While You Were Creeping Read online

  Was it?

  I’d taken a life, in a way, once upon a time. The guilt I’d learned to live with quietly simmered in the background but at times like these, when I had to bring it to the surface, it burned anew.

  “It’s been...” I exhaled, trying to think but there was no definitive number, “a hundred and something years, maybe two, but it doesn’t feel that way.”

  My time worked differently than Holly’s. In fact, I was fairly certain everyone I used to know was long dead by now. Stung to think about.

  A hundred plus years, yet it was only a decade or so if I added up all the months I’d been awake.

  “I was young. Still young physically, I suppose, but I feel ancient.” I huffed at the realization. “Anyway, I met this woman. Neoma. Her name was Neoma.”

  Gods, I hadn’t said her name in... I couldn’t remember how long. It brought a grimace to my face, saying it aloud.

  “Who was she to you?” Holly softly asked, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around her legs.

  “A friend. Maybe one day she would’ve been more. I don’t know.”

  “Is she the reason you’re imprisoned?”

  “Mm, I never blamed her.”

  “Tell me what happened?” Holly’s voice was soft, urging me, yet holding back as if she were hesitant to hear any kind of explanation.

  I got it. Had the tables been reversed, I suppose I’d be afraid of anything that might change my opinion of Holly after I’d come to enjoy her company.

  “My brothers and I used to let loose during the winter solstice you could say.” Hadn’t thought about my two siblings in a long while either. They’d been my best friends back then. “My family celebrated big for Yule. The food was bountiful, the music was loud, and the spirits were bottomless. Cheerful time. And I did love the spirits. Too much.”

  “Is that why you don’t drink alcohol?”

  My gaze slid to her and I rubbed the back of my neck. “Noticed that, eh?”

  “Hard not to when my whole family imbibes.” She half-grinned. “Myself included, but you knew that.”

  Yes, the memory of the night she was tipsy and what transpired was seared into my brain.

  A chuckle rumbled in my chest. “Aye, I do know. And yes, it’s why I don’t drink.”

  I sighed, moving on with it. “I’d been drinking the night the fire happened. My people have this celebratory leaf we would smoke during Yule. Nothing special about it other than it tastes minty and it’s supposed to ward off evil spirits.”

  I shook my head since it certainly hadn’t worked that night. “Tradition, I guess. But I’d drunk a bit too much and must’ve fallen asleep with the roll burning. Next time I woke, the whole place was lit up and hot enough to scorch my fur.”

  Even today, my lungs felt heavy thinking about the thick smoke I’d inhaled before passing out again.

  “Next time I was conscious, I was in the crystal.”

  “That’s it? Why?”

  “No, far from it. I was pulled into a room full of Neoma’s upset relatives. You see, Neoma was a berchta. She’d used her abilities to pull me from the fire that night.”

  “So? That’s a good thing, right? I mean, otherwise you’d probably be dead.”

  I tilted my head, about to hit the caveat. “Berchtas run the risk of injuring themselves if they use their abilities before they’re mature. It’s a sacred law among them that no witch may practice before their twenty-fifth year.”

  The mental image of Neoma after the incident resurfaced and I wanted to scrub it from my mind for good. I’d tried, but it never left. She’d always lingered there, a ghost of her previous self.

  “Neoma was only twenty-three. The amount of power she used that night permanently damaged her brain. She was catatonic and never recovered.”

  “Oh my god...” Holly breathed. “That’s terrible!”

  “Her mother was beside herself with rage. My people and hers never got along before the fire, but after what happened to Neoma... Anyway, she demanded justice. The crystal was my punishment. And for three long generations, my prison has been passed down.”

  I turned to Holly and reached out to drag my knuckles across her soft jaw, convinced now, more than ever, that she wasn’t a berchta and had no idea they existed.

  When she pressed her cheek into my palm, I was also sure of one other thing...

  I wanted to stay with Holly for however long she’d have me.

