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ONE WEREWOLF JACKSON'S OVERLAND LIST OF THINGS TO AVOID IF AT All POSSIBLE, WEDDINGS WERE NEAR THE TOP.

It wasn't that he hated seeing other people happy or that he disliked cake or an open bar or dancing-well, all right, dancing was mortifying unless one was very drunk, which the open bar took care of, it was that he felt like a terrible person every time he went to one.

He raised his champagne, swaying slightly. The postceremony dinner was wrapping up and it was speech-making time. Another mortifying activity best practiced by drunk people or those who didn't have an anxiety disorder.

In vino confidence, he thought.

Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert, the newlyweds in question, looked at him expectantly from the sweetheart table. One witch, one demon: both people Jack cared about and didn't want to disappoint with a terrible speech.

"Rapunzel," he said, addressing his longtime friend and employee at his garden shop, Jack's Plant Emporium, "it has been a privilege to work alongside you and watch you thrive like the plants you care for. You've always given your time, love, and support to everyone around you, and you deserve to receive that love back a thousandfold."

Jack was sweating. He nudged his gold-framed glasses up his nose with his free hand, then peered down at the note card on the table that held his talking points.

"Now that you have Eugene by your side," he continued, "you shine more brightly than ever, and I'm happy to see it."

It was a clumsy speech, but Rapunzel didn't seem to mind. The brunette witch was beaming, looking radiant in a white dress with lacy cap sleeves and a full skirt embroidered with vines and flowers. Next to her and wearing a black suit that matched his usual stark aesthetic was Eugene-or as he had once been termed, Eugene the Ruthless. The soul bargainer had been on Jack's shit list for a long time before he'd realized the demon was actually considerate, thoughtful, and utterly besotted with Rapunzel under that gruff exterior.

The normally surly Eugene was now grinning widely, with lines of joy stamped beside his eyes. Those marks deepened with every year on Earth now that Eugene was mortal, and Jack felt a surge of longing laced with envy. Not because Eugene was marrying Rapunzel in particular-marrying Rapunzel, Jack's tipsy brain repeated, delighting in the alliteration-but because they were happy and in love.

This was why Jack didn't like weddings. He should be unconditionally delighted for his friends rather than sad about his own single status. He shoved down the shameful envy and glanced at the card again.

"Eugene," he continued, addressing the brown-haired, black-horned demon, "as you know, I wasn't sure about you at first. It isn't every day a demon comes portaling to Earth demanding your friend's soul." The crowd chuckled at that, and Jack felt a surge of relief. Thank Lycaon, progenitor of werewolves, he wasn't messing this up too badly. "But I saw how hard you fought to protect Rapunzel, and since then your love has grown and deepened. You prove that love with actions, not just words, which is the measure of a good man. It's an honor to know both of you and to be invited to give this speech."

He wasn't sure why they'd asked him to give a speech, but the reception had been speech-heavy so far, with family and friends of the bride and groom spouting impassioned, brilliant toasts that were all far better than Jack's.

"My skills are in gardening, not public speaking," he said, wrapping things up, "so I'm going to sit down before I embarrass myself." Another few chuckles at that. "In lieu of the brilliant oratory you deserve, I present you with a plant." He nodded toward the side of the room where another of his employees, a naiad named Moony, stood holding an orchid. She strode forward, grinning confidently in the way of well-adjusted people who didn't want to shrivel up and disappear in front of a crowd, and presented the plant to Rapunzel.

Rapunzel gasped and clapped her hands to her mouth. "Jack, are you serious? You found a Winter Sunrise?"

The Winter Sunrise orchid was rare, found only near the top of a magic-laced mountain in France where the ley lines allowed flowers to bloom through the snow. Its petals were snowy white blending into soft pink, the edges lined with orange, and the golden stamen glittered with magic.

"A rare flower for a rare friend," Jack said. He'd had to trade away a substantial selection of aphrodisiacal plants from his shop's inventory to get it, but he didn't regret the transaction.

"It's perfect," Rapunzel said, beaming at him. The orchid leaned forward in its pot, brushing its petals against her cheek. Rapunzel wrinkled her freckled nose. "Hi, baby," she whispered to the flower. "You're going to love my greenhouse."

Plants always behaved that way around Rapunzel. She was brimming with so much nature magic, the world came alive around her and plants acted downright enamored. Jack was a bit jealous, since werewolves didn't have any magic other than the truly unfortunate monthly transformation into a feral creature, but he couldn't deny it made her a heck of an employee at the garden shop.

Eugene looked at Jack with obvious gratitude. Thank you, the demon mouthed.

Jack nodded in acknowledgment. Then, glad to have the speech over with, he plopped back into his seat.

His sister, Emma, nudged him with her fork. A fork that unfortunately had residual sauce on it, leaving a greasy smudge on his navy coat sleeve. "Good speech, bro."

He blew out a heavy breath. "I'm just glad it's over."

"You're a great public speaker. I don't know why you hate it so much." Emma shrugged and tucked back into her pasta.

His sister was twenty-nine years old to Jack's thirty-four, though he claimed she acted ten years younger and she claimed he acted eighty years older. They were both taller and more broad- shouldered than average and had the same thick brown hair and brown eyes, but personality-wise, they couldn't have been more different. Emma was an extrovert who loved parties and public speaking, while Jack preferred time alone with his plants, books, and knitting.

Tonight Emma was wearing a gold dress with her favorite pink Converse, and glittering piercings marched up her ears. "Thank Lycaon you're not wearing a sweater vest," she'd said when she'd spotted his navy suit earlier that day. "Someday you'll let me take you shopping."

That was an "absolutely not," and what was so wrong with sweater vests? They were sophisticated yet cozy, wrapping around his torso like a hug.

Or maybe like one of those ThunderShirts worn by quivering dogs, his judgmental inner voice said.

Jack drained his champagne.

Thankfully, the speeches wrapped up soon after. They'd gone well, all things considered. He'd had a brief moment of worry when Rapunzel's mother had spoken, but Arianna had spent the last two years repairing her relationship with Rapunzel and attending therapy. She wasn't perfect, but she was vastly improved from the pre-Eugene days.

With speeches and eating done, it was time for dancing-and an open bar, thank the neurosis gods. The event space had a ceremony room decorated with stained glass, a large dining room, and an open-air courtyard where the rest of the festivities would take place. Magical light orbs drifted over the stone courtyard, and the trees enclosing the yard had been draped with rainbow fairy lights and gauzy swaths of fabric in bright colors. The night sky was thankfully clear-never a guarantee in the small town of Dreamney Falls or western Washington State in general-and the mid-August temperature was ideal. If the temperature or weather had been bad, though, one of the attending witches or warlocks would have taken care of it with a microclimate spell.

Jack smiled as Eugene tromped his way through the choreographed steps of the couple's first dance with the grim concentration of a general approaching battle. Rapunzel didn't seem to mind the demon's straightforward but less-than-graceful ballroom style-she laughed and spun in his arms, dress flaring like a blooming lily. After Eugene dipped her low and delivered a decidedly PG-13 kiss, the assembled guests cheered.

Then it was time for the father-daughter and mother-son dance. This had been an object of concern during the year leading up to the wedding. Rapunzel's relationship with her father was still strained from his years supporting Arianna's absurdities, though they'd made progress in family therapy. The more difficult issue was that Eugene had been taken away from his demoness mother at a young age in order to be trained as a soul bargainer and hadn't seen her in hundreds of years-hadn't even known her name or if she was alive or dead. But Eugene's childhood mentor, Kristoff, had made it his mission to atone for his part in that tragedy by finding her, and now Elwenna the demoness stood at the edge of the dance floor, hands clasped to her mouth. When the music started up again and Eugene held out a hand, eyes glistening, she took it, and more than a few guests started weeping outright.

Jack had always been a crier, and now he wiped away a tear, sniffling. He couldn't imagine being separated from his family for that long.

He also couldn't imagine the day coming when he could spin his wife around the dance floor in front of their families... though he could easily conjure a memory of the last time he'd talked with his mother on the phone and she'd hesitantly asked, "So, I know you're busy, but have you given any thought to dating?"

Yes, Mom. Arguably too much thought. And the moment "anxious, workaholic werewolf" appeared on someone's vision board, she'd be first to know.

But tonight wasn't about him, so Jack gave his full attention to the two pairs spinning (or aggressively marching, as the case may be) across the dance floor, applauding and cheering them on.

Once the formal dances ended, Rapunzel grabbed a flute of champagne and raised it high. "Let's party!"

Music started blasting from the speakers as people of a variety of species rushed to the dance floor to begin gyrating with an enviable amount of confidence. Jack sidled up to the bar. It was manned by a centaur named Hiccup he recognized as the bartender at a dive bar, Le Chapeau Magique. They had brown hair and bright green eyes, and their roan coat had been shaved with heart designs to commemorate the occasion.

"What's your poison?" Hiccup asked.

"Whiskey," Jack said. He normally wasn't much of a drinker, but if he was going to dance-and Emma would certainly drag him onto the floor if Rapunzel didn't first-he needed to drown his self- consciousness.

"How about an old fashioned?" At Jack's nod, Hiccup started mixing ingredients, tapping their hooves rhythmically. The centaur was a member of an Irish step dance troupe as well as a popular ClipClop influencer (as Emma had informed him, being far more social media savvy than he was). Hiccup presented the drink with a flourish, and Jack thanked them, slipping money into the tip jar.

He downed the old fashioned in under a minute, then held the empty glass out.

Hiccup raised their eyebrows. "Dang, are you trying to get wasted?"

Jack gestured to the dance floor. "Social anxiety," he said succinctly.

"Ah."Hiccup nodded knowingly. "Well, don't party too hard, all right? I'll have to cut you off if you get rowdy."

Jack wanted to laugh at the idea. The rest of his extended family was noisy, chaotic, and prone to brawling, as most werewolves were, but the number of times he'd done something that might be classified as "rowdy" could be numbered on one hand. "Don't worry, I'm a sad drunk," he said.

Hiccup rattled the cocktail shaker before pouring him a second drink. "Weddings can be tough," they said. "Especially for single people."

Was he that transparent? Jack grimaced. "They shouldn't be. I just need to be a better person." He slipped another tip into Hiccup's jar.

"It's nothing to do with being good or bad. Being sad or lonely or even jealous is normal-the thing that matters is how you treat people, and as far as I've seen, you've been very kind." Hiccup patted his hand. "And who knows? Maybe you'll meet your soul mate here."

Jack doubted it. His life was consumed by running a small business, and what kind of woman wanted to be saddled with a werewolf who didn't even like howling at the moon?

But Hiccup was being patient and understanding in that bartender/therapist way that involved emotional labor they didn't need to be doing, so Jack mustered up a smile. "Thank you," he said. "Maybe tonight's the night I find her at last."

🩸🩸🩸

DID JACK HATE DANCING?

He didn't remember. All he knew was that the world was tilting, the glow-orbs overhead had doubled, and he was flailing his arms to a pop song he didn't know the name of. Around him, other guests wiggled or stomped or flapped their wings in similarly chaotic fashion.

"I love this song!" shouted the pixie hovering a few inches off the ground. Tinkerbell was a Pixtagram influencer and a good friend. Her naturally blonde hair was bespelled purple and pink, and her iridescent wings shimmered. Along with Emma, she'd been one of the instigators of the Get Jack on the Dance Floor campaign.

"Me, too!" shouted a demon with pale blond hair and black horns who was gyrating on the opposite side of the small circle they'd formed. That was a Kristoff, Eugene's former mentor, who had been kind of evil before a bout of amnesia had improved him immensely. The improvement was also due to his partner, Anna Tremaine, who had reformed the demon during a road trip nearly two years ago. Kristoff's memories had returned, including the knowledge that he was half human, but he'd remained on Team Good and now lived with Anna on Earth, visiting the demon plane on occasion to help implement progressive societal reforms.

Kristoff was an incredible dancer. He'd spun Anna around the floor in a waltz earlier-only wincing a few times when she stepped on his toes or headbutted him while trying to take the lead-and now he was doing an enviable John Travolta impression. He was also ridiculously handsome and an expert swordsman, and Jack had reflected more than once that the universe needed to spread out its gifts a bit more evenly.

Thankfully, being surrounded by good dancers and internet-famous pixies meant fewer people were looking at Jack. Thus, he was free to flail.

"When are you going to get hitched?" Tinkerbell asked Kristoff, slurring her words. There were little hearts painted on the apples of her tan cheeks.

Kristoff looked toward the bar where Anna was ordering drinks, and his face softened into an utterly infatuated expression. "Neither of us particularly believe in the institution of human marriage, and we don't need a ceremony to be bound together forever."

"Aww," Tinkerbell said. "But what about the tax benefits?"

Kristoff grimaced. "Right. Sometimes I forget humans are determined to suck the money and joy out of everything." He shrugged. "Maybe someday, then, but I'll let her lead the way. I'm just fortunate to be able to love her for as long as I can."

A sharp ache took up residence in Jack's chest. What he would give to be able to love someone with all his neurotic heart... but who could possibly love him back?

Drunk flailing took a sharp turn into drunk moroseness.

Tinkerbell turned to face Jack. "And you? Got your eye on anyone special?"

Jack's eyes were not fixed on anyone special, but they did abruptly grow watery. The ache spread and deepened, and he stopped waving his arms. "No," he said sadly.

Tinkerbell looked alarmed at his sudden shift in mood. She returned to the ground, then wrapped a small hand around his arm. "Come on," she said. "I need a breather."

She didn't even come up to his shoulder, but pixies were stronger than they looked, and Tinkerbell had no problem manhandling him off the dance floor. The world spun, and Jack staggered before face-planting into a tree.

Tinkerbell winced. "Let's sit you down." She guided him to a bench. "Head between your knees."

Jack obeyed, bracing his elbows on his knees. He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the urge to vomit. Damn the whiskey. If he were a normal person, he wouldn't need to get drunk to dance at his friend's wedding.

He'd said that last bit aloud, unfortunately.

Tinkerbell patted his back. "Normal is overrated," she said. "But want to talk about it?"

Jack didn't. He really, really didn't, especially not to an internet-cool pixie some ten years younger than him who generally had at least two or three significant others. That was why he opened his mouth and spilled the entire story to her.

"I'm thirty-four and single and haven't dated in nearly a decade. My business takes up all my time, and I like to knit, and I'm not even a properly rowdy werewolf, and who could ever love someone who feels this anxious most of the time? I should like all the howling and biting things, but I just feel out of control, and no one else likes sweater vests even though they're wrong about that, and what if nothing about me is attractive and I die alone in a ditch?"

He sat back up in time to see Tinkerbell blink rapidly. "Wow,"she said. "That was a lot. Uh, let's back up. For starters, what's wrong with knitting?"

"People think it's boring," he said forlornly. "I should have a manly hobby like... like woodworking or sword fighting or hunting elk with my bare hands." The best he'd managed in wolf form was a particularly ornery rabbit, and he'd felt guilty afterward.

"Hobbies don't have genders," Tinkerbell said. "And you don't have to be some stereotypical macho woodsman to be attractive. Also, you're not going to die in a ditch, knitting isn't boring, and sweater vests... uh, I'm sure they have many merits."

"Many," he said fervently. "Argyle is wonderful." Such a pleasing pattern.

"I'm sure it is," she said soothingly. "So you're lonely and want to date, but you're also anxious and not sure someone will like you just the way you are?"

"That's precisely it." How quickly she cut to the emotional core of the matter, like Hiccup had. "Have you thought about being a bartender?"

Tinkerbell cocked her head, looking confused. "Uh, not really."

"You'd be great at it," he said vehemently. "Not the drink bits- or maybe the drink bits, I don't know-but all the listening and shit. Stuff," he clarified. "Shouldn't swear in front of a lady." His mother had drilled that into him growing up, but it was hard to remember sometimes, like when drunk or hanging out with his creatively vulgar cousins and friends.

Tinkerbell laughed. "I fucking encourage swearing. And thanks, but let's go back to you. I think you have many lovely qualities and just need to find the right person who will appreciate them."

That was precisely the problem. "Don't know how."

"Well, you could go to some singles mixers around town-"

He shook his head, instantly regretting it when his brain sloshed in his skull. "People. Bad."

"You interact with people all the time at the Emporium."

"That's different. I know what to say and do there." There were specific rules about interaction in a place of business, and he knew the entire shop top to bottom, down to the well-being of individual leaves. In his sphere, he was the expert and authority. If challenged, he could be brave for the sake of his employees and his business, and if he ever felt uncomfortable, his reputation for being serious and levelheaded meant he could hide his inner turmoil with stoic silence.

At a random public event, much less one designed to spark romance, he'd be a disaster.

"Dating apps, then," Tinkerbell said, pulling her phone from a pocket in her green dress. "You don't have to meet anyone in person until you've chatted online."

"Don't know what to write." Also, having never downloaded more than a few basic apps on his smartphone, he had a feeling he was too out of touch for that. He even kept handwritten ledgers at the office, preferring to practice his calligraphy rather than attempt Excel. Spreadsheets were undoubtedly helpful but lacked a certain artistry, and whenever he heard the words pivot table or conditional formatting he wanted to flee.

"Just give some details about who you are and what you're looking for. Like I'm a werewolf, six foot four or whatever, I like knitting and own my own business. In search of someone who enjoys gardening, blah blah blah. Then upload a nice picture of you. I'll even take it for you!" She raised her phone and snapped a picture of him, then winced as she eyed the screen. "Okay, maybe when you aren't quite so drunk."

"Cake!" someone screeched from across the dance floor. "Time for cake!"

The music cut off and people started moving toward an enormous four-tiered cake being wheeled out-half pumpkin spice for Oz and half chocolate for Mariel.

"Let's put a pin in this," Tinkerbell said, standing up. "But promise you'll at least try to set up an online dating profile." She reached a hand down to help him up.

"I promise," Jack said, staggering to his feet. "Thanks, Tinkerbell."

He watched from the back of the crowd as Rapunzel and Eugene fed each other slices of cake, taking frequent breaks to kiss each other. They were so in love, and Jack teared up again with a mix of sincere joy and longing. He clapped and hollered as loudly as everyone else and accepted a slice of cake from Rapunzel with a grin.

She slid an arm around him in a side hug. "Thanks for being here," she said. "You're the best." Jack certainly wasn't the best, but he would never do anything to dim her blissful glow, so he smiled and laughed and congratulated her again. Later, as the newlyweds exited the venue beneath an archway of sparklers and magic fireworks, he cheered until his throat was hoarse.

Then he took a rideshare car home and threw up in a bush in his front yard. Feeling marginally better after vomiting, he grabbed a glass of water, changed into pajamas, and collapsed on his brown faux-leather couch. Bleary-eyed, he grabbed his phone and started searching for dating sites.

Bumbelina, OkEros, PaganMingle, FarmersMarketOnly, Howly Ever After... none of them felt right. He sighed and switched to browsing something more practical.

The Emporium had done extremely well in recent years thanks to the quality of the plants, Rapunzel's magic touch, and the rare varieties he was able to get his hands on from international connections. He'd purchased the empty space next door and would soon be opening an adjoining coffee shop and bar, with a goal of eventually adding a small stage for lectures, music, and stand-up comedy. He wanted Jack's Plant Emporium to become a real community destination.

Most of the construction work on the Annex-as he was calling the café space-was done, and he was now sourcing decorations. The current project was a rock-and-crystal terrarium to display succulents next to the muffins.

He'd had some luck finding bulk quantities of unusual stones on eBay, so he switched to the site, squinting through the alcohol haze. Blue sexy rock he typed in, having briefly forgotten the word crystal.

The first listing was for an old rock-blues album on vinyl, which was not helpful. The next was for an outrageously expensive sapphire that would supposedly give the wielder an erotic aura. He briefly considered it, wondering if he would have an easier time meeting women if he had an erotic aura, then decided it would be disingenuous to lure a woman in that way even if he could afford it.

The third entry gave him pause... and then he started to laugh.

Dark Arts Sexy Succbus She-Vampire TALISMAN PARANORMAL POSSESSED BLUE CRYSTAL DARK ARTS SEXY CONJURE ROCK

The image was of a small, faceted blue stone that looked suspiciously like plastic, and the starting bid price was $0.99. No one had bid thus far, and the listing was closing in a few hours.

Jack read the description, growing more entertained with every word. Questionable capitalization aside, the poster didn't even know how to spell succubus, and they were trying to position this as a rare, possessed artifact.

This is a dark Vampire Succbus named Elsa. She is 5'7" tallish with beautiful platinum hair and sapphire eyes. Very sexy, comes with her own Knives. Hisses. French. Norwegian.

"... Knives?" Jack muttered, eyeing the photo of the tacky blue "crystal." "Hissing?"

She is very Angry in nature but at least some threats are Jokes! Good friend, maybe good girlfriend I do not know, will do Anything for you-bite vengeance murder Jenga etc, Elsa does All

"Murder?"

Dark Vampire Succbus Elsa angry sexy French BUY NOW but BEWARE you must be firm, she has Attitude but very worth it if you want Assassin, TV watcher, best Friend, maybe-girlfriend, you will not regret it, please pay at least One Million gold doubloons, DARK VAMPIRE SUCCBUS ELSA.

"Dark Vampire Succbus Elsa," Jack intoned to himself in a dramatic voice. Then he laughed, feeling better than he had since before he'd started crying on the dance floor. What a hilarious scam. He was too cowardly to set up a dating profile, but by Lycaon, he was just drunk and easily amused enough to buy a vampire succubus-or succbus-assassin girlfriend in the shape of a plastic rock for the low, low price of $0.99.

He put in his bid, then promptly passed out on the couch, still smiling.

🩸🩸🩸

TWO WEEKS AFTER THE WEDDING AND THIRTEEN DAYS AFTER THE WORST HANGOVER HE'D HAD IN A DECADE, JACK LOOKED DOWN AT THE KNITTING PROJECT IN HIS LAP AND GROANED. He'd dropped a stitch a few rows back.

This project was a scarf for his mother, who had mentioned needing some new warm clothes for the winter. Next he'd make a matching one for his father and a hat for Emma, and that took care of the first part of his holiday gifts.

He was close with his parents, as he was with his extended family in general. Werewolves were inherently pack creatures, and though Jack had long been the introvert of the family, he still had dinner with his parents and sister whenever he could get away from work-rare these days-and he was a frequent visitor at his aunt's dinner. His uncle had married into a Jewish family, and as a result, the extended Overland-Frost clan was rarely without good food to eat or something to celebrate.

Knitting for the entire array of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, and friends so close they'd become honorary Overland-Frost was too daunting a task for a man with only two hands, so for the most part he only knitted for his immediate family. But his second cousin had just announced her pregnancy, so he had roughly six months to make his traditional welcome to the family" baby blanket.

Lots of knitting, which normally wouldn't be a problem... if he wasn't currently preparing to expand the Emporium. His business took up the majority of his time, and arranging the permits, construction, decorating, supplies, and staffing for the expansion had resulted in a lot of lost sleep over the preceding months. But failing to produce gifts for his family was unthinkable, so if he had to cut back on sleep even more, he would.

Jack was reaching for a crochet hook to fix the mistake when the doorbell rang. He set the knitting aside and stood, brushing sandwich crumbs off his T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. It was a Saturday, and though normally he'd be at work, the builders had requested "no hovering" as they finished installing appliances. So here he was, catching up on projects at home while fretting about everything that could possibly be going wrong at the office.

He padded to the front door on bare feet and opened it to see a griffin with a palm-sized package in her beak and a clipboard held between two claws. A brown company vest announced the griffin's employment at a prominent shipping chain.

The griffin spat the box into Jack's hand before holding out the clipboard. "SIIIIIIGN," she shrieked.

Griffins were highly intelligent but struggled to speak non-avian languages intelligibly, considering their beaks. They also smelled downright terrible to sensitive werewolf noses. Jack smiled politely and took the clipboard, ignoring the stench. He might smell equally bad to the griffin, after all.

"I didn't order anything," he said, looking between the box and the paper. The sender was listed as THE WITCH IN THE WOODS, with no return address, and the signature line on the receipt sat beneath text that read, I assume full responsibility for the hellion, no take backs, which struck him as nonstandard language.

"SIIIIIIIIIIIIIGN."

Maybe he'd bought something online for the store and forgotten about it. It was definitely his name and address. Jack didn't want to make a fuss, so he nodded and signed. "Thanks," he said, waving awkwardly at the griffin before she launched into the air to continue her route.

Back in his living room, he sat on the couch and opened the box. Beneath layers of glittery tissue paper was a small plastic bag with a blue faceted stone inside, no bigger than his thumbnail. His brow furrowed. This was vaguely familiar, but why?

The stone proved to be plastic when he pulled it out. He studied the overhead light through it. Why had he ordered a fake plastic jewel? He sniffed it a few times, and whoa, it smelled great. Sweet in a luscious, spicy, complicated way even his rarest lilies couldn't match.

A piece of paper was nestled in the bottom of the box. The paper was fragile and browned with age. On it was written: ELSA.

A vague memory surfaced-something about eBay? He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his email. Sure enough, there it was-a receipt from two weeks ago informing him he had won the auction for Dark Arts Sexy Succbus She-Vampire TALISMAN PARANORMAL POSSESSED BLUE CRYSTAL DARK ARTS SEXY CONJURE ROCK.

He laughed, surprised all over again by the bonkers listing. No one else had bid, and now for the low price of $0.99-well, $4.28, once shipping was included-he owned a plastic rock that supposedly housed the murderous, blonde-haired lover of his dreams. He could only imagine how the seller must have cackled realizing some poor sap had fallen for the scam.

"Well, Elsa," he said, "it's a pleasure to meet you."

The plastic jewel, predictably, did not respond.

Feeling silly and rather sleep-deprived, he dramatically lowered his voice. "Show yourself, succubus."

A sudden wind whipped around the room, rustling the papers on his desk and making the curtains flutter. To Jack's shock, the crystal began glowing electric blue. The wind and light swirled into a tiny cyclone in his palm that grew and grew before spinning to the middle of the room. Then the blue light flared white-hot, making him shield his eyes.

When he lowered his hand, there was a woman in his living room.

And not just any woman.

The most beautiful woman Jack had ever seen.

She had wavy, waist-length platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, and an hourglass figure that defined the term bombshell. Her lips were full, her cheekbones high, and her skin a smooth porcelain he felt the urge to brush his knuckles over to see if it was as soft as it looked. Her formfitting blue shirt was the same shade as the jewel, and she wore black leather pants and thigh holsters containing knives that took Jack back to his formative crush on Lara Croft.

She smelled incredible.

She was also glaring at Jack like she wanted to disembowel him.

"Uh..." he said, confused, awed, and deeply alarmed. In response, she opened her mouth to reveal sharp fangs and hissed.

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Chapter Text

ELSA ARENDELLE-DEVEREUX WAS A RARE CREATURE IN MANY WAYS.

The first: She had been born to an immortal French vampire sire and a Norwegian mortal succubus mother and was thus a hybrid with unique traits from both species. 

The second: She'd seen many centuries pass, despite inheriting her mother's mortality.

The third: She'd been chained to a crystal, magically compelled to obey a witch's every command.

Those commands had largely involved murder.

Elsa glared at the man who had ordered her out of the crystal. The binding spell allowed the crystal's owner to turn her insubstantial and shove her into a rock whenever they pleased, so the fact he had been able to force her to manifest a physical form meant he had assumed control of the stone, and thus her.

Which meant the Witch in the Woods had set her free at last... only to present her to a new jailer.

On the one hand, that meant Elsa could finally shred that evil witch into bloody spaghetti with her fangs, now that the binding spell had been transferred to someone else.

On the other, she now had a new villain to worry about and fantasize about killing, and who knew if he would be worse than the last? People always disappointed, and centuries of bitter experience had taught Elsa there was no limit to how low humanity could stoop.

The man was gaping at her. Somewhat like a fish, or perhaps a Star Trek redshirt about to meet his demise. She took his measure, wondering what fresh misery he would deliver. He was tall-about half a foot in excess of her own height-with the broad shoulders, brown hair, and animalistic energy of a werewolf. He wore gold-rimmed spectacles, a stained T-shirt, and soft, plaid-patterned pants. Attire chosen to make a person underestimate him... if it weren't for the silver weapons gleaming from the couch beside him. The spikes were long and sharp, and though they were currently tangled in thick, colorful thread, she had no doubt they would be effective when jabbed into an enemy's neck.

Elsa entertained a fantasy of shoving one into his jugular and watching the blood spurt before she lapped it up. Her fangs throbbed, and her stomach was so hollow it hurt. It had been a long time since she'd fed... in any way.

"I, uh..." the werewolf said, nudging his glasses up. "This... Huh."

Elsa bared her fangs and hissed at him again. "If you mistreat me, wolf, be assured that someday-be it today or tomorrow or fifty years hence-I will find a way to break this enchantment and torture you in a thousand horrible ways before cutting out your liver and eating it in front of you."

"Oh," he said, blinking rapidly. "Wow. That's... descriptive." He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "Sorry, who are you?"

She scoffed. "Don't play the fool. I'm sure my prior mistress told you everything." A former mistress whose name Elsa didn't even know, as the foul woman had never shared anything beyond the moniker "the Witch in the Woods." Whenever Elsa had been summoned, whether to murder an enemy or to acquire a human for the witch to drain of life, or sometimes just to read the newspaper out loud or watch Star Trek, her captor had worn a hooded cloak, so she didn't know what the witch looked like either. The witch's hands were pale, with a slashing scar across her right palm from the spell that had imprisoned Elsa, and she'd glimpsed long black hair once, but that was hardly enough information to go on.

God's bones, how was she going to find the witch in order to kill her?

The werewolf shifted from foot to foot. His eyes darted to her face, then away, as if her presence made him nervous. Ha! As if he couldn't control her every action. He could tell her to slit her own throat and she'd grab one of those weapons on the couch without hesitating, mystically compelled to obey.

Rage burned in her breast. Hunger gnawed at her stomach and her mouth was dry with thirst. Her ravenous succubus need fixated on the bulge pressing against his soft pants.

Maybe she could intimidate him into masturbating, bite him, and then revisit how she would like to torture him.

"Are you... Elsa?" the werewolf asked.

"Obviously," she spat.

He blew out a shaky breath. "Wow. I thought the eBay listing was a joke."

He sounded American, but she wasn't attuned to his slang, since she hadn't physically left the witch's cabin or spoken to any other beings since her last official mission in 1969. She'd been summoned a few times since then for Star Trek marathons, of course- she'd seen all of The Original Series and most of The Next Generation, Voyager, and Deep Space Nine, since the witch grew bored without company-but she wasn't sure when exactly those summonings had been. 

"Eeebay listing?" she asked, confusion joining her fury. "What is this eeebay you speak of?"

He reached toward the couch, and Elsa tensed as his hand passed the silver spikes before retrieving a small rectangular object. "I'm Jackson. Jackson Overland. Jack for short," he said, holding the object up. "Please don't eat my liver. I just want to show you something."

Saying please moved a command into the category of a request, but this "Jack" had no need to order her not to harm him. The binding spell ensured she would never be able to hurt him.

She eyed his large, capable-looking hands, then the object. It didn't look deadly, but neither did a lot of terrible things, Elsa herself included. Jack tapped the black rectangle, and a screen flared to life like the television in the witch's forest home, emitting an unnatural light.

Ah. Elsa's shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. She'd seen this on Star Trek. It was a Personal Access Display Device, like the one Captain Picard used to seek information, although this was a compact version, easy to hold in one hand. The witch had told her Star Trek was fiction, not a documentary, but apparently there were commonalities with today's world.

Had humanity conquered the stars yet? The last time Elsa had left the cabin to acquire a human for the witch, the American government had been about to send a man to the moon. An unimaginable feat... especially to a woman who had spent her youth wrapped in furs and leather, sharpening her sword with a whetstone while gazing up at the cosmos and wondering if the stars were the silver thrones of the gods.

Now she knew there were no gods. Or if there were, none deserving of worship.

The werewolf stepped toward her gingerly. "Don't hurt me," he said, holding out the PADD.

Elsa bared her teeth. His second order after demanding she show herself. What would the third be? "I wish I could," she replied bitterly.

Jack's eyes darted again. He was approaching her at a sideways angle, as a swordsman might to limit the size of the target for his opponent, and her eyes were drawn to his pectorals. "eBay is an online retailer," he said. "You can buy things from other people around the world. Your, uh, rock was listed. I thought it was a joke."

Elsa snatched the PADD from him, peering at the glowing screen. During her last summoning for an evening of watching Star Trek reruns, the witch had told her of the so-called "internet," a place where people could communicate, shop, and learn anything they wished by visiting "web pages." Elsa had had difficulty envisioning it, but she'd assumed it was a plane tangential to the physical one, perhaps inhabited by scholarly spider creatures with access to the multiverse, and that Picard's PADD could access this realm through witchcraft.

Her first look at the internet was underwhelming. Black writing filled a white page, and there was a picture of a tacky blue crystal, nothing like the quartz she'd first inhabited or the polished malachite the witch had forced her into after the quartz had been damaged in the 1700s. The last time Elsa had been embodied, the witch had said she'd found a more modern and durable vessel, but Elsa hadn't seen what her new prison looked like before being banished inside it.

Dark Arts Sexy Succbus She-Vampire TALISMAN PARANORMAL POSSESSED BLUE CRYSTAL DARK ARTS SEXY CONJURE ROCK, said the PADD.

Elsa's brow furrowed. "This is a nonsensical string of words."

"Right?" Jack ran a hand through his thick brown hair, which would be just long enough for Elsa to sink her fingers into and grip in preparation for beheading him. The movement sent a waft of his natural scent her way, and her lower belly clenched at the sweet yet masculine aroma. Just her luck that her new jailer should smell good. "And it was only ninety-nine cents and plastic, so I assumed it wouldn't actually be possessed."

Elsa's head snapped up, and the werewolf flinched. "Did you say plastic?" She'd learned of said unnatural substance during her 1969 mission.

He grabbed something from the couch and held it out. Sure enough, the blue jewel in his fingers looked as cheap in person as it did in the picture.

The indignity! Elsa bared her fangs at the plastic stone. She couldn't touch it herself-some stipulation of the spell-but she would love to smash the thing to pieces with a mace. Alas, even if she had a mace, that wouldn't free her from the curse-the witch had informed her she would inhabit some nearby object instead.

Wait a moment. "Did you say ninety-nine cents?" Elsa asked. As she recalled from 1969, a dollar could buy a gallon of milk, three gallons of gas, or a six-pack. "My service costs the same as six beers?"

"Ah." Jack shifted again, looking embarrassed. "Less than that these days, I'm afraid."

"How much do six beers cost now?" The gall of that witch! And while Elsa was asking questions... "When is now, anyway?" 

Jack had the PADD. Was it possible she'd reached Captain Picard's twenty-fourth century? It seemed impossible, but perhaps her recent summonings to watch TV with the bored, foul, utterly disembowelable, soon-to-be-spaghetti witch had taken place over a longer timeline than she'd imagined.

"When is now?" Jack's eyes widened. "Wait, are you immortal?" 

Elsa gave a short, dismissive hiss, baring only her right fang. "No, but time doesn't pass for me when I'm trapped in the crystal." No aging or eating or drinking, just an eternal, hazy, hungry despair-half blurry dreams and memories, half darkness.

"How long have you been trapped?" Jack asked.

Dull, regrettably attractive man. "I can't tell you unless you let me know what year it is."

Jack winced. "Right."

When he told her a date in the twenty-first century, Elsa's eyes widened. She looked around, assessing his house in detail for the first time. The walls of this room were forest green, the couch was brown, and the only art in sight were photographs of smiling people propped on various surfaces. Hard to find details that might anchor her in this new reality.

What was the nature of this time? Jack had the PADD, and who knew how else technology had accelerated while Elsa had been dreaming cold, empty dreams? It wasn't the twenty-fourth century, but it was alarmingly close.

"I have been bound by that curse for almost six centuries," Elsa said, the weight of it heavy on her tongue.

Jack inhaled sharply, then started coughing. "Breathed in my spit," he wheezed as he hammered his chest with a massive fist. 

Elsa eyed him. Perhaps she wouldn't need to break the spell to kill him. He might manage to do it himself.

Jack finally stopped coughing. "Sorry. I'm just-six centuries?" 

"Yes, six centuries," Elsa said, a scorpion's sting in her voice. If Jack had a shred of empathy-unlikely, based on past experience-maybe he would reconsider treating her the same way the witch had.

That witch had brought Elsa out with varying frequency over the centuries, and it had rarely been enjoyable. Sometimes once a year, sometimes once every twenty-it depended on what was needed. Humans had to be sourced every fifty years so the witch could drain their energy to extend her own life span, but assassinations or spy missions could be ordered at any time.

"A six-pack costs more like ten dollars today," Jack said. At Elsa's outraged exclamation, he cringed. "That's why I thought the post was fake. I had no idea you were actually, uh, in there."

Elsa stared at him, trying to determine his level of truthfulness. He looked nervous. Although he was massive, he was hunching his shoulders as if trying to make himself smaller. His eyes-a warm brown a few shades lighter than his hair-met hers and danced away, and he rubbed the back of his neck while shifting from foot to foot.

The liars Elsa had known were far more confident in their deceptions. And was the werewolf... bashful?

The curse meant Elsa could easily become this man's prey, but now she considered him with the eye of a predator.

Bashful was good. Bashful had few defenses against her succubus half. Maybe she could entice this werewolf, then manipulate him into, first, not ordering her about and, second, helping her find a way to break the binding spell. And then perhaps she could feed from him, sinking her fangs into his neck and absorbing both his blood and the inevitable erotic response that accompanied it.

She licked one throbbing fang.

Perhaps it had been hasty to threaten his liver. It was her vampire father's legacy-during times of stress, it was fangs first, critical thinking later.

Elsa tried to remember the rules of being enticing. She'd been very much formed from her father's mold, and though she'd loved her mother dearly, she'd never been... talented... at channeling the skills of that succubus half. No matter how often her mother had tried to train her in sensual walking and fluttering lashes and the language of coy glances, Elsa had preferred being blunt about her appetites and opinions. A negotiation was just a sword fight that hadn't started yet.

Still, even Elsa recognized when a change in strategy was required. She shifted tactics, popping out a hip, then dipping her chin to look up at him from beneath her lashes.

Jack gulped. She sensed a spike of carnal interest, lush and rich.

A promising start. Elsa fluttered her lashes, feeling absurd even as she soaked in his fear-laced arousal. "So," she said, lowering her voice to a purr despite the anger still roiling in her chest, "if you didn't know I was in the crystal, why did you buy it? And..." She licked her lips. "What do you plan to do with me?"

🩸🩸🩸

INTERNAL SCREAMING WAS PREFERABLE TO OUT LOUD SCREAMING, WHICH WAS ABOUT ALL THE SILVER LINING JACK COULD FIND IN THIS SITUATION.

The sexiest woman he'd ever seen was standing in his living room. The sexiest vampire succubus he'd ever seen, who was also the only vampire succubus he'd ever seen. A stressful situation to begin with, but she was also apparently over six hundred years old and had threatened to torture him and eat his liver.

Cue freak-out.

How had that eBay listing been real? And what was he supposed to do now?

Despite her threats, Elsa was now looking at him in a sultry way. Well, mostly sultry-she'd started blinking aggressively like something was in her eye, and he was tempted to ask if she needed eye drops-but then she licked her lips and lowered her voice, and that throaty murmur sent an electric tingle from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

Still, the shift from hostility to seduction on her part was both abrupt and suspicious. People rarely tried to seduce Jack-that he was aware of, anyway-and when they did, they certainly didn't open with threatening to eat his organs. Which meant she had another reason for the abrupt change in demeanor.

When in doubt, the standard assumption was that everyone secretly hated him. Or in this case, overtly hated him, sultry looks aside. "I'm so sorry," he said, deciding to ignore the lip-licking and the way she was sticking a hip out like she'd dislocated something. "I bought the crystal when I was drunk. I saw the listing and thought it was funny, and I'd just come from a wedding, and-" He bit off the rest of that confession. She didn't need to know how pathetically lonely he was.

She blinked, a sweep of long dark lashes. "A wedding?" she asked in her French accent. Was that a hint of another accent in there too?

He winced. Well, he supposed he owed her this much. She probably hadn't anticipated manifesting in his living room either. "Friends were telling me to try online dating. I... well, this is going to sound stupid, but the listing said you'd be a good girlfriend, and I thought it would be funny-" He broke off as she whipped his phone up again. Lycaon, she moved quickly.

She frowned and poked the black screen. "It's broken." 

"It went to sleep and I have to put in my passcode." He held out a trembling hand. "May I?"

Elsa clutched the phone, looking suspiciously between it and his hand. Then she snapped her teeth in a clear warning before giving him the phone. "I wish to inspect the pad more once you're finished."

So long as she didn't rip out his jugular, she could inspect whatever she wanted. The way she spoke, it was clear she hadn't been around modern technology. He'd have to look up the last time a six-pack cost a dollar. "It's a smartphone," he said, keying in his passcode. "A phone that also works as an internet browser and... other stuff. Apps and things."

Her eyebrows rose. "A phone?" she asked, sounding scandalized. "How can that be? Where is the cord?" When he held it out again, she snatched it fast enough to make him flinch. She touched the screen, then yelped when the page scrolled. "Incredible. And this will make telephone calls?"

"It will." Though he wasn't sure he wanted to introduce her to that functionality yet.

Elsa dragged her finger over the screen, scrolling down the rest of the listing. Her nails were slightly pointed, and Jack shuddered as he imagined the tips of them sinking into his bare chest as she pinned him down for the evisceration.

Her expression darkened once more. "The rest of this advertisement is just as appalling as the title."

"It's very poorly written," he agreed.

"She was never particularly good at writing. She used to dictate letters to me, and even her thoughts required substantial editing. Though I suspect vodka played a role in this, too." 

"She?"

Elsa glared at him again, and it was incredible how those gorgeous, long-lashed blue eyes could stab through him like icicles. "The witch you purchased this from." Her gaze shifted over his shoulder and went distant. "Who I will strangle with her own intestines as soon as I find her."

Apparently the brief interlude into flirtatious behavior was over, but this was far more effective anyway. Jack restrained a whimper as his heart rate spiked. Her bloodthirstiness shouldn't be sexy. It really shouldn't. But she was wearing thigh holsters, for goodness' sake, and his fight-or-flight impulse was expressing itself in weird ways.

What was he supposed to do in this bizarre situation?

Her bared fangs triggered a realization. If she was a vampire and had been summoned for the first time in who knew how long... Well, he knew what his parents would say about a host's duties. "I apologize if this is an indelicate question," Jack said, "but... are you hungry?"

Her head snapped up in another whip-fast movement. He'd never met a full-blooded vampire either, but he'd heard a bit about them, and they were supposed to be preternaturally quick. "Yes," she said, pupils widening until they nearly swallowed the blue of her irises. Her gaze fixed on his neck. "Very hungry."

Perhaps he shouldn't have asked, because he'd now opened a can of worms. Antagonistic, hungry worms. Maybe those ones from Dune, bursting out of the sand to bare rows of razor-sharp teeth. And yet his body was responding, that naked hunger in her gaze scrambling his brain and making his pulse pound.

What was the etiquette for this? When he was a child, his mother had given him lessons about how to set a table or hypothetically introduce himself to the Queen, but she hadn't covered the situation of accidentally purchasing a vampire succubus online. Was he supposed to offer his neck?

Elsa was unbelievably sexy, but Jack was smart enough to recognize that might not be the best idea, considering her hostility. Then again, she was only half vampire. Unlike vampires or demons, succubi were a mortal species like werewolves, humans, or pixies-they might have a supernatural brand of magnetism, but they didn't live forever. And although succubi were rare enough that Ben didn't personally know any, he thought he remembered that they ate like humans did. "Do you need food or blood?" he asked.

"Both." She stood perfectly still, though an electric energy poured off her and her scent had deepened and grown more intoxicating. Jack found himself swaying toward her. Her lips parted...

The sight of her sharp white fangs-which seemed longer now than they had a moment before-was enough to break the spell. Jack shook his head and stepped back, heart racing. "I'll make you a sandwich to start." He hurried to the kitchen, then rifled through his fridge for turkey, lettuce, and cheese. When he turned toward the counter to grab the bread, he nearly had a heart attack seeing her standing mere feet away, having arrived with no noise whatsoever. "Jesus, do you have to jump out like that?"

A crinkle formed between her brows. "I did not jump." 

"Semantics." He hurriedly assembled the sandwich and handed it to her.

She snatched it like a cobra striking and stuffed half of it in her mouth at once. Then she moaned, a sound of such pure, filthy delight that Jack couldn't help but react. He laced his fingers in front of his crotch, praying the situation didn't escalate. It was embarrassing to be in the kind of dry spell that made a man get hard over a sandwich.

Well, not the sandwich precisely, although if the bread had been suggestively shaped he wouldn't put it past himself, pathetic as his love life had been the last few years. Then again, his heart was working overtime to get oxygen to his muscles in case he needed to flee; it made sense some of his blood had gotten misdirected.

The sandwich was gone in a few bites. Jack filled a glass of water and handed it over, and Elsa drained it before sighing and sagging against the counter. "I'm always so hungry when I get summoned," she said.

Her pupils were still huge, though, and her eyes were back on his neck, so clearly she hadn't been fully sated. Jack swallowed. "I'll get you some blood." When she stepped forward, he held up a hand. "From a store. Not my neck."

Her face fell. Her eyes fell, too, fixing somewhere in the vicinity of his groin. "There are other arteries," she said hopefully.

Oh no. First the sandwich had gotten him going; now it was his femoral artery. He faced the cabinet, willing his body to behave reasonably. "How about I give you a tiny bit of blood to top you off while you wait for me to get back from the store?"

