working out?” Cal kissed her neck. “I think it needs some practice.” “I’d be more than happy to help.” He nibbled her collarbone, and her breath hitched. “Yeah?” He cupped her breast. “Yeah.” “Then in the interests of research --” She broke off as he kissed her, his arms moving around her, pressing her body against his. Her hands moved to unfasten his jacket and his cock hardened as she caressed the bare skin of his neck. “We’re both wearing too many clothes,” he said, and she nodded. Cal got up and locked the door, and she pulled off her boots, socks, and shirt. “Impressively quick,” he said, throwing his jacket onto the pile and pulling off his sweater. She unfastened her bra, smiling at him. He divested himself of his T-shirt. Naked from the waist up, he pulled her into his arms and closed his eyes at the feel of her bare breasts against his chest. Kissing her deeply, so deeply he went dizzy and had to pull back for air, he ran his hands over her smooth bare shoulders, her arms, her breasts.

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“I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw them,” he said, and bent her back in his arms to suckle one puckered nipple into his mouth. “Oh,” she said, and gulped. “Well, you took your time.” “Don’t give me that,” he lifted his head for a second, “you’d have kicked me in the balls if I’d tried.” “True,” she said, smiling, and stroked his hair affectionately. Cal picked her up and dropped her on the bed, where she bounced very attractively. He watched her breasts jiggle, grinning, then kicked off his boots and unfastened his jeans, moving toward her. “Uh-uh,” she said, “take ’em off.” “Only if you do, too.” She grinned, a sexy little feline smile, and wriggled out of her pants. Now naked but for a very impractical scrap of black lace, she reclined on his bed, hair mussed, breasts thrust out, and pouted at him. “You’re not getting undressed,” she said, and it was true. Cal was just standing there staring at her. Hurriedly, so hurriedly in fact that he was amazed he didn’t trip and squash her, he stripped off the rest of his clothes. “Now I’m naked, your turn,” he said. Her eyes glittered. “Make me.” Cal grinned and pounced on her, making her shriek with laughter, and peeled the panties off her with his teeth. He paused along the way to lick at her hip, her thigh, her knee, but then he lost patience and yanked the fabric away with his hand. “Bad elf,” she admonished, “be patient.” He read the tattoo just above her pussy again. I like you, he thought, I really like you. “Next time,” he growled, and gave her pussy lips a long lick. “Or we could just get straight to the good stuff,” she squeaked, and Cal grinned. He licked her again and she shuddered, so he settled down between her thighs, resting

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her legs on his shoulders and loving the feel of soft flesh cradling his face. He cupped her soft, smooth little bottom in his hands and raised her up to his mouth. “Oh my God,” Candy moaned as his tongue sought out her clit and swirled around it. “Oh. Good stuff. Yeah.” He smiled against her, moved his tongue lower and dipped it inside her. She tasted good; tangy, salty, and she was so wet. So wet for him. That thought made him so happy he brought one hand around to play with her cunt while he licked it. Candy was vociferously appreciative. While he licked and sucked at her swollen clit, his fingers stroked her labia, dipped into her, played with her pussy. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her thighs clamped around his face, and she writhed and bucked, moaning out how good it was. He lifted his head.

“No!” she shrieked. “Don’t stop!”

“Not even if I have something better in mind?”

She glowered. “It better be damn good.”

“Oh, it will be.” He moved up her body, paying brief attention to her breasts,

and stretched over her, the head of his aching cock brushing her dripping wet folds. It felt good, incredibly good, so good he had to stop and close his eyes and concentrate on not coming there and then. “Hey,” she jiggled against him, “where’s this good stuff?”

He opened his eyes. “Demanding, aren’t you?”

She grinned and winked at him. “I learned from the best.”

“Let’s see what else you learned.” He thrust up into her and she let out a cry he

almost missed, he was so overwhelmed by the heat of her tight little pussy. He pulled out and thrust back in again, and it was even better this time, slippery wet and so hot. “Oh God Cal, yes…” Yes, he thought, pumping into her. Yes. Yes. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her legs hitched higher around his waist, and her pussy clenched around him. Cal thrust into her up to his balls, delirious with

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pleasure, and when she rippled and pulsed around him, crying out his name, he came too, a hot rush inside her, and he looked down to see her head thrown back, eyes closed in bliss, trembling in his arms. He rolled her on top of him and dragged the quilt over them both. Candy snuggled against him, warm and soft and just perfect, and he held her as he drifted away, happy to sleep with her in his arms. “Hey,” she nudged him sleepily, and he opened his eyes. “What?” “We need to call the greetings card people and tell them to change their ordering plans.” “What?” He blinked at her. “What are you talking about?” “Everything’s going to be different from now on,” she said, and Cal wondered what he’d done. “Every day will be Christmas.” He stared at her. Had he literally fucked her brains out? Then she winked at him, and whispered, “Now Santa doesn’t just come once a year,” and he groaned, and laughed, and rolled her onto her back to make Christmas come all over again.

Cat Marsters Cat lives in a village in southeast England, which, while not quite a fairytale setting, is nonetheless very pretty and was mentioned in the Domesday Book of AD 1087. She shares a house with only slightly batty parents who hardly ever tell her to get a real job, and a musician brother who knows there’s no chance she’ll ever get one if he doesn’t. Life is kept from being boring by the often hilarious antics of three geriatric cats and a dog who thinks she’s Marilyn Monroe. Cat has been writing all her life, but in order to keep herself rich in shoes and chocolate, she’s also worked as an airline check-in agent, video rental clerk, stationary shop assistant, and laboratory technician. She’s aiming for a fairytale cottage, and asks all potential Prince Charmings to apply in writing with pictures of themselves and their Aston Martins. Visit Cat’s web site at http://www.catmarsters.com