  NINETEEN

  HOLLY

  “Merry Christmas!” my family echoed around the great room after Kye’d dragged me from my apartment, nearly kicking and screaming.

  “Right back at you,” I grumbled, flopping down on the couch, and accepting a mug of coffee from Aunt Gretta. “Did you spike this? I’d really like some booze right now.”

  Mom sighed as she handed out presents from beneath the enormous tree. “For heavens sake, Holly, it’s not even seven in the morning!”

  “There’s always time for spiked coffee,” Gretta argued and shot me a conspiratorial wink.

  “This is why you’re my favorite aunt,” I whispered, testing the coffee to discover that, yes, there was a lovely cream liqueur in there.

  God, Gretta was amazing.

  “Kye, dear, how do you want your coffee?” Gretta asked, heading back to the café cart.

  “Black is good, thank you.”

  “We made you some gingerbread cookies!” Wendy chimed.

  “With a dash of hira-hira cinnamon,” Willow added. “That’s the secret.”

  Would it be rude to eyeroll at how my family sucked up to Kye? I was starting to believe they liked him more than me, which surprisingly made me smile against the lip of my mug.

  I understood. Kye was hard to dislike. I’d tried. Repeatedly. But the longer he was around, the harder and harder it became to steel my heart against him.

  My uncles had taught him how to play moco, and my dad had shown him his wooden sculpture collection, which was a huge thing because Dad kept his hobby to himself.

  No one outside the family really knew about it. And no matter how many times I’d tried to convince him to start selling his work, he’d change the subject.

  But one remark from Kye and Dad was interested.

  “Have you considered selling these?” Kye had asked. I’d stood by, silent, waiting for Dad to brush it off and move along.

  So, imagine my surprise when Dad said, “Think folks would buy these old things?”

  ‘Old things.’ They were unique masterpieces.

  “I know I would,” Kye responded, moving around the workshop, enthralled with all the pieces, from thumb-sized miniatures to larger, life-like sculptures.

  Honestly, I didn’t feel slighted in the least. Finally, someone had gotten through to Dad about his art and that was satisfaction enough.

  I was pulled back to the moment with Kye’s loud, delighted groan.

  “This gingerbread,” he held up the bitten cookie, staring at it like it was the holy grail of baked goods, “is the best—absolute best—damned cookie I’ve ever tasted.”

  And then he scarfed the rest and downed two more.

  My gaze skipped to Wendy and Willow who beamed with pride, like Kye was top judge at The Bowl and he’d just declared them winners of the gingerbread bake off.

  Even Aunt Dot, who usually fussed from her rocking chair through Christmas morning, was bright eyed and smiling.

  Aunt Helen was helping the younglings tear open their gifts and the state of her ‘sagging tits’ hadn’t even entered the conversation yet.

  What was happening in this house right now?

  Jag, Dirk, and Troy shot up off the floor when they opened their gifts, making a masculine ruckus and chest bumping one another.

  “Season passes!” They hooted and hollered about their love of tiko, a full contact sport that usually ended with players missing teeth and unwanted buzz-cuts.

  The worst part about it all was, I found myself feeling a sliver of the old
me. The one who loved everything Christmas and lived for this time of year.

  Christmas morning had been my favorite day of December. I’d been the first one up and helping Mom pass out gifts.

  Holiday spirit wasn’t something I’d felt in a while, and I hated to admit it was warm and familiar and tempting.

  I watched Ivy beam when she opened my brother’s gift. A new pair of fancy heels, which she obsessed over.

  “Holly? This one’s for you.”

  The room grew quiet as Mom walked over, holding out a small, expertly wrapped gift. The silver paper had glittering white snowflakes on it and a handtied gray ribbon.

  “Err...”

  This wasn’t right. Everyone knew I didn’t want gifts. It was a rule we’d established that first terrible Christmas after George left.

  “Do you like the snowflakes?” Kye asked, breaking the quiet. “Reminded me of that sad ornament you claimed was a Christmas decoration.”

  I squinted and repeated the same thing I’d said when he last made fun of my ornament. “It’s not sad. It has glitter.”