"Yes," she hissed. Unlike her initial hisses, which had sounded like an angry cat, this one was more snakelike and oozed satisfaction.

It was like having a feral animal in his kitchen. He had no idea what she would do at any given moment or whether or not he would come out uninjured. He fumbled for a shot glass-unused for at least ten years-and a knife, then took a deep breath. He wasn't fond of blood, but it was his fault they were in this situation, so he might as well gather his courage and feed his new vampire guest.

He cut the pad of one finger and held it over the shot glass.

There was a platinum-haired blur. The next thing he knew, he was pinned against the fridge with Elsa's lips wrapped around his finger. She sucked, and a bolt of pleasure arrowed through Jack's veins straight to his groin. They moaned simultaneously, and Elsa clawed him closer with a hand at his neck and a leg wrapped around his thigh as if to keep her prey from escaping. The tips of her nails dug into his skin, and fuck.

Jack's head spun in a delirium of panic and pleasure. There must be some magical aphrodisiac in her saliva, because he was instantly fully erect. He ground against her lower belly, helpless to resist, and she met his movements, rocking her hips urgently. 

This was madness. But her mouth, good heavens, her mouth.......

He needed to put an end to this. The situation had spiraled wildly out of control, and no matter how good it felt, he couldn't mindlessly hump his new houseguest like an animal. "Stop," he choked out. 

She instantly released him and was across the kitchen in the blink of an eye, back pressed to the wall as she panted. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of her mouth, and her nipples were erect beneath her shirt. "Sorry," she said, tongue darting to collect the blood. "I lost control." She squeezed her thighs together, and Jack groaned as he realized she had also been affected by the contact.

"It's not just the blood," she blurted when he didn't reply.

"What?" he asked, having lost most of his cognitive ability. 

"Losing control," she said in that throaty succubus voice. "I could sense your arousal and... well, I feed on that, too."

He nearly choked on his own spit for the second time in ten minutes. She could sense his boner? Alarm bled into horror. "I'm so sorry," he babbled, panic rising as he realized he'd inadvertently sexually harassed her. "I didn't mean to make you feel disrespected or-or fetishized or anything else. It's just-I haven't been with anyone in a long time, and you're very beautiful and terrifying, and I'm so sorry, I promise I'll never have an erection again."

Unrealistic, perhaps, but he was freaking out. He felt the urge to jump out of the nearest window. His house might only be one story, but there was a thorny bush he could head-plant into...

To his surprise, she smiled. "Oh, Jack," she purred, easing closer again. "I'm half succubus. I like it when you have erections."

He closed his eyes, willing himself not to do anything mortifying like whimper or come in his pants. Being near her was like riding a roller coaster of emotion. She switched between sultry and terrifying so quickly, he couldn't find solid ground to anchor himself on.

"How does succubus feeding work?" he asked. "You drink blood and eat food, but you clearly also need... something else." Maybe the technical details would take his mind off the image of her sucking sustenance straight from his dick."

I need to experience sexual contact or be near sexual energy," she said. "Fucking is the most efficient way to feed, of course, but I can also feed by watching people fornicate or being near someone pleasuring themselves." 

Jack whimpered, but at least he didn't come in his pants. Technical details had betrayed him. "How..." He cleared his throat. "How often?"

"About once a week, similar to drinking blood."

Well. This was a new logistical concern to iron out, ideally when he was far away from Elsa and her dizzying scent. "Restaurant," he croaked. "I'll get you blood." Before he could embarrass himself further, he turned and fled the house.

--------------------

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Chapter Text

THE WEREWOLF TASTED GOOD.

Elsa licked her lips, catching the residual drops of his delectable blood. Jackson Overland tasted of chocolate, earth, cinnamon, and a tumult of restrained passion. There was a sharp note of fear to the blood, yes, but it didn't diminish the full flavor. The werewolf might come across as bashful, but blood didn't lie. There was a carnal beast inside him, eager to be freed. 

That beast had briefly risen to grind against her, hard and hot. His sexual energy felt like the psychic equivalent of his blood- wild, rich, rare. Was he actually shy, or was it an act to distract others from perceiving the predator within? Elsa despised lying, but she'd been forced to play many parts over the years in order to feed and kill, from knowing temptress to virginal ingenue. She knew well that what a person appeared to be on the surface rarely matched their true self, and that those true selves were almost always grim, disappointing, or disgusting.

Whatever Jack's truth, ugly as it likely was... gods, she would commit crimes to taste his orgasm. She shuddered at the thought, head falling back against the kitchen wall. She despised him for holding the crystal and thereby controlling her, but liking or trusting someone wasn't a requirement for fucking them, and it had been forever since her succubus half had fed. Her lower belly was heavy with want, and though she couldn't feed on her own orgasms, she was considering sliding a hand into her pants when the front door opened again.

Elsa was back in the living room in a flash, in time to see Jack poke his head in. He looked mortified. "Forgot my keys." He scooped them up from a bowl on a low bookshelf. "And my wallet. And my phone." He grabbed both from the table, then looked down. "And my shoes."

Elsa folded her arms and gave him an unflinching stare.

His cheeks grew redder, and he gave her a half wave before running out of the room again.

Strange werewolf. Wanting to understand the truth of the man who held her fate in his palm, Elsa decided to follow him. She watched through the front window as he got into a green, boxy- shaped car. So long as he didn't drive too quickly, she ought to be able to keep up with him.

It was a common misconception that vampires teleported when they wished to move quickly. In reality, they ran-their movements just happened to have a preternaturally fast top gear. She could sprint down a block in the blink of an eye.

She waited until he was a block away before beginning her pursuit. He drove carefully, halting completely at each cherry-red stop sign in a way other drivers seemed disinclined to do. Easy prey, but the thrill of the hunt coursed through her anyway. Both vampires and succubi were predators and loved a chase. Adrenaline gave blood a sharp, intoxicating edge, much like a consensual taste of fear or pain could intensify sexual pleasure.

As she pursued Jack one sprint at a time, concealing herself behind bushes or other cars, Elsa took measure of her surroundings. It was a warm day, with sunlight cascading over green trees and quaint houses. The neighborhood sprawled in the neatly planned way she remembered from the American suburbs of 1969, but it was saved from uniformity by the individual touches on homes. The structures were painted in a rainbow of colors, and it was evident a variety of creatures inhabited this place. One house bore the massive door and entrance ramp common to centaur abodes; another had a pond in the front yard in which a naiad reclined nude, scales shining at the border between her forehead and hair; and ribbons fluttered from a tree in a third yard, marking wishes or spells.

A supernatural-friendly district. Most cities had areas like this where magical creatures congregated. She expected the town to grow more boring and ordinary outside of Jack's neighborhood, but the opposite happened. Asphalt turned to red brick where branches interlaced over the street, and the houses grew more eccentric, with peaked gables, unusual expansions, and all manner of oddities in the windows. A pixie fluttered by overhead, books tucked under one arm, while a warlock cast illusions before an admiring semicircle of children.

When Elsa stopped beside a parked red truck, waiting to see which direction Jack would turn, she was intrigued to see a brunette woman straddling what looked like a demon in the passenger seat. The two were kissing passionately, which gave her a brief burst of energy before they broke apart, looking startled at her appearance. Elsa had no desire to explain herself, so she merely bared her teeth and ran on.

At least that hit of arousal combined with Jack's animalistic response to her drinking had managed to take the sharp edge off her succubus half's hunger. Get too desperate for sexual energy and she might end up pinning her new captor down and grinding them both to completion, and she was feeling too spiteful to gift him with an orgasm.

She reached what looked like the downtown area, where shops and restaurants clustered around a village green. Jack pulled to a stop next to a black-painted storefront whose dramatically lettered sign proclaimed it to be NecroNomNomNoms. Elsa crouched behind a newspaper box that held copies of the Dreamney Falls Gazette, ignoring a gnome who squeaked and scurried away at the sight of her.

When Jack got out of his vehicle, he was greeted by a group of people walking down the sidewalk. "Jack!" one proclaimed. "I'm surprised you aren't at the Emporium."

He grunted and shrugged one shoulder. "Construction."

"I can't wait to see the new space," someone else said. "Are you still thinking about adding a stage?"

Elsa's brows furrowed. What space were they speaking of?

"Yeah," Jack said. "I want to get the coffee shop established first, though."

Jack was a business proprietor? Elsa filed that away in the mental encyclopedia entry she was building. Jackson Overland: Werewolf, possesses stabbing implements, owns a coffee shop, either bashful or using a façade of shyness to cover up his dark nature, tastes good.

Know thy enemy, someone had once said. Elsa was hit or miss on that advice-sometimes you just needed to shout Surprise, rip out a throat, and be done with it--but this wasn't an assassination. This was psychological warfare with the highest of stakes. On one side, a werewolf with ultimate power over Elsa's entire existence. On the other, Elsa herself, who had learned early in life how to be a weapon. She hadn't managed to break the enchantment yet, but she refused to give up.

After a few more vague pleasantries, Jack made his excuses and disappeared into the building.

The opened door let a waft of blood-scented air out, and Elsa's mouth watered. At least now she knew one place to go if Jack stopped providing her with blood.

"What are we looking at?"

Elsa spun, baring her fangs and hissing. Somehow, a woman had crept up on her and was now crouched in an identical position behind the newspaper box, peering at the shop. She had blonde hair similar to Elsa's, and black horns ran along the sides of her head, pointing straight back. A demoness.

Two demons in one morning seemed odd for the human realm, since they lived in their own plane and rarely emerged except when hunting for souls, but Elsa didn't know what had occurred while she'd been dreaming this last time. Perhaps there was an infestation.

"Nice teeth," the demoness said, eyeing Elsa's mouth with eyes of a pale tantalizing purple. "It isn't Halloween, but I haven't seen a daywalking vampire in over a thousand years." Her forehead furrowed. "Unless it is Halloween?"

Many immortals were time-maddened, the Witch in the Woods included. The older they got, the less connected to reality they were. "Who are you?" Elsa asked.

"I would ask you the same thing," the woman said, smiling in a vague sort of way, "but I'd just forget."

Elsa took in other details. The demoness was dressed in a frilled white shirt, black pants and boots, and a piratical red sash, and her fingernails were filed to a point and painted black.

"It's impolite, you know," the demoness said.

Elsa blinked. "What, staring?"

"Oh, no, staring at me is always allowed. I am extremely attractive." She gestured at nothing in particular. "But there should only be one hot, ominously crouching blonde allowed in Dreamney Falls at a time." Her mouth turned down in a pout. "I have to warn you-if you try to supplant me, I'll be forced to dismember you and feed you to my hellhound."

"I'm not trying to supplant you," Elsa said, feeling like this conversation was the metaphorical equivalent of quicksand. She had stumbled into it inadvertently and couldn't get her footing. "I don't even know who you are. I'm spying on a werewolf."

"Oh, fun!" The woman clapped her hands. "My current boy toy is a werewolf. I spy on him for fun, too."

Boy toy? Elsa filed that away to look up on the PADD later. "Is your werewolf named Jackson Overland?"

The door to NecroNomNomNoms swung open and Jack walked out, a paper bag in one hand and the PADD pressed to his ear with the other. The coppery scent wafting from the bag made her stomach growl, and Elsa ran a tongue over her fangs.

The demoness followed her gaze, then made a face. "Oh, not him. He's boring."

Remembering the wild taste of his blood and the silver stakes on his couch, Elsa wasn't sure she agreed. "On a scale of one to ten, how nefarious is he?"

"Negative five," the woman said, sounding disappointed by the fact. Her gaze moved beyond Jack toward the park, and her face lit up. "Almost time for my carnal ambush of Aster." She giggled. "He's been tied up in my den for three hours."

With that, the strange woman stood, then sauntered toward the park. A red clock marked the entrance, its face covered with various runes and numbers, and Elsa wasn't sure why it had approximately two dozen hands moving at various speeds. She watched, perplexed, as the demoness traced a fiery oval in the air, then stepped through, disappearing into nothing.

"How odd," she said. This whole town was odd. Multiple demons, strange clocks, and a hodgepodge of architecture that spoke of poorly organized city planning. Dreamney Falls... the name wasn't familiar, but Elsa hadn't socialized much in the human world of the past few centuries. The majority of her time had been spent with the Witch in the Woods.

The thought of the witch made her bare her teeth. Speaking of insane. The last conversation they'd had before Elsa had apparently been sold like cattle had jumped from the relative attractiveness of Starfleet captains-much as Elsa regretted agreeing with the witch on anything, Janeway's carnal appeal could not be denied-to creative uses for menstrual blood to an exhaustive list of every enemy the witch had ever made, most of whom were now dead at Elsa's hand. At the end of her rambling speech, the witch had turned her hooded face toward Elsa, a lock of long black curly hair slinking out from the shadows. "I'm so glad we're friends," the witch had said solemnly.

Friends. Putain de bordel de merde. Elsa hadn't seen her expression, of course, but the witch had actually sounded like she meant it.

Oh, she was going to enjoy turning that bitch inside out.

She looked toward the store again, then realized she'd missed Jack driving away. She whipped her head around and spotted the green vehicle turning a corner.

The Witch in the Woods was still her greatest enemy... for now. It remained to be seen how terrible this Jackson Overland would be.

Elsa shot to her feet and resumed the hunt.

🩸🩸🩸

I'M RUNNING ERRANDS, EMMA," JACK SAID, PHONE CRADLED BETWEEN HIS CHEEK AND SHOULDER AS HE FUMBLED WITH THE CAR KEYS.

"Can I call you back?"

The take-out bags of blood wouldn't stay hot for long, and he wanted to make sure Elsa fed well. His nose crinkled at the rich, coppery smell, which should have bothered him far more than it did. Unfortunately, the wolf in him liked that sort of thing. There was an itch in his gums where fangs would drop at the full moon.

His sister made a rude noise. "This is important. Or does buying decorations for your coffee shop matter more than your little sister?"

Jack was very familiar with this manipulation tactic, which was employed mercilessly in his family. That didn't mean it wasn't effective. "All right," he said, feeling a surge of guilt. "What's up?"

He put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the passenger seat before pulling out of the parking spot. The SUV was more car than he needed, but his height required accommodations. He checked his rearview mirror, then stiffened at the sight of a blonde haired woman crossing the street. Had Elsa gotten out? Then he recognized the piratical figure of Toothiana, the so-called Mother of All Demons, and relaxed.

It might not be the usual response when someone encountered one of the oldest living demons, especially not one who was cheerfully, self-admittedly insane and had a reputation for violence. In fact, it wasn't even Jack's usual response, but he'd rather see Toothiana than Elsa at the moment. Toothiana had been a regular sight in Dreamney Falls since her son, Kristoff, had started dating Anna. The worst behavior she'd engaged in on the mortal plane these past two years-that Jack knew of, anyway-had been a few acts of vandalism, some mild arson, and a regrettable amount of public indecency with Aster, one of Jack's friends and a member of the nearby Fable Farms werewolf pack.

Toothiana didn't seem to pose a threat to Dreamney Falls so long as her son was happy-there were plenty of other cities, countries, and astral planes to wreak havoc in, after all. Elsa, though... he had no idea what sort of threat she might pose.

"-so I was thinking you'd be great at helping organize events," Emma was saying, and Jack realized he hadn't been paying attention.

"Sorry," he said, forcing thoughts of vivid cold eyes and sharp fangs out of his mind. "What was that?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?" Emma's tone was annoyed.

"I'm driving," he pointed out. "And I thought I saw someone I knew."

She muttered to herself-something involving Jesus Christ, Thor, and an expletive. Despite their mother's civilizing attempts, Emma was an equal-opportunity curser, name-dropping whatever deity, historical figure, or swear word felt natural at the time. Most werewolves were the same, though for his mother's sake Jack tried to stick to mild exclamations like "Lycaon" or "God."

Emma cleared her throat and started again. "You know I've talked about public service before, right?"

"Yeah," Jack said, wondering where this was going. Emma had always been interested in politics and activism, especially on the local stage.

"Well, I've decided to run for mayor."

Jack nearly steered his SUV off the road. "What?" he asked, startled by the magnitude of the announcement.

"Lady Tremaine is running unopposed, probably because she's blackmailed, threatened, or bribed any possible opponents. I'll be the dark horse she never sees coming." She chuckled. "Or the dark wolf, I guess."

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not on the wheel. "Emma, do you really want to get on her radar?" He didn't doubt his sister would make a decent mayor-as much as he teased her for being an outgoing party girl, he knew she was whip-smart, well-informed on politics, and genuinely invested in bettering the world-but Lady Tremaine was...

Well, Lady Tremaine.

Dreamney Falls had been founded by the patriarchs of two families: the Tremaines and the Corona's. They'd engaged in a fierce rivalry over the generations, though the latest heirs-Rapunzel Corona and Anna Tremaine-were best friends and genuinely nice people.

But Mayor Lady Tremaine was cut from the cloth of the older, more ruthless generations. She was all ice and ambition, as calculating as she could be vindictive. Her thirst for power was so all-consuming, she'd abused and belittled her own daughter for being "bad for optics." And while Rapunzel's mother had taken steps to grow closer to her daughter, Tremaine had chosen politics over family. Anna had, tragically, been forced to cut off contact with her mother for her own mental health.

As someone with a large, loving family, Jack couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be rejected by the person who was supposed to love you above all else. But Anna had a fighter's spirit, and she'd decided to form her own family out of their friend group, bloodlines be damned.

If Lady Tremaine could treat her own child like that- what would she do to Emma?

"Everyone is so afraid of her," Emma was saying, "and this is only her first mayoral term. Are we going to reelect her two more times, letting her taint the office for eight more years? She almost got half the forest chopped down for that resort she fabricated paperwork for. What else will she do in the name of bringing big business to Glimmer Falls?"

Jack tried a different tack. "Isn't it a bit late to be running? The election's in two and a half months."

Emma clicked her tongue. "The window to apply closes in a few days. It's a small town-it's not like running for president or something, and Dreamney Falls always does things a bit weirdly. I just needed to pass a scrying test to ensure there isn't secret evil in my soul-nailed that, by the way-and then collect enough signatures to get on the ballot by the sixty-ninth day before Election Day."

"Shame they didn't ask me about the secret evil," he said. "I could have told them you're a menace and not to let you anywhere near public office."

"Rude!"

Jack stopped to allow an elderly centaur to carefully pick her way across the street. He smiled tightly and raised a hand in greeting when the gray-coated woman nodded in his direction. "Do you have a platform you're running on?" he asked more seriously as he turned right. "Increasing affordable housing or something?"

A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, making him tap the brakes, but when he looked there was nothing but a row of scraggly trees with the trademark ballooning shape created when deer and perytons nibbled away the leaves near the bottom.

"No," Emma said. "I have given my political campaign zero thought and don't have a single idea or conviction. The only platform I know is ClipClop, so I'm going to bat my eyes and ask every. one to please give the little lady some power, as a treat."

The sarcasm was hard to miss. "Point taken." Jack sighed. "I just worry about you."

Her voice softened. "I know. But I'm not a kid anymore, and you can't plant yourself in the way of anything that might hurt me like you used to. I'm more than ready to take on Lady Tremaine."

What Emma wanted, Emma generally got through hard work and sheer bloody-mindedness. Ben breathed out his instinctive urge to argue and reframed his thoughts. Emma was running for mayor. All right. "How can I help?" he asked.

"I knew you'd come around." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I was thinking that with your business savvy and community connections, you'd be great at helping me arrange campaign events. What do you say?"

Jack considered the demands of running the Emporium, the upcoming opening of the adjacent café, the unfinished hat and scarves and baby blanket, the vampire succubus in his house, his current state of chronic exhaustion, and the limited number of hours in the day. Then he considered Emma and how far he would go to make sure the people he loved were happy and fulfilled.

Jack sighed. "Count me in."

🩸🩸🩸

"I'M BACK," JACK CALLED OUT AS HE OPENED THE FRONT DOOR.

He didn't want to startle Elsa if she was resting. She clearly had no issue with daylight, since she'd stood in a fall of sunshine in his kitchen after sucking his finger-and no, that was not a memory he needed to revisit--but he didn't know if her sleeping schedule was affected by her vampiric half.

A gust of wind whipped past him, ruffling his hair. He looked over his shoulder, but the trees in his front yard were still. Odd, but Washington weather could turn on a dime, so he shrugged and turned back around to head inside.

Elsa was standing directly in front of him.

Jack yelped and staggered back, clipping his shoulder on the doorframe. "Do you have to do that?" he asked, clutching his chest with his free hand.

Elsa ignored the question, eyes fixed on the take-out bag. Her hair was tangled, and her skin was sheened with a light layer of sweat that made her look like she was glowing. "A positive," she said, nostrils flaring. "And O negative. And..." Her nose wrinkled. "Something else."

"A medley of blood types." Jack hefted the paper bag, which contained three plastic packets of blood. "I wasn't sure what you'd like."

NecroNomNomNoms ethically sourced their blood from paid donors, and their meat menu had a roadkill section for guilty eaters. Jack rarely ate there, but he appreciated the thoughtfulness.

Elsa's hand darted out, though she stopped an inch away from the paper bag. Her eyes raised to his, silently asking a question.

Jack nodded. "Go ahead," he said. "It's all for you."

The bag was instantly ripped out of his hand, and in the space of a blink, Elsa was seated with her fangs plugged into a plastic bag of O negative. Jack cringed at the thought of blood spattering over his couch, but she was a tidy eater, and soon the bag was drained.

Elsa dabbed at her lips, which were a shade of red only marginally lighter than the blood. "Who did this come from?" she asked, looking surprised.

Jack eased closer, settling onto the opposite end of the couch.

He still wasn't sure if the wrong word or movement would set her off, resulting in the abrupt removal of his jugular. "I don't know specifically," he said. "The restaurant uses a pool of donors."

"Hmmm." Her tongue darted out, lapping up the sole drop of blood that had escaped to bead at the corner of her lips. "This donor was happy."

It was Jack's turn to be surprised. "You can tell that?"

Elsa nodded, raising the bag of A positive to her nose to sniff. "Emotion affects the flavor of blood. Anger gives a bitter spice, and grief makes my tongue tingle in a way I don't like. Happy or aroused blood is best. For me, at least. Other vampires might disagree."

He thought of how she'd sucked on his finger in the kitchen and repressed a shiver. "What did mine taste like?" he dared to ask.

Her eyes fixed on him, deep wells he thought it would be easy to fall into. "You were afraid," she said, "but you were also aroused." She shrugged one shoulder. "Though I could sense that without the blood, of course."

Jack's cheeks heated. She was so blunt about things most people would be too polite to mention. "Sorry," he said.

She cocked her head, and a lock of blonde hair slid over her shoulder. "Why?"

"I-"What was he supposed to say? Sorry for being aroused and scared? Sorry you could taste it? "I'm just generally sorry, all right?"

That seemed to flummox her. She hadn't looked away from him during the conversation, but her brow furrowed, and her stare had gained the intensity of a scientist inspecting something under a microscope. "You apologize a lot," she said.

He let out a strained laugh. "Do I?"

"No one apologizes to me," she said matter-of-factly. Then she bit into the bag of A positive and started sucking.

Jack watched, fascinated. Her throat rippled with each swallow, and a flush gradually washed over her alabaster skin. He felt the bizarre urge to follow that blush with his fingers, feel her skin heat as she took sustenance. When she was done, she no longer looked like a marble statue but a living, breathing woman with pinkened cheeks and an aura of healthy vitality. Just as beautiful, but realer. More touchable.

Not that he was going to touch her, of course, no matter what his addled instincts were telling him. It would be like sticking his hand in a lion's cage and hoping the lion was feeling friendly.

Elsa sighed and sank back against the couch cushion, eyes growing heavy-lidded. "I normally wouldn't need to feed so much," she said. "It's been a while."

Because she'd been trapped inside a plastic rock for Lycaon knew how many years. "What's it like?" Jack asked hesitantly. "Being inside the fake crystal."

Tension stole over her face as her lips turned down, and Jack instantly regretted the question. He had a werewolf's curiosity- the sniffing he did at the full moon, good Lord-but she was clearly dealing with some trauma.

"You don't have to tell me," he said. "I was just curious."

Her head lolled on the couch, and she looked at him directly again. "It is misery," she said. "Not because there is much pain, but because it is..." She trailed off, gaze growing distant. "Hazy," she finally said. "Like being in a fog, and you do not know how long it has been or where the fog ends. The hunger is there always, like a dull ache that never gets better or worse. There's no time, no beginning or end, only what dreams and memories choose to visit." There was another pause. "And the hate, of course. Like the hunger, that never goes away."

Jack swallowed. It sounded like a horrifying existence. "Hate for what?" he asked.

"You," Elsa said bluntly, and Jack flinched. "Or what you represent. Her, I suppose it would be better to say. The one who imprisoned me six centuries past."

Jack shifted on the couch, drawing a leg up to face her more fully. "Who was she?"

Elsa laughed bitterly. "I do not know. She never gave me any name but the Witch in the Woods. I never saw her face, not even during Star Trek."

Jack blinked. "Did you say Star Trek?"

"The only good thing she did for me," Elsa said. "The witch liked to be entertained sometimes, and your technology brought a welcome reprieve from having to read her poetry or hunt her enemies for sport."

This was enough to make his head spin. "I can't imagine."

"You should try," Elsa said with sudden venom. "Perhaps then you would reconsider my eternal servitude."

Jack's heart rate kicked up to a higher pace at the murder in her eyes. "I don't want your eternal servitude," he said. "How do I set you free?"

"She did not tell you?" Elsa asked. "When she sold me?"

"I've never even met her. I don't know who she is or where she is or anything. I just got a package on my doorstep."

Elsa spat out a harsh word that was definitely some sort of curse. "Useless."

"Hey," Jack protested. "I brought you blood."

Elsa paused. "True," she finally said.

Considering the circumstances, that was likely as close to a peace offering as he'd get. He lifted his chin toward the remaining pouch of blood on the table. "Do you want to drink that one?"

Elsa yawned. "Later," she said, eyes drifting closed. "You can put it in the root cellar."

Moments later she was asleep, chest rising and falling evenly.

Jack dithered internally for a few moments. He had a napping vampire succubus on his couch and a bag of blood he didn't want to go stale. He also didn't have a root cellar, but he suspected a refrigerator might be the better option anyway.

After putting the bag in the fridge he returned to the living room, where Elsa was still curled up in a corner of the couch. Jack hesitated, then grabbed a blanket from the armchair and draped it over her sleeping form.

Then he headed to his office to start researching mayoral campaigns.

--------------------

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Chapter Text

ELSA WOKE ALL AT ONCE, AS WAS USUAL FOR HER. 

Whether the practice was due to years of paranoia or her vampire heritage-full-bred vampires didn't wake so much as turn on, like plugging in an electric lamp-she couldn't say. She was on her feet in an instant, scanning the room for threats.

Green walls, brown furniture, a window with drawn curtains that let a sliver of daylight through. The light was the golden hue of late afternoon where it slanted across the floor.

No annoyingly attractive werewolf in sight.

She frowned at the blanket that had slid from her shoulders to pool on the floor. Where had that come from? She remembered drinking blood, then a sudden, overwhelming wave of tiredness, but no blanket. Warily, she picked it up, then brought it to her nose to sniff.

Hot chocolate, campfire smoke, a hint of wildflowers. A comforting, warm sort of smell, almost as if it had been designed to put the smeller at ease-although since she'd tasted the echo of it in the werewolf's aroused blood, that wasn't the only thing Elsa felt sniffing it. Her lower belly tightened, and she breathed more deeply. This was Jack's natural scent, condensed in the fabric as if he had curled up under this blanket many times before.

Why had Jack placed the blanket on her? It wasn't as if she had been cold. Drinking blood always left a pleasant flush across her skin, and his house was cool but comfortable.

Perhaps he had wrapped her in the blanket to inhibit her movements in case of an attack. It was a reasonable strategy-she'd employed it with lovers in the past. There was nothing quite like an early morning beheading attempt to put a damper on an assignation.

But the werewolf wasn't her lover, and she couldn't hurt him anyway, due to the parameters of the curse. So had he just wanted to make sure she was... comfortable?

Elsa rubbed her chest over where her heart beat, troubled by the thought. It was a mortal heart, a succubus's heart. It tapped her time on Earth away beat by beat-or at least it would have, had she not been kept in suspended animation for the vast majority of her long, long life. She'd been chained by the Witch in the Woods at the age of twenty-one. She hadn't kept track of how much she'd aged during the times she'd been allowed out of her prison, but it couldn't have been more than five years, cumulatively.

A noise caught her attention, and she turned to see Jack poking his head around the corner. "Oh, you're awake," he said, running a hand through his thick brown hair.

Feeling oddly flustered, Elsa gestured at herself. "Obviously."

He winced, and Elsa felt a prick of guilt at having snapped at him for the crime of nothing more heinous than putting a blanket on her while she was asleep.

"It is a nice blanket," she said in an effort at atonement, holding it out to show him.

"I'm glad you think so," he said. "It's my favorite." 

They eyed each other, two wary creatures calculating potential danger.

"Do you want dinner?" Jack asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Not blood-or I guess blood if you need more-but... food?"

Elsa consulted her body. She'd eaten the sandwich for lunch and then a few bags of blood, so she wasn't starving, but yes, there was a slight hollowness in her stomach that indicated a meal would be welcome in the future. "I could eat in an hour or two," she said cautiously.

"I was thinking..." Jack gestured at the door. "Outside somewhere? Assuming you don't mind that it's still bright."

Outside was promising. Outside meant getting to examine her surroundings again, this time in the werewolf's company so she could examine his response to the environment as well. The more information she collected about her circumstances, the better she'd be able to hopefully shape the future to her will-as much as she was able to while bound by the curse.

"I don't mind sun," she said. The perks of being only half vampire. "Outside would be nice."

Jack smiled then, and it was nearly as startling as-well, everything else that had happened that day. He looked pleased and shy as he scratched his cheek, fingernails rasping lightly over his chin. Her not-fully-sated succubus hunger whispered that it would be nice to run her own fingernails through that hair before getting her mouth on his smile, but she ignored it. "I need a few minutes to get ready," he said, "but then let's go introduce you to Dreamney Falls."

🩸🩸🩸

JACK TOOK HER TO A RESTAURANT IN THE DOWNTOWN AREA, A FEW BLOCKS AWAY FROM WHERE SHE'D TAILED HIM EARLIER. 

He told her the history of the town as he drove, and Elsa absorbed the information eagerly.

Dreamney Falls had been founded in 1842 by Casper Tremaine and Galahad Corona, two wizards from prominent families who had been drawn to the area for the magic woven into the soil. There was a vast grid of ley lines beneath the town and extending into the forest and hills beyond, and as a result, supernatural creatures of all kinds congregated here.

Elsa couldn't sense the magic, but she did see a wide variety of people walking, flying, or cantering around. Centaurs, griffins, naiads, witches, dryads... Add to that a collection of nonmagical humans and an array of animals both mystical and not, and the town thrummed with life.

The restaurant, Ariel's, had a large outdoor terrace, and when Jack asked if she'd prefer to sit inside or outside, Elsa tipped her face up to the sunshine and decided on a resolute outside. It was late enough in the day that hopefully her pale skin wouldn't sunburn. And even if it did, who cared? She'd been stuck in that plastic insult of a crystal for far too long, and even on occasions when the witch had let her out over the fifty or so years since her mission in 1969, they'd spent the time watching television or engaged in other indoor activities like bridge, poetry reading, or an odd game called Jenga.

She shifted in her wrought iron chair, looking around curiously. The restaurant was decorated in shades of blue with wooden floorboards, and gauzy white draperies fluttered overhead, creating a makeshift roof. The theme appeared to be oceanic, with art depicting mermaids and sirens and pieces of beach glass embedded in the walls. Lights were strung overhead amid the fabric, twinkling like golden stars.

The clientele leaned toward the younger side, although Elsa being over six hundred years old in the body of a roughly twenty-six-year-old meant she couldn't make such assumptions. They chattered and laughed, drinking glasses of wine or strangely colored liquids that gleamed in the late afternoon light.

A serving wench stopped at the table to deliver menus and take drink orders. Jack ordered the house red wine, and Elsa requested a tankard of ale.

She could not have guessed the complications that would come from such a simple request. What sort of ale? Light or dark? Malty? Hoppy? There was a fresh-hopped brew from the next town over as well as a hazy IPA, a cold IPA, a wheat beer, a stout, an ESB, a sour...

It was enough to make a vampire succubus want to flip over the table and launch into a rant about the "good old days" when things weren't so complicated and there was only one ale on tap, but the good old days had also involved more body odor and a distressing lack of indoor plumbing, so she bit down her protests and chose a beer at random.

"You like IPAS?" Jack asked as the wench hurried away. 

"We'll find out," Elsa muttered.

She hadn't dined in a large venue like this since long ago, when she'd taken her suppers in the great hall with her parents and her father's vassals. The scene was easy to imagine: torchlight flickering against stone, the scent of roasting meat for the mortals and blood for the vampires, smoke heavy on the air, voices raised in raucous celebration of their latest triumph in battle. If Elsa had called for ale, her mother would have grimaced and suggested she choose wine instead, and her father would have complained that he didn't see the point of drinking anything that didn't have a heartbeat. Her parents would have gotten into a playful argument over it, the vampire lord with his beloved succubus bride, and Elsa would have watched as she had many times before, a smile on her lips as she took advantage of their distraction to feed morsels of her dinner to the hounds pacing the rush-strewn floor.

It was vivid enough to bring up an old, familiar ache in her breast, though the sting had grown less acute with time. Elsa had raged and grieved in those early centuries, which had been lived in bursts of brief violence between long sleeps, but her grief had gradually been worn down like a rock beneath a waterfall, its contours no longer sharp enough to cut.

Her hatred for the witch who had snatched her from her family, though, would never fade.

The ale arrived in a cold glass, looking paler than she'd expected. Elsa raised it to her lips and took a sip-then promptly spat it back out..

"Mon Dieu," she said, staring at the drink in horror. "That's disgusting."

"What's wrong?" Jack asked, head popping up from where he'd been studying the menu.

"It tastes like shit."

His thick eyebrows rose. "May I?" he asked, gesturing at the pint. 

"If you wish to suffer, don't let me stop you."

He sipped, then set it down, looking confused. "It tastes fine to me."

Was the werewolf a masochist? Filing the possibility away in her mental encyclopedia entry, Elsa mustered her courage and sipped again, this time managing to swallow despite her urge to spew the horrid brew all over the table. It was bitter, with an aftertaste that made her think of evergreen forests. "This cannot be ale," she said. "It's like being punched in the teeth by a pine tree."

Jack chuckled, a pleasing rumble rising from that broad chest. "Those are the hops."

He proceeded to explain IPAs and the craft beer scene to her, as well as some particulars of the brewing process. Elsa listened, intrigued by his casual expertise. He'd changed into dress pants and a blue shirt, as well as a knitted one-piece vest that strained to contain his barrel chest. Quite restrained-looking, except he'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal muscled forearms.

"Very informative," Elsa said, pulling her gaze away from those impressive forearms. It was important to assess the physical capabilities of one's enemies but equally important to stay on the correct side of the assessing/leering line. "Though I fail to see why modern people want to drink such a foul concoction."

He laughed again. "It grows on you." He raised his glass. "Though I still prefer wine."

Elsa stared at the IPA, her newest enemy, calculating how many sips she'd need to finish it. Too many, but she was no coward and refused to admit defeat to a pint glass, so she raised the beer again. "Santé," she said, then drank deeply, repressing a shudder.

He echoed the toast and sipped his red wine. "Is that French?" 

"Yes." "Santé" was the informal version of "À votre santé"-to your health. She'd said it out of habit, not because she actually wished him good health, but oh well.

"How many languages do you speak?"

Elsa squinted, considering. "Six. Though French, Norweigen and English are my best."

He raised his brows, looking impressed. "Wow."

"Languages are a vampire strength," she said. "We learn them quickly and easily adapt to new accents and terminology." The only reason she didn't know more than six was because she'd been spending most of her conscious time with the English-speaking witch. The witch hadn't been the most modern of speakers, being effectively immortal so long as she stole mortal lives, but if Elsa spent sustained time around this century's people, she'd begin to sound like them instead.

"Interesting," Jack said. "Why?"

"Because we're a predator species," Elsa explained. "It's the same reason our bites feel good. I'm not immortal-technically, anyway-but purebred vampires are, so they need to constantly blend into new times and places. Knowing the local language makes potential prey more comfortable."

His eye twitched. "You think about other people as potential prey?"

"Only our enemies or the ones who smell nice." Like him. She nodded toward his glass. "How is your wine?"

He sipped, then made a rueful face. "I would say it's excellent, but that would be a lie."

"And you don't wish to lie?"

"I try not to as a general principle, though we all have our moments of weakness."

"Interesting," she said, parroting him. She sipped the devil IPA again, eyeing him. The werewolf was a puzzle she hadn't yet figured out the technique of solving.

He focused his attention on redoing the crisp fold of one of his rolled-up cuffs. Her vision narrowed in on his exposed forearm and the brown hair topping those eye-catching muscles. A vein flickered under the skin, and she licked one fang, imagining how his muscles would flex as she pierced him. Wondering what his noises of pleasure would sound like.

"Why is that interesting?" Jack asked, seemingly oblivious to her hungry regard.

She dragged her attention away from his muscles again. If someone on this patio would just masturbate to completion, that would be most helpful-surely then she would be sated enough to ignore his carnal appeal. "It's rare to hear lying described as a weakness," she said. "Most people I've known considered it a skill. Or a good strategy to disconcert your enemies."

"Do you think it's a skill?" he asked, gaze flicking up to hers. 

The blunt question took her aback. She considered briefly, then gave an honest answer. "Yes, though I'd rather tell someone when I'm planning on ripping their throat out and deal with the issue directly than lure them in with falsehoods."

His chuckle was strained. "You sure talk a lot about ripping out throats and eating livers."

Elsa leaned back in her chair, holding the beer close. Each sip was easier than the last, and now that she'd gotten over the shock of the flavor, she could appreciate that it tasted significantly more alcoholic than the ale of her youth. "It's been my main occupation for centuries," she said. "Murder, that is. I can't say I've actually eaten anyone's liver."

"Well that's a comfort," Jack said. "At least one of my organs is safe from danger."

She cocked a brow and glanced meaningfully toward his lap, thinking about which organ was in most danger at the moment.

Apparently realizing what he'd said, Jack looked mortified. "Internal organs, I mean." He grimaced. "You know what? Never mind." 

Elsa smiled despite herself. "So if the wine is bad, why don't you order a nicer one?" she asked, taking mercy on him. 

Jack seemed relieved to abandon the topic of his manly organ. "Habit, I suppose." He raised the glass to the light, turning the stem to study the shifting liquid. "I started my own business a decade ago, and it was rough going for years. Even though we're in the black now, it's hard to break the habit of buying the cheapest thing on the menu. It took me ages to even be willing to buy alcohol with dinner."

"In the black?" she asked, unfamiliar with the phrase. 

"Profitable. In the red would be the opposite."

Elsa filed that away. "What is your business?" 

His shoulders went back with obvious pride. "I own a plant nursery and garden shop."

That was unexpected. She considered the possibility he was joking, but his face had lit up while saying the words, and he had an aura of sincerity. A bundle of contradictions, this werewolf. His body nearly burst the seams of his clothing, but he put on a great show of harmlessness.

"Tell me about it," she said.

Jack told her about his lifelong love of gardening, his first job in a plant nursery as a teenager, and how he'd decided to open a shop in his hometown. He described the plants he grew, his favorite customers, and his employees-a naiad and a witch, both equally passionate about nature. He was currently expanding the store into the neighboring space and opening a coffee shop with the goal of eventually turning Jack's Plant Emporium into a neighborhood landmark and gathering space.

Elsa listened, gathering facts and impressions to add to her mental picture of Jack. He was passionate about his business; any reticence or bashfulness melted away while he was describing it. His large hands danced lightly in the air, illustrating the layout, and his eyes were bright with excitement.

He loved the shop, that much was clear, which meant he absolutely should not have told Elsa about it. The problem with loving things was how easily love could be turned into a weapon. Did he have no sense of self-preservation?

It was potential ammunition, though, so she collected every detail uttered in his rumbling voice. She couldn't harm him physically so long as the binding spell was in place, but part of his heart was in that building, and she could do severe damage to it should he earn her vengeance.

Which he would, most likely. No matter how earnest he seemed now, he had total control over Elsa's existence. It would be a rare person to resist using that sort of power.

Gods, she was tired. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. As she looked at Jack's smile, his strong hands, she felt an ache in her chest. What would it take to find the one person whose expressions she could trust? The one person who would never harm her? Her parents' bond should have been impossible-a mortal and an immortal, falling in love across species lines-but it hadn't been. They had treated each other's hearts gently.

Elsa had no trouble acquiring sex, but love was a rarer beast. Would she ever be able to look at a person and think: I am safe with you?

Not in this life, at least not as she'd known it thus far.

Jack's tale concluded when the serving wench arrived again to take their food orders. Jack apologized and asked her to return once they'd had a chance to study the menu. "I got too excited talking," he said with a self-deprecating smile, and the wench laughed and twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

Elsa narrowed her eyes at the woman's blatant act of flirtation. She might take more after her father, but she was her mother's child as well, and she recognized an adversary.

Not that she wanted to genuinely flirt with Jack, of course. One didn't drool over one's jailer, no matter how handsome or nice- smelling-at least not unless one was hungry. But she wanted his attention for strategic purposes. Thankfully, Elsa's narrow eyed glare was enough to make the wench gulp and scurry away, no baring of fangs required.

Pleased with that victory, Elsa studied the menu. She didn't recognize half the things on it, but she did understand the concept of a steak and how to eat one, although the price was alarming. She really needed to educate herself about modern currency values. She looked around and saw other patrons using their PADDS-or phones, if Jack was to be believed-at the table, fingers darting over the screens. Perhaps she could steal one and inquire about the cost of beef.

"This is a pretty place," she said, facing Jack again.

Had his gaze been on her mouth? "It's new," he said, eyes flitting back to hers. "I came here with my sister a month ago for the grand opening."

"You have a sister?" Another piece of information to file away. 

He nodded. "Emma. She's a menace."

He said it fondly, though, so Elsa suspected he had a different idea of what constituted a menace than she did. 

"Older or younger?"

"Younger. She's twenty-nine, and I'm-" He paused, forehead wrinkling. "Thirty-four."

"You had to think about it?"

He tugged at his collar, looking embarrassed. "Somewhere in my late twenties it all started running together."

Elsa laughed before she thought better of it. It was a harsh laugh, propelled by bitterness. "I wonder when my years started running together."

Jack winced, but to his credit, he laced his fingers on the table and leaned in, fixing her with a direct look rather than retreating from the lash of her tongue. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Did she? She wasn't sure. But no one had ever asked before either. And something in his brown eyes made her want to share.

"The Witch in the Woods found me when I was twenty-one years of age," she said. She remembered the night clearly-cold and brutal, with the stars laid out like a shining belt across the sky. Blood flushing her skin, the thrill of battle filling her heart as she sprinted through the woods in pursuit of her prey. "We were battling the vampire clan that assassinated my father."

He made a soft noise. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

Elsa shrugged one shoulder, ill at ease. Then she remembered the ale near her hand and took a gulp instead. The pine tree burn fit well with the memory of that snow-clad forest. "It was a long time ago. The vampire clans were always at war then. Maybe they still are today; I don't know."

"I don't think so, but we don't hear a lot about vampires these days," Jack said. "They keep their affairs private."

Nothing new in that. "Vampires are very territorial. When I was young, there was a lot of conflict over access to mines or trade routes. It wasn't unusual to have a parent or friend die." Her father had even prepared her for it, telling her bedtime stories of vampires who had died fighting and instructing her in the best ways to sever an enemy's head-for that was the only way to kill an immortal. When her father had been killed, his entire clan-including her succubus mother, who normally stayed safe in the keep during wartime had honored him by taking up arms. "We retaliated, of course. That night, my steel sang in the winter air. I took head after head in my father's name. I just didn't know a witch was watching."

The witch had approached during a lull in battle, looking like a death goddess in her dark cloak. She'd complimented Elsa's ferocity, then offered her what she wanted most: vengeance. All Elsa had to do was cut her palm to mirror the witch's self- induced injury, clasp hands while the witch chanted, and wait for the power the spell would give her.

Elsa had been young and foolish then, influenced by tales of bloodthirsty goddesses and warriors raised to places of honor after falling in glorious battle. Impulsive at the best of times, she became even more reckless while drunk on bloodlust and adrenaline, and she hadn't questioned what the witch would gain in exchange. She'd also failed to ask whose vengeance the spell would facilitate.

Vengeance had indeed been delivered at the tip of Elsa's sword-but it was the witch's enemies who had died. Elsa had become naught but an instrument to be used.

The serving wench appeared abruptly, making Elsa flinch and reach for the knife concealed in her boot, since Jack had indicated earlier that thigh holsters might not be welcome in public. She stopped herself just before drawing the blade.

"Are you ready to order?" the wench chirped cheerfully. "Or can I get you started with some appetizers?"

"We're ready to order, but an appetizer might be nice, too. Maybe some garlic bread?" Then Jack looked at Elsa with a grimace. "Shoot, can you eat that? I should have asked first."

It took her a moment to realize his concern, and she let out a soft breath of amusement. "Yes, I can eat garlic. Just as werewolves aren't actually allergic to silver."

The myth that garlic repelled vampires was a funny one. Purebred or turned vampires drank only blood, so they wouldn't be able to eat garlic anyway. The worst it could do was deliver an unpleasant stench in a vampire's general vicinity or a spice to the blood, and even that depended on personal preference. Some vampires liked the taste of mortals who ate garlic.

