Everything except the full truth.
Laylla stepped forward, her hair dancing around her, her gaze fierce. The old man shrank back, his fear clear. Coils of her hair wrapped around Duncan’s wrists, pinning them to the arms of his chair. Another coil circled his throat. Duncan swallowed visibly.
“You will tell him the truth.”
“I’m not afraid of death,” Duncan told her, even though Rich could tell that was a lie.
“There is a fast, merciful death,” Laylla told him as she walked slowly forward. “Or slow and very, very painful death. I will let you guess which one awaits you.”
Duncan’s body trembled, his face growing stark white. Then he licked his lips. “Fine, I did it. When your father confronted me with the evidence of my fraudulent activities, I knew I had to get rid of him. I slipped a drug into his drink that mimics a heart attack then Maxwell took his car and drove it into a tree, making it look as though he had had a heart attack and crashed. But if anyone asks I will deny it. You will never prove it.”
“I don’t have to.” A sense of satisfaction and relief filled him. It was over.
There was a loud pounding on the door and then someone called out, “Police!”
“I have what I need.” Rich turned to Laylla. “Shall we go, baby?”
Laylla nodded and they quickly slipped out of the study and into the next room. They walked out the French doors onto the balcony where they’d entered. It was on the second floor of the house, but Laylla used her hair as a rope, tying the ends to the banister. She wrapped more coils around him and he held on tight as she slowly lowered them both to the ground.
As they returned to his car, he stopped and pulled her against him. “Fuck, you were hot back there.” He kissed her, savage, hard. He was completely turned on.
She reached down and ran her hand up and down his hard cock. “I can see you enjoyed it.”
Hearing that his father had been murdered brought him no joy, but he was happy to finally have some closure.
“You know my payment,” she told him.
He grinned. “It’s your turn to take charge tonight. You earned it.”
And he would enjoy every fucking minute.
***
She stared down at the small wrapped item in confusion. “A present?”
“Yes, a present.” Rich looked amused. “It’s a gift, something meant to make you happy. It won’t bite.”
She shook it gently. “And you do this every year?”
“Twice a year. At Christmas and on your birthday.”
“My birth day? I do not know what day I was birthed.”
He looked startled. “You don’t?”
“No. It was not important to our people how old someone was, but how strong they were.”
“Well, we’ll pick a date to celebrate your birthday. But right now, I want to see you open your present.”
“But a fat man in a red suit did not really bring this to me? I would have heard had he entered our home.” Their home was something that still delighted and confounded her. It was far removed from the small hut she had lived in, which was not a bad thing. There were many benefits to living here. Hot running water whenever she wished. Soft furnishings, the bed was a large positive. It was very comfortable.
But there were times she missed the simplicity of her small hut. Her people, especially Amira. Her life had been straightforward and mostly uncomplicated. Rich’s people were difficult to understand. They said one thing but often meant something else. It had not been an easy transition, especially as Rich was so busy with his new position as Head-Councillor.
It was all worth it, though, to be with him.
This celebration of Christmas really did confuse her, though. The birth of a God she understood. That part made sense to her. But this whole Santa thing just puzzled her. Parents told children that a stranger dressed in red with a white beard entered their home and left gifts. She could not understand how that would not frighten a child, to know a stranger was in their home. But children seemed to love him.
Only he was not real. He was a lie.
“No, Santa isn’t real,” Rich said patiently. “He’s make-believe. Something children believe in. Magic.”
“But I am not a child and you are giving me gifts.”
“Yes, because it’s tradition and because I want to.”
“And why did we kill this tree to decorate it?”
Rich glanced up at the brightly-dressed Christmas tree. “Also, a tradition and something I remember from my childhood. I haven’t had a Christmas tree in years. Not since my mother died.” He shrugged. “I thought it would be nice to do for your first Christmas.”
“It is,” she reassured him, not wanting to seem ungrateful. Or to make him sad. He had looked so wishful as he’d spoken of his mother. “I just am not used to your traditions.”
He pointed at the gift she still held. “Open it.”
She slowly unwrapped the gift. There was something exciting about not knowing what was inside. When she opened it, she gasped with delight. “A new dagger!”
He smiled as she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. “Easy now, don’t stab me with that thing, I made certain it was sharp.”
She drew back and ran her thumb lightly along the blade. “Perfect.” The helm was had a swirling design with bright red jewels embedded in it. She held it, loving the feel of it in her hand. Beautiful and practical. “I love it.”
“Most women want jewellery or perfume, but I figured neither of those things would interest you.”
She kissed him. “Thank you. But I do not have anything for you.”
He took the dagger from her hand, placing it on the coffee table. Then he drew her onto his lap. “You gave me the perfect gift already. You. My own Christmas miracle when I didn’t even know I believed in them.”
She ran her hand over his chest. “I do have one gift.” She leaned in and nipped at his lip. “It’s your turn to be in charge.”
He grinned. “Hell, yeah. Merry Christmas to me.”
Howling Escapade
Christy Dilg
December in Manhattan will give you frostbite if you're not careful. Luckily, with one tiny nibble of my lip I can turn my red petticoat and black leather gloves into a heater. Of course, I know other ways that I would prefer to be warmed up, and it isn't draped in a piece of cloth, but rather layered with a naked man. That reminds me of the new conquest I am working on. Tall, dark and handsome with a little bit of added sex appeal. That piquant man is drenched in tattoos and serves me at the newly opened bar “Mouth” every Thursday night. The owners have expanded to multiple cities around the US, and it has become my new preferred hangout and the man behind the counter is an added bonus. Ladies throw themselves at him, but I watch his eyes always flicker back at me, and I haven't cast a spell on him or bit my lip yet. Tomorrow night, I will make my move, and if that doesn't turn him into a panting dog then I will do something a little more magical.