  He smirked and, when I didn’t make a move, he asked, “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  My guts twisted with nerves. My family watched me, Kye watched me, and all I could do was glare at the gift in my hands, feeling shitty.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, staring at the present. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “Holly?” I slowly looked up at him and he dipped his chin. “Open it.”

  Gradually, I untied the soft ribbon and tore open the ends of the gift before shredding it apart. The paper fell to the floor and I lifted the lid of the square white box.

  Inside, on fluffy stuffing, sat a bracelet. Flat, wooden charms with carved snowflakes dangled along a fine rose-gold chain.

  My vision went blurry as I peered into the box.

  “Your dad spent quite a few hours teaching me how to carve these snowflakes.” Kye reached in, picking the bracelet up and draping it over my wrist. “And your mom kindly provided the chain of one of her old necklaces.”

  Carefully, he twisted the clasp, securing it to my wrist before brushing his thumb across my knuckles.

  “Do you like it?”

  Did I like it?

  No.

  I loved it.

  Loved it so much I couldn’t utter a word. I could only stare at it, even if my vision swam and I’d suddenly suffered an allergic reaction that made my eyes leak.

  I wasn’t crying.

  I was simply expelling excess saltwater. From my eyes. Which some people might’ve thought were tears.

  But they weren’t.

  I. Was not. Crying.

  “Holly?”

  “Yes,” I croaked, my voice sounding like a squeaky hinge. “It’s beautiful. I’m not crying.”

  “I didn’t say you were.” I could hear the amusement in Kye’s voice, even if I couldn’t look away from the damn bracelet on my wrist.

  “You were thinking it.”

  “It does look like you’re crying.”

  “I’m not. It’s water retention in reverse.”

  Kye and my family chuckled before he said, “I don’t think it works that way.”

  “It does,” I insisted, swallowing repeatedly and sniffling. “I’m sure of it.”

  I’m a mess.

  A complete and utter mess.

  ****

  “It’s the fifty-seventh—and best—remake of How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” I whispered to Kye once I hopped on the couch beside him. “I mean... if I liked Christmas movies. Which I don’t. I’m just doing this as a favor to you.”

  Kye’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe me. Hell, I didn’t believe me. That stupid holiday spirit had possessed my body after Kye’s gift that draped daintily on my wrist even now.

  Everyone sprawled around the great room, knocked out from the day’s activities and the huge third meal. Kye and I were the last ones awake.

  As the animated vid opened on the magical Whoville, Aunt Dot started loudly snoring in her rocking chair. Loud enough that the narrator’s voice was drowned out.

  I looked at Kye in the same moment he looked at me. We snickered.

  He leaned in, his lips close to my ear when he whispered, “Wanna take this upstairs?”

  Maybe I shivered, maybe I didn’t.

  But I did. We both noticed it.

  His warm breath fanning my earlobe had goosebumps cropping up along my arms. I loved, and possibly hated, how easily he could get a reaction out of my body.

  We quietly crept from the great room. As soon as I opened the door to my apartment, Kye had me pressed against him, his lips on mine.

  How could I live without this? This daze-inducing pleasure that felt like a drug without all the dangerous side effects.

  I wanted more of it, all of it, anything and everything Kye had to offer. It was dangerous for my foolish heart and still, I couldn’t stop it.

  He pulled me down this rabbit hole I feared I’d never escape, and I let him. Jumped, skipped, and leapt toward it, honestly.

  A chiming sound tried to distract me from winding my fingers into Kye’s mane. It attempted to pull me away from Kye’s lips as they traveled my neck and shoulder—

  My eyes popped open.

  “My comm!”

  I struggled out of Kye’s arms looped around me, confusion written on his face. He let me go and I rushed toward the kitchen, snatching the palm-sized transparent comm off the counter.

  Another off-planet call.

  I answered. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Zax?”

  “Nankino?! Is that you?”

  “It’s me. I’m so sorry about the last call. I was on a stormy planet and the signal was terrible.”