They placed their food orders, and Elsa realized that somehow over the course of their discussion she'd drained the entire glass of IPA. Her mouth tingled and there was a bitter aftertaste resting on her tongue, but Jack was right-the flavor had grown on her, and it imparted a pleasant haze to her surroundings.

"Wait," Elsa said as the server started to back away. She raised the empty glass, then dashed it against the floor. "Another ale, wench!"

The girl jumped and nearly fell into a neighboring table. Conversation on the terrace stopped at the sound of breaking glass, and the other customers stared at her with jaws agape. Jack's hand was pressed to his mouth, and he was cringing with what seemed to be his entire body.

Apparently she had done something out of the ordinary. Elsa leaned across the table, lowering her voice. "Is that no longer the custom?" She had not dined outside of private assignations since being taken from her father's keep.

"Ah, no," Jack said. "I was unaware it ever was." He knelt to scoop up shattered glass. "I'm so sorry," he told the shocked- looking server. "She'll have another IPA, please. Sorry. Thank you. I'm so, so sorry."

The girl nodded and fled as another worker hurried over with a broom and badgered Jack back into his chair. Elsa's cheeks felt hot as the man cleaned up the mess she'd made, and she squirmed, disliking the feeling of being gawked at as much as she disliked the feeling of being apologized for. Jack was averaging one sorry every five seconds.

Thankfully, he stopped apologizing after the worker left with his bucketful of glass. Jack laced his fingers together in front of him on the table, adopting a professorial look. The Jack Explains Things expression, which she already recognized after only a few hours, due to the fact he'd had to explain rather a lot.

"So rule number one of modern dining is not to deliberately break any dishes," Jack said.

"In my father's hall it was done as a sign of appreciation," Elsa said, face flaming hotter. "Though our mugs were made of metal or wood, so they didn't, ah, shatter like that." In retrospect, she probably could have determined it was a bad idea if she'd paused to think for a single second, but thinking things through in advance had never been her strongest skill.

"You're doing your best," Jack said. He looked like he was biting the inside of one cheek, though. Was he secretly laughing at her?

Elsa crossed her arms and sat back with a huff. "What is rule number two of modern dining?"

"Well, you probably shouldn't call our server a wench."

Yes, he was secretly laughing, although clearly trying to restrain it. Elsa's battered dignity appreciated the effort. 

"Server is short for serving wench, isn't it?" she asked.

"I..." He coughed into his fist. "No, I don't think it is." 

Christ's fingernails, this was annoying. She scraped the toe of her boot against the floor, trying to pretend she didn't notice all the people looking at her and whispering. "What should I call her, then?

"Waitress would work. Or Miss or Ms., maybe. Or you could ask her name."

"Any other rules for modern dining?"

Jack's lips quirked. "I hope it goes without saying that disemboweling people at the dinner table is frowned upon."

She gave a half-hearted hiss at that. "Very funny."

At the sound, the table nearest her abruptly returned their attention to their own plates.

"The best practice is to enjoy your meal and try not to do anything... destructive," Jack said.

Easier said than done. The world was full of breakable things.

A second IPA was set down gingerly at her elbow. Seeing how nervous the wench-the server-looked, Elsa bit down her bruised pride and attempted to make amends. "I apologize," she said. "I regret throwing the glass."

The server's doe-brown eyes met Elsa's. "Not the weirdest thing to happen here," she said. "We do live in Dreamney Falls, after all. And... are you an immortal, by any chance?"

What an odd question. "In a way," Elsa said. "I was imprisoned in a crystal six centuries past-"

"Right," the waitress said, nodding. "Immortal. Totally get it." She was smiling again, for whatever reason. "Never a dull moment when one of you is around."

She moved away, leaving Elsa confused. "Why did she ask me that?" she asked Jack.

He shrugged. "No idea.

"Well, at least Elsa's faux pas had apparently been forgiven. The mention of Dreamney Falls intrigued her, so she pushed Jack for more details about the "weird" things that happened in town. He warmed to the topic quickly, and by the time their meal arrived, Elsa had learned about everything from public nudity to midnight blood orgies to tentacle wrestling. Compared to the time Arianna Corona had teleported a colony of raccoons into a town hall meeting or the time the Human-Centaur Polo League had consumed a few too many prematch drinks and ended up galloping through the library, one vampire succubus throwing a glass on the floor didn't seem so bad after all.

The steak arrived, thick and so succulent-looking her mouth watered. Elsa grabbed her knife and stabbed the chunk of meat, lifting it to her mouth.

"God's tits!" she declared around the mouthful of meat. "This was seasoned well."

A man and woman at the nearest table looked at her oddly, then nudged their chairs farther away. She was going to question why when she saw the dogs seated at their feet. They weren't as lean or muscled as the hounds from her father's hall-weren't lean or muscled in the slightest, in fact-but perhaps they had been bred for a special purpose. They had curling gray-brown hair and sweet eyes and were small enough to hold in a lap, although two at once might overflow.

"What kind of hounds are those?" she asked Jack, pointing at them.

He was cringing again for some reason. "Schnoodles, I believe," he said, looking between her and the animals. "So, uh, in modern day we generally eat with a fork..."

Elsa was familiar with forks, but what was the point? There was no need to slice a steak into tiny pieces when teeth would do the job. She ate another bite of succulent meat off the tip of her knife. It was good of the restaurant to provide one-during the medieval era, guests had carried their own knives to the table.

It did seem she was the only person eating in this manner, though, and perhaps it would benefit her to blend in. So she put the steak down, speared it with a fork, and commenced trying to pry the meat apart.

Jack sat frozen with his own carefully sectioned bite halfway to his mouth, watching her attempts. She managed to rip a piece off, though it flew off the table. The hounds swarmed it immediately. These so-called schnoodles might have an undignified name, but they had retained their predatory instincts.

"Rupert! Wesley! No!" the neighboring diner said, tugging on the dogs' leads. The pups ignored him, as well they should. Elsa smiled, already planning to drop another piece of meat on the floor. Feeding the hounds had always been a particular delight of hers.

She finally managed to wrestle the steak into submission with her fork and knife. What a waste of time to eat in this way, she thought as she chewed a bite. They'd already consumed the garlic bread, so there was nothing to sop up the drippings-how was she supposed to clean her plate with a fork?

Food had never been wasted in her father's hall. Though these hounds would be pleased to polish the plate with their tongues, their owner might stop them, and Elsa had always liked drippings anyway. She shoved her chair back, preparing to stand so she could inquire after more bread.

The chair collided with something. "Ow!" a man said. "Watch it, lady!" A heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

Sudden touches were never good for a lifelong assassin.

Elsa was on her feet in an instant, knocking the man's hand away before she jammed her forearm into his throat and pinned him against the wall. Her heart raced as hot rage blazed through her, narrowing her field of vision until all she could see was the man's flushed, terrified face. She could almost hear the witch's voice in her head.

Kill the enemy. Kill him.

"Touch me and die," she said, baring her fangs.

And people began screaming.

🩸🩸🩸

JACK'S FORK WAS HALFWAY TO HIS MOUTH WHEN ELEONORE ABRUPTLY DISAPPEARED OUT OF HER CHAIR. 

An instant later, she pinned the man who'd grabbed her shoulder to the wall. Her mouth was wide open, displaying shiny white fangs.

"A vampire!" someone cried out. "A daywalking vampire!" 

The other patrons began screaming.

Jack dropped the fork, stomach plunging and pulse spiking. 

"Elsa-"

"No one touches me without permission," she told the man in a deadly voice. "I should rip out your throat." To punctuate the threat, she snapped her fangs inches from his face.

The man had gone from cocky to terrified in an instant, and a wet patch appeared on the front of his jeans. "Jesus, lady, I didn't mean anything by it."

The hysteria was spreading as people babbled about vampires. Multiple patrons had gotten their phones out and were documenting the scene. Jack needed to do crisis management, and fast.

He stood, nearly knocking the table over. His body was too big for this damned furniture. He hurried toward Elsa, holding his hands out placatingly. "Please let him go, Elsa."

Her head whipped around and she pinned him with a hard stare. "Are you ordering or asking?"

"Asking," he said, hoping a softer touch would calm her. "He definitely shouldn't have touched you without permission, but you can't murder him in the middle of the restaurant."

"I absolutely can," she said. The man whimpered, and she grabbed his hair to jerk his head to the side. Even Jack could see the frantic flutter of the man's pulse in his exposed neck. "See?" she asked, fangs hovering over his jugular. "It would be so easy."

A cacophony of voices filled the air.

"I've never seen a vampire before."

"Is she going to kill him?"

"If she does, I'm recording for GhoulTube!"

This needed to stop for everyone's sake. Jack took a deep breath and edged closer. He didn't dare touch Elsa's shoulder to try to pry her off the man-he liked having his windpipe inside his body, thank you very much-but he had a responsibility to fix this situation, since he was the one who'd ultimately caused it by bringing her here. It was time for a more direct approach.

"Elsa," Jack said with all the firmness he could muster. "Let him go."

She released the man instantly, though she snapped her teeth one last time. Then she turned on Jack, rage burning in her eyes. "I thought you were asking, not ordering."

He looked over his shoulder at the people watching avidly and scowled. "Stop rubbernecking," he told them. Then he shifted to put as much of his body between her and the room as possible. "I'm sorry," he said, lowering his voice. "I know he frightened you."

Elsa stiffened. Her mouth opened, then closed again. The blind fury receded, replaced by a look of consternation. "I wasn't afraid," she finally said. "I'm not afraid of anything."

There was something haunted in her now red turned vampire eyes, though, a shadow he recognized. Maybe she wasn't truly afraid, but she had been triggered by the sudden touch. A tremor raced over her arm and settled in her right hand, which twitched at her side.

Compassion joined the chaotic stew of Jack's emotions. "I know," he said softly. "You thought there was a threat and you reacted accordingly. How about we get you home, away from all these people?"

She blinked, looking like she'd just remembered there were other people on the patio, then leaned to look around him. He heard her soft inhale. "They're all staring."

"Let's get you out of here." Jack fished in his pocket for his wallet, then threw a clump of bills on the table-way more than the meal cost, but hopefully enough to convey his apology. He reached for Elsa, then hesitated. "May I?" he asked.

She looked at his fingers for a moment, then nodded.

Jack gently took hold of her upper arm and brought her close. He steered her out of the restaurant, angling his body as best he could to shield her from curious eyes. His own cheeks burned with embarrassment-as a rule, he tried not to involve himself in anything that might qualify as a "scene"-but he was more worried about Elsa.

That had looked an awful lot like a PTSD reaction. And if she'd truly been trapped for centuries, forced to commit assassinations at the whim of a wicked witch, he couldn't imagine the depth of that trauma or how to even begin tackling it.

🩸🩸🩸

JACK PACED BACK AND FORTH IN HIS BEDROOM, SMACKING HIS FOREHEAD WITH HIS PALM. 

Now that they were back at his house and the immediate crisis was over, he was free to freak out properly.

What had he been thinking, taking Elsa out to dinner in public? He barely knew her, and what he did know should have prepared him for some sort of calamity. She was angry, violent, and traumatized, with no knowledge of the modern day. Of course she'd been overwhelmed.

Elsa was currently holed up in his spare room with the door shut. The wind had kicked up, whipping past the windows, and Jack twitched at the slightest creak of the house, wondering what Elsa was doing. Was she shredding his best pillows? Baring her fangs at passersby who spotted her through the window? Sharpening her knives in preparation for gutting him?

Or worse... was she sad?

Her eyes had looked so haunted as he'd guided her out of the restaurant, and she hadn't spoken on the drive home. When it came to fight, flight, or freeze, Jack generally fell into the freeze category, but Elsa's instincts were firmly in the fight camp. Perceiving danger, she'd lashed out. Once the danger was proven inconsequential, she'd probably felt as ashamed as he did after recovering from one of his panic attacks.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket. He pulled it out and grimaced at the sight of Emma's name on the caller ID. Not that he didn't love Emma, of course, but he could use a few hours of quiet. He lifted the phone to his ear. "Hey, Emma."

"Jackson Rosewood Overland-Frost, what the hell are you doing?" 

Her tone was . . . strident. The use of his unfortunate middle name didn't bode well either.

"Ah, come again?" Jack asked.

"It's all over social media. You and some vampire tried to murder someone at Ariel's!"

He winced. "Oh. That."

"Yes, that!" She was increasing in volume, and he imagined steam coming out of her ears. "Putting aside the ethics of public execution by vampire, you know I'm running for mayor. My image has to be squeaky-clean."

He sat on the edge of the mattress, rubbing his temples. The rug beneath his bare feet had been hand-tufted by his mother, the colors a spray of springtime over the hardwood floor. He dug his toes into the worn fabric-right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. "I fail to see what your image has to do with what happened tonight."

"It's a small town, dumbass. Everyone knows we're related." 

There was a commotion on the other side of the line-the low, familiar voices of his parents saying something unintelligible to Emma. She sighed and asked, "Who was that vampire, anyway?"

There was no way to explain without looking pathetic, incompetent, or of questionable sanity. "A... friend," he said weakly.

That set off a flurry of hushed arguing and another minor commotion before a new voice took over. "That's wonderful!" Jack's mother, Mary Overland, said. "How did you meet her?"

He groaned. "It wasn't a date, Mom."

"If you say so, honey. What's her name? What's she like?" 

"She tried to kill someone, Mom," Emma said in the background. 

"Oh, hush. All I saw was a woman protecting her personal space."

"By threatening to rip his throat out?"

"Your father's said worse after the full moon."

"That's different. Everyone's aggressive on the full moon. She's a vampire."

"So? It might be nice to diversify the Overland-Frost bloodline. Get a few new species in there to liven up the holidays."

"We are not dating," Jack said loudly to interrupt the argument. "Much less reproducing."

"You've never mentioned a vampire friend before, though," his mother said.

His father's voice sounded in the background. "... the café?" was all Jack caught.

"Oh, that would make sense." Mary sounded disappointed. "Is she one of the contractors for the café?"

If it would end this line of interrogation, Jack would agree to just about anything. He loved his parents dearly, but they'd been getting broody about the lack of grandchildren. "Yes," he said, seizing the excuse. "She's, ah, a consultant."

"You need a consultant to serve coffee?" Emma asked skeptically. "Or are you putting bloodletting on the menu?"

Inspiration struck-a way to explain Elsa's presence and her... dramatic... tendencies. "It's for the theatre," Jack said. "You know, that stage I'm putting in? I want to start hosting stand-up comedy, open mic nights, some solo shows. She's a performance artist, very experimental." He wasn't typically a great liar, but this was sounding pretty good, so he forged on. "Tonight's scene was actually supposed to help promote her latest show. Viral advertising through found footage, that sort of thing." He prayed that actually was the sort of thing an experimental performance artist would do to advertise.

There was a long pause. Jack clenched his jaw and fidgeted, hoping they'd buy it.

"You're already booking shows?" Emma asked. "That's awesome! Weird way to advertise it, but you can workshop that."

Jack exhaled a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I'm meeting with a few people. I thought about adding the stage later, but I think it would be great to celebrate the café opening with the Emporium's first artist-in-residence.

"Damn, this was good. He mentally high-fived himself.

"You know, this actually sounds like a great opportunity," Emma said. "Have you read my manifesto yet?"

Her list of campaign goals and promises was sitting in his inbox, unopened. "Not yet, but again, I think you should probably call it something besides a manifesto."

"It's a little serial killer, huh? Well, part of my platform involves increasing access to the arts for lower-income members of the community."

That sounded like Emma. She'd always loved music, even if she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. "Great, we can definitely host a few campaign events at the Emporium, if you like. Get you up on- stage to make some speeches." He heard a noise from the other room-footsteps padding over the floor, then the creak of the door-and stood, preparing to say goodbye to his sister so he could figure out next steps with Elsa. "Hey, so-"

"It'll be the perfect opportunity to announce my candidacy," Emma said, barreling on as she often did when excited. "The opening night of the café is going to be a big draw anyway, and after I talk about my campaign promises, people can watch the show."

Elsa was moving around the apartment. "Uh-huh," Jack said distractedly, the majority of his attention fixated on whatever Elsa was doing in his living room. It sounded like she was muttering to herself, and there was a metallic sound he hoped didn't involve weaponry.

"It's brilliant, actually," Emma said. "Proof that my promises aren't just words. I can say I support the arts, but if I'm not actually in person supporting the arts, it doesn't count, right?"

"Right," he said, not having processed a word. That clanking made him think Elsa was in the kitchen. Did she need more blood? She was talking again, though he couldn't tell what she was saying except that it was one word or phrase repeated over and over with increasing levels of irritation.

"Thank you so much," Emma gushed. "This will kill two birds with one stone. Explain away the scene tonight while providing a platform for my campaign announcement. Three birds, I guess, because it's extra publicity for the café's opening and the show. I'll make sure there's a crowd!"

"Sounds good-wait, what?" His attention snapped back to the conversation in time to realize what she'd said didn't make sense. 

"You're the best, Jack. This is going to be awesome." 

Then Emma made a startled sound. "Shoot, I'm late for dinner with my fashion adviser. Got to go!"

"Your what?" He was still trying to catch up with whatever conversation she'd been having with him while he was tuning out. A banging noise started emanating from the kitchen.

"When you get the chance, can you email over her name and the title of the show? I'll chat with the team about how best to promote it. Love you, bye!"

Emma hung up.

Jack stared at the phone in his hand. He considered himself an intelligent person capable of following most conversations, but Emma was like a tornado when she was on a mission: whipping through life, rearranging everything and everyone as she saw fit, and Lycaon help the storm chasers who tried to keep up.

He ran the conversation back through his mind to hopefully piece together the missing narrative.

Emma's platform involved supporting the arts.

She wanted to announce her mayoral campaign.

She also wanted to kill a number of birds with one metaphorical stone.

"Oh, fuck." Jack sank back onto the bed, hand clapped to his mouth as he realized what he had inadvertently agreed to.

Emma wanted to announce her mayoral campaign and passion for the arts at the official opening of the Emporium's new café and theatre... after which her supporters would be treated to a live theatrical performance.

By Elsa.

--------------------

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Chapter Text

TEA ELSA REPEATED. STARING AT THE REPLICATOR.

"Earl Grey, hot."

The replicator remained silent. No tea appeared.

Frustration simmered in her veins. She'd already tried ordering warm blood, warm milk, and a bottle of whiskey to no avail. At the very least it had to be familiar with tea, right? But no, the infernal box sat smugly on the countertop, refusing to produce a single thing she wanted.

Her chest felt too tight, and her stomach was full of knots. She kept replaying the moment the man had grabbed her arm. "Watch it, lady," he'd said, and she'd felt a wave of such blinding fury she hadn't realized she'd moved until he was pinned to the wall. She'd even temporarily forgotten where she was, living out memories and instincts that ought to have remained buried.

Was she going mad?

Elsa made a frustrated sound and whacked the top of the replicator with a wooden spoon. It had come from a jar that held an array of kitchen implements arranged like flowers. "Computer, listen to me!"

"Ah... why are you hitting my microwave with a spoon?" She turned to find Jack standing in the entrance to the kitchen, looking perplexed. "Your replicator is broken," she said, feeling foolish and flushed.

He'd changed into pajama pants and a T-shirt, and his feet were bare. His toes scrunched rhythmically against the border between the living room floorboards and the kitchen linoleum: one foot, then the other. "A replicator," he repeated slowly. "Like ... from Star Trek?"

"Yes!" Finally, they were speaking the same language. "I've requested blood, milk, whiskey, and tea, and it refuses to produce a single thing." She glared at the black box. "I think it's mocking me." Christ's toes, she needed a drink. Something warm or alcoholic enough to loosen the tension in her throat.

Jack looked between her and the replicator. His eyes reminded her of a puppy dog's, a bit wide and lost. "How do you know so much about Star Trek but nothing about microwaves?"

She smacked the black box with the spoon again. "Whatever it's called, can you make this work?"

"What are you trying to heat up?" He padded over, shoulders slightly curved. She'd noticed he adopted that posture more often than not. He ought to stand up straight-there was no ignoring his height, even if he did slouch.

"Anything," Elsa said. "I want to drink something hot or something that will get me drunk." The leftover blood in the refrigerator was cold or she'd have plugged her fangs into it already.

He reached for the handle on the black box and tugged it open, revealing a round glass plate inside. "This is a microwave, not a replicator. It doesn't create anything the way it does in Star Trek. It just heats things up."

"Oh." Elsa looked at the microwave, embarrassed. It seemed she would never stop making herself a fool in front of him. "Can you make it function so I can have hot blood?" She hadn't finished dinner, and her fangs itched with the memory of how close she'd come to killing that man.

What must Jack think of her?

"I have a better idea," he said, closing the microwave.

A few minutes later, the blood from the refrigerator sat in a saucepan on the stovetop. Elsa watched carefully as Jack fiddled with the dials, explaining this would heat more gradually and evenly than the microwave. She'd seen ovens before, obviously, but this one had perplexed her-there were no metal rings or other visible heating elements, so it was a surprise when concentric orange circles glowed to life on the smooth black surface.

Jack grabbed a flat rectangular packet and unwrapped it before placing it in the microwave. When he pressed a button, the machine whirred to life, noisy and bright through the glass door.

Supposedly that packet contained popcorn. Elsa watched, fascinated, as the popcorn turned on its glass pedestal. When the first pop of a kernel sounded, she let out a startled laugh. "Marvelous." The witch had always summoned food for the two of them, so she was unfamiliar with technology like this.

"When was the last time you left the witch's cabin again?" Jack asked.

"Nineteen sixty-nine," she said, bending to study the gradually inflating bag. Pop pop pop it went, the noise cheering her.

"They had microwaves back then, didn't they?"

She shrugged as she straightened. "Maybe. It was a brief visit.

I abducted my target and brought him straight to the witch." Seeing the uncomfortable shift in Jack's expression, she felt the urge to explain herself. "I didn't kill that one. The witch did. And he was a bad man, anyway."

That was one small comfort she'd seized upon. Elsa didn't shy away from violence, but it needed to be justified, and she hated being someone else's sword. The witch had made sure to detail the crimes of her enemies before each mission, though, which had made it easier to kill them. Even the humans Elsa abducted for the witch every fifty years or so-which the witch herself drained of life to prolong her own life span-were carefully selected. Human monsters, the witch had said while watching Elsa dig a grave for the man from 1969. The world will not miss them.

Elsa had been too disgusted by the actions of those humans to fuck them. She had fucked the witch's less-objectionable enemies in the past, though. Not because the witch had ordered her to-for all her crimes, forcing Elsa to have sex against her will would have horrified even that foul sorceress-but because Elsa had hungers that needed sating. She'd long since resigned herself to a life without true love or lasting passion, but premurder sex was as valid as hate sex. Like scratching an itch.

She eyed Jack's broad shoulders. Were she to succumb to the temptation to explore this werewolf's body, it would be no different.

Jack cleared his throat. "Want an introduction to the other kitchen gadgets?" he asked.

Relieved at not having to explain her murders further, and not wanting to think too much about Jack's shoulders or the differences between sex and passion, Elsa nodded.

Jack took her on a tour of the cabinets as the popcorn began popping more urgently. She was introduced to a toaster, a coffee-pot, a blender, and a slow cooker. For anything she didn't recognize, he briefly explained how it worked.

Her ignorance was still mortifying, but Jack managed to educate her in such a way that she didn't feel he was judging her. When she praised the convenience of an automated dishwasher, he smiled, the skin beside his eyes crinkling agreeably. "I'll show you everything," he promised. "I'm sorry I didn't realize earlier that you wouldn't be familiar with most of these things."

He wore a soft expression she didn't totally understand. It had better not be pity.

"Can I borrow your PADD, too?" she asked. At his confused look, she clarified. "Your device. Phone. You said you can look things up on it."

"Oh, yes." He reached for his pocket, then hesitated. "Let me give you a tutorial before I let you borrow it. I want to make sure you don't accidentally dial Emma or something."

The microwave beeped, shrill and insistent. The air smelled delicious, and Elsa's stomach rumbled. She grabbed a mug and poured heated blood into it, then turned the stovetop dial to the off position. Jack nodded in confirmation she'd done the right thing before grabbing a large bowl and pouring popcorn into it.

"Feel free to dive in," he said, handing it over. "I'm going to make myself some hot cocoa."

Elsa took the bowl and mug of blood to the living room, placing them on the low table before the couch. She settled in cross-legged on the brown leather and tugged a blanket over her lap. It was the same blanket he'd laid over her earlier, and she liked the feel of it.

She liked the taste of hot blood even more. Though she wasn't thirsty in the survival sense, there was comfort in the coppery warmth sliding down her throat. Following a swig with a handful of greasy popcorn was even better. She munched, watching the purpling sky outside the window lose its last streaks of light.

Jack appeared with a mug in his hand and a plastic bag full of white objects in the other. "This might be a terrible idea," he said, holding the bag up, "but marshmallows improve hot cocoa, so I thought I'd bring them out in case you want to try them with blood." Elsa eyed the bag with interest as he settled in on the other end of the couch. He didn't sit too close, which she appreciated, but there was something nice about the casual companionship.

Jack opened the bag, then handed her a marshmallow. Elsa studied the fluffy white object, then gave it a tentative lick.

Her nose crinkled. "It's sweet."

"Like I said, it may not go with blood—I just figured I'd give you the option."

Elsa shrugged and plopped the marshmallow into her mug.

"Let's find out."

Blood laced with sugary sweetness was... odd but interesting, she decided on the first sip. The second sip was better. By the time she was halfway done with the mug, now a raspberry pink from the mix of blood and sugar, she was a convert.

"It's the strangest combination of flavors," she told Jack around a mouthful of popcorn, "but somehow it works."

"I'm glad." He'd eaten popcorn along with her at first, but his pace had slowed, and his mind had seemed to wander to places that cast a shadow over his face. Now he sat with his mug in his lap, staring down at the liquid. He fiddled with it, biting his lip, and his toes were rubbing against the floor again.

"What is it?" Elsa asked.

He lifted his head. "What?"

"You look like you want to say something." He blew out a breath. "Am I that obvious?"

She eyed him, from the tips of his scrunching toes to the wrinkle in his brow. Elsa had met many liars over the centuries, and Jack was either the greatest one in history or pathetically bad at it. Her bet was on pathetically bad. "Yes."

His chuckle was strained. "You do like saying what you think."

"I'm told it's a refreshing trait." She had been told nothing of the sort. She waved a hand, motioning for him to get on with it.

"So? What is it?"

He closed his eyes, and his chest expanded on a deep breath.

Elsa eyed that chest, thinking how useful it would be to have lungs of that scale. Wondering what it would feel like to lie atop his chest and feel his breath lifting her, too.

"There's a bit of a situation," he said.

When he didn't immediately clarify, Elsa prodded for more. "What kind of situation?" Did her knives need to be involved?

He set the mug on the table, then shifted to face her, hands clasped in his lap. "My sister's running for mayor," he said. "Apparently what happened tonight at the restaurant showed up online, and she called me. The video is gaining traction."

The gods-damned internet again, which Elsa really needed to learn how to use. She flushed to think about strangers watching a recording of her outburst. "And?"

He raked a hand through his shaggy hair. "Well, I kind of panicked when she asked me what was going on, and I... uh ... might have told her you're an actress who's going to put on a show at the Emporium's café and what happened at the restaurant was an advertisement for that."

Elsa blinked at the sudden rush of words, which he'd spat out like maybe if he said them quickly enough, she wouldn't notice their content. "That was very creative of you." Though why he seemed so nervous about it, she couldn't say.

Honestly, it was a relief to have her actions excused away by something like the theatre. Yes, acting was technically lying, but it was using the skill for a positive purpose. She'd loved puppet shows, pantomimes, and the stray stage performances she'd been able to sneak away to watch. The time she'd managed to get in on the ground floor at the Globe Theatre in 1607 was a fond memory amid a slew of unwelcome ones.

Jack winced. "Yeah, well, Emma's platform apparently involves supporting the arts, so she decided to announce her candidacy at the café's opening. Followed by a stage performance."

This didn't seem like newsworthy of the way he was squeezing his fingers together so tightly the knuckles were white. "You don't approve of her plan?" she asked.

"The stage isn't built yet," he said. "And there are no shows in the works. Which means Emma's expecting a performance... by you."

Elsa stared at Jack, waiting for an indication he was joking.

Not that the werewolf seemed overly inclined to jokes so far-or else Elsa simply didn't understand his sense of humor-but a statement that absurd couldn't possibly be taken at face value.

His hands were clasped in his lap, and he was squeezing them together in rhythmic pulses. It reminded her of his foot fidgets.

"You aren't serious," she said.

Jack winced. "I am, unfortunately." And the werewolf didn't like lying.

"No," she said.

"Please just hear me out," Jack said, as if she hadn't made her intentions clear. "Any negative publicity about Emma's family-me-could hurt her mayoral campaign."

"Why does that require me to perform on your stage?" She wasn't even sure what such a show would entail. If he expected jokes, he was talking to the wrong person—a lifetime of imprisonment and murder hadn't left her with a wide comedic repertoire.

"I told you, it explains what happened at the restaurant. We can say it was a viral stunt to drum up publicity."

Elsa wasn't sure what viruses had to do with anything, but surely there were other possible explanations that didn't involve her becoming an actress. "Another explanation is that the man annoyed me and I retaliated."

Or the man startled me and I temporarily lost my mind.

Jack sighed. "Please, Elsa. Emma really needs to win. Our current mayor is awful."

"Most political leaders are." She shrugged one shoulder. "I fail to see how that's my problem."

"Because you were the one who nearly killed someone in Ariel's on camera!"

It seemed like an uncharacteristically vehement exclamation from him, but then again, she'd known him for less than a day.

Most men ended up shouting eventually.

Elsa also ended up shouting sometimes. Frequently. Too often, perhaps. She shifted, looking down into the bowl of popcorn as her skin flushed hot with embarrassment again at the reminder of her near-crime. "I wouldn't have actually killed him," she said.

"Probably."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Even if you wouldn't have, people are talking. And Emma asked me-you-to do this." There was a pause. "Or at least she told me it should happen."

Elsa shoved the popcorn back onto the table and stood, beginning to pace. "So you want to pretend what happened at the restaurant was a stunt to draw attention for a theatrical performance. And then you want me to act in said performance so your sister can say she supports the arts and ask people to vote for her for mayor."

He winced. "I know it's not ideal, but it's just one night. Surely you can come up with something. Even a short monologue would work."

Elsa scoffed and looked out the window at the blue-black night. The warm, salty-sweet taste of blood, marshmallows, and popcorn lingered on her tongue. She should have known the food wasn't an earnest offering but a trick to get her to agree to this absurd plan. No outstretched hand could be trusted, no matter what rewards it contained. A second hand was always behind the giver's back, holding a weapon.

"I will not do this," she said.

Jack sighed and bent forward, propping his elbows on his knees and looking up at her beseechingly. "You have to, Elsa." She stiffened. So far he'd avoided turning the request into an order, but that wording had done it. She felt a mystical tug in her chest, the invisible urgency of a task that needed to be accomplished. "As you command," she said softly.

He had sad puppy eyes again. Connard. "It's just one night," he said softly. "I'm sorry, but Emma's my family. I would do anything for her."

Then why wasn't he donning a costume and parading around onstage? Because he hadn't been the one threatening violence in public, a more reasonable inner voice replied, but Elsa had no patience for reasonable voices at the moment, inner or outer. Jack had volunteered her for something without her consent, then ordered her to complete it. She was a prisoner to the crystal and to him, and he had decreed her first act of servitude would be putting on a one-woman theatrical show at his coffee shop.

Fury burned in her chest, and bile rose in her throat. It wasn't the nature of the task that infuriated her-a monologue was better than murder, after all. It was that Jack had commanded her to do it.

"I thought you didn't like lying," she said.

"I don't." He switched to rubbing his temples; she spitefully hoped he had a headache. "Things are a mess right now. I'm trying to open the café, Emma sprung her campaign on me, and now you're here, and I have no idea what to do. I'm just trying to hold things together."

Bold of him to blame part of his struggle on her. She hadn't just shown up, after all-he had deliberately sought her out. Purchased her, in fact! Accidental or not, this was his doing.

Jackson Overland might be bashful and a terrible liar, but he was also proving to be like everyone else she'd ever met: determined to get his own way, with Elsa relegated to nothing but a tool for his ambitions.

She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. Now that she'd been commanded, she had to carry out his mission, but that didn't mean she couldn't seize some measure of control-or revenge-from it. As the witch had learned early on, specificity was important when giving Elsa orders.

"Very well," she said, holding out her hand. "Give me your PADD so I can research modern theatre." In addition to everything else she needed to research in order to survive in this time.

He handed it to her gingerly, as if expecting her to hurl it against the wall. Did he think her foolish? No one in her position would refuse the key to decades of missing knowledge.

"Thank you," he said after telling her the passcode and showing her how to access the internet on the device. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

As if she believed that. She left the room without a word.

So Jackson wanted her to put on a theatrical performance to help promote his sister's mayoral campaign? Elsa would deliver... and then some. She wasn't familiar with modern theatre yet, but she'd seen enough over the years to know a theatrical performance could involve any number of alarming, questionable, or embarrassing things.

She pulled up the internet browser and typed in the strangest theatrical shows in history.

Jack, his sister, and everyone else who showed up to the performance were about to be very, very uncomfortable.

🩸🩸🩸

JACK SAT AT THE FRONT COUNTER OF HIS SHOP, FROWNING WITH CONCENTRATION AS HE REPOTTED AN AZALEA. 

Its pink flowers trembled as he lowered it into its new, larger pot. This would likely be the last bloom of the year, and he hoped he could get it to bloom again next year. Rapunzel's magic could bring it back, of course, but azaleas were fickle, and he liked the challenge of gardening the old-fashioned way.

The shop bell tinkled. He looked up to see Rapunzel, as if his thoughts had summoned her. He straightened, brushing off his hands. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you were on your honeymoon."

She grinned, rosy-cheeked and looking blissful in the way only a newlywed could. "We're heading out shortly. I just wanted to stop by and see if any plants need magic, since I won't be back for a few weeks."

She and Eugene were going on an extended trip, starting in the demon plane, then heading to the elven plane for a few days before returning to Earth for a week in France. Rapunzel had never been out of the country other than the occasional visit to the demon plane, and it had been nice seeing her excitement grow in the months leading up to the wedding.

Jack looked around, trying to think if any plants had been struggling lately. "There's a canna lily that could use some encouragement," he said, pointing. "Nothing dire, it just hasn't been thriving the way I hoped."

As Rapunzel headed for the plant in question, the construction forewoman stuck her head around the corner. "Hey, boss. We're about to start putting the stage in, so it's gonna be loud."

At the mention of the stage, Jack's stomach dropped. Ever since last night when he'd told Elsa he needed her to perform, she'd been giving him the silent treatment. She spent her time holed up in her room, glued to a spare tablet he'd borrowed from Tinkerbell after realizing Elsa didn't want to return his phone and the knowledge it gave her access to. He heard her muttering periodically, a mixture of curses, exclamations over world events from the past half-century, and the occasional snippet of Shakespeare.

He felt horrible about asking her to cover for his lie, but what else was he supposed to do? Emma was counting on him, and the future of Dreamney Falla was counting on Emma. Besides, Elsa had finally agreed, even if she hadn't looked that happy about it.

He'd get Elsa something special to thank her, he decided.

Maybe a top-shelf bottle of bourbon-spiked blood. Then she'd forgive him and they could be on friendly terms again-as friendly as terms could be when he was essentially her prison warden.

"Sounds good," he told the forewoman. "Thanks for being willing to add it last minute."

The woman grinned. "Not a problem. I've been looking for a new venue for my stand-up, anyway."

Jack suppressed a wince. Having been to a few comedy shows around town, he knew the quality of that particular act was ... questionable. But if it meant getting a stage put in before the café's opening-and Emma's mayoral announcement-he'd offer her a headliner spot every night of the week.

When the builder left, Rapunzel popped her head around a shelf.

"Why are you adding a stage now?" she asked. "I thought that was going to wait for the next stage of construction."

"Uh ..." Jack's brain stalled out. "I thought-well, my sister likes the arts, you know? And it just ... ah ... it's because.. because ..."

There were a lot of reasons he didn't like lying. One of them was that he was generally terrible at it.

Rapunzel crossed her arms, adopting a determined expression.

"Out with it," she said.

Jack exhaled, shoulders slumping. Well, everyone would find out about Elsa sooner or later, if they hadn't already seen the viral video. And besides, it might be a relief to tell someone how colossally he'd complicated his life. "You're not going to believe it." Rapunzel laughed and settled onto a stool next to the counter.

"Jack, I once accidentally summoned a demon instead of a bag of flour. Trust me: whatever's going on can't be weirder than that." Ten minutes later, Rapunzel stared at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. "I take it back," she said. "That's weirder."

He winced. "Yeah."

"I didn't even know you could buy succubi on eBay. Surely that's against their terms and conditions?"

Jack hadn't considered that. Maybe he could contact customer service and arrange a return? Except then Elsa would be stuck again with the witch who'd imprisoned her.

No, he couldn't.

"I need to find a way to break the curse tying her to that plastic crystal," he said. Then she'd be free to do whatever she liked, far away from Jack, his anxiety, and his terrible online shopping choices.

Rapunzel whipped out her phone. "Mind if I text the Scooby gang? Someone might have encountered this before."

"The Scooby gang" was a relatively new term Tinkerbell had chosen for the boisterous group chat that included the pixie, Rapunzel, Eugene, Anna, Kristoff, Jack, and Merida. Jack sat out about eighty percent of the group's activities due to scheduling challenges, social anxiety, or the after-work urge to sink into his couch and stare at a blank wall, but he enjoyed the time he did spend with them.

"Sure," he said, swallowing his embarrassment at having got. ten himself into this situation to begin with. If there was one undeniable truth, it was that he needed help.

"Great," she said, thumb tapping over the screen. Her eyes flicked up to him. "Curse aside, let's also talk about this theatrical performance you've strong-armed Elsa into giving."

He frowned. "I didn't strong-arm her."

"You told her you wanted her to do it."

He opened his mouth, about to argue that she could have refused outright if it mattered that much, then shut it, feeling another surge of guilt. She had refused, but he'd kept pushing. It was uncharacteristic behavior from him, and even though he'd been freaking out at the time, that didn't excuse it.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked. "The Dreamney Falls Gazette already published a gossip item naming me specifically. They said I was an active participant in a possible murder attempt. The only reason I'm not in jail right now is because it didn't escalate further."

In a supernatural town, traditional law and order had to take certain things into consideration. Witches were always cursing one another and engaging in duels, centaur jousting was a beloved sport that frequently put people in the hospital, and inappropriate summonings, orgies, and brawls were the norm. During one infamous town hall, Mayor Lady Tremaine had teleported a journalist to Antarctica. The main question in criminal issues was: "Is this reversible?" With magic users abounding everywhere, the answer was usually yes, but murder was its own category. Even if the town had had a necromancer in residence to reverse it, killing someone would always be illegal.

Rapunzel patted his hand. "I sympathize, but whether or not this performance goes forward, there's one thing you absolutely have to do."

He clung to her certainty like a life raft in a turbulent sea.

"What?" he asked, praying she had the perfect answer to his dilemma.

"Be gentle with Elsa," Rapunzel said. "Apologize for putting her in this situation and then cook her dinner or something."

Jack envisioned Elsa's fury-filled eyes and snapping fangs.

"I don't know if dinner will help. She's practically feral, and I'm pretty sure she hates me right now."

"She isn't used to this time. And frankly, it sounds like she's working through a lot of historical trauma. Wouldn't you be freaked out and combative if you were plopped into a random point in the future with no friends or frame of reference?"

He'd been feeling guilty already, but at that, the feeling condensed into a thick ball in his chest, heavy and awful. Rapunzel was right. Elsa might be semiferal, but she had ample reason to be.

The vampire succubus could be aggressive and frightening and had no compunctions about delivering threats, which was so far removed from Jack's temperament that he hadn't truly questioned the reason for the behavior. Some people were tougher and more assertive than others, right?

Maybe it wasn't that simple, though.

Jack cleared his throat. "Do you think ... she's afraid?"

Rapunzel nodded, emerald eyes full of sympathy. "Some people lash out when they're scared or cornered. Anna, for one, if you consider all the fights she's been in. Even me sometimes, though I'm less violent about it." She made an embarrassed face. "I snapped at Eugene a few times when he first showed up because I was freaking out, but at least I apologized afterwards."

Jack rubbed his chest over the hard knot of guilt. He should have considered this earlier. He'd been operating in panic mode instead of thinking clearly. "Thanks, Rapunzel. I'm going to make her dinner and bring her some flowers."

Rapunzel hugged him. "You can do this," she said, patting his back. "And as someone who once had a semiferal surprise houseguest myself, you can always come to me for advice."

"After your honeymoon," he said. "You're going to turn your phone off and enjoy that without any interruptions from me or anyone else."

She grinned and saluted him. "Aye aye, boss."

A few bouts of plant magic later, Rapunzel left with a flurry of waves and assurances that Jack would be fine and had this totally under control.

Did he have this under control? Not even remotely. But he at least had a place to start.

He turned his eyes to the racks of plants, trying to determine which would be the best apology gift for a secretly scared vampire succubus.

🩸🩸🩸

Work No. 227: The lights going on and off.

Elsa wrinkled her nose at the Witchipedia article she'd accessed on her new PADD. Or digital tablet, she corrected herself, since that was apparently this era's term for the device. The image accompanying the text showed an empty, dark room. Then the image changed, the lights in the room coming on. Elsa twitched, startled.

Right, a GIF. She'd learned about those earlier, though she still wasn't sure how to pronounce the acronym. She'd learned about a lot of things that day. Accessing the internet was rather like opening her mouth beneath a waterfall and attempting to sip.

She was addicted.

Having researched odd experimental theatrical performances, she was now investigating the strangest works of art of the modern era. Martin Creed's 2000 installation had to be near the top of the list-it was just an empty room with electric lights set on a timer.

"How is this worth one hundred ten thousand pounds?" she asked herself incredulously.

It was good fodder for her brainstorming session, though. Perhaps her performance at Jack's Plant Emporium could involve her standing stone-faced at a light switch, turning it on and off.

She scribbled the idea down in a notebook Jack had given her.

He'd supplied her with paper and pens from his desk, along with the tablet, which was helpful for plotting her revenge against him.

Was he being helpful in terms of acclimating her to the modern world? Yes. But when he'd just ordered her to perform a one-woman show at his café, that helpfulness was negated.

Elsa had several other spite- and internet-generated ideas written down already: "setting fire to stage," "sitting in silence with paper bag over head," "incoherent screaming." Maybe she should actually bite someone onstage.

It wasn't that Elsa hated the idea of someday getting to perform in a play. When she'd been young, the main path open to her had been fighting for their clan, and then she'd been stuck in a career rut for six centuries. If she could break free of the curse, she didn't know what she would do, but it certainly wouldn't involve as much violence. Acting might be just the thing.

The issue was being forced to do it after she'd refused. The werewolf must know she was mystically bound to obey his every command. The eBay listing hadn't gone into detail about that, but it had to be obvious, right? That was how enchantments of this sort worked. Even if he didn't know, though, he'd still ordered her to come up with a show with only two weeks to prepare.

Jack had returned from work approximately an hour ago, but Elsa hadn't felt like facing him. She was still stewing, and anger aside, she was confused about how to feel about him. He'd fed her and provided her with modern technology, which was helpful and possibly even kind. He'd also put new sheets on the guest bed and had mentioned taking her clothes shopping so she didn't have to stay in her current outfit. (The witch had failed to ship Elsa's small wardrobe with the crystal.) He owned a large bathtub she had full access to, and his shampoo smelled delicious.

It was so far from what she was used to, Elsa had no idea how to act or what to think.

A clatter came from the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled, and she eyed the bedroom door. It was close to dinnertime, and though she'd made herself a sandwich for lunch, she was getting hungry again.

The rhythmic sound of vegetables being chopped tempted her.

Curious what Jack was making and wanting to learn about any additional kitchen gadgets (the internet had taught her about air fryers and waffle irons), she slid a fluffy robe over her clothes and headed for the kitchen.

The robe was dark blue and designed for someone much larger.

It trailed behind her like a monarch's cloak, whispering against the floorboards, and the sleeves dangled over her hands. She lifted the lapel to her nose and sniffed, then let out a secret sigh. The fabric smelled like Jack's shampoo and a whiff of the cologne she'd sprayed in the air out of curiosity earlier, but her vampire senses were sharp, and she knew that wasn't the sole reason it smelled good. His skin and the blood beneath were naturally delectable, calling to her predatory impulses.

She found Jack sautéing onions and garlic while a pot of water heated on the stove. His glasses were fogged. "Hello," he said, looking up from the skillet. His tone was warm, though she could sense his cautiousness. "How are you liking the tablet?"

With food and continuing access to the internet at stake, she decided to be conciliatory, at least on the surface. "I like it," she said cautiously. If she seemed too excited, would he take it away?

She hadn't had many things of her own over the centuries-a weapons collection, a few outfits, and some Star Trek bobbleheads the witch had insisted on summoning after their TNG marathon, all of which presumably still resided at the cabin in the woods.

"Learn anything interesting?" Jack asked.

Elsa had learned a lot of very interesting facts over the course of the day. "I don't know where to begin," she said. "The Cold War, the International Space Station, Roger Federer, the Great Molasses Flood of 1919, the Interplanar Song Contest, emojis ..." It had been like being trampled by a herd of centaurs, information pummeling her with such detail and immediacy she'd hardly been able to process one fact before compulsively clicking a link to discover another.

Jack paused in his sautéing. "The Molasses ... what?"

He didn't know? This would be the first time Elsa had knowledge about recent history he didn't, and she was excited to explain. "Twelve thousand tons of molasses broke out of a storage tank and flooded the city of Boston," she said enthusiastically.

"Twenty-one people died!"

Jack blinked. "Wow. That's ... a lot of molasses."

"Many more people were injured," she said. "What a fascinating problem for a city to have, don't you think? Supposedly the neighborhood smelled sweet for decades afterward."

Jack looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek. "You like morbid facts, don't you?"

"I like all facts," Elsa said. Then she considered. "But yes." Life could be very dark. She'd known that before she'd been chained to the crystal, when the vampire clans had engaged in frequent territorial warfare. When confronted with a foe or an unpleasant situation, Elsa preferred to face it directly. Knowledge was, if not power, at least armor. And sometimes the darkest facts were the most interesting.

Jack stirred the onions again, then set the wooden spoon aside.

"I have something for you," he said, wiping his hands on his apron.

The fabric was stamped with the words KISS THE CHEF, and Elsa's thoughts briefly fixated on the idea. Curse her residual succubus hunger. If she could just spy on a decent orgy... As it was, she'd need to find a source of carnal energy within the next week or so, lest she become tired and listless.

Catching the direction of her gaze, Jack winced. "The apron is from my parents. They're eternally optimistic."

He turned to fuss with a vase of flowers on the counter before Elsa could ask what his parents were optimistic about. The flowers were nice roses with a sunset look to them, pink bleeding into orange. They smelled good, too. Maybe she could ask him to place them on the table before the television so the aroma would waft through the house.

He turned and held the vase out to her.

Elsa looked at it, then back at him. "Do you want me to do something with that?" Maybe he would issue another order, she thought, spitefulness rising again.

Jack shifted from foot to foot. "They're for you."

"For me to ... put somewhere?" she asked, puzzled.

"No. I mean yes, I suppose. If you want." Jack bit his lip, then thrust the flowers out more forcefully. "It's a gift."

A gift. Other than the Star Trek bobbleheads, which didn't count even if she had been secretly fond of Commander Data, she hadn't received a gift in a long time. "Oh," she said, hesitantly accepting the vase. The glass was ridged and cool under her fingers. "Why?" Jack was scrunching his toes against the floor. Nervous. "Because I shouldn't have told you to do the show. I mean, I would still like it if you did, but I went about it the wrong way." He grimaced and looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. "I said that wrong, too. The point is, it's not fair of me to put you in an uncomfortable position. You're probably freaked out right now, and I'm really sorry, and I want to make you more comfortable in this time while we figure out how to free you."

A strange unfurling sensation happened in Elsa's chest, like a snowdrop opening its petals at the end of winter. "You're-sorry?"

He nodded. "Sometimes I get stuck in my own head and don't think about what other people are going through. You must be scared-"

"I'm not scared," Elsa interrupted. That would be confessing a weakness.

Except... she was scared. A bit. A very minor bit.

"Even if you aren't scared," Jack said, "this time and place is new to you. I should take better care of you." He gestured awkwardly at the stove. "So ... pasta. And flowers. And I'll listen better going forward."

This was unprecedented. It would have been unimaginable if she hadn't just heard the words fall from his lips. Elsa clutched the vase to her chest, staring at him.

A burning smell wafted to her nose.

"Shit. I mean, shoot," Jack said, grabbing the pan off the stove.

"I forgot about the onions."

Elsa was too flabbergasted to speak. She stared as Jack scooped burnt items out of the pan.

He was sorry?

He wanted to take care of her?

He'd given her flowers?

Elsa brought the vase to her nose, breathing in as the petals brushed her nostrils. It smelled like happiness.

Was Jack actually being genuine?

She stayed unmoving as he dumped a box of dried pasta into the boiling water and added a can of tomatoes to the skillet.

Jack looked at her. "Want me to put those flowers somewhere?" Elsa shook her head and backed away, holding the vase closer. Vampires were territorial, and these were hers now.

"Okay," Jack said, eyes flicking between her face, the flowers, and the skillet. "You can do whatever you want with them."

There wasn't much to do with flowers. She could dry them out and paste them in a scrapbook if she were the sentimental type, which she was not. She could put them in the living room to make the house smell nice, as she'd originally thought, but no. This was Elsa's gift, and right now, she didn't want to be parted from it.

"Thank you," she said cautiously.

He smiled in response, a grin that lit up his face and made his eyes crinkle agreeably. "You're welcome."

Elsa kept the vase with her throughout dinner preparations. When Jack brought the bowls of pasta to the coffee table in front of his couch, she set the vase next to the food, close enough that she could snatch it up if needed.

Jack provided a plastic tub of shredded Parmesan cheese, which she dumped liberally on the pasta. Her first bite tasted like heaven.

Maybe Jack was forgiven.

Then he said, "Pass the cheese."

The mystical pull in Elsa's chest sparked to life, along with familiar resentment at being given an order. Her rage had worn a deep path in her brain over the centuries, one she slipped back into without thought. Fury and instinct collided, and with a screech, she threw a handful of cheese at him.

Jack flinched as Parmesan bounced off his forehead. Some of it stuck to his hair like snow. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Jack set his fork down and cleared his throat. "May I ask why you threw the cheese at me?"

Elsa's brain caught up with her body, and she felt mortified at the loss of control. "Sorry," she said. "It was instinct."

"Instinct," he repeated. "Throwing cheese is a vampire instinct?"

He was being very reasonable for someone who was the victim of her seesawing moods. Elsa's cheeks felt hot. She shook her head, looking down at her lap. Her first flowers and a nice meal, and she'd ruined it. "You ordered it, so I had to obey. I don't like orders." And she was apparently the equivalent of a feral street dog, snapping at anyone who came too close.

"It wasn't exactly an order," Jack said, brushing cheese out of his hair. "People say 'pass the salt' all the time." When she peeked up at him, she saw his forehead furrow. "Wait, what do you mean you had to obey?"

So he truly hadn't known the details of owning the crystal.

Elsa felt a bizarre urge to laugh and cry at the same time. She scrubbed her hands over her face. "It's part of the spell," she said.

"The curse. If the person who owns the crystal issues me a direct command, I'm mystically compelled to obey."

Realization washed over his face, quickly followed by horror.

"You can't say no, no matter what I tell you to do?"

"So long as it's worded like an order and not a request, no. 1 can't refuse." He could tell her to strangle someone or jump in front of a car or run for two days straight without stopping, and she'd have to do it, no matter the cost to her health or sanity. "Why do you think I killed so many people for the Witch in the Woods? Because I wanted to?"

Jack covered his mouth with one hand. His eyes widened behind his glasses. "My God ... Elsa, I had no idea. That's barbaric."

"How could you not have at least guessed?" she asked. "That's how spells like this tend to work."

He shook his head. "I've never even heard of a spell like this, and I guess I didn't think about the details that much. It's only been a day, and there's so much going on.." His breath hitched.

"So when I said you had to perform at the café, that counted as a mystical order?" At Elsa's nod, his eyes grew watery. "That's why you were so angry. I mean, you were right to be angry at me, but it's not just because I asked you to do something you didn't want to. It's because you're being forced to do it by the magic."

Elsa nodded again.

Jack's breathing was growing agitated. "I violated your consent," he said. "With that order and with ... Lycaon, have I commanded you to do anything else?"

"Not much," Elsa said. "Just the performance. And leaving the restaurant. And passing the cheese. And telling me to stop drinking your blood."

He braced his elbows on his knees, breathing so fast it was more like panting. "I'm so sorry. You don't have to do the performance or anything else. Can I revoke the command? I revoke it. I'm so, so sorry. I've been such a villain."

That was taking it a bit far, but Elsa knew all about taking things too far. She had flung a handful of Parmesan at him in a fit of rage, after all. "Hey," she said when his breathing began to sound not just rapid but unhealthy. "Take a deep breath. You didn't know." He did not take a deep breath. When he raised his head to look at her, his cheeks were wet with tears. "This whole situation is so stressful. I never should have clicked on that eBay listing. I never should have told that stupid lie to Emma or taken you to Ariels's or ordered you to give me cheese or any of it. Lycaon, what are we going to do?"

Elsa gingerly patted his back. "Can you try some deep breathing? This is growing alarming."

He sucked in a breath, then another, but it didn't seem to help.

"Sorry," he said. "I get anxiety attacks sometimes. You can leave me to wait it out-wait, that's an order, shit, fuck, I don't mean it, I'm so sorry."

It wasn't technically an order-"leave me" would have counted, but the addition of "can" turned it into a statement of possibility-and she was glad of it. Not just for her sake, since orders sent her rage to uncontrollable heights, but because she didn't want him to suffer through this alone. She looked around, her own anxiety spiking as she tried to figure out what would soothe a werewolf having a panic attack. "Stay here," she said, standing up.

She returned in seconds with a glass of water from the sink. He jolted when she set it in front of him. "I forgot how fast you move," he wheezed, hand pressed over his heart.

Right. If she was trying to soothe him, she probably shouldn't give him a jump scare. She moved with excruciating slowness to grab the blanket on the back of the couch and wrapped it around him like she was swaddling a baby. Then she sat next to him, staring in what she hoped was a nonmenacing manner. She patted his back again. "There, there," she said, trying to remember how her parents had soothed her when she'd been upset as a child. Not that Jack was a child, but the things that were most comforting often had roots in those formative years. "There, there."

Over the next few minutes, Jack's breathing gradually grew slower. Elsa lifted the glass to his mouth and helpfully tipped it, since he remained swaddled. He coughed-perhaps she had been overly enthusiastic in pouring water down his throat-then extricated an arm from the blanket to take control of the glass.

Once he was done drinking, he set the glass down and slumped back, closing his eyes. "Thank you," he said. "And I'm sorry. For the orders and for making you see me like this."

She frowned. He sounded ashamed. "You don't have to apologize for having anxiety."

He winced. "That's what my parents always said when I was growing up, but I can't help it. What kind of werewolf has panic attacks?"

"I'm sure plenty of werewolves have panic attacks."

"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced, though.

They returned to eating pasta, an awkward silence falling between them. Elsa took the time to think.

Jack wasn't anything like she'd expected him to be when she'd first been summoned. He was anxious and thoughtful, and he'd given her flowers, then cried over violating her consent. He wasn't a complete villain after all. Maybe not any kind of villain.

And he was under a great deal of stress between her arrival, his café opening, and his sister's expectations. Having been the cause of a lot of that stress, Elsa decided to be the solution as well. "I'll still do the performance," she said.

"No," he said instantly. "I don't want you to do it because you were ordered to."

"You took the command back," she pointed out. "That means if I do it, it'll be of my own free will."

He chewed his lip. "But-"

"But nothing," she said. "The performance goes on."

He looked at her with tentative hope in his eyes. "You would do that? I thought you hated the idea."

She shrugged. "I didn't like being surprised by it or ordered to do it, but if I get to choose? It could be interesting. Maybe even ... fun." Not a word she used often.

He finally smiled again, a small curve of his lips that made the inside of her chest feel warm and soft. "Thank you, Elsa. I really appreciate it. You have free rein to do whatever you like, of course, and anything you need ..."

"I'll let you know."

The silence this time was easier as they finished dinner. Elsa's mind churned over possibilities. She wouldn't be flicking a light switch on and off or setting fire to anything anymore. No, she was going to put on a real, meaningful performance, the kind that would be talked about for years.

She looked at her roses and smiled. Jack wasn't going to regret trusting her with this.

🩸🩸🩸

THE TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE OFFICIAL OPENING OF THE ANNEX WERE HECTIC. 

Jack spent most of his time at the Emporium overseeing final details while also managing the existing nursery business, with breaks to chat with Emma about her campaign. Exhaustion hung heavy on him, but when sleep did come, it was limited and sporadic, dotted with nightmares of espresso machines exploding and plants trying to strangle him.

One silver lining to the stress was that Elsa had proven herself surprisingly helpful since his meltdown on the couch.

Granted, her support often took the form of sudden, startling appearances with blankets or mugs of hot chocolate that nearly made him soil his pants-accompanied by intense staring, since she didn't seem familiar or entirely comfortable with the position of caregiver-but he appreciated the gestures.

Elsa was also catching up on history and current events very quickly. She'd taught Jack all manner of morbid or odd facts over breakfast or dinner, like that platypuses had venomous spurs on their legs, that the shortest war in history lasted only thirty-eight minutes, and that hippopotamuses were responsible for more deaths annually than manticore stampedes. There was still tension between the two of them-how could there not be when he had a terrifying amount of power over her life?-but her wariness seemed to diminish every day.

His guilt over the situation didn't. "When all this stress is over," he'd promised her, "we'll find a way to release you from the curse." He still felt awful, though. It was unethical to keep her bound to the crystal, but he didn't have the bandwidth or expertise to find a solution for that right now. So he worked carefully on his phrasing, trying to catch inadvertent commands before they left his mouth. When he did issue an accidental command, her widened eyes, flared nostrils, and violent looks quickly alerted him so he could rescind the order.

A week before the café opening and mayoral campaign announcement, Emma called a post-dinner meeting of her "team." She'd assembled what she called the best minds in Dreamney Falls, but when Jack walked into Emma's living room to discover it full of their mutual friends, he resisted the urge to snark that she must not have looked very hard for help.

Truthfully, even though no one had experience running a political campaign, Emma had them working to their strengths. Tinkerbell was the Communications Officer, of course, busily drafting copy for a social media and email calendar. The demon Kristoff was the Branding Officer-Branding Master and Commander, he'd first tried to label himself, which Emma had informed him made no sense on LinkedIn-responsible for crafting a consistent, appealing image and persona from both Emma's closet and her personality (and her eccentricities, Jack felt allowed to say as her older brother).

Ben's employee Merida, a naiad who had briefly dated Emma during college and was still good friends with her, was her Hype Woman and Event Planner. ("How is Hype Woman LinkedIn-appropriate?" Kristoff groused to unsympathetic ears.) Jack had been bestowed the vague yet ominous title of Logistics Manager. Anna was at the meeting, too, though as she'd said, "You don't need a Bar Fight Officer, so I'm an all-purpose assistant." Eugene and Rapunzel would eventually step in to help as well, though not until they'd enjoyed newlywed bliss for a while.

"Here's the proposed campaign logo," Tinkerbell said, passing around her phone. She'd engaged centaur Hiccup as a graphic designer.

When the phone made it to him, Jack squinted at the pink image. It looked like a circle with some random jagged lines. "What is it?"

Tinkerbell rolled her eyes. "Obviously a moon, since she's a werewolf, and the mountains represent our city's connection to the natural world."

Below the mocked-up logo was a tagline: Emma Overland: Howling for Change.

Jack guffawed.

"Hey," Tinkerbell said, snatching her phone back. "Constructive criticism only."

"Sorry," he said. "It's just ... Howling for Change?"

"I think it's good," Kristoff said, surprising Jack. "It's succinct and snappy and positions her as both a werewolf and a progressive. Voters know they'll get exactly what it says on the tin."

While the rest of the group were merely sitting on Emma's couches and chairs, Kristoff was somehow lounging in a casually cool way Jack could never hope to aspire to. His gray suit was pristine, and he was toying with a cane topped with a crystal skull that ought to look ridiculous but didn't.

Anna sat next to her partner in a tank top and leggings, her ponytail askew from a day of work as a personal trainer. She elbowed Kristoff in the ribs, eliciting a whuff that diminished the demon's coolness a bit. "I still like Emma Overland: Taking a Bite Out of Government Corruption," she said.

"Also good," Kristoff acknowledged. "But it's long for a T-shirt and does sling some mud at Lady Tremaine. Mudslinging is deserved, of course, but I've been doing some market research, and while anger is effective at getting clicks, positive emotions elicit a better response rate when there's a call to action."

Jack was in over his head. "Call to action?" he asked. "Is that...voting?"

The look Kristoff gave him dripped with condescension. "We want people to sign up for Emma's newsletter and donate to her campaign first," he said. "Voting is the end goal, but there are a lot of steps that need to happen first."

"Taking a bite out of corruption will be a good sound bite for social media," Tinkerbell said, thumb flying over her phone screen.

"Let's make it part of a speech."

The brainstorming continued, covering a swath of topics.

Kristoff had decided Emma's colorful pink Converse would be her trademark, especially in conjunction with Tinkerbell's proposed door-to-door campaign to engage with the citizens of Dreamney Falls. Merida was working on rally decorations and a word-of-mouth campaign in conjunction with Tinkerbell's social media efforts-they were teasing a Big Reveal at the Annex's opening night.

Jack sat back and listened, feeling ill-equipped to help. If Emma had been starting a business he would have more to contribute, but the world of marketing was foreign to him. Thankfully, he was only in charge of the event space and catering for the campaign launch, which basically meant telling the kitchen to make extra food (which Emma was paying for, having refused to accept it as a gift).

"So this performance artist," Emma said. "What's her background?"

Jack's stomach dropped. Emma wasn't part of the group chat in which Rapunzel had posted the "Jack bought a vampire succubus on eBay when he was drunk" update-an update that had earned him a lot of well-deserved razzing. He'd sworn his friends to secrecy, and if he told his sister the details now, he'd have to admit he'd lied about the situation at Ariel's. "Uh," he said, tired brain struggling to come up with anything.

Thankfully, Tinkerbell intervened. "Elsa's new," the pixie said. "Just moved to the area, and this is actually going to be her world premiere performance. I think giving new talent a chance is a great way to emphasize your message about expanding access to the arts to communities who historically haven't been given opportunities or resources."

It was all-technically-true, and far better than anything Jack would have come up with. He sent a grateful glance Tinkerbell's way, and she winked when Emma wasn't looking.

"I hear she's very avant-garde," Kristoff drawled. "It's going to be a bloody good time."

The damn demon. Kristoff had been delighted by this development, which appealed to his chaotic nature. Once he'd learned straightlaced Jack had acquired a half-feral vampire succubus assassin he had no idea how to interact with, he'd declared it the funniest thing he'd heard all year. He was now making vampire puns at every opportunity.

"I hope the show isn't terrible," Emma said with a frown. "Since it's her first one."

Jack shrugged. "It's Dreamney Falls, not Broadway. I think people will enjoy it even if it isn't the best show they've ever seen. And she's excited about the opportunity."

Opportunity was a strong word for the clusterfuck he'd thrust Elsa into the middle of, but at least she really did seem excited about the performance now. He had no idea what she was planning, but he knew she was taking it seriously. She'd confessed that her original plan had been to embarrass him with something truly bizarre-which he had to admit was funny now that he knew it was no longer going to happen-but she'd assured him this would be a carefully thought-out performance in the best tradition of experimental theatre. He heard her muttering to herself in the guest room late at night, accompanied by thumping and the occasional soft shriek.

"Well, I look forward to seeing it." Emma smiled at Jack and reached out to ruffle his hair, eliciting an eye roll from him.

"Thanks, bro. I appreciate you letting me co-opt your café opening."

"It'll bring in more customers," he said. "So it's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Emma high-fived him. "Overland clan for the win! Speaking of which, Mom and Dad are so excited. Can we get them front-row seats?"

"Shit," Jack said, shooting to his feet on a wave of adrenaline. "I forgot chairs!"

The group laughed as he sprinted out of Emma's house. He waved over his shoulder, muttering to himself about the sheer incompetence it took to construct an entire stage without thinking that maybe the audience would like somewhere to sit.

Thankfully, chairs were easy to source. He'd get some proper ones custom-made down the line from a woodworker he knew in neighboring Fable Farms, but simple folding wooden chairs-the same ones Rapunzel and Eugene had rented from a local restaurant for their wedding-would suffice for the launch. A phone call later, he had arranged for them to be delivered first thing in the morning in exchange for a fire lily the cyclops restaurateur had his eye on.

His phone chimed after he hung up—a notification from Moon-Cycle, a versatile period/moonshift-tracking app used by both werewolves and menstruating people. Tomorrow night would be the full moon.

Jack swore at the reminder. With the chaos of the last few weeks, he had lost track of the waxing moon. He didn't have time to transform into a wolf and run around terrorizing rabbits.

Shifting wasn't optional, though, at least not with current technology. The moment scientists came up with a shift suppressant, Jack would be signing up. For now, he sighed and mentally reviewed his schedule. He'd be out of commission for roughly seven hours, which meant the holiday knitting he'd planned to catch up on would need to be postponed yet again. He could grab a few hours of sleep after shifting back before heading to the Emporium to open shop.

Not ideal, but manageable, so long as he remembered to program the coffeepot.

Back home, Jack found Elsa watching TV. He recognized the program as that trendy show with dragons he could never remember the name of. He'd tried to get interested in the previous dragon series, but there were a few too many beheadings for his taste.

"How was the meeting?" Elsa asked, pausing the show.

She'd grown adept with modern technology in a shockingly short amount of time. It was like she was a sponge; after being starved of knowledge for so long, she was absorbing everything she could.

"Fine," he said distractedly as he hung his coat up and put his wallet and keys in the bowl next to the door. "I realized I have to shift tomorrow night, so I'll come home very early in the morning I'll try not to wake you up."

"Cool," she said.

He made a face. "Not really." Then, realizing her tone had been lackluster, he took a closer look at her. Her complexion looked wan, and there were shadows under her eyes. "Hey, are you all right?

You look..." He cut off that sentence immediately, having learned that one should never tell a woman she looked tired or sick. Oh my God, Emma had exclaimed once. A girl skips makeup for one day and suddenly she's Baba Yaga. A tad overstated, but he had taken note of the misstep and vowed not to do it again.

Elsa blinked slowly, as if it was taking her a few moments to process the words. "Oh. Yes. I'm fine."

"Can I get you something? Blood, water, tea, whiskey? Something to help you sleep?"

Her full lips tipped up in a small smile. "Stop fretting, wolf. I'm all right, truly."

If she said she was, he would believe her. He nodded. "I'm going to get a shower, then. I hope you enjoy the show."

She didn't reply, instead sinking back into the couch and grabbing the remote.

Once he was under the hot spray of water, Jack sighed and leaned his head against the tile, tension slipping out of his muscles. The tub was large, custom-built for his height the same way he'd needed to order a custom bed. Being tall got expensive, but in moments like this, he was glad he'd invested in comfort rather than forcing himself to squeeze into smaller spaces the way he did in the outside world.

The hot water was divine, pinkening his skin and slicking his hair to his scalp as it worked magic on the stress held in his body.

If he wasn't so exhausted, he'd have considered a bubble bath, but he didn't want to drown, and he had a feeling the moment he got horizontal it would be lights out-assuming he could get his brain to stop running through logistics, worrying about the vampire succubus in his living room, or reliving embarrassing memories from a decade ago, that was.

Jack had long ago perfected a nighttime routine for when he needed sleep and working himself into exhaustion hadn't calmed the brain gremlins. First, a hot shower and a quick masturbation session to relax him. Then a cup of tea, a melatonin pill, and a CD of soothing whale sounds to lull him to sleep. Except on days his anxiety flared out of control, that would put him out like a light.

His dick was flaccid, but that could be rectified. Jack handled himself with the efficiency and expertise of nearly twenty years of practice, closing his eyes and rifling through fantasies until he settled on a scene from a paranormal romance novel he'd discovered in the library at a formative age.

This time, though, he couldn't envision the particulars-or rather, they kept changing. The brunette's hair turned blonde, her curves grew more voluptuous, and at the moment when she was supposed to drop to her knees, she instead bared her fangs and hissed.

Jack's hips jerked. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, even as his hand moved faster. Masturbating to Elsa was wrong on...

God, probably a million levels... but he couldn't stop. This wasn't a perfunctory wank anymore, designed to release tension with all the efficiency and passion of a sneeze. He was into it in a way he hadn't been in a long time.

Jack groaned as he stroked himself, unable to stop the flood of images. Elsa baring her fangs at him. Sucking his finger while grinding against him. Calling him wolf in that French accent. He imagined her bare breasts, how the weight of them would feel in his palms. She'd have a thatch of hair for him to nose through on his way down, and when he licked between her legs, she would groan and order him to keep going or else she'd rip out his spine.

He finished startlingly quickly, muffling a shout with his free hand. When he was spent, he leaned back against the wall, legs shaking.

What was that?

Jack hadn't dated in so long, it had seemed like the sensual part of him had atrophied and died. Yet here he was, head spinning from the best orgasm he'd had in years, thoughts tangled around Elsa. Elsa, who he'd brought here unwillingly. Elsa, whom he held a terrifying amount of power over. Elsa, who would probably rather eat his liver than suck his dick.

"Fuck," he whispered, running a hand over his face.

He finished the shower quickly, then brushed his teeth and shrugged on a black bathrobe. Elsa didn't need to know what was going on in his head; he would treat her the same way he had before, with a mix of politeness, consideration, and wary respect.

They would work to release her from the spell, and then she'd be free to go her own way and never think of Jack again.

It took about one second and two steps into the living room to realize Elsa had undergone a drastic change. While before she'd been tired and sickly looking, now she was alert and rosy-cheeked. Her skin seemed to glow, and even her lips looked redder as she smiled at him. "Good shower?" she asked.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Vampire succubus, emphasis on the succubus. She seemed so wholly vampiric most of the time he'd almost forgotten what she'd told him that first day in the kitchen after sucking blood from his finger.

I could sense your arousal.

She totally knew he'd been jacking off.

Mortification washed over him in hot, dizzying waves. Wishing it was possible to disintegrate and become one with the floor-boards, Jack nodded.

"Good," Elsa said, beaming at him. "Thank you."

Thank him? For ...

Realization hit.

I feed on that, too.

Jack had fed her regularly that week and provided more blood from NecroNomNomNoms, but he'd forgotten about the other part of her hunger. She needed to dine on sexual energy as frequently as she drank blood.

Jack's cheeks were burning. "Can you... ah ... tell what..." He trailed off, incapable of saying the words out loud. If he did, he thought he might actually die from humiliation.

"What you were fantasizing about?" Elsa asked with her usual bluntness. She was still grinning. "No, I'm not psychic. It felt like a good one, though."

If his cheeks could spontaneously combust, he would be a human torch right now. This was embarrassing on a level he'd never before experienced. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she looked so damn pleased he couldn't get the words out.

She'd been hungry, he told himself. It was just like needing food or blood. Still, he needed to check. "If I ..." He cleared his throat. "If I do that, I don't want to sexually harass you. Since you can sense it."

It wasn't a question, but she understood. "I do not feel harassed," she told him. She'd fingered the length of her hair and was toying with it, and he tried to block out memories of how her hair-and the grip he could take it in-had featured in his shower fantasies. "What you do is your business, Jack. And if it makes you uncomfortable and you want me to leave the house when you do that, I will."

"How would you feed, then?" he dared to ask.

She shrugged one shoulder, looking effortlessly French in a way he'd only seen in movies. "I'll find a way."

Someone as savvy as Elsa-and as beautiful-could find many ways to feed in Dreamney Falls. A tight, unpleasant feeling squeezed Jack's throat. "I'm not uncomfortable," he lied. "And I'm your host. Feeding you is my responsibility."

Her dark lashes brushed the delicate skin above her cheekbones. "As you-and I-wish, then."

Her wicked smile was doing things to him and Jack only had so much bandwidth for processing simultaneously sexy, confusing, and mortifying things, so he nodded. "Cool," he said, inwardly cringing. "Cool cool cool."

Then he hurried to his bedroom, wondering once again what the hell he had gotten himself into.

--------------------

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Chapter Text

JACK'S LIST OF THINGS TO AVOID IF AT ALL POSSIBLE FEATURED ONE ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE-TO-AVOID THING.

Every twenty-nine days the moon completed its cycle, having marched through the eight phases of new, waxing crescent, first quarter, waxing gibbous, full, waning gibbous, third quarter, and waning crescent.

He'd learned that sequence in werewolf day care, where it was given the same import as learning shapes or letters or how not to blunder into traffic.

To be fair, it did control the werewolf existence. And how ridiculous was it that a celestial object 238,900 miles from Earth could wield that kind of influence on an entire species? But just as its gravitation pulled the tides, something in that white glow pulled a beast from inside him. It was the one night he truly lost control-not just in the panicked way of his brain trying to fight itself, but real, physical control.

It terrified him.

He stood at the window, hands braced on either side of the frame and fingers tapping agitatedly as he glowered at the rosy sunset. He should be working late at the Emporium, but since he didn't want to transform into an animal with fangs and impulse control issues in a room full of fragile plants and terra-cotta pots, he'd come home to prepare. Once moonrise was thirty minutes away, he'd get in his car and head into the thick forest north of town. It was emptier than the woods on the hills rising to the east of Dreamney Falls, which housed the area's famous hot springs and were frequented by visitors at all hours.

If Jack was going to end up rolling around in mud, persecuting the local wildlife, and shamelessly scratching his balls, he would rather do so far away from witnesses.

"Will you shift soon?" Elsa asked from behind him.

He cringed. It had been less than twenty-four hours since the Masturbation Incident, and going on past experience, it would take at least twenty-four years to get over an embarrassment of that magnitude. The previous night he'd tossed and turned, having added "accidental public masturbation" to the litany of sins that ran through his head at 2 a.m.

"Unfortunately," he muttered. Lycaon, why was he like this?

Other werewolves loved the moonshift, which made this one more thing that was wrong with Jack.

He looked over his shoulder in time to see Elsa plop onto the couch and cross her legs beneath her. Her notebook was open on the coffee table next to her tablet, the pages filled with bold scribbles about her upcoming performance. Having already overstepped massively, Jack had diligently avoided looking at her brainstorming notes.

"How's prep for the show going?" he asked. "Do you need anything?"

"A cloak and something colorful to wear underneath it," she said.

Right. Performers generally needed costumes. "Sorry, I should have thought about that." He held out his hand. "May I have your tablet for a moment? I can log you in to my account so you can buy whatever you need online."

She looked intrigued. "Anything I need?"

He hesitated. "Anything you need under a budget of, say ...one hundred dollars?"

She laughed outright at that. "Please, Jack. How much could a cloak cost, five dollars?" She handed the tablet over. "I can't imagine going over that budget, but I promise I won't."

Clothing prices had increased since the 1960s, but Jack trusted her to keep her word. He logged into an all-purpose online retailer and then walked her through how to search, put things in the cart, and check out.

A familiar tingle started beneath his skin-the itchy feel of his wolf-self rousing in anticipation of the full moon. Thirty minutes to go. He handed the tablet back, then hurried to the front door.

"I'm heading out," he said. "I can't operate a cell phone while in wolf form, so if there's an emergency, please call 911."

She nodded, already immersed in online shopping. "Good luck," she said distractedly.

Jack hurried to the car. He needed to get to his normal shifting place in time to strip naked, otherwise his clothes would be shredded. While he had an emergency backup shirt and pants in the back of the SUV, he'd rather not destroy these ones. Public nudity was on the list of things Jack would prefer not to engage in, but after a few mishaps as a teenager-werewolves started shifting during adolescence-he'd learned to get naked beforehand.

Traffic was heavier than usual, and his fingers drummed over the steering wheel while his left foot tapped a staccato beat. "Come on," he said, eyeing the clock. He had the exact time of moonrise memorized, but he also felt it coming in the tightening of his skin.

Shifting into a wolf inside his car would be unfortunate.

Thankfully, traffic eased, and soon he was speeding out of town on a narrow road that wound into the trees. Pines and western red cedars clustered close, and the air was crisp and fresh through the lowered window. September was a liminal month-hot on some days, with cool nights that would lengthen into a cold, dark winter.

At his usual pullout, Jack parked, then hiked into the woods.

He stripped next to a stream, folding his clothes and placing them on a rock. Then he closed his eyes and waited.

A cool, shivery sensation raced over his exposed skin. It was followed by heat and the sound of bones grinding as his body rearranged itself. Shifting didn't hurt, but it was strange and uncomfortable. There was an element of body horror to seeing his skin stretch over a new form before growing thick brown fur, so he kept his eyes squeezed shut. His face narrowed and elongated, nose becoming a snout and teeth sharpening. When he could no longer stand on two legs, he dropped to four paws.

Jack opened his eyes to a new world. Colors were no longer so vibrant, but he could detect the faintest quiver of leaves overhead.

The wind carried the scent of earth and running water, along with a whiff of fresh scat and broken stems where a prey animal had passed. His stomach rumbled. The evening's stir-fry hadn't filled the ache, and saliva pooled as he identified the scent of rabbit.

No, came the distant protest of his human self. Not the rabbits!

Jack whuffed and bounded into the underbrush, wolven instinct drowning out thought. His muscles bunched and lengthened in turn as he ran, and the moon brushed his fur with its silvery caress.

A mouse skittered over the root of a tree, and Jack's jaws closed on it before he processed the urge. It was a small mouthful, but the meat whetted his appetite. He crunched the tiny bones and spat out the tail, then kept running.

Alive. Hungry. Wild.

The rabbit posed no challenge. It was dead in an instant, neck snapped, and then Jack settled under the sheltering branches of a bush to consume his prey. Faint distress lay behind his delight at the taste, but it was impossible to focus on anything but the filling of his stomach.

A distant howl echoed over the hills-a werewolf calling for others to join the hunt. He cocked his head, listening, then returned his attention to the rabbit. He was a loner by instinct, and he had no desire to leave his territory.

Jack paused to scratch himself with his hind leg, then rubbed against a tree to mark it with his scent. This was his patch of land, no one else's, and every month he marked the perimeter to keep it safe. His land, his trees, his stream, his rabbits.

Jack ran for hours, pausing only to mark trees and howl at the fat white moon overhead. His muscles burned, and the air came crisp and sharp in his lungs. He met no other wolves, just one startled midnight hiker who shrieked at the sight of him. Jack bared his teeth and stared the man down, raising a leg and pissing on a stump right then and there to indicate his thoughts on having his territory breached. The man backed away sweating, then turned and ran.

Good.

Jack howled his triumph at having driven off the intruder, then padded to the nearby stream. He jumped in, sending water splashing, then rolled around, letting the current carry away the dirt from his coat and the blood from his muzzle. Then he stood with his paws on the rocky bottom and drank.

Belly full of meat and water, Jack flopped on the bank of the stream for a few minutes. The forest moved and chattered around him, ever alive. His head felt empty and full at once-thoughts came distant and more in images than words, but the impulse to movement pressed on the inside of his skull. Despite the tiredness of his limbs, he pushed back to his feet and loped off again.

Hours passed like this. So long as the moon was high in the sky, its energy lent him strength. But eventually it began its retreat, and Jack returned to where he had started, feeling tired and cold.

He curled up next to his clothes with his tail covering his nose, wishing someone was there to wrap him in a blanket instead.

When Jack woke, he was human-shaped, naked, and absolutely freezing. The sky overhead held the deep navy hue of the silent hour before dawn, and wind whipped the treetops. He staggered upright, cursing as he tugged his clothes back on with cold, clumsy fingers.

Rational thought returned in a rush, like the dam constraining it had crumbled, and he was flooded with the knowledge of what he'd done all night. One mouse and two rabbits had fallen to his fangs, and his mouth had a nasty coppery aftertaste. He groaned, covering his face as he remembered aggressively pissing in front of the stranger he'd startled. Christ, he hoped that wasn't one of his customers. Reason said even if he was, the man wouldn't recognize Jack's wolf form, but panic said every horrible thing was possible.

He stuffed his feet into shoes, then staggered toward the car. It took a few minutes with the engine on and heater blasting to warm him up after his nap on the cold ground. His eyes were bleary and his head throbbed, and Jack white-knuckled the wheel as he drove back into town.

Once home, he tiptoed toward the bathroom for a much-needed shower and toothbrushing. His sense of smell was good even in human form, though, and when Elsa's uniquely luscious scent wafted down the hallway, he stopped in his tracks.

Hot, lustful blood surged, stiffening his cock, and he had a brief vision of flinging Elsa over his shoulder and carrying her off to ravish her in the woods. Jack closed his eyes with his hand on the doorknob, struggling with the sudden impulse. It's the moon, he told himself. The moon makes you aggressive and out of control. It would take hours for the final effects of it to fade.

Lycaon, he wanted Elsa.

But Jack wanted all sorts of things he couldn't have: a calm mind, a billion dollars, an extra five or six hours in each day. A future that involved no more public urination or dismembered rabbits.

And Elsa deserved better than a self-loathing werewolf.

So he shook his head and headed into the bathroom, wishing shame washed away as easily as dirt.

🩸🩸🩸

JACK DID NOT SEEM HAPPY AFTER THE MOONSHIFT.

Elsa perched on the kitchen counter, shoving handfuls of cereal into her mouth. Jack had made a sour face when he'd entered the kitchen that morning, rubbing his stomach and saying he was regrettably full, and though he'd offered to make her breakfast, Elsa had declined. She liked the way he cooked eggs, but she disliked being seen as needy. Plus, he looked very glum.

She'd heard him return in the dark hours of the morning and had been curious enough to rouse from bed and crack open the bedroom door to peek at him. He'd been covered in dirt and leaves, his face lined with exhaustion. He'd stopped outside the bathroom, hand on the knob, and she'd wondered if he'd sensed her presence. His energy had flooded with enough lust to make her catch her breath, but he'd just shaken his head and entered the bathroom, so Elsa had forced herself to return to bed.

She'd sensed the carnal beast beneath his skin on that first day, when she'd tasted his blood. There was a wildness to him that he took great pains to conceal. But why? And why was he so unhappy this morning? The werewolves she'd met over the centuries loved shifting. It was the highlight of the month, a chance to be utterly free.

"Hey," he said, poking his head around the doorframe. "I'm heading to work. Do you need anything?"

His eyes were reddened, with shadows beneath them. She cocked her head. "You don't look fit for work."

He squinted at her. "Gee, thanks." His gaze shifted to the box of cereal. "You know, people normally pour cereal into a bowl and eat it with a spoon."

Elsa hopped off the counter, casting the box aside. "Did you not enjoy the moonshift?"

He made a face. "I don't like shifting."

Curious, she stepped closer, eyeing him from head to toe. He had the typical burly werewolf build, complete with a thick head of hair reminiscent of a pelt, but maybe he wasn't a full-blood werewolf. "Are you a hybrid?" she asked.

"What?"

"I thought werewolves liked shifting. But if you aren't a full-blood werewolf, maybe you take after another species." Like how she took after her vampire sire more than her succubus mother, even though she had traits of both.

His shoulders slumped, and he looked more tired than before.

Elsa felt a twinge of regret at having asked so bluntly. "No," he said quietly, "I'm not a hybrid. I just don't like it. It wastes so much time, and.." He bit his lip, hesitating.

"And?" she prompted.

"I already feel out of control," he said, tapping his temple with a forefinger. "On a bad day I can spiral and it's like I have no control over my thoughts or emotions. Shifting is like that. All of a sudden I'm in a new form, feeling all these powerful instincts, and I have no say in it."

Surprisingly, that made perfect sense to Elsa. "You don't get a choice whether or not you shift," she said. "It just happens to you." Like being ordered around just happened to Elsa, and she had no say in the matter.

Maybe they had more in common than she'd realized.

Jack nodded. "It's also so undignified. There's all that scratching and howling and ..... well, urges."

The pregnant pause and subsequent embarrassed look intrigued her. "What sort of urges?"

He looked even more embarrassed as he scratched the back of his neck. "Well, ah, wolves are very primal. So anything in that category. Eating, fighting..... other stuff."

Her succubus instincts honed in on that subtext. "Do you fuck as a wolf?"

The blunt question had him hiding his face in his hands. "No!

Some people do, but I don't like the idea of it. But some of that animalistic energy lingers after I shift back, and it translates into ... and it's embarrassing, you know? I have to take a cold shower and meditate to get back to normal. If I can ever be called normal." Aha. That explained the sudden surge of lust when he'd arrived home, if not what had sparked it. His bestial instincts lingered past the physical transformation.

Elsa wasn't ashamed of sexual desires. People throughout history had been driven to find food, water, and shelter, and many of them pursued sex just as instinctively. Jack was no different.

"You don't need to be ashamed of having carnal urges," she said.

He winced. "Can we please stop talking about my carnal urges?" It wasn't an order, but Elsa respected the boundary. "Of course."

"Thank you." There was a pause while he chewed his lip, and then he blurted, "And then there are the animals."

"The animals?" she asked, not following.

"I ate two rabbits and a mouse this time," he said glumly. "Last month it was only one rabbit."

"You don't like hunting?"

He rocked on his heels, back and forth and back and forth. "No, I do not. I thought I ate enough stir-fry beforehand to fill me up, but then a rabbit hopped in my path and.." His gesture implied helplessness.

Disliking hunting was an unusual werewolf trait, but it sounded like a classic considerate Jackson Overland trait. This glimpse beneath his surface was intriguing. "Is there anything you do like about shifting?"

He ran a hand over his face. "What's with the interrogation?" His tone was rarely so snappish. Elsa didn't want to push too far, but she was hungry to know more about the wolf she was trapped with. "I've only met a few werewolves before. I'm curious." He exhaled gustily. "Of course you are. I'm sorry, I'm in a bad mood this morning."

"Bad moods are normal," she said. "I have them all the time."

"Yeah, well, you definitely have more reason for them than I do." His mouth tipped up slightly. "Being able to see, smell, and hear better is interesting, and I do like running around and exploring. There's something freeing about it, and it's nice to take a break from my thoughts. But it's also like being a totally different person. I couldn't balance a checkbook as a wolf if I tried."

Elsa had encountered checkbooks in 1969. An object that small ought to be easily balanced on a snout or paw, but perhaps he was uncoordinated in wolf form. She wouldn't insult him by suggesting so, though. "So you like being free and active," she said,"but you don't like killing the things you eat or temporarily being worse at business. That makes sense."

"Does it, though?"

She sensed Jack's veins dilating as he blushed. He was embarrassed when he had no need to be. "I don't like draining people to death either," she said, offering a slice of kinship to him.

His eyes widened and he took a half step back. "You drink people to death?"

"Only when the witch orders me to," she hurried to clarify, disliking how he was looking at her. "Or ordered, rather." Past tense. It was still strange to think she was free of that foul woman.

"Normally feeding is a consensual arrangement both parties are happy with, and no one dies."

"Huh." He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then closed it again and looked at his watch. "Shoot. I need to get going. Do you need anything before I leave? The Annex opening is Friday night." As if she could forget. There was nothing left to shop for-her costume had been ordered with overnight shipping and would arrive later that day-but she could use more time in the space.

"Can you take me with you? I've been corresponding via internet with the theatre students, but I would like to meet them and investigate the stage and lighting in person." Jack had put her in touch with two high school thespians who were eager to gain technical experience, and they'd been writing back and forth about Elsa's music choice, the props she needed, and how the scene would be lit. Everything was arranged, but she would feel better if there was a chance to speak with the students in person beforehand.

Jack slapped a hand to his forehead. "Of course. I'm so sorry, I should have thought of that earlier." He dug his phone out of his pocket and started typing. "Penelope and Melody have theatre for fourth period, so I'm asking the teacher if they can come by to help out."

Elsa nodded. "Thank you."

"Thank you," he said fervently. "You're really saving me here."

Then he gave her a soft, crooked smile that made Elsa's heart flutter in appreciation. Now that she no longer despised him-and since he'd fed her so well with his orgasm in the shower-she could appreciate how handsome he was without blaming it on hunger.

"And thanks for listening. Most people don't understand how I feel about shifting." He shook his head. "Actually, I haven't even talked to anyone about it in years."

That meant he trusted her with both his secret and his embarrassment. Elsa's heart did another giddy little dance. Feeling daring, she brushed his fingers with her own. "I am grateful you shared with me."

A spark seemed to jump between them at the touch. Jack's pupils dilated, and Elsa caught her breath. They stood close to-gether, fingers barely grazing as silence stretched between them.

Elsa inhaled his scent, gaze tracing from the warm brown of his irises over the bold line of his nose and down to his mouth. His lips were full and pink. She wondered how he used them in the bedroom-if they were always gentle, or if he let some of the beast out in private. She wondered if his beard would feel soft or coarse against her inner thighs.

She wondered what it would be like to take blood from the throbbing pulse at the side of his throat and what his moan of pleasure would feel like against her tongue.

She listed forward... just as Jack cleared his throat and stepped back. "Let's get going," he said, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes danced away from hers. "We've only got a few days left to prepare for your theatrical debut."

Elsa followed him to the car, this time wondering at the depth of disappointment she'd felt when he pulled away.

🩸🩸🩸

JACK'S PLANT EMPORIUM WAS PACKED FOR THE OPENING EVENT ON FRIDAY NIGHT.

Between the people browsing the plant selections and those gathering next door at the Annex to sample coffee, tea, wine, beer, and a range of pastries and sandwiches, they were nearing full occupancy.

A great problem to have, but Jack was about to sweat through his dress shirt, and his body was torn between extremes. His pulse raced and nausea gripped his stomach, but the thrill of seeing people turn out filled his chest with sparking fireworks of excitement. He manned the plant counter himself for the first hour before turning it over to Merida so he could circulate among the guests.

"Heck of a place you've got here," his cousin Avram said, slapping his back. The tall, good-natured werewolf lived in nearby Fable Farms, and since the two of them were the same age, they'd grown up together. Avram's thick brown hair matched Jack's and they both had the Overland jawline, Avram's sparkling hazel eyes and easy smile were all definitly Overland. The odd fairly unique nose shaped Avram has was all Frost.

"Thank you," Jack said. "It's been a lot of work. It's hard to believe it's actually happening."

He looked at the venue with pride. He'd knocked down a section of wall between the nursery and the adjoining building so people could circulate freely, and the windows and roof beams were festooned with white holiday lights. The overall aesthetic was warm, homey, and handmade, with a rustic bartop and furniture commissioned from the same carpenter who had constructed the stage. Local artisans had provided woven rugs, pillows for cozy seating nooks, and art to adorn the walls, and he'd built display cases for them to sell their work. The local elementary schoolers had a corner display full of colorfully painted terra-cotta plant pots for purchase-maybe Jack's favorite detail, since a customer could walk out with a plant and a one-of-a-kind adorable piece of art, and a small child would end up thrilled as a result.