  “It’s alright, I understand. Thanks for calling me back. I was hoping you could help me.”

  “About the gift?”

  I nodded, as if she could see me. “Yes. Can you tell me where you got it?”

  Nankino made a strangled sound. “I-I can’t tell you because I don’t know.”

  I turned toward Kye. His ear twitched like he could hear the conversation. “What do you mean?”

  “It just showed up in my bag, Ms. Zax. And...” She sounded nervous, like she was holding back.

  I paced in front of my kitchen island. “And what?”

  “It just had a note with your name on it. I had to deliver it, Ms. Zax. I had to!” She sounded guilty and jumpy all at once. “Headquarters has been so strict this year about gifts. They even installed a new policy that no elvshkin would get a year-end bonus if they returned without an empty bag. And-and I’ve got a youngling on the way, Ms. Zax. I’m not proud of it, but I need that bonus.”

  “But...” That didn’t make sense. “Whoever I spoke to at headquarters said there was no record of a gift given to me.”

  Nan went quiet before she whispered, “Really? None at all?”

  “None.”

  “I didn’t know that. If there’s no record of it, then it can’t be returned. I’m sorry, Ms. Zax. Had I known it wasn’t on the registry, I wouldn’t have insisted. Oh, I know!” She excitedly squealed, as if she just figured out all the answers to my problems. “You could regift it!”

  I scrubbed my forehead, my head pounding and ready to implode, but it wasn’t Nan’s fault. If she were being truthful, there was nothing more she could help me with.

  “Thanks, Nankino.”

  “No problem! Happy holidays, Ms. Zax!”

  “You too,” I absently mumbled. “And congratulations.”

  Jumbled thoughts weaved in and out of my mind once I disconnected. Who’d left Nan the cube and why was it specifically addressed to me?

  More importantly, where was I supposed to go from here? My only lead just turned into a dead end and time was not on my side.

  In less than a week, Kye would be gone.

  Merry Christmas to us.

  TWENTY

  New Year’s Eve

  KYE
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  “You don’t have to go to this,” Holly said from the doorway, her hands tightly clasped at her front. “A deal’s a deal, and I didn’t uphold my end. If you told me to fuck off right now, I wouldn’t blame you.”

  Gods, she was a vision in that green dress.

  The lace buttoned at the back of her neck and snuggly fit her chest and arms. The rest was a solid fabric that molded to every curve, ending right below her knees.

  It made her eyes seem ethereal and her red hair, that was neatly draped over her left shoulder, appear brighter in shade.

  The bracelet I’d made fit perfectly on her wrist. She hadn’t removed it since Christmas. I wouldn’t lie—I’d be fucking pleased if she never took it off again.

  “And leave you to have all the fun?” I hmphed, even if she didn’t appear amused. “Not happening. But you know what can fuck right off? This torture device you call a bowtie.”

  She cracked a smile, her deep shade of lipstick the color of blood. “Here, let me help you.”

  “Help me out of it, I hope.”

  “Tsk, tsk,” she teased, her slim fingers expertly tying the ridiculously shaped fabric. “It’s the perfect addition to a well-fitted tuxedo. We can’t forget the bowtie.”

  “Who wears something this fucking silly? I’ve been stuffed and squeezed into this outfit like a trussed-up chicken.”

  “It fits perfectly! Riq made sure of it.” She stepped back and gave me a thorough once over before she sighed appreciatively. That was a sound I could get behind. “It’s an old Earth fashion. And if there’s one thing Tinsel loves, it’s old Earth stuff.”

  I grumbled under my breath about old Earth but I couldn’t deny, when I saw our reflections in the mirror, Holly and I looked like we belonged together.

  When I rested my hand on her lower back and she moved into my side, nothing had felt more natural.

  “Are we the last to leave?” I asked once we got to the garage.

  She nodded. “Yep. Mom said she’d save our seats.”

  In the transport—that was once too small, but now it felt just right—I turned to Holly. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Screw their wedding.”