"The sandwiches are amazing," Avram said. "I had the turkey pesto and.." He kissed his fingers. Then he spotted someone over Jack's shoulder and waved. "Oi, Aster! Get over here and tell Jack how amazing this place is."

Aster was a good friend and another member of the Fable Farms pack. A transplant from Australia, the charming brown-haired werewolf also captained the Fable Farms Furies rugby team. With a roguish smile, a primal love of the moonshift, and an incredible amount of self-confidence, he was the quintessential werewolf Jack often wished he could be.

"This is ace," Aster said, joining the group. "Amazing job, mate. What do you think, Tooth?"

Speaking of an incredible amount of self-confidence, Aster had his arm around a short, beautiful blonde-his girlfriend of the past two years, Toothiana. Her black horns were smaller than her son Kristoff's and she might not look physically imposing, but if Jack had to bet on anyone in a fight, it would always be the Mother of All Demons.

Tonight the demoness's smile was eerily wide, and her pale purple eyes had an unfocused look that meant she was probably a million miles away, thinking of heavens only knew what. Her attire was, as usual, vaguely piratical, and she had an actual cutlass strapped to her hip. "I tried to eat a cactus," she announced.

Jack blinked, then looked over his shoulder at the plant nursery portion of the store. Merida was standing at the counter, shaking her head as she cradled a pot containing a small barrel cactus. Catching Jack's gaze, the naiad rolled her eyes, pointed at Toothiana, and mimed gnawing on the plant.

"The plants aren't for consumption," Jack said, returning his attention to Toothiana. "The only food is in this half of the shop." Toothiana pouted. "So I was informed. But what's the point of immortality if you only eat safe things?"

Jack wasn't sure how to respond to that. He had his own temperamental, odd, immortal-ish platinum blonde to deal with, but Elsa was of sound mind-though traumatized-and he was no longer afraid she'd eat his liver. Toothiana was a stick of dynamite no one knew was lit until it went off. "That's an interesting perspective," Jack said cautiously.

Aster leaned in and winked. "That's why she likes me so much.

Not a safe bone in my body." He flexed, showing off his tattoos.

Avram snorted. "You're about as dangerous as a pillow fight, Aster."

Toothiana looked Aster up and down disdainfully. "Silly puppy. Are you due for a flogging?"

"Absolutely," Aster said, clapping a hand to his chest dramatically. "I live to tremble at your feet, my beautiful demoness."

"Jesus Christ," Avram muttered.

Toothiana's lips curved in a smile reminiscent of Kristoff's when he was feeling wicked, and she slapped Aster's ass. "Good wolf." Then she grabbed him by the belt buckle and dragged him away.

Aster tipped back his head and howled to the ceiling, then shot Jack a thumbs-up. "Back soon! Maybe!"

Jack shook his head as the pair vanished out the door. "Aster's a braver man than me."

Avram snorted again. He and Aster were the kind of friends who constantly took the piss out of each other. "He's been waiting for a pretty woman to walk all over him for ages. I just don't understand what Toothiana gets out of it."

"A willing and eager victim?" Jack suggested.

"Good point."

Thoughts of Toothiana receded as a stream of new guests descended on Jack to deliver congratulations. Somewhere amid the chaos, Anna pressed a glass of champagne into his hand, and then Tinkerbell insisted on taking interminable pictures of him with guests, plants, the wine rack, and an espresso machine manned by Hiccup, whom he'd poached from Le Chapeau Magique to manage the Annex and the new employees on that side of the business. Jack smiled gamely, following Tinkerbell's instructions.

He'd long ago learned that avoiding photos with the pixie was an impossible task and that no matter how awkward he felt, she'd somehow manage to come up with a brilliant, flattering image he could use for his website or text to his parents to elicit a flurry of delighted emojis.

Speaking of his parents, they had arrived with the latest throng of well-wishers.

"Jackson, I am so proud of you," his mother said, wrapping him in the best hug known to mankind. Even though he'd topped her five foot ten inches by half a foot twenty years ago, her warm embrace still made him feel cozy.

Jack was grabbed in a bear hug from the side, this time by someone nearly his height. "Atta boy," his father said, clapping his back. "You've done wonders with the place."

Jack grinned. "Thank you both so much. I'm glad you could make it."

His parents were a coordinated pair as always, wearing matching shades of blue. They were both over seventy but had the energy of people much younger. Mary Overland wore her silver hair in a ponytail, and her skin was creased with lines from a lifetime of smiling. Michael Overland had sun-coarsened cheeks from working in his garden and dramatically peaked eyebrows. Both of them were sturdy in the way of people who lived life hands-on, as eager to build a house for the needy as they were to cook a feast for the neighbors.

Some of Jack's tension relaxed at seeing them. Come heck or high water, his mother had always said, we Overlands stick together.

His parents were no longer as robust as they'd been in his youth-age was wearing its unwelcome way over them, leaving arthritis and stooped frames in its wake-but they still loomed large over Jack's existence. Introverted Jack might be an exotic species amid the rambunctious Overland-Frost, but Michael and Mary Overland's exuberant brand of love had been the bedrock he'd built a life upon.

"When's the performance?" his mother asked, looking around.

"Will there be singing?"

"I'm not sure," Jack said. "I gave her total creative freedom."

The least he could do after ordering Elsa to perform.

There was a hurried consultation between his parents, which they whispered at a volume he could absolutely hear. He braced himself for the coming interrogation.

"This is your supposedly not-girlfriend, right?" his father asked, not at all casually.

"She is not my girlfriend, that's correct."

"Kind of interesting, don't you think?" Michael mused, stroking his white-bearded chin. "You said the stage would be put in next year, and then suddenly you started calling in favors and paying extra for the builders to set it up early."

Damn this town's love of gossip. "I changed my mind about timing."

His dad cackled. "Yeah, just in time to host a pretty blonde's debut show." He clicked his tongue. "Don't think you can trick me. I was young once; I know how this goes."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Stop badgering me about my nonexistent love life and go find some champagne." Spotting one of the staff passing by with a tray of chicken wings, he pointed. "Free appetizers!"

"Free, you say?" His father was already on the move.

Mary Overland wasn't so easily distracted, though. She slapped Jack's arm lightly and gave him a reproving look. "You know your father can't resist free food."

"Exactly." It was Jack's trump card because it always worked.

She sighed. "We just want to see you happy."

"And I am happy," he said. At this moment, anyway. "So go eat and give me another hug later."

His mother popped up on her toes to kiss his cheek, then straightened his tie before joining her spouse.

Jack looked around, wondering if he could slip away for a breather. He was proud and excited to share the results of his hard work at long last, but this was also ... a lot.

Kristoff approached, holding out a small box. "Congratulations," he said.

Jack took it hesitantly, unsure what the half demon could possibly have brought him. Jack had gotten off to a rocky start with Eugene and demons in general, and though Kristoff was fun to hang out with, the two men were completely opposite in personality and taste.

Inside the box were silver cufflinks-a pair of beautiful, undoubtedly expensive full moons. Jack's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to smile and be appropriately grateful for a kind, thoughtful gesture. Kristoff couldn't know Jack didn't particularly love the full moon, since Jack was too embarrassed to tell people, and he probably thought every man had a suit in his closet just begging for fancy cufflinks. "These are incredible," Jack said, giving the demon a brief hug. "Thank you so much."

Kristoff nodded and tapped his skull-topped cane against his boot. If Anna was to be believed, it contained a sword. The apple didn't fall far from the tree when it came to Toothiana's offspring

"You're doing a good thing for this town," Kristoff said, brown eyes sweeping over the room. "People need more places to gather and feel welcome."

It was a surprising sentiment from the witty, sarcastic demon, who wielded words like both weapon and armor. But he'd softened considerably since meeting Anna and giving up his power-hungry ambitions as a member of the demonic high council, and he seemed earnest now.

"Thank you," Jack said. "I agree."

Then Kristoff popped on his charming grin and winked, raising his champagne. "And they always need more places to drink." Jack laughed and clinked his glass against Kristoff's.

"Cheers to that."

The music faded, and Emma stepped onto the stage, tapping the microphone. "Is this thing on?"

The microphone was, indeed, on. The speaker emitted a shrill squeal, and everyone winced.

Jack looked toward the soundboard, where one of the high school thespians was turning dials frantically. She gave a thumbs-up.

"Check check," Emma said. This time her voice was an appropriate volume, and the assembly cheered. "Great," Emma said, grinning. "And thank you, sound wizard. I have no idea what was wrong and I have no idea how you fixed it, but you are the hero of the evening." She clapped in the direction of the soundboard, and others followed suit until the girl was blushing.

Emma looked great. Her brown hair was put up in some kind of fancy knot that was presumably Tinkerbell's work, and she wore a pin-striped gray pantsuit with sparkles on the stripes, as well as Kristoff-mandated pink Converse. She looked professional with a fun, approachable edge.

"Isn't this space amazing?" Emma gestured around the room.

"I'm so proud of my brother, Jackson Overland, for not only killing it in his plant nursery business but expanding it to give people room to eat, drink, mingle, and watch live theatre. It's too easy to end up glued to our phones or laptops, working too hard and interacting with our loved ones from a distance." The room was silent, the audience hanging on every word. "Dreamney Falls is a rich, diverse community," Emma continued, "and spaces like Jack's Plant Emporium remind us of that. None of us are alone, and there are places where we are always welcome. So let's give it up for Jack!"

The guests applauded, turning appreciative smiles his way.

Jack bowed his head, feeling like his chest might burst from pride, assuming his flaming cheeks didn't kill him first. Emma had tried to convince him to make a speech, but he'd refused, instead letting Merida give a brief welcome earlier when he'd cut the ribbon between the Emporium and the Annex.

The curtain behind Emma shifted, drawing Jack's eye. The backstage space was laughably small-maybe two feet deep and spanning the width of the stage, with an access point through a former janitor's closet-so that must be Elsa, preparing for her show.

The attention thankfully moved away from Jack as Emma launched into a rousing speech about community, so he focused on the black velvet curtain. There was a slight gap on the right-left? He always forgot how stage directions worked-and he smiled when he saw a slice of pale face appear and vanish just as quickly.

Was Elsa nervous the way he'd been nervous about the Annex opening? He suspected the answer was yes, given how jumpy and brooding she'd acted all day, but he hadn't been about to ask or suggest such a thing. Funny, how quickly he'd come to understand her pride and some of her quirks, but becoming inadvertent roommates had provided them with a rapid education. Besides, Elsa was not a particularly subtle person.

"And that's why I'm running for mayor!"

Jack snapped back to attention when the room burst into a cacophony of cheers and applause. Emma was beaming under the spotlight. It was a very hastily assembled spotlight, manned by another high schooler from the Thespian Club, but the teen managed it with very few wobbles. Jack decided on the spot to offer the stage free to the high school as a place for students to gain experience and get comfortable with an audience.

The stage might not have become a staple of the Emporium and the Annex so quickly if it weren't for Elsa and Emma, but even with the added stress it had caused, Jack didn't mind. In fact, he was glad. He might never set foot on the boards, but he respected people who did, and he vowed that Jack's Plant Emporium would always be a place for fledgling creators-whether elementary school artists, high school theatre students, or aspiring comedians-to spread their wings safely.

As Emma detailed her goals for public office and the future of Dreamney Falls, Jack watched the crowd, assessing their reactions.

It was clear the room was in her thrall.

Jack had to admit it was impressive. He was used to thinking of Emma as his wild, social butterfly younger sister, but she presented herself and her campaign with a mix of wit and earnestness that would have had him sold even if he wasn't related to her. He would never in a million years be able to talk in front of people like that.

It wasn't that Jack hadn't known Emma was smart, funny, insightful, and on a mission to better their community, or that he in any way believed her incapable of changing the world. He loved her unconditionally, and no matter how much he razzed her (and she razzed him back, far more viciously and articulately), he had faith she would do whatever she set her mind to and the world would be better for it.

But this was still his little sister commanding the room. The girl who had insisted on wearing her favorite sequined shirt to elementary school for an entire month, claiming she was a world-famous pop star. The girl who, as a teenager, had driven her car into a fire hydrant because she'd been texting. The one who had needed to be picked up from a rave in college by their parents.

Watching Emma speak with articulate, inspiring passion, Jack felt a lump in his throat.

His little sister had grown up. And yes, he'd already known that, but still. This was something special.

When she finished her speech with "Let's get out the vote!" Jack hollered and clapped louder than anyone. And cried, too, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"If you aren't registered to vote yet, go see the volunteers in the back," Emma said. "They'll be happy to help out. And if you feel like volunteering your time or skills for the campaign, Merida at the front desk has all the info." She grinned and swept out a hand.

"Now, we have a very exciting performance to christen the stage of Jack's Plant Emporium. Please welcome the world debut of actress Elsa Arendelle-Devereux!"

Cheers broke out, then faded with the lights as people hurried to claim available seats. The twinkle lights still shone on the outer windows, but the stage was a murky gray expanse. The curtain moved, and a female silhouette took center stage.

Jack clenched his fists, instinctively flexing his toes inside his dress shoes. This was the performance that would set the tone for the rest of the Emporium's performances. It would also give credence to Emma's campaign.

And yet the question currently top of his mind was ...

Was Elsa scared?

She had never performed before, though she'd told him she liked the idea. She also wasn't used to this time and place, and it didn't take a therapist to figure out she was dealing with PTSD on top of that. Though Elsa should probably see a therapist. Jack should, too. It had been a few years-he'd once gone regularly, hoping to corral his buzzing thoughts, but the business had become too demanding.

"You've got this," he said under his breath, gaze pinned on the shadowy figure onstage.

The stage lights came up.

Elsa stood at the microphone with a bucket by her side.

She wore a voluminous cloak, and the effect was eerie. Black cloak, porcelain-pale skin, shimmering blonde hair that had been combed in some sort of way to make it look tangled.

"In the beginning," Elsa said, raising a fist, "we were dust. Stardust, fallen to earth to mix with the baser elements and create life." She tipped her hand over and opened it, letting a fine spray of sand form a small pyramid on the stage. "When we die, we become dust, too."

Jack nodded. He'd heard that metaphor before, but it was a good poetic image and a fine start. Optimistic about the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. Thematically appropriate for electing a new mayor.

Elsa flung the rest of the sand away violently, and an audience member in the first row flailed at their face and started coughing. "Before we become dust, though," Elsa announced,"our corpses bloat and rot. We do not dissolve peacefully. Just as we crawled out of a primordial soup once, when our lives are ended, we ooze."

Jack nearly choked on his tongue. What in the name of-He looked around, terrified people were about to start fleeing for the exits.

Though a few audience members shifted and muttered to one another, they remained in their seats. For now, at least.

"When I was twenty one years of age many centuries ago," Elsa said quietly into the microphone, "a witch found me and chained my life to a crystal. My hands became hers. My words became hers. My free will became hers."

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, Jack told himself. There was something compelling about her intense, serious expression, something that demanded he lean forward and give her his full attention. The intro had been weird, but maybe that had been a fluke and this would be the bulk of the piece: a monologue about what Elsa had endured. It would make him sad and upset about her past and guilty about his ownership of the crystal, but he could handle it, and maybe other people would be moved by her story, too.

"She used my hands for killing her enemies, of course," Elsa said. "Have you ever watched the light leave a person's eyes?" She produced a musical triangle from a pocket in the cloak and struck it. Bing. "If you had, you would know it isn't a light at all. It's something that can only be defined by its absence."

Bing.

Bing.

Bing.

Jack scratched his neck and shifted from foot to foot. His pulse was speeding in a familiar and unpleasant way, and sweat beaded at his hairline. This hadn't gone completely off the rails yet, but it was getting close.

Elsa's face was solemn as she bent to stick her hand in the bucket. It came up coated in red liquid, which she dragged over her face, leaving finger streaks like something from a haunted house.

"Oh, no," Jack whispered.

"The true virtue of a killer," Elsa said into the microphone, eyes gone wide, "is in what they're willing to watch. Our mortal shells are mere sacks of meat, ripe for the slaughter, and there is nothing beautiful in death. During my years of servitude my hands were not my own, but my eyes were, and I can tell you now..." She paused dramatically before a vicious whisper left her red lips. "I watched."

Jack's stomach dropped-or rather, continued the trajectory it had begun when she'd first thrown sand in some poor customer's face. He could sense Emma's eyes burning into him from where she stood at the back of the crowd. When his sister started heading his way, he knew he was in deep trouble.

Elsa suddenly beamed. "And now," she said, throwing off the cloak to reveal a rainbow-sequined jumpsuit, "an interpretive dance!"

Music piped in from the speakers, loud and sudden enough to make him jump. Was that... "Barbie Girl" by Aqua?

Yes. Yes, it was, and Elsa was now capering around the stage, smearing bloody handprints over her jumpsuit. She'd produced a knife from somewhere and was holding it clenched between her teeth as she flailed and spun. The audience stared silently, faces frozen in a range of expressions, shock and horror chief among them, though an ancient woman in the front row was beaming and bopping her head in time with the beat.

"Hey, Jack," Emma said way too casually when she reached his side. "Quick question: What the fuck is this?"

Onstage, Elsa began acting out the dramatic stabbing of invisible enemies, periodically pausing to strike the triangle and make odd, warbling vocalizations. Jack felt faint. "I ... have no idea."

It's experimental, visceral, and dynamic, Elsa had told him when he'd asked about her planned show. Think Joan Jonas meets Ana Mendieta with shades of Isadora Duncan and Kesha. Not knowing who those people were, he'd nodded and told her that sounded good. She'd clearly done the research, after all.

He really should have looked up those names.

"This is .." Emma flinched as Elsa howled and poured the remaining liquid in the bucket over her head. "Jesus fuck."

That about summed it up. At least Jack's sensitive werewolf nose could tell the liquid wasn't real blood. He hoped it cleaned up easily.

The music abruptly stopped, and Elsa froze in position, staring at the audience. "If you were the one wielding the knife," she whispered, "would you watch?"

She moved so quickly his eyes couldn't track it, striking a new dramatic pose at each corner of the stage. And then, making Jack's heart lurch into his throat, she moved in a blur up the wall and appeared on the ceiling, clinging to it upside down like Spider-Man in a way he hadn't even known vampires were capable of. Her fake-blood-soaked hair dangled in clumped strands as she bared her teeth, hissed, and then let out a primal scream.

"Oh, God," Jack said, jerking backward and nearly knocking over a table.

The lights went out.

When they came back up, Elsa was standing back on the stage, grinning. She swept a bow. "Thank you for watching!" she said. "And don't forget to vote for Emma Overland in November."

🩸🩸🩸

JACK ... CLAPPED.

Other people were clapping, too, which was a good sign.

Maybe. They were also talking in hushed voices, though, and no one looked particularly happy except the grandmother-now spattered with fake blood-and the two high school theatre kids, who were hooting and high-fiving.

Elsa took another bow, dripping more fake blood onto the floor. She looked like Carrie at the prom, except with more sequins.

When she disappeared behind the curtain and the rest of the café lights came up, Jack sank into the nearest chair, hands pressed to his mouth as he tried not to hyperventilate.

He'd fucked up. Lycaon, how he'd fucked up. Emma had asked him to put together a performance that would get people excited about the arts and voting, and he hadn't asked a single question when Elsa had assured him she had come up with something "in the finest tradition of experimental theatre." He'd been too busy obsessing about the million other things he barely had a handle on.

Emma sat next to Jack. She stared blankly at the stage, which one of the Thespians was now mopping. It was almost enough for Jack to forgive the kids for helping Elsa pull off that horrifying display in the first place.

"That was.." Emma said, trailing off.

"Yeah," Jack replied.

"A lot."

"Yup."

A string quartet he'd hired to wrap up the event launched into a lively ditty. A few customers had already left, but as the sound of violins wound around the tables, the atmosphere relaxed.

He hoped. It was hard to tell when his pulse was pounding in his temples and he felt like beating his head against the nearest wall. He swallowed the urge to vomit.

Jack's parents chose that moment to appear in front of him.

They looked.... well, about how he imagined he looked. "Wow, that was sure something!" his mother enthused, pasting on a wide smile. "Such an original choice. Very daring."

"She's very pretty when she's not dripping with blood and shrieking," his father offered

Jack groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I ... don't know how to process this yet. That wasn't what I expected."

That earned him two more hugs and a peck on the cheek from his mother, and then his parents were thankfully out the door. His mother had always seemed nearly psychic about what her children needed, and in this case Jack needed space to have a meltdown.

"Jackson Overland, right?"

Jack flinched, dreading whatever was about to follow that in-quiry. Melting down would have to wait. "That's me," he said, standing and turning to face his judgment.

A short, rotund man with pointed ears, horns, and backward-jointed knees stood before him. A faun, hiding his furry haunches beneath a purple velvet suit.

The man held out a hand. "I'm Cornelius Crabapple, arts and entertainment journalist at the Dreamney Falls Gazette. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Jack gave a tentative handshake. Inside he was screaming, though. Of all the people who could have witnessed Elsa's performance, this had to be one of the worst. Just imagining the headline in the Dreamney Falls Gazette made him sick: "Vampire Succubus Unleashes Shrieking Reign of Terror on Horrified Patrons of Jack's Plant Emporium and It's All Jack's Fault." "Sorry," he said. "That show was."

"Brilliant!" Cornelius exclaimed, clapping his hands.

Jack blinked, taken aback. "It ... was?"

Cornelius nodded happily, making his silky ears bob. "Dreamney Falls used to welcome more edgy shows in the seventies, but for decades now we've been subjected to the same wholesome community theatre shows year after year." The faun winced. "I can't tell you how many times I've been forced to endure Hello, Dolly! at the theatre guild. This is a daring departure and, dare I say, bold enough to put Dreamney Falls on the national experimental theatre map."

Next to him, Emma looked as baffled as Jack felt. When he didn't reply, though, unable to summon words, she quickly took over. Her expression smoothed into a smile, and she shook Cornelius's hand.

"We're so glad you feel that way," she said warmly. "I believe strongly that there's a place for all art in Dreamney Falls, from family-friendly musicals to daring, experimental pieces that push the limits of what audiences are comfortable with."

Jack suppressed the urge to snort at that line of bullshit. She was definitely developing into a politician.

"Exactly," Cornelius said, snapping his fingers. "The feelings elicited in the viewer are as much a part of the art as what happens onstage. I know I'll be thinking about this show for a long time." He looked around the room. "Is the actress available? I'd love to get a few quotes from her for my review."

Jack was about to say, No, Elsa's long gone, please don't allow her to make this any weirder, but she took that moment to pop out from the old janitor's closet, face freshly scrubbed and fake-blood-soaked hair clipped up. She'd changed into normal clothing, and Jack wondered at the state of the sequined jumpsuit. Could it be dry-cleaned?

"Ms. Arendelle-Devereux," Cornelius called out, waving frantically as he hurried toward Elsa. "A moment of your time!"

As he engaged Elsa in conversation, Jack looked at Emma again. They stared at each other blankly for a long moment, then simultaneously burst into laughter.

"Oh my God," Emma wheezed, bending over at the waist. "Did that just happen?"

"Do you mean," Jack replied between great, shoulder-shaking laughs, "d-did the most horrifying thing I've ever seen just im-impress a theatre critic so much he says-he says-oh God-it's going to put us on the national experimental theatre map?"

He was losing it. Going through so many emotions in the course of an hour couldn't be healthy.

"Heavens," Emma said, fanning her red-tinged cheeks. "I knew theatre people were odd, but wow."

Other people were clustering around Elsa, peppering her with questions. When Jack looked around, he realized not that many customers had left after all. The majority were chatting or drinking or perusing the plants, and the bright sound of laughter rang over the gathering.

Hope swelled behind the last few wheezy chuckles. Maybe he hadn't messed up as badly as he'd thought. "Am I forgiven?" he asked Emma.

"That was the fucking weirdest thing I've ever seen," his sister said. "But you know what? I'm not mad at it." She grinned, then punched his shoulder. "You at least keep things interesting."

🩸🩸🩸

PERFORMING ONSTAGE WAS AMAZING.

Elsa beamed as she accepted a glass of champagne from one of her new fans.

"That was some crazy shit," the dryad said. "I think the old man in front of me nearly fainted." She looked to be in her early twenties, with bark-brown skin and hair. Elsa wouldn't have necessarily known she was a dryad if she hadn't popped out of the wood-paneled wall, nearly scaring Elsa into an inadvertent stabbing. Thankfully she'd restrained herself, since murdering one of her fans would have been unfortunate.

"Thank you," Elsa said, bowing her head. "I wasn't sure it would be experimental enough."

Her research had emphasized that the point of experimental theatre was to push the boundaries of what was comfortable and acceptable in public. To create a space so far from the ordinary, one could explore both the profane and the sacred, free of traditional limits. But since Elsa wasn't using real blood, actively harming herself or anyone else, or engaging in public acts of sex or defecation, she'd feared she hadn't brought enough of the profane into her performance.

"Oh, believe me, it's going to be the talk of the town." The dryad raised a hand. Elsa hesitantly raised her own, mirroring it as she'd seen Tarzan do in an animated movie earlier that week. The woman smacked their palms together, making Elsa jolt with surprise. "Please tell me you're performing again," the dryad said.

That was what the theatre critic, Cornelius Crabapple, had requested, too. "I don't know," Elsa said, looking toward Jack.

"That's up to the proprietor."

She hoped he'd let her perform again, though.

She'd been painfully aware of Jack's presence all night, watching him from behind the curtain. He was obviously not comfortable in large social settings, choosing to linger near the walls, but he'd been beaming with pride.

Most of the time, anyway. Immediately after her performance, he'd looked so distressed she'd had a terrible fear she had disappointed him.

Thankfully, he was now laughing with his sister and their friends, so apparently all was well.

"I want to bring my stepmom next time," the dryad said, drawing Elsa's attention again.

"Do you think she'll like it?" Elsa asked. She sipped the champagne, enjoying the play of bubbles over her tongue.

"Not in the least." The woman grinned. "But I'll have a hell of a good time."

Another well-wisher approached. Elsa wasn't practiced with casual conversation after so many years, but it was surprisingly easy to fall back into the rhythm of it. People congratulated her; she thanked them. Sometimes they had questions about the performance, the costume, or the fake blood recipe, which she'd been happy to share. The Dreamney Falls High School students Jack had connected her with for lighting and sound-Penelope and Melody-had been enormously helpful on all accounts. They'd created this batch of fake blood and taught her how to make her own from common household ingredients.

She glanced toward Jack again, nibbling her lower lip. What had he thought about the performance? Had it been interesting and significant enough to give a boost to Emma's campaign?

He met her eyes across the room, and Elsa's heart sped up.

She pressed her fingers to the throbbing pulse in her neck, wondering at the visceral response to nothing but a look. Then Jack started making his way toward her through the crowd, and her stomach dipped in a pleasant yet alarming way.

The werewolf looked especially handsome tonight in gray slacks and a forest-green dress shirt with a silver tie. His thick hair had been brushed and styled by Tinkerbell earlier, and it looked smooth and shiny under the light. Her fingertips itched as she wondered what the strands would feel like gripped in her fists. His cologne wafted toward her as he approached, and she inhaled deeply, seeking the scent of his skin and blood beneath.

Stars, he smelled edible. Her fangs lengthened at the temptation.

Jack waited for a gap between fans. "Hey," he said when he was finally able to step close.

"Hey," she replied, tipping her head back to look up at him. She suddenly felt too warm, and anxiety skittered up her spine to burrow into her brain. What if he'd hated the show? What if it hadn't been daring or original enough?

What if she didn't smell as good to him as he smelled to her?

He cleared his throat, then pulled his hand from behind his back to reveal a small pot filled with red-and-yellow pansies. "For you," he said.

Elsa took the pot. The petals trembled, and she realized she was shaking slightly. "Thank you, but why? You already gave me flowers once."

His mouth quirked up. "Flowers aren't a once-in-a-lifetime gift, Elsa. People give them to each other frequently to say thank you or sorry or congratulations or just because they're thinking about someone."

"Oh." Her face felt even more flushed. "But I don't have any for you."

"I wasn't the one performing," he said, shrugging. "Besides, men don't usually get flowers."

She frowned. "That doesn't seem fair. Why shouldn't men deserve flowers as well?" In fact, she felt bad for neglecting this apparent tradition. It was the opening night of his café-he deserved something pretty to congratulate him.

"I agree," he said. "Maybe that can be your next campaign after revitalizing the Dreamney Falls theatre scene. Equal access to floral arrangements." He had such a nice smile, the kind that crinkled the skin beside his eyes and creased his cheeks. His face was lived-in, which she liked. It made her want to know the story behind each small line. Made her want to deepen those lines, too, knowing she was the cause of his smiles.

She rubbed her chest over her pounding heart. Her mortal, succubus heart, which was beating for a new possibility-one she wasn't sure she could fully face yet.

"Was it truly okay?" Elsa asked quietly. "The performance?" It had been a long time since she'd craved someone's approval, but she craved his.

Jack bit his lip. He had normal canines, not sharp like hers, but his teeth were nice and mostly straight except for a few charmingly snaggled ones she liked the look of. "It was very original," he said.

Her shoulders relaxed. "Thank goodness. I was worried it wouldn't be groundbreaking enough."

At that, Jack chuckled. "Ah, no, it was plenty groundbreaking," he said. "Dreamney Falls is full of oddities, but I can safely say no one has done precisely that before."

"And you liked it?" she pressed. The audience clearly had-or at least those who hadn't seemed to enjoy it had been appropriately dazed and contemplative afterward-but his opinion meant the most.

Why that should be, she didn't care to analyze at the moment.

As a habit she tried not to ruminate on her emotions.

"It was amazing," Jack said. "Very weird and kind of scary, but that's what you were going for, right?"

Amazing, he'd said. Pride swelled in her breast. "I wanted to challenge the audience's perception of beauty, appearances, death, and truth," she explained, echoing her artist's statement. "Juxtaposing music and glitter with the bloody reality of killing or being killed reminds us that life is fleeting, and that there's something raw and ugly underneath even the prettiest of surfaces."

"Oh," Jack said, smile dimming. "You really think everything is ugly underneath?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't have to be in a bad way. Vampires think blood is beautiful, after all, even when it's pooled beneath a corpse."

Jack's eye twitched at that. He wasn't used to seeing things from the darker perspective she'd been raised with. The medieval era hadn't been a gentle one, and she'd been raised in a band of warriors before she'd had to put those lessons into practice as an ensorcelled assassin.

Elsa wanted him to understand, though, so she cast about for better words to explain why she'd chosen this message and why it wasn't as dismal as it sounded. "It's more that... Most people end up in the ground anyway. Pretending otherwise doesn't change that, and there's freedom in knowing that and fighting anyway. Choosing to face the truth beneath life, no matter how bloody or strange, is always better than fooling yourself into thinking the sparkles on the surface are what's real."

It was something she'd thought about often over the years, not only as someone who had been raised to face the dark and thrive in it, but as someone others viewed a certain way. Elsa was beautiful-there was no point denying that. She'd inherited her mother's looks and a bit of her succubus magnetism. Often, the best way to carry out the witch's orders had been to let Elsa's prey assume the pretty surface was the sum of her substance and that they had nothing to fear.

It had bothered her to act vapid and flirtatious. It had bothered her that when people who misjudged or harassed her died, she felt guilty that she hadn't shown them the truth from the start. Better to face death knowing it was coming than be surprised when something you thought was safe turned out not to be.

And if you were the one dealing the death, it was essential to face what you had done. She hadn't been able to defy the orders of the Witch in the Woods, but she had been able to control how she viewed her own actions. Lying to herself was even worse than lying to others.

That train of thought was enough to bring her mood down, as always, but this time Elsa didn't want to let the anger and sorrow in. She shook her head sharply, dispelling the memories and musings. Tonight was a celebration, and if the performance had pulled an uncomfortable emotion out of her, that was the nature of impactful theatre.

"Enough about the play," she said, waving away whatever question was hovering on Jack's lips. "People love the café. How do you think the opening went?"

Jack looked around at the happy guests, and pride washed over his features. "I almost can't believe it's real and that so many people showed up."

"They like this place," Elsa said. "And they like you."

Jack shifted, looking down at his toes. "I don't know about that," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "They like free food and booze."

Did he truly not see how people looked at him? They watched him with affection and respect, and he'd barely had a moment alone all night. "They do like you," Elsa said firmly. "You are not allowed to be self-deprecating."

His head popped back up, and his eyebrows rose. "I'm not?"

"No," she said, crossing her arms. "Tonight is a celebration, and I insist you accept everyone's praise and appreciate your own hard work making this happen."

Jack chuckled, biting his lip for another of those rueful, thoughtlessly charming smiles. "Is it the vampire part or the succubus part that likes giving orders?"

"It's the Elsa part," she replied. Then she poked him in the arm. "Now go mingle and let people praise you."

He hesitated, eyes darting over the crowd. "Will you go with me? Social events aren't really my thing."

He wanted her to be his support? That was... nice. She hadn't had anyone rely on her on the field of battle in a long time. Perhaps this wasn't a traditional battlefield, but nothing about the situation she'd landed herself in was traditional.

"Yes," she said. "I will make sure no one accosts you or otherwise jeopardizes your person."

He chuckled and shook his head, then extended his elbow.

"Then let's go do that horrible activity known as socializing."

Elsa looped her hand through his arm, feeling warm and flustered and as if, for the first time in a very long time, something good might be beginning.

🩸🩸🩸

WHEN JACK OPENED HIS EYES, THERE WAS SOMETHING ON HIS NIGHTSTAND.

He blinked away sleep, trying to orient himself. It was the morning after the Annex opening, and by the sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains, he'd slept later than usual. The light caught the petals of a handful of black-eyed Susans near his head, their roots encrusted in dirt.

He sat up, forehead furrowed. There was only one person who could be responsible, but why had Elsa ripped them out of the ground to leave next to his bed? And where had they come from?

There was a piece of paper next to the yellow blooms with one word written on it: CONGRATULATIONS.

"Oh," he said softly, rubbing his chest where a sweet ache had started behind his breastbone.

Elsa had given him flowers.

Sure, she had done it by invading someone's garden, then sneaking into his room in the dead of night-which was a bit unsettling considering her long career as an assassin-and crumbs of dirt were now spread over his nightstand and the surrounding floor, but it was the thought that counted.

Why shouldn't men deserve flowers as well?

She'd been indignant about the injustice, but he'd shrugged it off at the time. He ought to have known she wouldn't leave it at that. Elsa was a vampire succubus of action, for better or worse. She had discovered a wrong that needed righting, and so she had done it as quickly and aggressively as she did everything else.

He was beginning to suspect that beneath her prickly exterior,

Elsa was rather... sweet.

Jack picked up the flowers and cradled them close, not caring that he was getting his T-shirt dirty. He inhaled, taking in the fresh, sweet, earthy smell. His eyes grew blurry.

"Ridiculous," he whispered, rubbing away the tears that were tempted to fall. They were just flowers, nothing to cry over.

But they were his flowers.

He remembered how Elsa had looked when he'd given her flowers as an apology gift. Baffled at first, then surprised, and then she'd clutched the vase like a dragon hoarding treasure, hesitant to put them down even to eat.

He understood how that felt now.

Jack slid his feet into slippers and padded into the living room, where Elsa was glued to the television, mouth agape. "Good morning," he said. "What are you watching?"

"An interview show full of horrible people," Elsa replied.

A mug of blood sat before her, steam wafting upward. "Can you believe this man cheated on his wife with the nanny while she was cheating on him with the gardener and none of their combined thirteen children are his?"

Jack took one look at what was on TV and hurried over to block her view. "Oh, no, no, no. This is not good content to represent modern times." He considered. "At least, I hope not. But these shows are staged, anyway."

"It's fake?" Elsa frowned. "They shouldn't pretend it's real, then."

"Wait until you discover The Bachelor." It was Emma's guilty pleasure, which Jack had been forced to watch with her the season a werewolf had been looking for love. She'd tried to convince him to apply, but that had been a hard no. Dating one person was daunting enough-dating multiple people on camera would be a night-mare. The only possible redeeming feature was that it would all be scripted-no matter what Emma thought, he could not be convinced otherwise-which meant he wouldn't have to come up with witty conversation or smooth compliments on his own.

Elsa turned the TV off, then turned to face him. "You found your flowers." She looked expectant, if a bit wary. Worried about what he would say?

Jck was still hugging the flowers to his chest. "I did," he said.

"They're wonderful. Thank you, Elsa."

She shrugged, but a smile tugged at her lips. "Someone has to rectify the world's injustices."

Her smile hit him in the chest. It was soft and genuine, and he took it as a sign that she was coming to trust him. It was a trust he would always do his best to honor.

Jack busied himself trimming the stalks and finding a vase from the hall closet. Then he set the flowers on a bookshelf by the front window where the light would catch their petals.

The sight of a plastic-wrapped bundle on the driveway sent him hurrying out. The Dreamney Falls Gazette had arrived, likely containing a review of Elsa's performance and hopefully some good words for both Emma and the Emporium's expansion.

He ripped the plastic off on his way back in, and his sensitive nose twitched at the crisp, appetizing smell of newsprint paper and ink.

"Surprise Mayoral Development!" was the headline on the front page. Beneath it was a photo of Emma onstage at the Emporium. Jack skimmed the article, which introduced the new challenger for Lady Tremaine's position and detailed a few campaign promises. The article didn't take sides-with Emma an unknown and Tremaine quite frankly terrifying, Jack hadn't expected it to-but it was a decent write-up Emma ought to be pleased with.

Columnist Artemis Crumpet was the reporter responsible for updates on local events and venues, and Jack fist pumped when he saw "Local Spotlight: Jack's Plant Emporium" featured in her weekly column.

Jack's Plant Emporium, long a destination for those green in thumb, has expanded both its venue and appeal. An adjoining café termed the Annex now offers coffee, tea, wine, beer, and scrumptious sandwich and pastry options. The opening night was raucous and delightful, and this reporter was surprised to see the christening of a small stage that will host theatrical performances. Far be it from me to review the play at hand-Cornelius Crabapple has the details of that-but it's safe to say that, having witnessed a performance I never could have anticipated and have no words to describe, I'm excited to see what wild happenings Emporium proprietor Jackson Overland plans to host next.

Jack grinned as he skimmed the rest of the piece, which touched on a few specifics of the new menu and praised the Emporium's Annex as a great addition to the local gastronomic scene.

"What are you reading?" Elsa asked.

Jack had been so absorbed he hadn't moved past the front door.

"The local newspaper," he said. "They're discussing the Annex and Emma's campaign."

Elsa was at his side instantly, but this time Jack wasn't as badly startled as usual. Her vampire hyperspeed was becoming routine. They still needed to address the ceiling-crawling she'd debuted during her performance, though, which he hoped she never did late at night when he wasn't expecting it. "Is the performance review in there?" she asked.

"I'm looking for it," he said, flipping pages.

Elsa was nearly standing on his toes, so impatiently was she scanning the paper. Her arm pressed against his, and he could smell the conditioner she'd used on her long plantium hair-his conditioner, he thought with an odd sort of pride-and the naturally sweet spice of her skin. His pulse kicked up a notch. Elsa slid a glance up at him, undoubtedly able to hear or sense his heart rate, but thankfully didn't say anything.

"Here we go."

"A Bold New Talent" read the headline.

Gentlefolks of Dreamney Falls, I bear exciting news. In an era when our entertainment options are often limited to reality television reruns or the same goddamn musical year after year-no offense to the talent of our Dreamney Falls Theatre Guild, which is of high caliber but should really consider saying "Goodbye" to Dolly-our city has been blessed with an art piece so unique, so daring, so visceral, we have not seen its like before. Experimental theatrical performer Elsa Arendelle-Devereux, a vampire succubus of mysterious origins, unleashed a fury of a performance onstage at Jack's Plant Emporium and Annex last night. It is impossible to fully explain the show's appeal in words-some things must be experienced to be understood.

"This is great," Jack said. The photo accompanying it had been taken in the interpretive dance section before she'd dumped the bucket over her head. Elsa had been captured midmovement: her fake-blood-streaked torso was twisted, her hands outspread and head flung back as she balanced on one leg. Starbursts of light shone from the sequins, and her hair trailed behind her like a fiery banner.

She looked ... joyous.

"He really did like it," Elsa said wonderingly. She tapped the page with one fingernail. "See here? He says I am 'beautiful and fearsome to behold' and 'a true original."

"You are," Jack said. "In every way."

Elsa looked up at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky.

Her blue eyes were bright with feeling, and a pretty pink flush crested her cheeks. "That's the nicest compliment I've ever gotten," she said in a hushed voice.

Jack felt dizzy looking at her. She'd already been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but happiness gave an ethereal glow to her features. His stomach dipped, and every inch of his skin seemed to light up at once. He was hyperaware of the soft press of her arm against his and the way one of her long, waving locks tickled his skin; he fancied he could even feel the shift of molecules in the air as she exhaled.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Jack had been single for a long time and was, historically, rather dense about women, but he could tell when he was about to be in a boatload of trouble. No one had caught his eye in years, yet here he was, tumbling headfirst into infatuation with the scariest, strangest, most captivating woman he'd ever met.

Jack swallowed hard. "I'll need to compliment you more often, then," he said in a rough voice.

Elsa's gaze flicked to his lips so quickly he might have imagined it. "Compliments aren't mandatory."

He huffed in amusement. Practical, blunt Elsa. "I know," he said. "Neither are flowers."

The silent message hung between them. They had both given each other flowers, not out of obligation, but because they'd wanted to. Because they cared.

Elsa's lips curved in a secret smile. "You know, I think-" Whatever she was thinking was lost, though, because his phone rang suddenly and shrilly. It was his house phone, which only his family had the number to-"A landline, Jack? In the era of Our Lady Taylor Swift?" Tinkerbell had mocked when she'd found out-which meant someone had tried to call his cell phone first and wanted to talk to him badly. "Sorry," Jack said, forehead furrowing as he hurried for the receiver. "No one calls that number unless it's important."

When he picked up, he'd barely started to say hello when Emma's voice burst over the line.

"Lady Tremaine wants to meet me. What do I do?" His sister thought this was important enough to interrupt his... flirting? Was that what he'd been doing?

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did you think you'd get through the whole campaign without seeing her? She probably wants to set up a debate."

"Not a debate," Emma said. "She wants to meet me alone in an abandoned warehouse on the south side of town. In an hour."

"Oh." That admittedly didn't sound great. "Maybe it's an informal meet and greet, since you're her only opponent."

"Yeah, and maybe she's going to murder me where there are no witnesses."

"She's not going to murder you."

"She might."

"Who is committing murder?" Elsa asked from right next to Jack, where she had arrived with her usual abruptness.

Jack put his hand over the receiver. "Lady Tremaine wants to meet Emma in an hour," he told Elsa. "She's nervous about it."

"Oh my God," Emma said so loudly anyone within five feet of the phone could have heard her. "Do you have a woman over at your house?" She sounded scandalized and delighted, and Jack groaned, knowing the news would spread to his parents and then the rest of the Overland-Frost clan with shocking rapidity.

"Give me that," Elsa said, snatching the phone from his grasp.

Jack blinked as Elsa launched into a series of terse questions. Where was the meeting? Was Emma worried for her safety?

Had Lady Tremaine murdered many people before? No?

Well, that was no guarantee she wouldn't start now.

"Tell her you'll be happy to meet but will be bringing security," Elsa ordered. She handed the phone off to Jack without waiting for a response. "I'll go sharpen my knives." She disappeared into the spare room.

Jack gaped after Elsauntil a burst of sound from the receiver reminded him Emma was still on the line.

"That was Elsa, wasn't it?" she asked. "Are you sleeping with her? Does she moonlight as a security officer?"

Jack winced. "I'm not sleeping with her, not that it's any of your business. And no, not to my knowledge, but she seems to have volunteered herself for the task."

Emma made a shrieking noise. "I knew you were into her."

"Shhhh." He had no idea how sharp vampire hearing was. "It's not like that."

It was totally like that. It was also almost certainly one-sided.

"Yeah, sure." He could almost hear her eye roll. "We'll talk more about this verrrry interesting development later. I need to pick an outfit suitable for meeting my new enemy. Are you part of my security detail, too?"

The alternative was letting both Emma and Elsa confront Lady Tremaine, the ice queen mayor of Dreamney Falls, alone, and neither werewolf curiosity nor Jack's natural protectiveness would allow that to happen. Tremaine wasn't a killer, but she wasn't exactly nice either. "Obviously," he said-even though the first and only time he'd interacted directly with Tremaine had resulted in him being harangued and insulted before Tremaine had magically blasted Eugene across the Emporium and destroyed one of Jack's plant displays. He swallowed hard. "Wear shoes you can run in, okay?"

"Sure thing," Emma said. "Lycaon, now I'm actually excited. See you and your totally-not-girlfriend Elsa soon! I'll text you the address."

She hung up, and Jack sagged against the wall, feeling like he'd been churned up and spit out by two tornadoes in a row. What vindictive deity had saddled him with so many domineering women?

His lips twitched. And why wasn't he remotely upset about it?

--------------------

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Chapter Text

JACK'S SISTER WOULD HAVE BEEN INSTANTLY RECOGNIZABLE EVEN IF ELSA HADN'T SEEN HER THE PREVIOUS EVENING.

She had the same thick, slightly unkempt hair as Jack, the same warm brown eyes, and a tall, sturdy build. She was also fidgety, though in a less nervous-seeming way than Jack: she was bouncing on her toes, hands in her coat pockets while she watched passersby with avid curiosity. She wore the same pink shoes as the previous night.

"Hey!" she said, hurrying over once she'd spotted them. They'd decided to meet at a café a few blocks from the warehouse. She hugged Jack, then extended her hand to Elsa. "Nice to officially meet you, Elsa. I'm Emma."

"I know," Elsa said as she shook Emma's hand. Did Emma think she was forgetful enough not to realize this was the same person she'd seen the previous night?

Emma took Elsa's bluntness in stride. "So you're my security detail, huh? Do you have a bulletproof vest under there?"

Elsa looked down at her attire-black jeans, sturdy boots, and a leather jacket. After Jack had taken her to buy clothes, he'd used a sewing machine to add hidden pockets at her request, so her knives were well concealed. "Why would I need a bulletproof vest?" she asked, having learned of the invention on the internet.

"I'm faster than some witch." Besides, guns were a clumsy, unsophisticated weapon, and no witch or warlock she knew would stoop to using one instead of spellcraft.

"Love the confidence." Emma cocked her head. "So, uh, do you have a background in stage combat or something? No offense, but you're not exactly what I envision when thinking about bodyguards. Not that that's a problem, of course. I'm grateful for the help."

Jack must not have shared Elsa's credentials with his sister. "Don't worry about my capabilities," she reassured her. "I have been killing for six centuries."

Jack winced for some reason.

"Oh." Emma blinked. "That's ... Wait, I thought that was just part of the performance." Elsa shook her head, and there was a long pause. "Six centuries, wow," Emma said. "Sorry, I guess I forgot vampires are immortal. The Middle Ages must have been something, huh?" She made a few stabbing motions. "All that feudalism and stuff."

"I'm only half vampire and therefore not immortal," Elsa said. "Technically."

That elicited an even longer pause. Emma looked at Jack and widened her eyes. Elsa didn't see what expression Jack made in response. She was too interested in watching Emma's face. She'd been all smiling professionalism last night, but in this more informal setting she was more expressive, thoughts and feelings flying across her features with little effort to disguise them.

What a safe time people lived in now. They could hug strangers without fear of gutting. They could say what they liked and show what they were feeling on their faces without shame or consequences. Elsa knew she was often an overly literal person, failing to understand subtext or the fast-paced jokes and references people made, but she could read the meaning in Emma's expression easily. Emma had never met someone like Elsa before and wasn't sure how to react.

Elsa didn't mind. She was a product of her time and lived experiences. And part of why she didn't mind was because, like Jack, Emma took her blunt proclamations in stride and accepted her anyway. The young werewolf had started grinning again, eyes sparkling as she focused on Elsa. "We need to go out for drinks sometime," she said. "I have a feeling you have some very interesting stories."

"Maybe next weekend?" Jack suggested. "This week's going to be busy with all the new business coming in to the Annex." Emma waved a hand. "Oh, you're not invited. This is a girls' night."

She winked at Jack. "Just me and your friend Elsa here."

Jack groaned. "Just what I need, the two of you collaborating." Elsa seized on the idea instantly. "Yes," she said. "We shall have a girls' night."

She hadn't socialized privately with someone who wasn't in possession of the crystal in ... how long? And yes, Jack was far preferable to the Witch in the Woods, but there was still an edge of discomfort to their arrangement. He could alter the course of her life with a few words.

Elsa was under no mystical obligation to Emma. They could just be people together.

"Great." Emma clapped her hands. "Let's work out the details later. Are we ready to face Lady Tremaine?"

"Tell me about her," Elsa said, switching into mission mode. "What potential dangers will we face?"

Emma grimaced. "Honestly, she's probably just going to be nasty and try to get me to drop out of the race. She's rich and snooty and friends with all the other rich and snooty people in town, and one of her ancestors cofounded Dreamney Falls in the 1800s, so her opinion holds extra weight in the community because of that. Oh, and she's a really good witch."

"She plays with her necklace before casting spells," Jack said.

Elsa nodded. She was familiar with the ways of witches.

Magic required a combination of spellwords and a physical ritual.

Some witches drew runes, some danced, and others manipulated thread or other objects-whatever was most natural for gathering their focus and channeling it into mystical intention. "Does she know you're bringing protection?"

"Yeah, I emailed her back and mentioned I'd be bringing a few members of my team," Emma said. "I didn't say bodyguards, though, because I don't want to start the meeting on a hostile note."

"Will Lady have protection with her?"

Emma looked abashed. "You know, I didn't think to ask." Elsa had gone into far worse situations blind. "No matter," she said. "I will be more than capable of handling any threat that arises."

Jack lightly nudged Elsa's hand, drawing her attention and sending a shiver down her spine. "Hey," he said softly, dipping his head toward hers as if sharing a secret. Historically, she wasn't a fan of people looming over her, but Jack's looming felt protective, not hostile. "Obviously, if anyone's in real danger, you can protect us, but this is probably just going to be an awkward conversation.

So maybe..." His mouth worked as he clearly considered his words. "Maybe don't ..."

When he didn't immediately elaborate, Elsa realized his concern. "Bite her throat out unprovoked?" she asked, raising her brows.

He coughed into his fist. "Well, yeah, but also..."

Also? Gods, what else did he think she might do? Yes, she was easily startled, but in six hundred years she hadn't once gutted or beheaded someone without good reason or mystical compulsion.

"No random acts of disembowelment?" Elsa joked.

"No unnecessary maiming in general," Emma broke in when Jack just stammered. "Or, um, other ... vampire stuff."

Christ's balls, they were serious.

Elsa took in their solemn faces, then burst into laughter.

Did they think she had the temperament and manners of a rabid dog? "I don't enjoy killing or maiming," she said, still chuckling. "I only kill when forced to or in cases of mortal peril. So unless Jack orders me to chop Lady's head off or she actively tries to hurt you, I will merely stand nearby, being quietly menacing." Another giggle slipped out. "No unnecessary maiming, really."

Emma and Jack weren't laughing with her, though. In fact, Emma was looking at her with consternation and Jack with some pensive expression she couldn't interpret. Elsa's laugh trailed off. Had she committed a faux pas? The stars knew she wasn't aligned with this time and its social norms, but surely their concern about her committing unprovoked crimes had been a bit funny.

"What do you mean, you kill when forced to?" Emma asked softly.

Oh.

Elsa turned on Jack. "You haven't told your family why I'm here?"

Jack looked guilty. "It's a whole thing," he told Emma in a low voice, as if Elsa weren't standing right there. "I'll explain later."

"Why later?" Elsa asked, humor slipping into irritation.

Would he rather Emma think Elsa an unpredictably violent murderer? If Emma truly thought she was a rabid dog with no mind of her own, girls' night was canceled. "Emma wants to learn about the binding spell, and the primary source is right here." She turned to face Jack's sister. "I have been mystically tied to a crystal for six hundred years, cursed to obey any order the owner issues." The words were well-worn by now, but they still tasted sharp on her tongue. "Jack bought the crystal, so if he ordered me to behead Lady Tremaine or jump off a cliff, I would be forced to do it."

Emma's jaw dropped. "Like Ella Enchanted?"

Elsa didn't know who that was. "Does this Ella also murder on command?" she asked. If so, she extended her sympathies.

Emma's head whipped around as she glared at Jack. "Did you seriously buy that crystal? What the fuck, Jack?" A gratifying response. Girls' night was back on.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Jack said quickly. "I was drunk and thought the eBay listing was a joke."

"It was posted on eBay?" Emma repeated. "Is that even legal?" She looked furious. "I need to look into this. As mayor, I will refuse to allow mystical entrapment in Dreamney Falls."

Girls' night was going to become a weekly event. "Thank you," Elsa said. "I'm not enthused by the situation, as you can imagine."

"I'm going to figure out how to release her from the spell," Jack told Emma. "It's just been so hectic lately I haven't had time to look into it."

Emma didn't look mollified by that. "No offense, Jack, but when someone's destiny lies entirely in your hands, you should probably make time."

Jack made a frustrated sound, then looked at his feet. His toes were tapping in that anxious rhythm: right, left, right, left. "You're right," he said softly. "I dropped the ball on this one."

Elsa frowned, thinking of Jack's late nights and red-rimmed eyes, how sometimes he was so tired he fell asleep during dinner. How he was on the phone all the time talking to vendors or Emma's other campaign advisers, how she'd caught him staring at a half-made scarf in his lap at three a.m. one morning, muttering sadly that he'd dropped a stitch. The silver spikes hadn't been weapons, after all-they were knitting needles he was using to create gifts for his family members.

"Hold on," Elsa said, putting her fists on her hips and facing Emma. "That's not fair. Jack has been working himself ragged lately, including on your campaign. He can't magically create more time when every minute of it is already taken up with obligations." Jack looked up, surprise written over his features. Emma, too, seemed taken aback. "Oh," she said. "Sorry, Jack. I didn't realize things were that hectic." She hesitated. "I can find someone else for the campaign...

"I can handle it," he said instantly.

Emma looked relieved. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Positive. One hundred percent." He jerked his thumbs at his chest. "Solid as a rock, this guy."

Elsa narrowed her eyes at him.

He smiled a little. "Really," he said softly. "But thank you, Elsa. And I promise we'll find a way to break the curse."

"Hmm." She recognized wounded pride when she saw it, understood how important it could be to cling to scraps of imagined control long past the point of reason. Her pride, battered and chipped as it was, was her most precious possession, like an old warrior's armor kept in a place of honor despite the dings and indents of battles lost.

Jack was too proud to admit he was overwhelmed. He would cling to his knitting and his obligations until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

"Very well," Elsa said, deciding to let it go. "Forget the crystal for now. We have a wicked witch to face."

🩸🩸🩸

LADY TREMAINE STOOD ALONE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WAREHOUSE, HIGHLIGHTED BY A FALL OF SUNSHINE FROM A BROKEN SKYLIGHT.

The concrete floor was stained and dust floated in the air, though none of it seemed to settle on the witch. Her pulled-back hair was as grey as the dust falling, and she wore an iron-gray pantsuit with clean, sharp edges. A pearl necklace ringed her throat-the only visible weapon, but the only one she likely needed.

Elsa considered the height of the witch's heels and how she'd positioned herself for maximum visual impact rather than strategic advantage in combat. Some of the tension left her shoulders. This wasn't the look of someone eager to start a fight-at least, not a physical one. This was someone who wanted to make a statement.

"I told you to come alone," Lady said as she watched the three approach. Her eyes touched on Elsa briefly before lingering longer on Jack.

The first-and often last-mistake many warriors made was assuming the largest-looking threat was the most dangerous one.

Elsa smiled, feeling a rush of adrenaline. There was something intoxicating about battle that started in the tense, waiting moments before all hell broke loose. She remembered it from standing with her clan on the edge of a snowy field, knowing the white expanse would soon be churned and spattered with crimson.

She didn't miss killing, but she did miss that feeling, though she'd thought it lost after centuries of tedious, meaningless violence. But here it was again, pricking her nerves and sharpening her senses. She was here of her own accord to defend others; no one had commanded it.

That made all the difference.

"I emailed you," Emma said brightly. "Generally, I don't make a habit of lurking in abandoned warehouses alone, but to each their own." She stopped out of arm's reach of Lady, bracing her feet apart as Jack and Elsa flanked her. Emma didn't look as polished, but her footwear was far more sensible, and her smile expressed confidence.

Interesting, how easily Emma shifted from the bright, expressive, ebullient woman they'd met on the sidewalk to this more contained, practiced version. There were no cracks in her composure for enemies to sink their claws into.

Lady's eyes were green and catlike. Her beautiful face was expressionless, but there was a thin quality to her skin and enough fine lines-though not smile lines-for Elsa to put her age at somewhere in her fifties. Her posture was impeccable. "Why are you running for mayor?" she asked without preamble.

"Because I love Dreamney Falls and believe I can institute worthwhile change," Emma replied. "Why are you running for mayor?" Lady's pink lipstick-tinged mouth tightened. "I'm not running for mayor. I am the mayor."

"For the moment." Emma was still smiling, though Elsa's sharp eyes caught a tremor in the hand at her side. Nervous, then, but doing an admirable job of hiding it.

"You don't have experience in politics," Lady said.

"Neither did you when you ran for mayor."

"You don't have the required connections."

"Agree to disagree on that one."

"No one's going to vote for you. Look at you-you're like a child playing dress-up, desperate to fit in with her betters." Lady laughed, light and nasty. "Do you actually imagine you have what it takes to challenge me?"

Jack made a low, angry sound. "Watch it," he said.

Lady turned her cutting gaze on him. "I remember you. The flower seller, right?"

"Something like that."

Her disdainful once-over before she returned her attention to Emma spoke volumes. "I looked up your family," Lady told Emma.

"As common as they come. Your father was a roofer, your mother a secretary, your brother"— she tipped her head toward Jack-"no one important. You're working-class stock, completely unsuited for public office."

Elsa did not like this woman. "You are unpleasant," she said.

A tiny line formed between Lady's brows as she looked at Elsa. "Is this another relative?" she asked. "Hecate knows werewolves breed like it's going out of style."

"I revise my statement," Elsa said. "Vous êtes une connasse." She turned to Emma. "People actually voted for her?"

"She pretends to be a lot nicer in public," Jack said. "But the elitism is part of the package for her supporters, and there wasn't a huge voter turnout last time."

"More people will vote this year," Emma said confidently. "We're partnering with the Dreamney Falls Resiliency Project, the Environmental Protection Club, and local schools and nonprofits to launch a Get Out the Vote campaign."

Lady did not look pleased. "You can launch any campaign you like-you'll still lose. Which is why I'm giving you the opportunity to withdraw from the race now and save yourself a large amount of money and humiliation."

Emma tipped her head back and laughed, and Elsa's esteem for her rose even more. It took courage to laugh in the face of opposition. "What a generous offer," she said. "However, I must decline."

Lady's eyes narrowed. "You really insist on doing this?"

"I do."

"Then know this," Lady Treamine said. "After I walk out that door, we will be enemies. And I give no quarter to my enemies." Emma raised two fingers to her brow and saluted. "See you on the campaign trail, Mayor Tremaine."

Lady brushed past, heels clicking on the concrete as she strode for the exit. She didn't look back.

"Well," Jack said when she was gone, "that went better than expected."

Emma bent over, bracing her hands on her knees. "Damn," she wheezed. "She's intimidating enough from a distance, but up close she's terrifying." She glanced at Elsa. "As our resident acting expert, how'd I do?"

Elsa wasn't sure she could be termed an expert, but she liked the sound of it. "You did very well, and I believe you hit on exactly the right technique to anger her most."

"I did?" Emma straightened. "And is that good or bad?"

"Good. A frustrated or angry opponent is more likely to make errors."

"What was the technique?" Jack asked. "She seems pissed off one hundred percent of the time."

"Emma laughed at her," Elsa said. "It's clear Mayor Tremaine takes herself very seriously and expects others to do so as well.

She expects to earn respect or fear. Laughing at her hits her directly in her weakest spot: her pride."

"How very Jane Austen of you," Emma said. "Something-something 'pride is always in good regulation'?"

"What?" Jack asked, looking baffled.

Elsa had no idea either.

"Pride and Prejudice? Which I'm sure someone can quote way better than me." As the blank looks continued, Emma sighed. "Uncultured swine."

"Pride isn't always a weakness," Elsa said. "For some people it's a motivator, a reason to feel engaged with their cause.

Something that comes from earned confidence. People who are truly proud of themselves and secure in it don't mind being laughed at." She tipped her head toward the warehouse exit. "She nearly burst a vein when you laughed at her." And oh, how nice that blood would have been to lap up. "When pride is that fragile, it's just aggression papered over insecurity or cruelty. It becomes a liability."

Elsa liked to believe her own pride was in the strength category, rather than a weakness. She was certain of her worth as a person and determined to have that worth be respected. That was the sort of pride that allowed her to hold her head high despite whatever indignities she suffered.

Lady Tremaine didn't sound like she'd suffered many indignities in her life-which was good news for Emma. They could write up a list of Lady's weaknesses, then craft strategies to exploit them.

"I'm pretty sure Darcy said something almost exactly like that in the book," Emma mused. "Maybe he was a six-hundred-year-old vampire succubus, too."

"Wouldn't that be an incubus?" Jack asked.

"Good point." Emma pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped her thumb over the screen. "I also definitely need to read some fan fiction about vampire incubus Fitzwilliam Darcy, so I'm putting in a request to Toothiana."

Jack's eyes widened. "You're on a texting basis with Toothiana, the Mother of All Demons?"

Elsa listened with interest, remembering the demoness she'd met behind the newspaper box while stalking Jack.

"We're in the same fan fiction Discord server," Emma said.

"Tinkerbell founded it. It's called the Smutty Smurfettes. We share prompt fills, and Toothiana always picks the most outrageous ones." She tilted her head, chewing on her lip. "Maybe we can work in tentacles somehow? Elizabeth Bennet, tentacle monster has a nice ring to it."

Jack shook his head and started walking away. "I refuse to discuss tentacle porn with you."

Elsa wouldn't have minded learning more about tentacle porn, but that was what Google was for, so she followed.

"Fine, fine," Emma said, catching up with them. "No Austenian tentacles. Let's get out of here and start coordinating a kickass Get Out the Vote campaign."

🩸🩸🩸

ARE YOU REGISTERED TO VOTE?" EMMA ASKED.

Jack stood at his sister's side, holding a clipboard on which they'd recorded five new voters so far.

The centaur who'd opened the door looked at Emma mistrustfully. "Who are you and why do you want to know?"

Jack winced, but Emma was unfazed. "Emma Overland, candidate for mayor." She launched into her campaign spiel, which Jack had heard so many times at this point he almost had it memorized. He eyed a fountain in the centaur's front yard, wondering if he could sneak away to drown himself in it.

Door-to-door campaigning was the worst. In addition to the dreaded task of public speaking, it involved invading other people's territory, which had resulted in several hostile encounters.

The last one had involved a scythe being waved in a threatening manner as a robed figure screamed he was not interested in joining their cult.

Extroverted Emma had no problem knocking on doors not knowing what was waiting on the other side, but Jack wasn't built like that. Could he handle difficult, unpredictable customers at the Emporium? Yes, because that was his territory and being the owner automatically made him an authority. This, though? Door-to-door canvassing ranked very high on the list of Things To Avoid If At All Possible, somewhere between stubbing his toe and testicular torsion.

The centaur was already registered to vote, but he took a pamphlet before shutting the door in their faces. The pamphlets were colorful and crisp, with Emma's new headshot -courtesy of Tinkerbell-smiling over the words Emma Overland: Howling for Change.

They headed back down the driveway, but before they could turn toward the next house-a purple, turreted monstrosity that either contained a winged person or someone with a flair for the dramatic-Jack stopped in his tracks. "I can't take this anymore," he said, holding out the clipboard. "Please, I beg you-find someone else to help you bother total strangers."

Emma wrinkled her nose. "I was wondering how soon the introvert juice would kick in and send you scurrying for cover."

"It's not about being an introvert,"Jack said. "Who actually enjoys striking up conversations with strangers?"

Emma laughed. "Me, for one, but I take your point." She patted his arm. "Thanks, bro. I know this isn't your favorite thing to do."

"It absolutely is not," he agreed vehemently.

Emma made a shooing motion. "Go check on the Emporium or hang out with Elsa or something. I can handle the rest of today's route on my own."

"You're not going to walk around alone and unprotected," he said, appalled at the suggestion. "You're a public figure now." His little sister had made herself a target for the whole world, it seemed, and both Jack's brotherly and pack instincts refused to leave her to fend for herself.

"Oh, yes, a very important public figure," she replied. "I can't even wipe my ass without a bodyguard's help, lest the toilet snakes try to murder me for my political views."

Jack ignored the snark and pulled out his phone, thinking of the most aggressive friend they both knew. "I'm calling Anna for backup." He immediately reconsidered. "Wait, not Anna." As a personal trainer with a love of mayhem, Anna had flexible hours and a mean right hook, which would normally make her an excellent candidate for some daytime bodyguarding. Unfortunately, Lady Tremaine was Anna's mother, and though the two were estranged, he suspected having Anna actively campaign for Emma would cause major drama.

"I feel so bad for Anna," Emma said with a frown. "It's mind-boggling that horrid woman produced such an amazing person. And Lady doesn't even seem to realize how wonderful Anna is."

"I know." Jack couldn't understand that family dynamic either.

The stories he'd heard about Anna's upbringing had sounded nightmarish, with an absent father and a demanding mother who had wanted her daughter to be another icy, pearl-wearing socialite. Anna was about as far from that stereotype as one could get, and Lady had been vocal in her displeasure over that fact. The two had basically had no contact for the last two years, and though Anna seemed at peace with that choice, it couldn't feel good.

Jack's parents were kind and loving, and the extended clan was equally supportive. No one was forced to be someone they weren't, even if people enjoyed some good-natured teasing. If he needed help, he could dial any of a dozen numbers and have someone on their way immediately.

Speaking of which ... "I'll text Avram," he said. "If he can't canvass with you, he'll know someone who can."

Fifteen minutes later, Jack's cousin arrived with Aster and Toothiana in tow. Both werewolves were wearing their rugby kits-they must have come from a game-and Jack was amused to see that Toothiana was wearing a Fable Farms Furies T-shirt and had pom-pom ribbons dangling out of her pocket. Of course, being Toothiana, she also had a broadsword strapped to her back.

"Sorry about that," Avram whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at where Toothiana was sharpening the sword while cheerfully suggesting Emma close her pitch with "Vote or die." "I only invited Aster, but those two are attached at the hip these days." Dark-haired Aster was doing energetic push-ups next to Toothiana.

He hopped up and pumped his fist. "Three cheers for democracy," he declared. "Huzzah!" When no one joined in, he elbowed Toothiana lightly. "Come on, Tooth. Huzzah!"

She pinned him with an icy stare that would have sent most people fleeing. "My next pom-pom will use your intestines for ribbons."

Aster bit his lip and gave Toothiana a flirty look Jack recognized from bar nights he'd been dragged to in years past. Aster had always had a way with the ladies. "Damn," he said, "it's hot when you threaten to maim me."

Jack shook his head, chuckling. The two were the oddest couple, but somehow it worked. Toothiana's blonde to sliverish hair and dramatic threats made him think of Elsa, and he decided to go home rather than stopping by the Emporium as planned. "Good luck," he said, clapping Avram on the shoulder. "I've got my own menacing redhead to check in on."

The family all knew about Elsa and the crystal situation by now, of course. Text messages had flown fast and furious all week, memes had been shared, and Jack had been razzed to hell and back for getting drunk and buying a possessed plastic rock.

Everyone wanted to know if they were dating, of course, and no one believed him when he said they weren't. He now had about fifteen social invitations to pass on to Elsa, which he was trying not to inundate her with all at once. He wasn't sure how she felt about spending time with strangers, and he wasn't sure he wanted her anywhere near people who knew his most embarrassing child. hood secrets anyway.

Avram perked up. "Did you tell Elsa she has an open invite to come play rugby?"

"I did. She wanted to know if knives are involved."

"Alas, no." Avram winked. "Not while the ref is looking, anyway."

Jack laughed, then waved to the group as he headed out. On the drive home, he found himself whistling and jostling his knee, in an oddly good mood for someone who had been forced to ask people about their voting habits. He couldn't wait to see what Elsa had been up to today.

She was constantly surprising him. He might come home to find her reciting Shakespeare, or she might greet him with a flurry of bizarre facts she'd learned on Witchipedia about historical massacres or animal reproductive habits. One time he'd come home to a kitchen full of smoke and a vampire succubus shrieking gruesome threats at a ball of blackened cookie dough. Another time he'd found her practicing some sort of martial art with his knitting needles.

"I thought they were weapons at first," she'd admitted when he'd inquired about the needles. Amused, Jack had attempted to teach her to knit, which Elsa had gamely tried for half an hour before pronouncing it excessively complicated for something so boring.

A curtain twitched when Jack pulled into the driveway. Had she been watching and waiting for him?

He felt a bit breathless at the thought.

"I'm back," he called out as he opened the front door. "And I am never going canvassing again-" He broke off, nearly tripping over his feet.

Elsa stood in the living room wearing a sleeveless, high-necked dress. The emerald fabric clung to her breasts, waist, and hips before falling loose to the floor. Two slits reached high enough on her thighs to reveal the edges of leather knife holsters, and matching loops of leather ringed her waist and wrists. The bracelets covered her forearms like gauntlets, and when Jack spied the gleam of metal tucked into one—a tiny hidden dagger-he nearly whimpered.

Oh fuck. It was like some god had plucked an image out of his subconscious just to taunt him with his deepest, most untouchable desire.

"A live audience reaction," an unexpected male voice said. "Excellent."

Jack hadn't even noticed Kristoff, Anna, and Tinkerbell seated on the couch. He tugged at his collar, flushing at having been caught ogling. "I don't recall inviting you over," he told the demon, witch, and pixie, frowning at them and hoping his jeans were sturdy enough to disguise his response to Elsa in that mind-blowing, earth-shattering dress.

Kristoff shrugged. "Hasn't stopped me before." The demon's lean frame was encased in a dove-gray suit, and his beringed fingers were interlaced on the skull top of his cane. His pale blond hair shone in the sunlight falling through the window, as perfectly coiffed as the rest of him.

Next to him, Anna had her bare feet tucked up on the couch, as casual as her partner was formal. She wore teal workout spandex and a T-shirt that said Punch Like No One's Watching, and her long auburn hair was pulled up in the messiest bun Jack had ever seen.

Tinkerbell rounded out the trio, a burst of chaotic color and patterns that were presumably fashionable, not that Jack would be able to tell. Privately, he thought it looked like she'd thrown a bunch of costume pieces in the air, closed her eyes and spun around, and selected things at random. Her top was black-and-white tartan, which contrasted with a fluffy pink skirt and chunky, rainbow-hued jewelry, and her hair had been bespelled bubblegum pink. Her pale cheeks were dusted with something glittery that for all Jack knew might be actual pixie dust, since it mirrored the shimmer of her wings.

Varying degrees of trouble, all three of them.

"So?" Tinkerbell asked, gesturing at Elsa. "What do you think?"

Was he supposed to be capable of thought? Jack held his breath, daring to look at Elsa once more.

Breasts.

Yes, those were definitely breasts, he confirmed silently. Full breasts and wide hips, the contours of which were made very clear by the tight fabric. The neckline rose nearly to her chin, but despite the lack of visible cleavage-or maybe because of it-Jack couldn't stop thinking about the shape of her and how she'd feel under his hands.

It wasn't that her curves were news to him-far from it. But she was such a dynamic force, always moving or hissing or being outrageous, that ogling her generally took a back burner to adapting to her chaos. And besides, he went out of his way not to ogle her, eyes darting away whenever her lush curves and strong thighs caught his attention. Staring wasn't gentlemanly.

Now he was being asked to stare. So, cheeks hot and palms sweating, he did.

The green fabric was the perfect contrast to her pale skin and blonde hair, which hung unbound and waving to her waist. When she shifted, the fabric whispered, exposing more of one creamy thigh. The holster was digging slightly into her skin, and for a mad moment he contemplated unbuckling it-possibly while she held the knife to his throat-and then soothing the pink marks on her skin with his lips.

Kristoff cleared his throat. "Do you suppose he's had a stroke?" Jack tore his gaze away from Elsa. "Ah," he said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "It's a ... dress."

Tinkerbell winced.

"Spot on," Kristoff drawled. "I knew werewolves had heightened senses, but your powers of observation are unmatched."

Elsa crossed her arms, and her lips turned down. "He doesn't like it," she announced.

"I don't think that's the issue," Anna said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Tinkerbell was mouthing things at Jack behind Elsa's back, and though he couldn't tell what the specific words were, he picked up on the general meaning when she started gesticulating passionately.

"It's a very nice dress," he hurried to say. "Very, ah, green. Yes, very green."

Tinkerbell escalated to wringing an invisible neck-his, no doubt.

"Beautiful," he continued, trying to dig himself out of this horniness-induced hole. "You look beautiful. I'm sorry, I'm not always good with words."

Elsa's arms loosened, then dropped to her sides. "You think it's beautiful?"

I think you're beautiful, no matter what you wear. "It's astounding," he said. "In a good way, to be clear. You look very ... yes." That slit was high enough that he could push the fabric aside to kiss his way up her inner thigh to that wet, sweet spot between her legs. Would she sigh at the touch of his lips? Moan? Or order him to put his mouth exactly where she wanted it? He got harder imagining it.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, you do like it," she said, reminding Jack of the unfortunate fact that she could sense his erections. He would have been more mortified if her frown hadn't vanished to be replaced by a look of delight. "Excellent," she said. "It's for any political events I need to attend as your sister's bodyguard."

"Oh." Jack revisited the staring situation, this time trying to figure out in what world this was a good outfit for a bodyguard.

"Isn't it a bit .. movement-restricting?"

Tight, he meant. Very, very tight up top.

"Not at all," she said. "Watch this." There was a blur, and then she stood still once more, looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Maybe drop out of warp speed and try that again," he suggested.

As always, Star Trek terminology made her face light up. "Aye aye, Captain." Then she went through a sequence of movements that involved spinning, ducking, punching, and kicking. She was right-the fabric was stretchy, her arms were unencumbered, and the high slits allowed her to kick and move freely. The slits also revealed quite a bit more of her, but thankfully-for Jack's cardiovascular health-she was wearing spandex shorts. She finished the routine by pulling both knives from her thigh holsters and flinging them across the room.

Jack stared at where the hilts stuck side by side out of the door-frame, quivering from the force of her throw. "Well," he said, mouth dry. "That explains the mysterious holes I've noticed around the house lately."

The long skirt swished as Elsa strode across the room to retrieve the knives. "As you can see," she said, sliding them back into their holsters, "this dress will allow me to blend in at formal events while still being able to kill people if I need to." She grinned, brushing her long hair back over her shoulder.

Jack suspected nothing would help her blend in, especially not that miracle of a dress, but he was still stuck on the violence she'd apparently been inflicting on his walls. He wasn't planning on moving anytime soon, but a Realtor would have questions if he did.

"How about I set up a target dummy in the backyard for you to throw knives at?" he suggested.

She stopped in front of him, eyes widening. "You would do that for me?"

Looking into her blue eyes, Jack wondered if there was anything he wouldn't do for her at this point. "Of course. If you have any other weapons or equipment you want me to order, please let me know."

"Oh," she said softly. "Thank you." Her grin bloomed, bright and open, and a light flush dusted her cheekbones. A man could get addicted to that smile.

He was in so much trouble.

Jack was a practical man by nature. There was no world in which Elsa, with all her strength and fire and passion, would return his feelings. He was an awkward, socially inept workaholic whose dating skills, if they could ever have been termed "skills," were beyond rusty, and that was before one considered the messy power dynamics involved. The plastic crystal was locked in a safe in his bedroom so no one else could get their hands on it, but he was aware of its existence nearly every moment of every day.

The curse was the only thing tying him to Elsa, but though he already mourned the day she would walk out of his life, he wanted her to be free more than anything.

He wasn't her partner and never would be, but he was still going to spoil and care for her in his limited way for as long as she let him. If she wanted a jousting arena in his backyard, he'd build one.

If she wanted a lance, he'd chop down a tree and carve one by hand. And once she was done jabbing the stuffing out of a dummy, he'd cook her dinner, pour her a mug of hot blood topped with marshmallows, and then go jerk off in the shower to keep her sexual hunger sated.

It was the least a good host could do.

She was standing very close, he realized. Close enough for his sensitive nose to pick up the musky undertones of her natural scent. Close enough to see the ice flecks in her eyes.

He was definitely staring, but so was she. The air between them felt thick and charged.

Why was she staring at him? Should he stop staring at her? Was this weird?

This was definitely weird. He should absolutely stop staring.

God, she smelled good.

A cleared throat made him startle, breaking the spell. He tore his eyes away from Elsa to see Anna stand, brushing off her hands. "Great job, team," she told Kristoff and Tinkerbell.

"Let's go get lunch."

"Wait," Kristoff said. "What about the other dresses we brought her to try on?"

"Leave them," Anna and Tinkerbell said in unison. The two women gave each other a significant look that made Jack feel paranoid. Could they tell he was infatuated with Elsa?

Oh, who was he kidding. He might as well have hearts in his eyes like some cartoon character.

Kristoff looked like he wanted to argue, but Anna tugged on his necktie and whispered something in his ear. "Oh," the demon said. "Right."

"Bye!" Tinkerbell chirped, half walking, half fluttering to the door. "See you at the rally!"

Jack had no idea what she was talking about. "Sure," he said, giving a half wave.

Then he was alone with Elsa.

The moment was gone, though. In true Elsa fashion, she was now darting around the room, flitting between the mirror and the window, then trying out a few more kicks. She raced to the wall, scaled it like a lizard, and started crawling over the ceiling, blonde hair and green fabric dangling beneath her.

Jack's pulse spiked. He was still not used to that particular vampiric skill, which belonged in a horror movie and not his living room. "Please don't ever do that in the dark," he begged. "You'll give me a heart attack."

She stopped above him, head angled so she could grin down at him. Her hair was long enough to drape over his shoulder, and he unconsciously lifted a hand to brush the strands. Soft, so soft.

"I would not wish to give my werewolf a heart attack," she said.

Her werewolf?

Before he could bask in the glow that induced, she skittered away and descended the wall headfirst. Once she was standing again, she grabbed a handful of her hair and frowned at the tangles in it. "I will have to text Tinkerbell to ask what an appropriate hairstyle is for possible combat at political rallies."

This was the second mention of a rally, and he had the unpleasant suspicion he'd forgotten something. "Rally?"

"The one tonight outside City Hall"

Shoot. He had forgotten. A hasty consultation of his mental calendar made him realize today was Thursday, not Wednesday.

And Thursday evening was, indeed, Emma's inaugural rally. Friday would bring a meeting of the Dreamney Falls Resiliency Project at the Annex, then Elsa's second performance-this time attended by a Seattle theatre critic, which was putting stress on both her and him. Saturday was a special discount day at the Emporium, for which he anticipated high turnout, followed by another outing of Elsa's performance. Sunday ... he didn't even want to get into the array of events the Annex would hold on Sunday.

Lycaon, he was tired.

"What is your bodyguard attire?" Elsa asked.

Jack blinked. "Ah ... what?"

She shook her head, then grabbed his arm and started dragging him out of the room. "Show me your closet and weaponry. We will outfit you appropriately."

Jack could have told her his closet was light on weaponry and bodyguard outfits, whatever those might be, but he kept his mouth shut. Elsa was touching him and enthusing about all the things she'd learned about modern clothing from Tinkerbell and Kristoff, and it was wonderful.

He might never be her partner, but if she felt like manhandling him, he felt like letting her.

🩸🩸🩸

JACK'S WARDROBE COULD USE MORE PRACTICAL PIECES.

In no way was he prepared for an attack by frenzied jackalopes or a sword-wielding shape-shifter-but seeing him walking toward her with a cup of hot chocolate in each hand, Elsa found she didn't mind. His khakis clung to muscled thighs, his dress shirt was rolled up at the cuffs to reveal delectable forearms, and the sweater vest clinging to his torso for dear life only accentuated his size. The poor thing seemed like it might rip at the seams with a sudden movement.

It wouldn't, though. Jack had knitted it himself, as he'd bashfully explained when Elsa had held it up to his chest earlier that day, wondering at the usefulness of such an item. All of his knitwear was made by hand, as he had trouble fitting into standard store sizes. In addition to being formed on a larger scale, as most werewolves were, he'd built muscles through activity at the Emporium. Squatting to plant and tend flowers, carrying heavy potted palms, moving and rearranging furniture and shelving ... Gardening was a surprisingly effective fitness activity.

The argyle sweater vest wasn't useful in a military sense, but she rather liked it. He looked so deliciously restrained and proper, she felt the urge to rip it off him with her teeth.

Succubus instincts... or something else?

"Thank you," she said when Jack handed her the hot chocolate.

Warmth sank into her palms, and she raised the cup to her nose, inhaling the scent that rose from a narrow opening in the plastic top. She hadn't even mentioned wanting one; when they'd arrived at City Hall to find a few pop-up food stands, she'd merely looked at a stall with interest and Ben had announced he was in the mood for hot chocolate.

Had that been true, or was he being nice to her again? He was nice to her an awful lot, which was novel and strange and alarming in how much she liked it. Her defenses were crumbling, and though she knew she ought to shore them up, she couldn't seem to manage.

Jack smiled and raised his cup. "I like when the evenings get cool enough for hot chocolate. One good thing about the shortening days."

It was the end of September, a month that seemed confused between summery days and brisk nights, with spurts of rain coming at random. Weather in the Pacific Northwest United States was apparently hard to predict due to proximity to the ocean and an assortment of meteorological and technological factors she had begun to research before deciding that was best left to experts.

Every weather station had a prognosticator who could cast bones to support a meteorologist's predictions, yet still the weather managed to surprise.

It struck Elsa that if she actually broke the curse, she might end up staying in one place long enough to begin to predict its unpredictability.

She looked around with this thought top of mind. They were among a small but raucous crowd in a park facing City Hall. The sun was setting, casting its orange rays over the odd building. City Hall's marble pillars harkened back to Greco-Roman times, but the colorful peaked roof reminded her of the Zsolnay-tiled buildings she'd seen during a mission in Budapest, and the construction was topped by a copper cupola that had its roots in Islamic architecture.

This mishmash of architectural styles seemed particularly common in Dreamney Falls, a town that took "originality" very seriously. Even when the buildings were similar in construction, they were unique in paint and decoration.

Odd things thrived here. Elsa liked that.

One of those odd things was standing next to her, blowing softly into his cup of hot chocolate. The body of a berserker, the beautiful brown hair, and general demeanor of a librarian. Elsa couldn't help but smile looking at him.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked.

Elsa shook her head. "Hard to explain."

He raised his brows. "Now I'm just more curious."

How to explain a feeling like this? Her chest was warm and she liked looking at him and she sometimes wondered how heavy his testicles would be on her tongue, but as poorly socialized as Elsa was, even she knew that wasn't something to admit in public. "I haven't met anyone like you before, that's all. And I like your sweater vest."

His face lit up with delight, as if she'd given him a flower.

"Really? Emma makes fun of the sweater vests. She says they're frumpy and nerdy, and I'm pretty sure the entire internet would agree with her."

Elsa made a dismissive noise. "The internet is a worldwide system of interconnected computer networks and therefore incapable of holding opinions." Witchipedia had taught her that, though she still wasn't sure she understood it.

Jack barked out a laugh. "Okay, Spock, point taken." Elsa warmed at that compliment. She liked Spock, who was both rational and honest. Elsa could acknowledge she wasn't particularly rational, so Spock had been more of an aspirational figure.

The reference to Star Trek made her wonder about the internet and the emotional state of computers again. "The Voyager probes haven't gained sentience, have they?" she asked, thinking of Star Trek: The Motion Picture and Captain Kirk's discovery that the massive artificial life-form V'Ger had originated as a Voyager 6 space probe. Star Trek wasn't a documentary, so she'd been surprised to learn America had indeed launched two Voyager space probes in the 1970s.

"Not that I'm aware of...?"

"Good," Elsa said vehemently. Though Kirk had seemed excited about the birth of a new life form after V'Ger had merged with Captain Willard Decker, melding machine with man, Elsa stoutly believed that incident had been the origin of the Borg, and no one wanted that.

Jack looked at her oddly. "I can't say I follow all your thought processes, but they're always interesting." Then he smiled softly.

"Thank you for saying you like my sweater vest." He raised a hand, hesitated, then rested it gently on her shoulder. "That means a lot." Though the touch was blunted by the cardigan covering the green dress Tinkerbell had termed Battle Formalwear, Elsa shivered. A spark of awareness traveled from his hand through her body, lighting up her nerves and starting a pulse between her thighs.

Big hands, gentle man.

He'd be precise and giving as a lover, constantly attuned to his partner's reactions. A treat to be savored before returning that attention with equal detail and care. But sex had many aspects, and Elsa couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Jack were to let go of his tight control. Release a bit of the wolf he had such a tight leash on.

His thumb rubbed lightly over the spot where her shoulder met her collarbone, and Elsa instinctively grabbed his hand, holding it against her. Their eyes locked, and it was as if the rest of the world faded away. She licked her lips, then slowly guided his hand to the back of her neck.

Jack inhaled sharply, and then his fingers were sinking into the woven strands of her braid, tipping her head back gently but firmly.

Gods, she hadn't had sex in so long. And though Jack had been feeding her succubus half with regular shower masturbation sessions, neither of them acknowledged out loud, she was still ... needy. Hungry for more than just sustenance.

His pupils dilated, making the brown of his irises seem to darken. The pulse at his throat beat faster, begging for her teeth, and she could sense his heightening arousal, as she'd sensed it when he'd first viewed her wearing the dress. His scent grew darker, muskier, spicier.

Elsa's fangs throbbed in time with the hot need between her legs.

Was he going to kiss her?

She didn't like waiting for her pleasures. They were to be seized, because the good things in life could be fleeting. So she hooked her finger in the V-neck of Jack's sweater vest, pulled him closer, and-

"Good evening, Dreamney Falls!"

Emma Overland's voice boomed through the speakers, startling Elsa so badly she jolted backward and would have fallen if it weren't for Jack steadying her. Outraged at having the moment stolen, she instinctively whipped her head around to hiss in the direction of City Hall's front steps, where Emma stood highlighted by portable lights.

"Easy," Jack murmured. His hands fell away, much to her displeasure, and he retreated a few steps. Whatever confidence he'd found had vanished, too, because now he couldn't even meet her eyes.

Maybe Elsa should hiss at him, too.

"What an amazing turnout!" Emma said into the microphone as the audience clapped. "Thank you all for being here." She wore a glittery gold pantsuit with her usual pink sneakers and her hair had been pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. A pink sign propped next to her featured her name, her campaign logo, and a website URL where supporters could donate. "Our town is made up of people from so many different backgrounds and economic situations, but for the past few years, our city's leadership has prioritized the wants of the ultra-wealthy and those with personal connections to power.

Anyone else remember the resort and spa debacle two years ago?" That elicited scattered exclamations and boos. Elsa looked to Jack for an explanation.

"There was a piece of contested land in the forest outside town,"

Jack explained to the air next to Elsa's right ear. "Lady claimed the deed had been found and the land belonged to the city, and then she sold it to a developer to put in a resort and spa that would have destroyed the local ecosystem and the ley lines that make this place so magical. Without asking anyone, of course. And she and her cronies were shareholders in the business."

If Jack had been looking Elsa in the eye, he would have seen her look of disdain. "Few monarchs deserve their crowns," she said.

"Power corrupts," he mused.

"Or the corrupt are those who seek power in the first place." At that, he did finally meet her gaze. His brows rose, and he jerked his head toward the stage. "Emma isn't corrupt."

"I said few monarchs," Elsa said, glad he was at least facing her again. "Not all."

Truthfully, she didn't know what sort of leader Emma would be.

She barely knew the woman. But she respected passion, and Emma seemed earnest about wanting to change the city for the better.

The trick would be maintaining that idealism once the keys to the city were in her hand.

"Was the resort built?" Elsa pressed.

"Rapunzel stopped the construction. It was when she first got together with Eugene."

Elsa had only seen Rapunel and Eugene in passing, as the newlyweds had recently returned from their honeymoon and were more wrapped up in each other than the outside world. Rapunzel had offered to help with Emma's campaign, but the "Scooby gang," as Jack had called his friendship group-a strange reference that required research-was giving her space to enjoy her new marriage.

And from what Elsa had seen, Eugene was a taciturn sort who was devoted to Rapunzel but had even less interest in canvassing than Jack did.

Jack was now dedicating his entire attention to Emma's speech, eyes trained on City Hall's steps with laser focus. That was the expected behavior of a brother at his sister's political event, but Elsa still felt stung and oddly off-balance. She'd thought they were about to explore the erotic tension between them, but now he was acting like it had never happened, even as the residual echo of his arousal lingered in the air.

Elsa rubbed a hand over her heart. There was an ache there she didn't like. It was injured pride, she decided. She wasn't used to being rejected sexually, as mild as this rejection had been.

Was this just sexual, though? The question was quiet, spoken by a part of herself she hadn't allowed space for in a long time.

She sniffed dismissively. Of course it was. She was a sexual, violent being. It was her inheritance and her destiny to fuck and kill, simple as that.

But she remembered her father gently caressing her mother's cheek and how her mother had taken up a sword to defend his memory, and her heart hurt worse. That love had been rare. How much rarer would her own be? Was it even possible?

People were clapping- Emma must have said something inspirational. Elsa clapped along with them.

"And that's why," Emma said, "I plan to-"

The sign next to her burst into flames.

Emma jumped away from the blackening cardboard, and just in time-the microphone was next, exploding in a burst of rainbow sparks. Loud bangs sounded overhead as fireworks burst over the crowd, sending embers raining over the gathering.

Jack grabbed Elsa, tucking her against his chest. She struggled free, heart hammering. "Get to safety," she ordered him, batting at the sparks that had settled on his sweater vest.

"Elsa-"

He reached for her hand, but she shook her head. "I'm security, remember?"

A centaur galloped past, tail flaming. Elsa dodged panicked, screaming people as the explosions continued. She had her knives out, ready to throw, but there was no assailant in sight. This was clearly a magical attack, which meant the caster could be anywhere. Cursing, she shoved the knives back into their holsters.

There would be no fighting today, only getting Emma to safety.

Elsa reached Emma's side in an instant. The werewolf was slightly larger than Elsa, but vampires were strong and Elsa had centuries of combat experience, so she hoisted Emma over her shoulder and ran at top speed away from the rally.

Emma shrieked and thrashed, hammering Elsa's back with her fists in what amounted to slow motion compared to Elsa's pace. "Put me down!"

Not a chance. Elsa had been given one duty: to keep Emma Overland safe. She grimaced as Emma punched a kidney. Vampire strength didn't mean she was invulnerable, and it was hard to run carrying something that didn't want to be held.

Once they were five blocks away from the scene, Elsa stopped under the awning of a deli and deposited Emma on her feet.

Emma staggered, catching herself on the wall. "What the-" She broke off, and a look of relief washed over her face. "Oh, it's you. You moved so fast I didn't know who it was."

"Are you injured?" Elsa demanded.

Emma patted herself as if checking to make sure she was intact.

She frowned at a singe mark on her sleeve, then grabbed a hank of hair that had come loose from her bun. The ends were crinkled and blackened, and the acrid scent of burnt hair spiced the air.

"Not injured," Emma said, scowling at the hair, "just lightly barbecued. Is everyone else okay?"

"I don't know."

Emma started to jog back in the direction they'd come from. "We have to go back. I need to make sure no one was hurt."

Elsa blocked her progress. "Absolutely not. I'm not going to let you walk into danger."

Emma tried to dodge around her. Maybe if she'd been in wolf form she could have done it, but as a human she stood no chance of outmaneuvering a vampire. "Please," Emma said. "Those are my friends and supporters. My community. I can't run away."

"If you go back now, there's every chance you'll be blown up, and then what happens to your friends and supporters?" When Emma started to argue again, Elsa held out her hand. "Give me your phone. We will call Jack."

Emma didn't hand it over, instead dialing her brother herself, but she at least put it on speaker mode.

"Emma? Are you okay? Where are you?" Jack's voice burst from the speaker, full of panic. "Is Elsa with you?"

"I'm fine," Emma said, narrowing her eyes at Elsa in a look of reproof. "And yes, Elsa is here. She's not letting me go back to check on everyone." She said that like it was a moral failing, and Elsa bared a fang in response.

"Good," Jack said vehemently. "Almost everyone's cleared out and the fire department is here, but that doesn't mean it's safe. Where are you? I'll pick you up."

Emma looked around, seeming to notice their surroundings for the first time. "Outside cousin Maya's deli, actually." She frowned.

"Jack, I need to check on everyone."

"We need to regroup first. I don't think anyone was seriously injured-just a few minor burns the paramedics are treating. You can check in on people once we're sure you're out of danger."

"Ugh." Emma hung up and shoved her phone back in her pocket.

"You and my brother, I swear."

Elsa raised her brows. "Is it wrong to want to keep you safe?"

"You don't understand." Emma jabbed a finger in the direction of City Hall. "Those people were there because of me. I asked them to be there. Which means if anyone's hurt, it's because of me."

"No, it's because of whoever attacked you." Elsa didn't know many people in Dreamney Falls, but there was one obvious suspect. "Lady Tremaine, undoubtedly."

"It wasn't an attack," Emma said, looking startled by the suggestion. "Some jackass set off illegal fireworks."

Elsa shook her head. "It was designed to look like fireworks, but it was clearly magic. Your sign was targeted first, then the microphone. That's not random."

Emma's lips parted, but she didn't argue. For the first time, she seemed to understand the severity of the situation. "You really think someone tried to kill me?" she whispered.

"Not kill you," Elsa said. "If that was the goal, she wouldn't have started with your sign or sent explosions into the crowd. Even if you'd still been at the microphone when it blew up, your burns would have been superficial. That was a message."

Drop out of the race or else.

Fury washed over Emma's features. "The conniving bitch," she spat. "Does she care so much about keeping power that she's willing to hurt her own constituents?"

"Yes," Elsa replied bluntly. Sacrificing peasants in the name of kings was a time-honored human tradition.

"I can't imagine being such a horrible person." Emma shook her head. "Maybe I should drop out of the race to keep everyone safe."

"Absolutely not." Elsa grabbed Emma's shoulders, looking her in the eye. "If you drop out now, she wins. And if she's willing to light her own people on fire, what else is she willing to do to this town?" Jack had told her about the resort, how it would have destroyed the ley lines. When magic was woven into a place as deeply as it was in Dreamney Falls, unraveling that mystical network would have catastrophic effects. "She can't win another term."

Emma leaned against the front window of the deli, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. She looked shaken but angry, which was good. Anger could keep a body going in the face of many odds.

Long after Elsa's hope had died, her fury had kept her going.

"I don't want people to be hurt," Emma said. "But you're right. I can't roll over and let her win. She's gone too far."

Headlights turned onto the street, and some of the tightness in Elsa's chest loosened at the sight of Jack's familiar green car.

Jack would help make this better. Elsa knew how to fight and how to run, but Jack had a skill set she didn't. He would make hot chocolate with marshmallows and tell Emma it would be all right, and Emma would believe him.

Maybe he would tell Elsa that, too. And despite years of seeing the worst of people, years of forgetting how to trust, Elsa might believe him, too.

🩸🩸🩸

IT WAS TWO A.M. WHEN THE SCOOBY GANG FINALLY LEFT JACK'S HOUSE.

They'd convened an emergency meeting to discuss what to do next. While Kristoff, Eugene, and Elsa had discussed various means of retribution and Anna had paced furiously, muttering about how she'd known her mother was corrupt but not that corrupt, Jack had made hot chocolate and cookies for everyone. Rapunzel and Tinkerbell had eventually talked Elsa and the demons down from their more dramatic suggestions, and ultimately they'd decided to release a statement condemning the attack on democracy. Emma would make the rounds, checking on the injured, and they would hire more security for future events.

"We don't back down," Emma had said, clutching her mug to her chest. It had upset Jack to see his sister so shaken, but she was tough, and his concern had warred with pride as she'd vowed to keep fighting the good fight.

Jack had tried to honor that courage with his own, keeping his shaking fear locked up until he could let it out in private.

Kristoff and Anna had offered to escort Emma home. Jack waved from the doorway as they piled into Anna's red truck. As soon as the taillights disappeared around the corner, Jack exhaled shakily and sagged against the doorframe, pressing a hand to his heart. His finger brushed the edges of a singe mark that had melted the fibers of his sweater vest. His favorite sweater vest, he thought deliriously. Blue-and-gray argyle. He'd worn it to impress Elsa, and now it was ruined

Elsa was at his side in an instant. "Sit down," she ordered, grabbing his elbow.

Jack let her lead him back inside. She shoved him onto the couch, wrapped him in a blanket with efficient, aggressive movements, and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later she was back with a mug of tea on a saucer, which she planted on the coffee table in front of him. Then she crossed her arms and stared at him with unblinking intensity.

Jack blinked bleary eyes, looking between her and the steaming tea. She'd bundled him up so tightly he couldn't move his arms. "Um?"

"Drink," she ordered. "You are distressed."

As a nursemaid, she lacked a delicate touch, but Jack smiled for the first time since the disastrous rally. Elsa approached life like a general facing a battlefield, and now she was deploying her forces-tea and a blanket-to comfort him.

His rigid control over his emotions unraveled and he started crying.

Elsa's eyes widened. She sat next to him and patted his shoulder. "There, there," she said. "We will defeat the enemy." Jack couldn't help it-he laughed wetly at her attempt to be soothing, sniffling through his tears. "Sorry," he said, wiping his eyes. "I was trying not to freak out in front of Emma." Emma had been freaked out enough-she hadn't needed Jack falling apart in front of her. Now that she was gone, though, he was free to cry out the fear of seeing his sister narrowly escape danger.

Jack had always been a crier. At sad movies, when his family and friends were upset, when he was overwhelmed ... He'd been bullied for it at school, but he didn't mind so much now. This was who he was, and he'd rather love deeply and cry than feel anything less for his family.

Elsa looked consternated at his distress. She hadn't cried once about her situation, he realized, and he wondered if she ever did. Her eyes darted between his teary face and the tea, and she nudged the saucer closer.

Taking the hint, Jack extricated his arms from the blanket and grabbed the mug. There were five tea bags in it. Maybe Elsa thought the bigger the distress, the bigger the ammunition needed to combat it. He sipped the almost unbearably pepperminty brew and made an appreciative noise. "Very nice," he choked out.

"Thank you."

She nodded, still watching him like a hawk. Under that piercing blue gaze, Jack choked down the rest of the tea as quickly as possible. Then he set the mug back on the saucer. "Delicious," he said, wondering if his taste buds would ever recover. At least the tea had shocked him out of his tears.

"You were very good with Emma," Elsa said, surprising him.

"She was afraid, but you stayed calm, and it made her feel better."

"Only on the outside," he said. "Inside I've been screaming incoherently for a few hours."

"Are you still screaming internally?" she asked, dark brows drawing closer together. "I can procure more tea-"

"No," he said forcefully. "No more tea, thank you." At her continued expression of concern, he fumbled for something else that might make her feel like she was being helpful. "There's whiskey in the cabinet over the stove."

A short while later they were both slightly tipsy and wearing pajamas, watching an episode of Star Trek together. Elsa's pajamas consisted of one of his shirts and a pair of his flannel pants rolled up at the waist. Jack knew he should probably get her something that fit better, but after the first time seeing her swimming in his clothes, he'd been too delighted to offer anything else. It touched a strange, possessive place in his heart. She was here, wearing his clothes, watching her favorite show on his TV, looking relaxed and content.

He didn't think Elsa had much experience being relaxed.

"I don't think Q does enough interesting things with omnipotence," she said

"Hm?" Jack realized he hadn't been watching TNG for a few minutes, instead letting his eyes trace the pale curve of neck that had been revealed when she'd tied her hair up in a messy bun.

"I mean, he does interesting things," she said, gesturing at the TV, where Q was playing the trumpet as part of a mariachi band on the bridge of the Enterprise, "but he's very focused on the crew of the Enterprise when he could be shaping the fate of the universe."

"Maybe he's tired of shaping the fate of the universe," Jack said.

"Maybe he wants to feel accepted by normal people."

Elsa's head whipped around. She looked struck by the thought. "He's lonely."

"Maybe." Jack's eyes were still stuck on Elsa's neck. The whiskey had softened the edges of the world, but he wasn't drunk yet, just loose enough to ask a question he'd been wondering.

"Does being bitten by a vampire hurt much?"

Elsa's spine went rigid. Her pupils dilated so fast her eyes turned from blue to red in an instant. "What?"

Jack tapped his neck with the tips of two fingers. "Being bitten. You said it feels good for the, ah, prey, but... does it hurt, too? I thought vampires preferred drinking that way."

Her lips parted. Though she was sitting perfectly still, the air around her seemed to vibrate. "We do like drinking that way, yes," she said, her accent stronger than he'd ever heard it. "It is intimate."

Her fangs had lengthened as they did whenever she drank, and she dug one into her lower lip, indenting the plush surface. "I have never been bitten, obviously, but I hear it doesn't hurt. Our saliva numbs the skin. There's a slight pinch, and then the greatest pleasure."

The greatest pleasure sounded... interesting. Jack shifted on the couch, making room for his growing erection. "Do you drain people when you bite them?" he asked. He'd never been so aware of his own pulse before.

"No, we drink only until we are sated."

Jack shivered at the word sated in her French accent. If Elsa rarely relaxed, he imagined she was truly sated even less frequently. "Do you want to?" he asked.

She stiffened even further, but now he could see fine tremors racing over her limbs. "Jackson, are you offering your neck?" she asked quietly.

Was he? He thought of the bagged blood in his fridge. Even heated up on the stove, it couldn't taste as good as fresh blood. She hadn't drunk deeply in nearly a week; she must be thirsty.

She was sitting on his couch, in his clothes, watching his TV.

He wanted her sated and sleepy on his blood, too.

Jack sat up straight, running a hand through his hair. "Are you drunk?" he asked. "I'm not, just a little tipsy, but I don't want to do this if you're drunk-"

In a flash, Elsa was straddling his lap. She cupped his cheeks in her palms. "I'm not drunk," she said. "So tell me-do you want this?"

Oh God.

She felt incredible on top of him, strong thighs squeezing him as he gripped her waist. Jack's heart raced. He felt alive, invigorated-desperate. To have her lips on him even in this way...

He nodded. "Yes," he said, tipping his head to the side to expose his jugular. "I do."

A shuddering breath escaped her red lips. Jack braced himself, expecting her to strike like a snake, but instead she leaned in until her breath ghosted over his pulse. Then came the soft, wet stroke of her tongue dragging over his skin.

Jack groaned. He was hard from nothing but anticipation and her weight in his lap.

Elsa must have felt it. Must have sensed it with whatever succubus instincts she had, too, because she settled further into his lap and gently rocked her hips, moving over his erection in slow, incremental movements that were going to drive him mad.

Her tongue dabbed his skin again, and he squeezed her waist, nearly out of his mind from anticipation.

There was a sudden sting, but the pain vanished instantly, replaced by a wave of heat that traveled from his neck over his entire body. Her fangs were in his neck, he realized hazily. Then she sucked for the first time, and he came utterly undone.

"Oh-my-" Jack couldn't finish the sentence. Pleasure spun through him, hot and tingly and beyond anything he could have imagined. Goosebumps peppered his skin, then were soothed away by more waves of heat, and each draw of her mouth roused a new pulse of arousal. His fingers dug into her waist as he bucked, grinding against her without restraint. Distantly he wondered if he was bruising her with his hands and the force with which he was humping up against her, but Elsa didn't seem to mind.

She ground against him just as hard, then moaned against his neck. The sound vibrated through his veins before setting up camp at the base of his skull.

"Lycaon, Hecate, Jesus, fuck-" Jack didn't believe in any particular deity, but their names spilled from his tongue regardless.

Pressure built in his dick, and his balls tightened. He was going to come from this.

Elsa sucked one more time, hard enough to make his head swim, then drew back and licked the puncture wounds. "So good," she moaned, continuing to rock against him. Her fingers dug into his hair, holding him in place so she could look into his eyes.

Jack had never seen anything sexier. Her lips were ruby-red with his blood, and a trickle dripped toward her chin. Her pale skin had grown flush with the life he'd poured into her, and her eyes were dark and hazy with desire. She panted as she rubbed her clit over his cock in short, sharp circles that told him she was getting close.

Then she tipped her head back and cried out, and that was all it took. Jack orgasmed in his pajama pants, a burst of sensation that had him shouting and clutching her closer. He crushed her to his chest as he thrust, riding out the spurts.

When he was spent, he collapsed back against the couch, chest heaving like a bellows. He forced himself to release his death grip on Elsa, instead stroking gently up and down her back. She shivered, then tucked her face into his neck and licked the bite mark. Soothing him or savoring the last bit of flavor, he couldn't say, but he adored it.

He adored her.

Dizziness swept over him, and he blinked up at the ceiling. It felt like he'd taken an axe to the trajectory of his life, splitting time into a before and an after. Before her mouth had been on him. After he'd known the mind-spinning, impossible pleasure of her bite.

"You drink from me from now on," he said roughly. Then, realizing his error at the stiffening of her spine, he clarified. "Only if you want to, of course. It wasn't an order. Sorry."

It wasn't in his nature to give orders, even without the curse making him extra cautious, but something primal and possessive had risen with her bite. He had the sudden thought that he would rip out the throat of anyone who tried to take Elsa from him.

This primal need and fury... this wasn't him. Not a version of him he recognized, anyway, but the alarm he should have felt was distant in the postorgasmic haze. He'd heard other werewolves talk about the instincts of the wolf, but he'd never understood what they meant before.

Now he did.

Elsa had relaxed after his clarification, and now she lifted her head. He braced himself for her anger at being commanded, even inadvertently and with the order quickly rescinded, but she smiled lazily. Her cheeks were flushed, and her skin had the dewy glow it took on every time he masturbated in the shower. He'd fed her twice over tonight. "I would like to drink from you from now on," she told him, accent still thick. Then her lashes fluttered and she yawned hugely.

Jack had orgasmed so intensely he shouldn't have been capable of movement, but his brain had been overrun by animal instincts.

He'd fed his mate, and now she was tired. He shifted her in his arms, then stood to carry her to the bedroom. His bedroom, because he wasn't willing to let her sleep away from him after what they'd shared.

"Here," he whispered, setting her down on his dark blue sheets.

"Will you stay with me tonight? Please?"

Elsa nodded, cheek moving over the pillow. Her eyes were closed, and as he watched, her breathing grew slow and even.

Something unbearably tender bloomed in his chest. He rubbed his breastbone, marveling at the sleeping vampire succubus in his bed. What trust it took to fall asleep next to him while he was still awake.

He made a brief detour to the restroom to clean up, then changed into fresh pajama pants, climbed into bed beside her, and turned out the light. Letting his instincts take the helm as his thoughts receded into the haze of sleep, he tucked her against his chest and curved his body around her, a bulwark against the world that had been so cruel to her.

She trusted him.

He would never violate that trust.

🩸🩸🩸

ELSA WAS CLINGING UPSIDE DOWN TO THE CEILING WHEN JACK ENTERED THE KITCHEN THE NEXT MORNING.

"I have an idea," he said. "Let's-wait, what are you doing?"

Elsa waved down at him. "We should repaint your house!"

He looked sexy, and that wasn't just because Elsa had drunk his blood the night before. His T-shirt and pajama pants were rumpled, his hair was tousled in an appealing way, and stubble had grown in around the edges of his beard. She liked seeing him all messed up.

She'd liked feeling his body against hers last night, too. What a delight her werewolf had turned out to be!

Jack blinked up at her. "What?"

"The whole house could use a coat of paint, but your ceiling is especially bad." The white paint was peeling in spots and yellowed in others. Elsa poked one of the ridges, wrinkling her nose when a flake of paint fell away.

"I guess," he said, heading for the coffeepot. "It's one of those things I don't think about. Too much else going on." He made a pleased sound when he found the pot full. "You made coffee?"

Elsa nodded, blonde hair swinging beneath her. "It took a few tries, but I think I figured it out."

A few tries was the mild term for her battle with the coffee machine that morning. She'd seen Jack use it, so she'd felt prepared, but faced with all the bits and pieces, it had been confusing. First she'd forgotten to fill the machine with water. Then she'd forgotten to put the carafe back in after cleaning it, which had resulted in a torrent of brown water pouring over the kitchen floor. She also wasn't sure how many scoops to put in the filter, so she'd guessed, but finally the pot was full of a hot liquid that looked appropriately coffee-like.

After drinking one mug, she was currently plastered to the ceiling inspecting the paint, so she figured it had done its job of waking her up.

"It's a lovely day," she said. Her fingers quivered, and her leg kept jogging so fast it was almost vibrating. "So much sun! Maybe we can install a training dummy in the yard today. Or maybe we should hunt down Lady Tremaine and break her arms?" She giggled. "So many possibilities! I'm already having a great time."

She clung tighter to the ceiling so she wouldn't collapse as her fingers twitched in a random sequence. The thought of plummeting to Jack's kitchen floor made her giggle again. How dramatic that would be!

Even upside down, she could tell Jack was looking at her oddly.

He poured a mug of coffee, took a sip... and spit it out into the sink. "Good God," he choked out. "How much ground coffee did you use?"

Elsa thought back to her calculations. With eight cups of water she ought to use. "Twenty-four scoops," she said proudly.

Jack was running the faucet and cupping water in his palm to rinse out his mouth. "Too much," he said. "Way too much."

"Was it?" Elsa frowned. "It tasted like horrible brown sludge, but isn't that the point?" Coffee tasted bad and felt good, and right now Elsa felt like she could single-handedly fight an entire army so long as her heart didn't explode first.

Jack straightened, then leaned against the counter, looking up at her. "You're caffeinated up to the stratosphere, aren't you?" he asked

Elsa didn't know that term yet-stratosphere-but she would look it up. She laughed again. "I feel like I could fly!" Jack rubbed a hand over his nose and chin.

"Right," he said. "You're going to have a bad comedown."

Elsa didn't know how that was possible when she'd never been so excited in her life. "I love coffee!" she pronounced.

"I'm sure you do." Jack held out his arms. "Care to join me on the ground?"

The thought of falling into his grip was appealing, but she didn't want to injure him, so Elsa scuttled over the ceiling like a crab and headed down the wall. She popped up on her feet, then swayed. "Oh," she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "My heart is going very fast." Her head spun, too. Being right side up didn't feel so good.

"Water," Jack said. He filled a glass, then handed it to her.

Elsa chugged it as her eyelid twitched. She had started sweating, and anxiety surged. "Did I poison myself?" she asked.

"Am I dying?" After six centuries, this would be an embarrassing way to go.

"No," Jack said, "but let's see how you do with water. If you don't feel better in a bit, I'll take you to the doctor."

Elsa bared her fangs and hissed. "No leeches," she said. "I hate leeches."

"They don't do leeches anymore." Jack looped an arm around her, then guided her to the couch. "Why don't you sit down and keep drinking water while I make us some breakfast?"

Breakfast sounded good. Elsa was suddenly starving.

The sound of the refrigerator opening and closing was followed by the cracking of eggs. As something delicious started sizzling, Elsa threw herself down on the couch, trying to force her racing thoughts and heart to still.

Maybe she should work this alarming sensation into her show.

Her second performance was tonight, and she'd decided a true avant-garde artiste would vary the content of the performance each time to create a unique experience. The underlying dance of bloodlust, free will, and coercion would remain the core of the piece, but perhaps there was room to expand it. Explore new facets of the situation she'd been thrown into.

By the time Jack appeared with a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs, she was practicing a full body movement designed to evoke the feeling of too much coffee. She let a shiver climb her body from ankles to fingertips, escalating into full-body flailing, and then she mimicked the feeling of her head exploding with what the internet had informed her were jazz hands.

Jack's steps paused slightly before he made his way to the coffee table to deposit the plate. "I can't tell if it's a good sign that I don't even question half the things you do anymore."

"Bacon!" she exclaimed, skipping over and plopping herself down in front of the plate. "Do you have some as well?"

He grunted in confirmation, then retrieved his own plate and sat next to her, bringing with him another large glass of water.

Thankfully, the combination of food and water helped calm her a bit, though an ache had started in her head.

"How many scoops should I have put in the coffee machine?" she asked, rubbing her temples.

"Eight or so."

"Oh." A third of what she had used. "And that is sufficient to wake you up?"

Jack chuckled. "Depends on the day." He checked his watch. "I need to head to the store. Are you good to stay here, or do you want to come with me?"

Normally she would go, but considering the escalating pain in her head... "Stay," she decided. "I need to practice my routine anyway."

"Right," he said. "The second show. I told you it's sold out, right?"

"Yes!" Given the interest from theatrical critics and the glowing newspaper review, Jack had decided to sell tickets, with a small percentage going to the Emporium for use of the space and the rest going to Elsa herself. She liked the idea of having her own money.

He shook his head, smiling. "I never would have guessed blood-soaked interpretive dance was the latest in theatre, but I haven't seen a show in years, so what do I know?" He widened the spread of his legs until his knee nudged her thigh. "You're a phenomenon, Elsa."

She felt flustered at the praise and delighted by the physical touch. After last night, she'd half expected Jack to emerge from his room embarrassed and apologizing for orgasming in his pants, but it seemed removing the physical barrier between them in such dramatic fashion had made him more comfortable with casual contact.

Speaking of casual contact... "I was thinking," she said, setting the fork down.

"Yes?" he asked before biting into a strip of bacon.

"You liked me sucking your blood. Can I suck your penis, too?" The bacon flew across the room as Jack made an explosive wheezing sound. He clapped a hand to his mouth, then whipped his head around to stare at her wide-eyed. A strangled sound emerged from behind his palm.

Elsa frowned. "Was that too forward?" Admittedly, she hadn't dated in six centuries. Not that this was necessarily dating.

But her carnal encounters over the years had mostly been onetime affairs when she could sneak away from assassination missions-or the intro to said assassinations-so she didn't know the politics of asking the man she was living with if she could put his penis in her mouth.

Yes, the situation with Jack was complicated, but he tasted nice and supported her theatrical endeavors and made her breakfast, and she liked all of that. And for the first time in a long, long time, it felt like she could have something for herself. A pleasure, freely given and freely taken.

She would like fucking him, too, but that was a line she didn't want to cross yet. Not until everything was equal between them and no command could shape her will.

Jack dropped his hand to his lap, but his mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments before he spoke. "Why would you want to give me a blow job?"

That must be what the act was called these days. She shrugged and scooted closer. "I like you," she said. "I'm sure I'll like blowing your job, too."

His mouth quivered, and she wasn't sure if he was trying not to laugh or about to run away screaming. "I, ah-" He cleared his throat, shifting on the couch. "I haven't done that in a while. A long while."

"I can fix that." She reached for the waistband of his pants, then hesitated when he scooted away. "You don't want it?" The rejection speared her in the chest, sharp and unpleasant. She'd thought they were on the same page. That maybe he liked her, too, and wanted to reciprocate. She dropped her hand to her lap.

"It's not that," he said hurriedly. "I do want it. Lycaon, how I want it." He groaned, and the rough edge to his voice did a lot to help with the rejection. "But you're not here by choice. It wouldn't be right."

"We get to decide what's right," Elsa said. "No, I didn't come here by choice, but I'm staying with you now and I don't have to. I don't have to blow your job either, but I want to."

He scratched his head anxiously, and she realized his cheeks had turned red, the blush visible to even his chin. "Blow job is a noun. Instead of blowing the job, you would say, ah..."

"Yes?" she asked. When he didn't immediately answer, she pushed for more. "I like vocabulary lessons. And it's important to blend in in this time, right?"

Oh, the wolf was a delight when embarrassed. This wasn't the stressed, taut look of anxiety but something earnest and sweet. It made her want to tease him every chance she got. "You could say blowing me, if you wanted," he said. "Or, ah, sucking my cock. Or dick." He made a face. "Not penis, though. That sounds very clinical."

The vulgar words fell from his tongue hesitantly, which made them seem even naughtier. She was absolutely going to suck his penis, and she was going to make him put on a sweater vest before doing it.

"So it's a yes to sucking the cock?" she asked.

He groaned again. "I'm not awake enough for this discussion."

"Should have had the coffee," Elsa pointed out.

Jack stood and paced halfway to the TV, then turned to face her again. "I need to think about this. I felt bad enough losing control last night." His brow furrowed. "Did I hurt you, by the way?"

Elsa had a few bruises on her hips and waist from his fingers, which was exactly how it should be. "You were perfect. And you don't have to be embarrassed about losing control. That's the fun of it." Not that she had lost control with a partner since her mystical entrapment-that required trust, which she'd long since decided herself incapable of.

"I'm not ... good at losing control," Jack said. His stubbled throat bobbed.

Elsa patted the couch next to her. "I won't maul you," she said when he hesitated. "I only want to do this if you're comfortable." Consent was the most important thing to her. If Jack was nervous or hesitant about a blow job, she would never push him into it.

Maybe she should make her own boundaries clear, too. "I'm only talking about mouths and hands," she said. "No penetrative sex until the curse is broken." It wasn't that penetrative sex was somehow better than hands and mouths-she'd had lovers with no penises and some with penises who were unable to use them or who didn't want to, and it had never mattered to her-but she wanted to have something to look forward to. Not just for her, but for him.

It's a reason to make him eager to lift the curse, the wary part of her whispered. Some men would promise anything to have sex and then break those promises the moment the act was done. She didn't think Jack was one of those men... but it didn't hurt to hold something back.

Jack finally returned to sit next to her. "Something's wrong with me," he said, pushing his hair back from his face. "What kind of man wants to wait when the most beautiful woman in the world offers to suck his dick?"

The most beautiful woman in the world. Elsa preened at that, but she didn't want him flagellating himself. "I did suggest it rather suddenly," she said. Possibly the caffeine's fault, at least a bit. "Don't feel bad, Jack. I mean it. Take time to think."

In response, he reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers. Though the caffeine and her impulsive nature tempted her to launch into a barrage of questions about his past experiences, what he wanted, and when he might make a decision about her offer, she forced herself to stay silent and wait for him to answer.

"I do want to take some time to think today," he said at last.

"We're in a tricky situation with that crystal."

She nodded.

"And even if we do..... do that," he said, "I don't want it to be rushed. I have to be at work in twenty minutes, and that's not nearly enough time."

Oooh, that was promising. Elsa shifted, liking the idea of a leisurely session with Jack-assuming he planned on returning the favor. "Would you lick me back?" she asked, feeling the need to clarify.

He gave her a look that said obviously. "I don't receive without giving, Elsa. If we do this, I'm going to be thorough." Very, very promising. Her nipples tightened and arousal began to pulse between her thighs. "I like thorough," she said.

He squeezed her fingers again, then huffed and shook his head, smiling a little. "You never stop surprising me." Surprising her in return, he leaned in to press a quick kiss to her forehead. "I need to get to work. Feel free to call if you need anything."

She remembered surprising him by being on the ceiling that morning, and it reminded her of something. "When you first came to the kitchen, you said you had an idea. What was it?"

"Oh!" He snapped his fingers. "I know a private investigator-a friend of my third cousin's. I was thinking he could look into the Witch in the Woods for you. See if we can find out who she is and where she is." He got up to grab a piece of paper from his desk, then handed it to her. On it was scribbled a name and phone number. "You can give him a call and let him know everything you remember about the witch. I've already given him a heads-up, and I'll pay for it, of course."

At last, a step toward resolving the issue of the Witch in the Woods, though the part of her that questioned anything good couldn't help but wonder if it was because sex had been brought up. She told that wary, paranoid part of herself to be quiet and accept the gift. "Thank you, Jack."

He gave her a fond look, then tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll see you at the show tonight."

--------------------

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Chapter Text

CAN I SUCK YOUR PENIS, TOO?

Jack couldn't stop replaying the conversation from that morning. Between finding Elsa on the ceiling, tasting the coffee equivalent of battery acid, and receiving such an abrupt and explicit offer, it was like he'd hopped straight from the bed onto a roller coaster.

He was now sitting at the Emporium's front desk, supposedly balancing the books, and though he'd been staring at the same account ledger for twenty minutes, he couldn't have described it if someone had held a sword to his throat and threatened imminent decapitation.

He fingered the remnants of Elsa's bite. The two tiny wounds had already healed over, which research had taught him was normal for vampire bites. Whether it was something in their saliva or an aspect of whatever magic animated them, vampires had developed quite the evolutionary advantage. Their prey not only loved the bite but recovered quickly-the better to drink from again.

He couldn't wait for her to drink from him again.

Did he want Elsa to give him a blow job, too? Obviously yes, very much. Way, way too much, as evidenced by the fact he'd had to duck into the bathroom for a furtive masturbation session not even an hour into his shift. But he was out of practice and she was mystically bound to obey his every command, and that seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Jack also had to admit he was worried about disappointing her.

She was a succubus and had probably had more partners than he could imagine. He didn't care who or how many she'd been with-that sort of insecurity was patriarchal bullshit that treated female pleasure as something to be ashamed of-but she probably had high expectations for a partner's performance. Jack had been with six women over the years, and though he fancied he'd left them all satisfied, how could that possibly compare to a sort-of-immortal's experiences receiving cunnilingus?

But to have her mouth on him and his between her legs in return...

"Any reason you're staring at the Peter peppers like you want to take them out to dinner and then back to your place for a quote-unquote 'nightcap'?"

Rapunzel's question jolted him back into the present. He had zoned out while staring in the direction of a plant on display next to the desk, one that was currently fruiting bright red peppers.

And not just any red peppers, he realized with dismay-no, they had to be Peter peppers, which had the misfortune of resembling penises in shape.

Great. Blame Rapunzel and Merida for that display choice. He'd suggested highlighting some of their edible peppers earlier that morning, so of course they'd found the most phallic ones possible.

"Just thinking," he said, cheeks heating.

Rapunzel gave him a skeptical look from where she was watering a tray of African violets on the other side of the desk. "I would ask what about, but we don't have an HR department to help me process the inevitable trauma."

"Or an HR department to question your pepper choices," he shot back.

Rapunzel grinned. She'd returned from her honeymoon a week ago, the day after Elsa's first performance. Her freckled skin was lightly tanned and she radiated happiness. Eugene had the same glow whenever he came into the Emporium for a quick kiss from Rapunzel-which was often. Newlywed Bliss agreed with both of them.

Rapunzel and Eugene hadn't always been so cozy, though. "How did you know getting together with Eugene was the right thing to do?" he asked, shoving the ledger aside. There would be no focusing on numbers until he'd decided what to do about the blow job situation.

"What do you mean?" Rapunzel asked.

Jack's fingers drummed an uneasy tempo against the desk. "It had to be awkward, since you'd summoned him and he couldn't leave without taking your soul" A conundrum that had been resolved through some clever spellcraft on both parts, though they'd already been an item by that point. "So how did you know it was ... okay?"

"Ah." Rapunzel set down the watering can and gave him a knowing look. "This is about your succubus."

The group text remained, as ever, far too active when it came to speculating about his personal affairs. "Vampire succubus," he corrected. "And she isn't mine."

According to eBay she was, though, which was the root of the problem.

Rapunzel shrugged. "With Eugene... I guess I was horny."

Jack nearly choked on his laugh. "You're very lucky we don't have an HR department." He didn't mean it, of course. Rapunzel and Merida were his friends. Maybe that wasn't a wise way to run a business, but Jack wasn't some corporate dictator. He couldn't imagine putting distance between himself and the people he spent most of his time with, especially when they were so delightful. He leaned in, clasping his fingers together on the desk as his feet took up the drumming motion. "But really. Were there any questions about... consent?"

Rapunzel's expression turned thoughtful. "Yes, a bit. I'd summoned Eugene by mistake, but the result was the same regardless of my intention. He was stuck with me until I gave up my soul."

Very similar to the eBay issue. "And?"

"Look, I knew hooking up with him was probably a bad idea when I did it." She squinted. "Maybe. To reiterate, I was very horny. But the point is, even if he didn't consent to being summoned, he could still consent to a relationship and sex, if that's what you're asking about."

Jack buried his face in his hands. Yes, that was what he was asking about. No, he didn't want to say it out loud.

"Is she trying to escalate things or are you?" Rapunzel asked.

He shook his head, still hiding his face.

"Her, then. Not that I'm surprised."

At that, Jack dared a peek at her between his fingers.

"You're very .." Rapunzel paused, clearly thinking through how to say whatever came next. "Gentlemanly, of course, but you don't put yourself out there dating-wise. So it makes sense she made the first move."

"I work a lot," he said, feeling like he needed to justify his lack of romantic entanglements over the years.

"I know," Rapunzel said, making soothing gestures that would have rankled if he hadn't been so desperate for advice. "And it wasn't a judgment. I'm just saying that as far as I've seen, you put your business and your family and friends first, even above your own personal happiness."

He didn't quite know what to say to that. "Uh ..."

"How many family knitting projects do you have going on right now?" she asked bluntly.

He winced. "I'm running so behind. Things have been hectic-"

"Exactly." She pointed at him. "You're probably castigating yourself because you haven't finished eight thousand hats and a million scarves in time for the holidays when you've also been working yourself to the bone on the Annex."

More like two scarves, one hat, and a baby blanket, but he supposed he could see her point. "I love my family. And I'm not great with words, so this is how I show them."

"I'd argue you are great with words," she said. "You just say them more quietly than anyone else in your family."

His family was very loud, that was true. "The issue right now isn't my knitting or how I communicate with my family. What do I do about Elsa?"

Rapunzel crossed her arms, leveling him with a serious look that, funnily enough, channeled Eugene. "Do you want to hook up with her?"

"I mean..." He gestured aimlessly.

"Use your words, Jackson."

He grimaced. "Yes, obviously. She's-she's amazing." He remembered her clinging to the ceiling, babbling about breaking Lady Tremaine's arms, and smiled. "I've never met anyone like her. She's brave and exciting and really, really strange, and every day I wonder what new, odd thing she'll be up to."

"Ah." Rapunzel grabbed a stool and dragged it over, plopping herself down opposite him. "So it's not just a physical attraction."

"No, but obviously that's part of it. I mean, you've seen her." She nodded. "Holy Jessica Rabbit mixed with Dove Cameron. Total bombshell."

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if he should share this next detail with Rapunzel. He wasn't used to talking about his feelings with anyone except the occasional therapist. But in for a penny, right? "She bit me last night," he confessed. "Consensually, obviously."

Rapunzel made a squealing sound. "How was it? I hear vampire bites are freaky hot."

He swallowed, determined not to think about how "freaky hot" it had been while at his place of work. "It was good. Yes. Very ... good. But that's what started this whole thing. Now she wants to take it further."

"And you clearly like her, so what's the issue? Bang it out, babes!" Rapunzel held up a hand for a high five he was absolutely not going to give.

"She's mystically compelled to do anything I order her to," he said. "It's not an equal power dynamic."

"Ah." Rapunzel dropped the hand back to the desk, looking thoughtful. "Would you order her around in the bedroom, though?"

"No!" he said, horrified by the thought. She could order him around all she liked, though.

"Then so long as you don't ever break that promise, what's the harm? And you're trying to figure out how to break the spell anyway, so this might not even be an issue for very long."

"You're very eager to see me hook up with her." Jack's leg jogged beneath the desk. Maybe he shouldn't have brought this up with Rapunzel in the first place-sure, she was his friend, but he also felt embarrassed, like he'd been caught leaving the house with no clothes on. This wasn't a part of him he'd shown many people over the years.

"I'm eager to see you happy," Rapunzel retorted. "As long as I've known you, you've worked insane hours and spent most of your free time doing things for other people. You deserve to be loved up a little, Jack." She laid a hand over his and gave it a squeeze. "If you're worried, set some ground rules. Talk about what you'll do if it doesn't work out. Talk about whether this is just physical for the both of you or means something more."

It meant more to him, but he couldn't say that. To look Elsa in her beautiful eyes and confess that he was falling for her meant risking her telling him he was just a bit of fun. Or a literal snack. Or worse, a way to alleviate her boredom, since he wasn't sending her on high-stakes missions.

"Maybe," he said after a pause.

Rapunzel rolled her eyes. "Men. Eugene can be just as pigheaded, though thank Hecate he's gotten better about communicating." She stood, reaching for her watering can once more. "Give it some thought. Write down some pros and cons." She nudged her chin toward his ledger, which was filled with painstakingly handwritten numbers. "You like doing things the analog way anyway."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "You've only made fun of my paper records a million times."

She grinned. "It's charming. And has Elsa seen your handwriting? It's gorgeous. That'll win her heart for sure."

He scoffed, then waved her off. "Go be helpful to a plant." Before she could get far, he spoke again. "And hey. Thanks for the advice."

She raised her watering can in a toast of sorts. "I'm here anytime you want a female perspective."

As she moved away, humming and watering plants and occasionally stroking leaves to impart a spark of magic into the greenery, Jack reflected that maybe talking about feelings wasn't the worst thing ever, after all.

🩸🩸🩸

ELSA LET OUT A FINAL TRIUMPHANT SHRIEK FROM HER POSITION ON THE CEILING AND DROPPED BACK DOWN TO THE STAGE AS THE SPOTLIGHT WENT DARK.

The main lights came up a moment later, and she beamed at the clapping audience in their rows of folding chairs. "Thank you," she said, bowing. Her hair swung with the movement, crimson with fake blood and matted in long tangles that would take forever to comb out, and her skin was sticky and itchy, but it was all worth it. She'd never felt a rush like performing before.

It was the third outing of her one-woman show and the Saturday night crowd was even more raucous than Friday's had been.

Cornelius Crabapple was in the front row again, beaming as he applauded.

Jack brought two chairs onto the stage. He gave her a smile that launched a giddy fluttering in her chest. "You did great," he mouthed.

"Thank you," Elsa said, wondering if her cheeks were as pink as they felt. She unhooked the microphone from its stand and sat in one chair. Cornelius trotted up to take the other, hooves clicking on the floorboards. Jack handed the faun a second portable microphone, then vacated the stage with another flutter-inducing smile for Elsa.

"What an amazing performance!" Cornelius said into the microphone, eliciting further applause. "I got chills when you screamed at the end."

The faun was taking his role as the discoverer of what he'd deemed "an important new talent" seriously and had decided to host a moderated question and answer session about her art.

"Good," Elsa said. "It's meant to be visceral." She crossed her legs at the knee, foot jogging with excitement. The sequins covering her jumpsuit glittered, flashes of light peeping from beneath the blood spatters. This costume wouldn't survive much more shows-already some of the stains had been impossible to get out- but she had decided her show was going to be an evolution. Whatever she replaced it with would be colorful in a different way.

"Your show is abstract, but the theme of pointless societal violence and the importance of individual free will to combat it comes through clearly in the metaphor of an immortal assassin doomed to kill again and again for a faceless master." Cornelius leaned in, eyes sparkling as he gave her a charming smile. "Can you share the inspiration for this piece?"

"Well," Elsa said slowly, "I have been chained to a crystal for six centuries, forced to do the bidding of whoever wields it." She shrugged. "There was a lot of murder." Cornelius blinked, his smile fading. "What?"

"And I drew inspiration from Kesha, the movies Carrie and Cats, and performers like Ana Mendieta, Joan Jonas, and Isadora Duncan," she continued. "All raw performances in their own ways.

I think there's a lot to be explored at the intersection of sequins and blood." She was obsessed with Kesha's eclectic fashion and message of surviving and thriving despite trauma, and Elsa certainly wasn't the first artist to gyrate oddly or douse themselves in blood, real or fake, to make a point.

Cornelius chuckled, face relaxing. "I see. You don't want the audience to draw a distinction between the artist and the art. As far as we and your message are concerned, you might as well be the character of the assassin."

She squinted at him, confused. "Is that a question?" A chuckle went through the audience. She wasn't sure why, but she smiled at them anyway.

"Fair point," Cornelius said. "Here's a question: Why 'Barbie Girl' by Aqua?"

Ah, the song choice. She'd thought it a perfect metaphor. "Dolls have no free will-they are mere objects to be played with," she explained. "I'm a Barbie girl in a Barbie world' sounds fun and upbeat, but there's a dark truth beneath the synthesizers. A Barbie girl has no say in her fate. In fact, the singer addresses her unknown master directly in the lyrics: 'life is your creation." She paused to let that sink in. "Your creation, she says, not my creation." It had infuriated her the first time she'd heard the song courtesy of Amy, the high school thespian running the sound booth, who had shared her music library to help Elsa choose a song to accompany her dance.

Cornelius's jaw dropped as his gray eyebrows rose. "Brilliant," he exclaimed. "I hadn't even considered the lyrics. I thought you were just trying to startle the audience with the contrast between blood and sequins, as you said earlier."

She nodded. "Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please.' Isn't that a sinister lyric?"

One of the visiting journalists was scribbling notes on a scroll while another was softly dictating into a recording device. Elsa looked offstage toward Jack, feeling nervous. What if they wrote horrible things about her?

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but at her look he straightened and gave her two thumbs up. He looked cozy in jeans and a frankly incredible green shirt apparently called a Henley that highlighted his shoulders and chest. He'd pushed up the sleeves to reveal his forearms, and she sighed at the sight of them.

What a treat he was.

Feeling better, Elsa looked back at Cornelius. "Next question?"

The rest of the question and answer session flew by with Cornelius asking about her dance training (none, though she'd incorporated sword fighting movements and studied GhoulTube videos of high school show choirs), her theatrical training (it was mainly instinct), and plans for future shows (no plans at present, though she would be delighted to have a full-time theatrical career). Even saying the word career into the microphone gave her a buzz of excitement. A career implied stability, the time to stay in one place and dedicate herself to something for her personal, financial, and artistic enrichment.

The Witch in the Woods owed her a lot. Time and sanity and a life, yes, but also compensation. Now that Elsa was earning money from her performances, she felt a burst of outrage that none of her kills or human-acquisition quests had been rewarded with money. The internet had informed her that Americans shared a countrywide hobby of "suing" people. Maybe she could sue the Witch in the Woods for back wages.

Then she'd disembowel her.

When the session ended, Elsa bowed again, thanked Cornelius for his time, and hurried backstage to wipe her face. The fake blood had started to itch under the spotlight.

She was standing in the small dressing room closet, scrubbing her cheeks with a wet wipe, when her ears caught a familiar voice amid the conversation beyond the door.

"How embarrassing," Lady Tremaine said. "I would be surprised at your choice of entertainment, but I already know your family lacks class."

Elsa stiffened. What was that despicable witch doing there?

Jack's voice followed, low but firm. "Don't talk about my family or Elsa like that."

"Don't tell the truth?" Lady laughed, light but ugly. "Do you really think these people enjoyed that performance? They're here to laugh."

Hurt arrowed through Elsa's chest. She crumpled the wipe in her fist, glaring at the door.

"I said," Jack repeated, "Don't talk about Elsa like that. People like her performances. Her shows are sold out for the next month."

"People are laughing at your sister, too," Lady said, undeterred. "So young and inexperienced, yet so sure she stands a chance of being elected." She scoffed. "How humiliating it will be when she fails."

"Is there a reason you're here?" Jack asked with more patience than Elsa would have mustered in his place. Yes, he sounded angry, but Elsa would probably have the mayor pinned to the wall by her throat by now.

"Since your sister won't take my calls," Lady said, "you can tell her I'm prepared to offer her one last chance to withdraw from this race. After what I've seen tonight, I'm certain the lot of you are only going to embarrass yourselves worse in the next two months."

"That's it," Jack said flatly. "Get out. You are no longer welcome in the Emporium."

"And what will you do?" Lady asked, sounding amused.

"Your hands are shaking. Do I make you nervous?"

That's it, Elsa whispered to herself, echoing Jack's words.

Lady Tremaine could insult Elsa all she liked, but she would not stand for the woman making Jack upset. She marched toward the closet door-all of two steps-and flung it open. "If you don't vacate this establishment right now," Elsa announced loudly, "I will rip out your spine and beat you with it."

Jack and Lady were facing off five feet away. Jack looked distressed, while Lady seemed smug. Considering her lack of surprise at Elsa's sudden appearance, she'd known Elsa could hear each insult.

Most of the audience had filed out, but a few curious onlookers remained. "You, too," Elsa said, pointing at a young man who was aiming his phone in her direction. She'd learned her lesson about antagonistic encounters being filmed and placed on the internet. "Out." She emphasized the order with a snap of her fangs.

The remaining onlookers fled. After the shop bell tinkled a final time, Elsa strode forward and inserted herself between Lady and Jack.

"Hey," Jack said, resting a hand on her shoulder-no doubt preparing to take her place confronting Lady, but Elsa was having none of it. His hands were shaking, and he was too kind for a confrontation like this one.

Elsa wasn't.

She grabbed his hand from her shoulder, but instead of tossing it off the way she would have if anyone else had tried to stop her from engaging in a fight, she found herself lacing her fingers through his.

Lady's green eyes darted down to their interlaced hands, then back up. "And so the reason for your ridiculous show being allowed onstage becomes clear." She wore a pale pink pantsuit today, and her grey hair was put up in the same chignon she'd worn at their first meeting. "I suppose it's in character, considering the Overland-Rosewood lack of taste."

God's right tit, this woman was annoying. Elsa was tempted to punch Lady hard enough to take away her sense of taste, but she took a deep breath. Be more like Jack, she told herself. Think this through. Jack had somehow managed to maintain his composure in the face of this provocation.

She remembered what she'd told Emma after that first meeting.

A woman like Lady had one deep vulnerability.

"Now look here-" Jack started, but Elsa looked at him and shook her head.

I'll handle it, she mouthed. Then she tipped back her head and forced herself to laugh.

Predictably, Lady stiffened, the amusement dropping from her face. "What's so funny?"

"You are," Elsa said. "So afraid you'll lose the election that you feel the need to come in here with your insults and threats."

"I'm not afraid I'll lose," Lady gritted out. "I'm just giving Emma-and the two of you-an opportunity to save yourselves future humiliation. Political campaigns are high-profile. It's not going to reflect well on the Overland-Frost name."

Elsa shrugged one shoulder, clutching Jack's hand tighter.

"All I see is an insecure woman with no compassion and even less sense. Do you think you reflect well on the Tremaine family name? Your sabotage of the rally aside, this is a pathetic display." Lady's nostrils flared. "That is slander," she spat. She grabbed the beads of her pearl necklace and started rolling them in her fingers, muttering something.

Elsa yanked Jack out of the way just in time to avoid a concussive blast of air that made the open closet door slam shut so hard it rattled. If Jack had been standing there, he would have been thrown into it.

Fury blazed through her, hot and unforgiving, and she gave up trying to think things through. Elsa didn't have magic, but she did have warp speed and good upper body strength. In an instant, she was holding Lady off the ground by her throat.

The woman kicked and struggled, clawing at Elsa's hand, but Elsa didn't budge. She carried Lady to the front door of the Emporium, opened it, and threw her out on her ass straight into a puddle.

"I'm going to be laughing at this all night," Elsa called out as Lady sputtered and thrashed. "Maybe Jack should hire you as entertainment next. A comedy show!"

Then she yanked the door shut, bell jangling in an agitated cacophony, and flipped the lock.

When she turned, Jack was gaping at her. Was it a good gape or a bad gape?

She heard Lady shrieking through the glass, and a look over her shoulder showed the muddied mayor screaming into her cell phone as she stomped toward a car. Elsa bared her fangs.

"Good riddance," she muttered.

"Elsa," Jack said, drawing her attention. "That was-" His throat bobbed, and then he began striding toward her, an intense expression on his face.

"Are you angry?" she asked, unable to interpret the feeling in his eyes. "She had it coming-"

She broke off when Jack yanked her into his arms. "That," he growled, "was one of the sexiest things I've ever seen."

Then he lowered his head and kissed her.

Elsa gripped Jack's upper arms for support as he kissed her with mind-scrambling thoroughness. His lips were soft, though they moved over hers with purpose. 

She'd wondered if he'd be a tentative kisser, but he wasn't. He seemed downright hungry.

Elsa pressed into him, reveling in the sturdy strength of his body. Her nipples stiffened, and she rolled in a sinuous wave, seeking more contact.

In response, Jack groaned into her mouth and pulled her tighter against him.

This was what she wanted, she thought hazily as lust built between them. A person who could be soft and strong. A person who didn't care that she had hard edges or her own strength. A person who kissed her like both offering and demand.

She groped upward from his arms to sink her fingers into his hair. It was thick and slightly coarse, perfect for gripping. Their height difference meant he was leaning over her, spine stooped slightly, so she stood on tiptoes to meet him.

Stars, she loved this. The slick slide of his tongue, the nip of his teeth, the soft puff of his breath. The feel of another living person so close and so caught up in the attraction burning between them.

Elsa widened her mouth, meeting his tongue with hers. She gently nibbled his lower lip, careful not to pierce him with her fangs. The thought of drinking blood from his mouth while their tongues tangled caused a fresh surge of wetness between her thighs, but she would never do that without asking first and she didn't want to stop kissing him.

Jack broke away with a gasp, and Elsa made a noise of complaint, following his mouth to nip at his lower lip.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't you dare apologize," she growled, grabbing his shirt collar to keep him from escaping.

He let out a breathless laugh. "I'm not sorry for kissing you," he said. "But I think we should probably go back to my place so we can shower and change into something less... sticky."

Oh. Elsa noticed the state he was in after kissing her. His shirt and pants were wet with the gooey fake blood she'd been covered in, since she hadn't changed out of her costume before confronting Lady. "Good point," she said. She would have liked licking real blood from his skin, but this corn syrup concoction was not an adequate replacement.

Still, loath to let go and figuring the shirt was already compromised beyond help, she tugged him against her once more, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

He groaned and returned the stroke with one of his own. Oh, she liked the way he kissed. Bold but not too forceful; sweet but still sexy.

His hands slid into her hair, and then he grunted and pulled them back out. Elsa laughed when he grimaced at the red, sticky fluid now coating his fingers.

"Didn't think that one through," he said.

She grabbed his sticky hand. "Take me home? We can shower together."

Jack's eyes widened, and then he was tugging her toward the door, long legs eating up the space. "You don't have to say that twice."

Elsa grinned as she followed, excitement sparkling through her like fireworks. Her werewolf had apparently concluded his thinking from the morning, and she couldn't wait to taste every inch of him.

🩸🩸🩸

JACK COULDN'T BELIEVE THIS WAS HAPPENING.

He drove like a maniac, ten miles an hour over the speed limit and only coming to rolling stops. His knee jogged as he glanced over at Elsa.

Jack had never imagined a sticky red sequined jumpsuit would be the pinnacle of erotic attire, but he suspected anything Elsa wore would turn him on. The jumpsuit hugged her curves, and he kept envisioning the moment she'd choked Lady Tremaine and thrown her into the street.

Should he find her violence that arousing? Did it say something about him that Freud would have written a paper on? 

Jack didn't care. He'd kissed Elsa's beautiful lips and held her in his arms, and now he was going to shower with her. It didn't even matter that both of them were leaving red stains on the seats of his SUV. Cars could be cleaned and seats reupholstered; getting to soap down a succubus was a much rarer experience.

He parked in his driveway and nearly strangled himself on the seat belt trying to get out of it. Elsa was waiting for him outside the house before he could even get to the passenger side to open the door for her. Her use of vampire speed might limit his ability to be a gentleman, but at least it showed she was as eager to get this started as he was.

Jack backed her against the front door, kissing her again. He fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock the door without taking his lips from hers. Elsa giggled-had there ever been a sweeter sound?-and turned in his arms to take control of the keys. There was a new red streak on his front door, but he'd been thinking about adding a pop of color anyway.

He planned to kiss her all the way to the bathroom, but Elsa was apparently too impatient. She moved in a blur across the living room, vanishing down the hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. When Jack caught up with her, she was already shimmying out of her jumpsuit.

He held out a hand, and she tossed the garment over. He absently folded it and set it on the counter without taking his eyes from Elsa. She wore blue cotton underwear and a sexy, sturdy-looking bra-not something with underwire and forcibly overflowing cups, more akin to a sports bra that had been custom-tailored for large breasts. He didn't know if she'd always had it or if she'd picked it up online shopping or if it had come in the same delivery as the devastating green dress.

Elsa reached behind her back and unhooked it, then sent the bra sailing. Jack snatched it out of the air and placed it next to the jumpsuit. The fabric was warm under his fingertips. She shimmied out of the panties next and kicked them away, and then she was standing nude and unashamed before him.

Had any goddess been formed with such care? Jack stared and stared, taking her in one miracle at a time: the dramatic curve between hips and waist, the strong legs, the blonde curls between her thighs. Her breasts were heavy, with large rosy nipples that tipped up as if volunteering to be sucked. There were red marks on her skin from the bra, and he wanted to soothe them with his tongue.

His eyes reached her face, familiar by now but still breathtaking: high cheekbones, a stubborn chin with a small divot in it, wickedly smiling lips. Her long hair was tangled and matted with fake blood, though, which reminded Jack she couldn't feel entirely comfortable. He shook himself and moved to the shower to start the water. "Elsa," he said as he dabbled his fingers in the stream, "you are so beautiful I'm speechless."

"You just spoke," she pointed out.

Jack would have laughed if his dick hadn't been so hard he was getting light-headed. "Well, please imagine there are reams of poetry dedicated to your nude body in my head." With the water at an ideal temperature, he swept the curtain aside to usher her in.

Elsa hopped in, humming and wriggling as the hot water hit her. Steam began rising, and her skin flushed before his eyes until the fog began to encroach on his glasses.

"Jack." She snapped her fingers. "Get naked."

He blinked. "Right." They would be showering together, and thank goodness he'd sprung for an expanded tub to fit his height.

He kicked his shoes into the corner next to hers and stripped off his clothes, flinging them into a haphazard pile. He looked down at his erect dick, silently praying she would find it acceptable.

Then he set his glasses on the counter and joined Elsa in the shower.

The heat was a jolt to his system, making him suck in a breath.

He cupped water in his palms and dumped it on his head and face, then shook his hair out.

Elsa let out a startled laugh as droplets hit her. "How wolf-like," she said. She stood facing him under the spray, fake blood trickling in rivulets from her hair and tracing her curves.

"Can I wash you?" Jack asked.

Elsa looked surprised, but then she smiled. "Be my guest," she said, turning to face the tiled wall.

He swallowed hard as his eyes traced down her muscled back to her round ass. She was magnificent, and thank goodness his vision was decent enough to make out the details at this close distance.

Jack was a big man. He'd worried he was too big in the past. He needed custom clothing and custom tubs and a big car, and if he was walking at night and spotted someone ahead, he crossed the street to avoid alarming them. It was a strange dichotomy-a nervous brain housed in a tank of a body-and he'd often worried about being too much for a romantic partner in more ways than one.

Elsa didn't seem to mind his brain or his body. She was strong and sturdy, tough enough to kick his ass and blunt enough to let him know if anything he did upset her.

The knowledge unraveled something in Jack's chest. He didn't need to worry about anything but pleasing her.

He exhaled, then reached for the shampoo.

Elsa hummed as he scrubbed her scalp with his fingers.

"That's nice," she said.

Jack grunted in response, focused on washing fake blood out of her hair. The blonde locks darkened under the water, draping over her breasts to her waist. He washed carefully, not wanting to snag the tangles with his fingers. When the water ran clean, he traded shampoo for conditioner.

"How do you know so much about hair?" Elsa asked as he combed the product through with a wide tooth comb.

"We always had conditioner at my house growing up," he said, carefully untangling a snarl. "I was surprised when I got to college and realized a lot of other guys didn't condition separately or use beard oil." No, the majority of them had used horrifying three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash that smelled like a diseased pine tree. He'd also learned he was an oddity for moisturizing his face and filing his nails after clipping them.

His hygiene had earned razzing from other guys, which had baffled him. Why shouldn't he want to smell and look nice? Why shouldn't he make his fingernails smooth in case he actually got to touch a woman?

Speaking of touching... Jack took a break from combing to run his hands over Elsa's curves. Her skin was so soft. He drew her hair over her shoulder and bent to press a kiss there.

She tipped her head to the side. "Mmm. Are you done washing me yet?"

"Almost." Jack turned her around and rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, then poured bodywash onto a sponge and ran it over her skin. It wasn't the most thorough scrubbing, but there was only so much patience a man could be expected to exhibit when the object of his desires was naked under his hands.

He cast the sponge aside and cupped her breasts, savoring the soft weight of them. They overflowed even his broad palms. He thumbed her rosy nipples, and Elsa hummed before lacing her arms around his neck. She toyed with the ends of his hair, and the scratch of her fingernails against his scalp sent a pleasurable shiver over him.

"Are your nipples sensitive?" he asked.

"Not that sensitive," she said. "I like to have them pinched." Jack could do that. He gently squeezed her nipples between thumb and forefinger. "This much pressure?"

She covered his hands with her own, pressing his fingers harder against her skin. "That much."

Jack obeyed her direction, alternating between massaging her breasts and pinching her nipples until they were rosy and stiff. He lowered his head to suck them, and when he lightly bit at one straining tip, her head kicked back and she let out a breathy gasp.

"Good wolf."

Oh, Jack liked that. Determined to earn more of her praise, he set himself to exploring what made her tick. Kissing her neck earned him more soft sighs, and she shivered when he traced his fingers over the delicate skin of her inner elbows. When he touched her hips with the same light touch, she made a growling sound and clapped her hands over his, encouraging him to grip more forcefully.

She explored him, too, dragging her hands in long sweeps over his chest and arms, scratching lightly at his back. They panted into each other's mouths, tongues tangling and lips stroking in an increasingly frantic rhythm.

He learned she liked rough touches in expected places and soft touches in unexpected ones. A kiss behind her ear produced the same moan that pinching her nipples did, and when he gripped her ass and hauled her against him, she let out a guttural yes that was going to play in his memories for the rest of time. Her lush ass overflowed Jack's grip, and he groaned into the curve of her shoulder as she nudged her hips forward, grinding against him.

She grabbed his buttocks, too, squeezing them in a covetous manner before lightly spanking one cheek. "Bon arrière-train," she said.

Jack chuckled breathlessly. "What does that mean?"

"You have a good posterior."

That was the oddest way anyone had ever said "nice ass," but he was into it. "You also have a bone... error train." When she snorted, he shook his head. "You can teach me how to say it properly later."

There was one place he hadn't explored yet. His fingers coasted over her hip, and then he slid his hand between their bodies, toying with the shower-wet curls before delving lower. When he parted her labia with his finger, he groaned to find her slick with more than just shower water. "Fuck, Elsa. You're so wet."

"Yes," she gasped. She gripped his cock with her usual directness, and he let out a choked sound at the feel of her fingers curving around him. "And you are deliciously hard," she said, stroking up and down the shaft.

Jack wasn't circumcised, and the skin moved under her grip in an exquisite slide. He wasn't going to last long with her touching him, and he refused to orgasm first, so he bit down on his inner cheek and focused on learning her contours. He played with her labia, circled the stiffened nub of her clit, gently pressed the tip of one finger inside her. Shower water wasn't the best lubricant, but she was so wet she accepted him easily. Still, he went slowly, sinking his finger into her a bit at a time. He crooked it when he dragged back out, massaging her inner wall, and Elsa made a filthy hot noise and squeezed his dick in response.

Jack buried his face in her neck. "How do you like being touched?" he asked against her skin.

"Two fingers," she told him. "I like the stretch."

Jack closed his eyes as he obeyed her order. Don't come, he told himself. Don't come. Because now he couldn't help but imagine her spreading her legs for his cock, moaning about the stretch as he thrust into her.

He nudged her clit with his thumb, and she issued another hissed yes that made his hips jerk.

"Direct touch?" he asked, barely able to string together words.

"Oui," she breathed.

Thankfully, if there was one word Jack knew in French, it was that one. Encouraged, he focused on rubbing her clit, keeping his fingers sunk inside her and flexing them rather than thrusting in and out. Giving her both the stretch and the direct clitoral stimulation she craved.

Elsa was panting now. When he pulled his head back to study her face, he saw her biting her lower lip, fangs indenting the plush surface. Her eyes were hazed with desire, and her skin was pink from heat and passion.

"Ne t'arrête pas," she said.

"Is that-"

"Don't stop," she ordered. "Don't you dare stop." She jerked him faster and more aggressively, occasionally swirling her thumb around the exposed tip of his cock, and her other hand came into play, cupping his balls.

Jack wouldn't stop. He anchored her against him with his free hand, fingers digging into the plush skin of her ass, while he continued rubbing and rubbing and rubbing her clit. Soon Elsa was gasping and twitching, and then she let out a long, broken moan as her pussy squeezed his fingers rhythmically.

Thank fuck. Jack lowered his head to bite the side of her neck as the pressure building in his cock released all at once. His cum spurted over her lower belly and coated both of their hands, but she didn't stop tugging until he groaned and gently nudged her fingers away from his too-sensitive dick.

He sagged back against the tile, head spinning. Elsa popped one of her fingers into her mouth to suck it clean, and he nearly fainted dead away at the sight. "Woman," he said in a ragged voice, "you might kill me."

"I would never wish to kill my wolf," she said solemnly. Then her naughty smile peeped out. "Unless it is la petite mort."

He chuckled. He knew that phrase, too: the little death. Thankfully, that was the sort of death that allowed for resurrection, even if his refractory period wasn't what it had been in college. He looked down at his softening cock, wondering how soon he would be able to orgasm again.

Then Elsa yawned, and he revised his plans. The water was lukewarm now and getting colder, so he quickly washed the remnants of passion away and turned off the shower. He wrapped Eleonore in a towel before grabbing his own. To his delighted surprise, she plopped a hand towel on his head and scrubbed vigorously, helping dry his hair. He returned the favor, then detoured to the bedroom to grab pajamas for both of them.

Within five minutes they were cuddled together under his blankets. Jack spooned her, enjoying the feel of her pressed against him. "How was it?" he asked.

"The shower?" She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "Very thorough."

The sparkle in her eyes said she was teasing. Jack lightly tapped her nose. "You know what I mean."

"The conditioner?" she asked, blinking innocently. "It smells very nice."

He groaned around a laugh. "You're going to make me beg for this compliment, aren't you?" Then, not wanting her to feel pressured if, in fact, it hadn't been up to her standards, he hurried to clarify. "You don't have to compliment me, of course. And if there are any areas I can improve in, I'd love to hear it. I can practice, make sure I'm doing exactly what you like-"

"Hush." She kissed his fingertip. "The orgasm was delightful." 

He exhaled in relief. "Whew. Okay. Good. But I'm always open to feedback."

"Noted." She nuzzled into the pillow. "I have no criticisms whatsoever. But it's just like sword fighting. We should both make sure to practice frequently to keep our skills sharp, don't you think?"

He grinned. "Elsa Arendelle-Devereux, are you propositioning me?"

"Yes."

He laughed at her bluntness. "Then I accept. We can practice whenever you want."

He drifted to sleep soon after that, still smiling.

🩸🩸🩸

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, DO I HAVE MORE INFORMATION?" 

Elsa demanded into the phone. 

"Isn't it your job to find that?"

On the other end of the line, the private investigator let out a weary sigh Elsa didn't think was merited. "So far," the investigator said, "the only things you've told me about this witch are that she wears a hooded cloak, has pale skin and dark hair, likes Star Trek, and lives in an isolated house in the woods. You haven't even given me a street address."

"Of course I haven't," Elsa said. "There are no streets in the forest."

She drummed her fingers on Jack's kitchen counter, which she was sitting on. A few feet away, Jack was preparing grilled cheese sandwiches. He gave her a sympathetic look as he closed the portable griddle on the first sandwich.

Her eyes skated down his frame, landing on his ass. A very fine posterior, the werewolf had. Round enough to sink her fingers into-which she had, happily, during their absolutely delightful shower the previous night.

It was hard to stay irritated when Jack was so big and handsome and grilling sandwiches, so Elsa forced herself to look away from him so she could properly intimidate the investigator.

"Look, lady-"

"I am not nobility," Elsa said crisply, "and my knives have drunk too much blood over the centuries for me to lay claim to any such genteel titles."

"Christ," the investigator muttered. "I hate having immortals as clients. Everything's always so vague and weird and threatening."

"I'm not technically-"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, cutting Elsa off, which was a sure way to learn what actual threatening behavior was. "You're not technically immortal, you were mystically entrapped hundreds of years ago by a witch who wears a cloak and lives in an unknown forest somewhere in the world."

"She's lived in several forests over the centuries," Elsa said, biting down on the urge to threaten his spleen with a good chomping. "Which, as I said, is why she goes by the Witch in the Woods." Honestly, had he even been listening? "The most recent one she lived in resembles those in the Pacific Northwest and the crystal was shipped domestically, so that narrows down the location."

Jack had taken her on a drive into the forest surrounding Dreamney Falls a week ago. The winding road had led up wooded hills dotted with hot springs. They'd stopped at a lookout point that provided an unobstructed view of Dreamney Falls and the undulating green land and sharp, snowcapped peaks beyond, and she'd marveled at how beautiful this slice of nature was.

It had also been oddly familiar. The precise shades of green, the height and breadth of the trees, the moss hanging like fairy chandeliers from branches in the dampest depths of the woods... it had reminded her of the forest where the Witch in the Woods had taken up residence during the past century, which had given her hope that perhaps the witch was somewhere nearby.

"I guess it's something," the investigator said glumly. "But I still need more information to go on."

Elsa opened her mouth, ready to hiss, but the most delectable smell was coming from the griddle. She sniffed the air, then let out an appreciative sigh-Jack had included onions and thin slices of turkey in the sandwiches. He didn't look her way, but his lips quirked in a half smile.

Elsa narrowed her eyes, realizing she was being managed.

"Tricky wolf," she said with no true ire. "You know I can't be angry when faced with grilled cheese."

Recently, his sandwich-making had mysteriously begun to coincide with her particularly cranky moods. This lunch was earlier than normal, but she wouldn't have thought anything of it if he hadn't begun prep work the moment she'd announced she was going to call the private investigator to see if the previous day's labors had yielded any fruit. A professional ought to be able to provide some information after nearly twenty-four hours.

"What?" The confused question came from the phone.

"I'm talking to my werewolf paramour, not you," she informed the investigator.

He sighed again. "Of course you are."

"But really, how many nigh-immortal-life witches can there be?" Elsa asked, returning to the issue at hand. For whatever reason, witchcraft blossomed only among mortals who were human or had human ancestry and didn't manifest in other species or true immortals. But each witch or warlock had areas of spellcraft they had a natural affinity for, and a very few could manipulate life itself, prolonging it to extremes. The Witch in the Woods had managed to extend her life span to at least six centuries by draining mortals of life and adding it to her own.

"You'd be surprised." The investigator heaved yet another heavy sigh-he certainly did that a lot. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to return the fee for this one. You need someone with more of a magical specialty to find this witch."

"You're quitting?" Elsa asked, dumbfounded.

Jack shoved a sandwich into her hand.

"Thank you," she whispered to him. Then she sank her fangs into the cheesy interior of the sandwich in lieu of biting the phone in half.

God's ovaries, that was delicious.

"I'm sorry," the man repeated. "Being imprisoned in a rock for six hundred years sounds like it sucks."

"It was a sequence of rocks culminating in a plastic embarrassment," Elsa said. "And no, I do not recommend it."

"But it wouldn't be right to waste your money and time on something I can't help with," the investigator continued. "I'm deadly with a Google search and some moderate stalking, but you need someone with magical expertise. Maybe try asking around some ritual ingredient shops? Or see if Arianna Corona has any recommendations, she's as good a witch as Lady Tremaine and loves giving advice."

Arianna Corona-Rapunzel's mother was a terror if rumors were to be believed. She was also Lady Tremaine's frienemesis, according to Tinkerbell-a word Elsa had never heard before that apparently meant a nemesis one pretended to like for unknown reasons.

Perhaps the Witch in the Woods considered Elsa a frien-emesis. She'd often said nonsensical things like You're my best friend or You're like a daughter to me, but what kind of person imprisoned someone they cared for?

"I'll ask," she said. And then, because this man hadn't done anything truly terrible and because the first bite of grilled cheese was settling in her stomach, she softened her tone. "Thank you for being honest."

"It's a dirty business, but you gotta preserve your honor somehow, right?"

"Right," Elsa repeated, feeling like that, at least, she could understand.

Once she hung up the phone, Eleonore turned her attention fully to the sandwich. She was still frustrated and angry in a way that felt like there was a bubbling hot cauldron between the base of her breastbone and her stomach, so she forced herself to eat methodically and slowly, giving her irritation room to settle.

She'd always been quick to anger, but it had only gotten worse over the centuries with the witch. The internet had taught her fight or flight was the term for a person's primal instinct when faced with trauma, but Elsa had never been able to flee. Instead, she'd put all her resources into fighting however she could, even if it was with nothing but her words and her rage.

Now that she wasn't living under the constant threat of being forced to murder someone-or forced to spend time drifting through an unpleasant haze inside the crystal-her reactions were out of proportion to her new existence. She recognized this. But knowing the cause of the behavior and changing said behavior were two different things.

Still, she was trying to work on it-partially because whenever she succumbed to those bursts of temper she felt like a monster in comparison to even-tempered Jack. He made her want to be a better person—an impulse she hadn't felt in so long, she'd forgotten what it was like.

Thus: chewing slowly.

Very, very slowly.

"Thank you again," she said when the sandwich was finally done and the urge to shriek had faded. "Food calms me down."

He smiled, showing those adorable eye crinkles. "My mother taught me that trick growing up. Emma gets hangry, too."

"Hangry?"

"Angry because you're hungry," he clarified.

"Ah." This was another word like frienemesis, smashed together out of two separate concepts. "Well, I am no longer hangry, even if it's disappointing the investigator can't help."

Jack held out his arms, and Elsa only hesitated briefly before walking into them and burrowing her face against his broad chest. He smelled so nice.

"I'm sorry," he said. "We'll ask the gang for any other leads tonight."

They were going to a barbecue at Rapunzel and Eugene's house, which was the first group social event not involving Emma's mayoral campaign that Elsa would attend. She wasn't sure if she was excited or nervous at the prospect of socializing. "All right," she said, voice muffled.

The word frienemesis was still pinging around her head. Jack probably didn't have one of those. No, he had a collection of friends who did normal things like host barbecues and who had probably never once considered kidnapping or imprisoning one another.

She didn't like thinking about the witch, much less talking about her, but she felt the sudden urge to unburden herself.

"The witch pretended to be my friend," she said.

Jack had been rubbing her back, but he stilled at that. She could almost hear his brain whirring as he tried to follow her thought process. "How so?" he asked-not understanding the origin of the thought, perhaps, but willing to see where it led.

Elsa didn't want to be restrained while talking about this, so she pulled out of his embrace and paced to the window. She crossed her arms, looking out at Jack's lawn and the flowers blooming by the sidewalk. "Whenever she summoned me, she seemed excited to see me. She sometimes gave me gifts-a trinket, a new knife, a Star Trek bobblehead." Elsa swallowed, no longer seeing Jack's yard but a cascade of memories. "She'd say she missed me or that I was her only friend. Once she said I was like a daughter to her."

Jack made a low noise. "That's bullshit."

He didn't swear as frequently as others in this time, she'd no. ticed. She liked that he would swear for her. "Yes, but it bothered me. Given a single moment of freedom, I would have ripped her throat out, but she thought I was her friend." The witch had seemed so certain in their bond that Elsa had sometimes wondered if the witch was the mad one or if she was.

"Was she saying it to manipulate you?"

Elsa shrugged, ill at ease. "Maybe. She was also insane. But if she really believed we were friends..."

"What?" Jack asked after she trailed off.

"I don't know." Every time she tried to think about it, her head hurt and she felt sick to her stomach. How was she supposed to feel about a person who hurt her with one hand and offered gifts with the other?

"If I can speak plainly," Jack said, "I don't think it matters if she believed you were friends or not. That doesn't change what she did to you."

"I know," Elsa said, turning to face him again. Jack's forehead was furrowed, and she could read both anger and pity in his expression. The pity made her want to snap her teeth. "I'm not saying it changes anything or that I won't rip her throat out. I look forward to ripping her throat out." She shook her head. "I don't even know why I started talking about this."

Jack cocked his head, eyes trained on her like he was looking under her skin and into her brain. He was the one with the complicated thoughts and reasoned words; maybe he could pull some meaning out of her jumbled confession. "You can talk about whatever you want," he said. "It's good to let things like that out rather than stewing on them."

Elsa wasn't a stewer by nature. Perhaps that was why she struggled to pull apart these tangled threads of fury, grief, and discomfort. Her waking hours over the centuries had been spent in rage and violence, with occasional odd lulls for Star Trek or confusing gifts from the witch. Her time in the crystal had been a hazy sleep of half-formed dreams and memories. Now she was awake and alive in a peaceful time with no immediate target for her rage, and she had too much time to think.

"I don't like ruminating," she declared.

Jack exhaled at that. "I don't either, but it's what I spend most of my time doing."

"That means you're good at it."

He blinked a few times. "You know, I never thought about it that way." There was a pause, and then he shook his head. "Now you're going to have me ruminating about what it means to be good at anxiety."

There was too much ruminating in this room in general. Elsa clapped her hands. "Let's do something."

Jack took her abrupt announcement in stride. "Hmm," he said, rubbing his bearded chin. "How about online shopping for a target dummy to throw knives at?"

Elsa wanted a target dummy, but scrolling the internet wasn't physical enough to get her out of her head. "Something more active than that."

His smile turned naughty. "How about an orgasm?"

Oooh. Clever wolf. "Yours or mine?" she asked, bouncing on her toes.

He chuckled. "I was thinking yours."

It would be nice to have his hands on her, but if there was one thing that would put her in an excellent mood, it was feeding off the delicious energy of his orgasm. "I would prefer to suck your pe-I mean, blow your dick." She waved a hand. "Whatever the act is called."

Elsa could sense Jack's veins dilating as his heart pumped blood to both his blushing cheeks and his penis. A werewolf who blushed while erect; how charming. If she hadn't drunk his blood a few nights ago, she would have asked to sink her fangs into him.

Thank goodness a succubus could never be too "full" of sexual energy.

"You would rather suck my dick than have me go down on you?" Jack asked

Well, when he put it like that ...

"I have an idea."

Five minutes later, they were entwined naked on his bed, kissing passionately. Since they were saving penetrative sex for after the curse was broken, she got to be as creative and thorough as she liked with her hands and mouth, and Elsa couldn't wait to express the full range of her creativity all over that brawny body.

Elsa obviously hadn't invented the position she had in mind, but it was a good one. She repositioned herself, turning in a half circle until her hips hovered over Jack's face and her mouth was within striking distance of his dick. Kissing distance, she corrected herself, because though she'd love to taste blood directly from the throbbing vein winding up his shaft, that was the sort of thing that ought to be negotiated ahead of time.

He gripped her hips and tugged her against his face, and she jolted and slapped a hand against the mattress. "Oh," she gasped as his tongue started stroking over her. No hesitation here.

Jack was good at oral, direct and thorough in his approach, and she suspected it was because he genuinely liked doing it. He mixed licks with deep groans, and that primal delight couldn't be faked.

When he flicked his tongue against her clit, she was tempted to abandon her plans and just ride his face straight toward the orgasm he'd been so eager to give her.

This was supposed to be an equal exchange, though, so Elsa leaned forward to suck his dick. Or tried, anyway. He was eight inches taller than her, and she hadn't calculated the physics of aligning their mouths and crotches in this manner. She licked a circle around the head of his cock, but when she shifted forward to suck him deep, her pussy lifted away from Jack's face. He tugged her back onto his mouth instantly, preventing her from getting the right angle.

"I can't suck you properly like this," she complained.

His response was a chuckle that vibrated against her clit. Elsa whimpered, grinding against his face for a moment before forcing herself to return to her mission. Vampire speed gave her an advantage, and she managed to take him to the back of her throat before he'd realized she'd moved.

"Oh, fuck," he shouted, fingers digging hard into her hips.

She would have smiled if her mouth hadn't been better occupied. Jack was so proper that when he let loose, it felt like an event.

She bobbed her head, enjoying the stretch of her lips around his thick shaft and the feel of him plunging deep in her mouth. He tasted divine, musky and sweet with his natural flavor, with the spice of blood beneath his skin teasing her nostrils.

Moments like this were why she was happy with the gifts of her heritage. Other people tasted their partners, but not like she did.

They didn't feel the humming psychic energy of arousal, neon and saturated in her mind's eye, nor could they smell the sultry cocktail of hidden blood and pheromones. They couldn't nourish themselves on their partners' bodies and would never know the deep joy of being offered that nourishment.

Jack tried to shift her back onto his face a few more times, but once she put her hands to work cupping his testicles and stroking the spit-slick base of his shaft, he gave up with a ragged cry. Elsa bobbed her head faster, working her tongue over the prominent vein. Then she squeezed and twisted lightly at the base of his cock while the fingers of her other hand pressed the sensitive skin behind his testicles, and he exploded with a shout.

Elsa drank him down, savoring the flavor. Energy hummed through her from his release, making her head spin and her skin flush with excitement. She was crackling with energy, as if a lightning storm had swept through her body and struck every pleasurable nerve on its way.

She swallowed the last drops, then looked over her shoulder with a smirk. Jack's hair was mussed, his face was red, and with his glasses deposited on the nightstand, there was nothing disguising the dazed look in his eyes.

His grin was drunken. "You look so smug."

She tossed her hair as she shifted to face him. "That's because I am."

"As you should be." He lay for a few moments before sitting up with a groan. "All right, time to turn the tables." Then his arms seemed to give out, and he flopped back to the pillow. He let out a breathy laugh, then tapped his lips. "You'll need to hop on, I'm afraid."

"Oh, no," Elsa said dryly as she scooted forward and straddled his face. "What a terrible fate." Then she grabbed his hair in one hand, slapped her other against the wall, and began to rock over his generous, gifted mouth.

Jack hummed happily and gripped her hips and ass, fingers digging in as he helped her ride. His small stubble rubbed her inner thighs as he kissed her pussy with open-mouthed enthusiasm. Elsa often liked a finger or two inside her during oral, but she was so keyed up from tasting his orgasm-both physically and psychically- that she wasn't going to last long enough to escalate past grinding. Her fingers curled against the wall as tension built low in her belly. It peaked sharply and she cried out, hips jerking as the orgasm blew through her in hot, clenching waves.

Jack was still lapping at her when she felt sane enough to move.

She lifted off his face, thighs trembling, then collapsed next to him.

Jack slid an arm under her so she could rest her head in the juncture between his chest and shoulder. He was looking at her with such obvious pride that Elsa cackled.

Jack raised his brows in silent inquiry.

"You look so smug," she said, mirroring his words from earlier.

He gently tapped her nose. "If you could see your face right now, you'd feel smug, too."

She could imagine. Her cheeks felt tight from how widely she was grinning, and she was undoubtedly bright red. Her werewolf was a gifted lover.

"Well," she said, nestling deeper into his hold, "you deserve to feel as smug as you like."

He chuckled, and warmth filled Elsa's chest. It felt like a bubble of happiness was filling behind her breastbone, iridescent and shimmering.

Happiness was a trap. She knew the truth of that somewhere in her brain; the voice of caution was impossible to silence even if the orgasm and sandwich had muted it. Pain was inevitable in this life, and it only hurt worse when joy had preceded it. A reasonable woman would guard her heart, knowing nothing this pure and good could last.

But Elsa had never been reasonable. So she closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of Jack's skin. "That was a good idea, werewolf."

🩸🩸🩸

RAPUNZEL CORONA GREETED THEM AT THE DOOR WITH A GRIN.

"I'm so glad you could make it!"

Elsa thrust out the bottle of wine Jack had bought on the way over. "I'm told gifts of alcohol are customary for modern social gatherings," she said.

Inwardly she winced, recognizing that wasn't the most natural way to enter a party, but nerves were twisting her stomach and making her hands sweat. It wasn't just the prospect of socializing in a context other than being Emma's bodyguard that worried her-it was interacting with the people Jack cared about without any buffers.

Rapunzel didn't seem to mind her awkwardness. "Thank you," the brunette witch said, accepting the offering. Her hazel eyes were bright, and her dress was a riot of spring colors under a mint green cardigan. "Are you a hugger?" she asked Elsa.

Elsa blinked, having never been asked that question before. "I ... don't know." Jack hugged her, but that was different.

Rapunzel's smile gentled. "Then let's start with a handshake." One firm handshake later, Rapunzel turned to Jack. "Thanks for stopping by," she said as she popped up on her toes to give him a tight hug.

All right, that did look rather nice. But Elsa wasn't sure about anyone but Jack touching her yet, so she resolved to watch how the others interacted and decide if she wanted a hug later.

"Come on in," Rapunzel said. "Eugene just fired up the grill."

"Sorry we're late," Jack said, casting a guilty look at Elsa that nearly made her guffaw. They were late for an important reason that had involved the back seat of his SUV in the grocery store parking lot. It's like being a teenager again, Jack had said after their frantic kissing session. I can't get enough of you.

She couldn't get enough of him either, and it was nice to find a man who didn't require an orgasm or sex to enjoy intimacy. Sure, orgasms were lovely, but there was a whole universe of sensation to be explored and more than one way to be close to another person. They'd done nothing but kiss in that back seat and he'd seemed as delighted as if she'd given him head again.

Rapunzel waved away the apology. "There was no real start time for this. Honestly, I'm amazed Tinkerbell's already here, but I guess there weren't any other parties tonight."

"Hey! I turned down five other social engagements to be here, thank you very much. And I brought lumpia." The pixie's voice came from deeper in the house, and then she appeared in the archway leading to the kitchen. Her hair was now crimson at the roots and orange at the tips, and she wore glasses with black frames.

Elsa's brow furrowed. "Has your vision deteriorated?" she asked, concerned. There had been no spectacles the previous times she'd met the pixie.

"What?" Tinkerbell looked puzzled, and then realization washed over her face. "Oh! No, these are just decorative." She took the glasses off and waved them around. "Nerd chic is officially in."

"Now you tell me," Jack grumbled. "When I was growing up, people made fun of me for being a nerd."

Elsa now knew what nerds, geeks, and gatekeeping were thanks to a few Star Trek message boards. A lot of the people commenting on those posts seemed inexplicably upset that other people enjoyed their hobbies without being persecuted for it. Jack didn't sound truly upset, but still-"You don't gatekeep geekiness, do you?" Elsa asked.

"I don't... what?" Jack clearly had no idea what she was talking about.

Tinkerbell bent over, resting her hands on her knees as she let out a loud laugh. "Elsa, you are the best."

"Am I?" She wasn't sure why.

"I'm not laughing at you, to be clear," Tinkerbell said, straightening. "I just love seeing you learn about modern times, and it's amazing how quickly you've picked up the lingo. Gatekeeping geekiness! That's so real, though I promise Jack isn't guilty of it. I bet you already know more about American pop culture after a month than he does after a lifetime."

Jack looked sheepish. "That's probably true," he said, rubbing the back of his neck

Tinkerbell fluttered closer. "Come on," she said, looping her arm through Elsa's. "I want to hear all about you."

Elsa barely had time to wave at Jack before she was towed away. Tinkerbell couldn't be taller than five feet, but pixies were surprisingly strong for how delicate they looked: like rainbows that could strangle someone if they felt like it. Elsa had a healthy respect for the species, having tangled with a few pixies in her day.

Tinkerbell took her down the hallway past a living room and into the kitchen, which was warm and bright, and smelled pleasingly like cookies. From there they headed into the backyard, which was lit by strings of small electric lights. Fruit trees lined the fence and a glass-walled structure containing plants sat in the back corner.

Eugene stood at the grill, scowling at hunks of raw meat like they had done him personal injury. At his side was Kristoff, who was providing Eugene with loud tips on how best to handle his meat. Anna and Merida were drinking beer and laughing nearby.

"I don't know why this is taking so long," Eugene grumbled as they approached, poking the meat with a pair of tongs.

"Did you tenderize the steak before putting it on?" Kristoff asked. In contrast to Eugene's casual, all-black attire, he wore a pristine white suit with a silver waistcoat and tie-a daring choice for a backyard barbecue, which internet research had indicated could be a messy experience. Elsa would have to look up more details about the modern marvel of "dry cleaning" to determine how much danger the suit was actually in. She pulled a small notebook and pen out of the pocket of her leather jacket and added dry cleaning to her ongoing list of things to research.

Eugene hesitated. "Is this going to be another innuendo?" he asked, deep voice dripping with suspicion.

Elsa found the contrast between the two demons interesting. Kristoff might be the elder by centuries, but he spoke with a mortal accent, while Eugene's accent was pure demon: lilting, with some vowels clipped and others lengthened compared to American or British English.

She wondered if she would finally stick around one time and place long enough for her own accent to evolve as vampires always did. Already she was using more slang, and it wouldn't take long for the remnants of France in her voice to disappear.

Kristoff widened his eyes. "Innuendo? Me?" he asked innocently. "Never. Besides, tenderizing steak is a well-known cooking technique."

Eugene eyed him warily. "No, I did not tenderize the steak." Kristoff gasped and clapped a hand to his chest. "Eugene, Eugene, Eugene," he said, shaking his head. "How many times must I tell you the importance of beating your meat?"

Tinkerbell burst into bright cackles, Merida snorted, and Anna spit out a mouthful of beer. Elsa might not be familiar with that particular slang, but there was enough context to figure it out.

Eugene leveled his former mentor with a damning look and raised the tongs, snapping them menacingly. "If you don't leave me alone to grill, you won't have any meat left to beat."

Kristoff winced and backed away with hands held up. "I shall retreat with my dignity and manly parts intact."

Anna hauled him in for a deep kiss that involved roving hands and a lot of tongue. "It's cute," she said when they finally parted.

"What?" Kristoff panted, having clearly forgotten everything in the wake of that kiss. Elsa didn't blame him-her succubus senses were afire with the couple's lust for each other. The evening air was cool enough that her leather jacket was welcome, but she was tempted to fan herself.

Anna patted the demon's ass and winked. "That you think you have any dignity left."

That elicited more laughter from Tinkerbell and Merida, and Eugene joined in, his joy booming across the yard. Even Elsa found herself smiling, though she barely knew these people.

She barely knew them, yet she already liked them. On the grand scale she barely knew Jack either, and she liked him even more.

It was dangerous to get attached, like daring the universe-for she no longer believed in the gods of her youth-to take them away.

Yet here she was, growing attached to this place and these people anyway.

"Want a beer?" Jack asked her.

Elsa nodded. "The pine tree one, if they have it." He grinned. "One IPA coming up, so long as you promise not to throw the bottle once you're done with it."

Her cheeks felt hot at the reminder of how she'd embarrassed herself on her first night in Dreamney Falls. "No smashing bottles," she promised. "Or threatening anyone."

Rapunzel came out with a tray of cookies and set them on a plastic table. "Are you still grilling?" she asked Eugene.

He scowled at the steak. "It's not cooking."

Rapunzel took one look-then started to laugh. "The grill isn't on, you doofus."

That elicited an explosion of hilarity from everyone assembled, punctuated by Kristoff's exclamation, "Eugene, you have to get turned on before you can properly handle your meat!" Which was followed by the tongs flying through the air and narrowly missing Kristoff's head.

Elsa accepted a glass bottle from Jack, grinning at the antics of his friends. "I like this," she said

"Me, too." Jack clinked his own bottle against hers. "Santé."

"Santé," she repeated, pleased he'd remembered.

The evening unrolled pleasantly from there. Once the grill was lit, the meat cooked quickly, and soon they were eating delicious steak, roasted vegetables, Tinkerbell's pork-stuffed lumpia, and Rapunzel's cookies. Elsa had feared she'd be out of place, but everyone seemed friendly and genuinely curious about her life.

She relaxed, letting the IPA, food, and company loosen her tongue until she was sharing stories of her youth she'd long since thought forgotten.

She found herself standing next to Merida at one point while Eugene cleaned the grill and Anna, Kristoff, Rapunzel, and Jack played a game with the unusual name of "cornhole." It involved throwing small bags at a plank of wood while Tinkerbell drunkenly heckled from where she was perched in a tree.

"Your friends are funny," Elsa said, sipping her second beer.

"Hilarious," Merida agreed. The naiad was gorgeous, with smooth white freckled skin and long curly red hair. Her scales were barely visible at her hairline, their rainbow colors muted away from water. With a beautiful Scottish accent that was captivating to listen to. "And so nice. I was nervous when I first got invited to one of these, but now it feels like I've known them forever."

"I was nervous, too," Elsa admitted. "My social skills are not always... modern." One way to put it. "But they don't seem to mind."

"Your social skills are fine."

"Even when I said the steak knife was sharp enough to disembowel someone quite neatly?" She'd meant it as a compliment, but the pause before Rapunzel had said, "Wow, I never thought about that before!" had made her realize perhaps they had different ideas of what made for a good knife.

Merida snorted. "Don't worry about it. We're all weird, and Eugene and Kristoff say things like that, too. You're from a different time and worked as an assassin; everyone gets that." She nodded toward Jack. "I haven't seen Jack this happy in a long time. He likes having you around."

Elsa blushed. "I like being around," she said softly. Words that hid a deeper confession.

"He's a good guy," Merida said, "but he worries too much and runs himself ragged trying to help everyone. He needs someone who gives him the care he gives everyone else. Someone who can help protect him."

It was a message-and a question. Elsa nodded. "I would gut anyone who harmed him," she said seriously.

Merida's lips quirked, and she clinked her bottle against Elsa's. "Cheers to that. But he also needs someone who can help protect him from his own generous impulses. He doesn't know how to say no, so he ends up knitting a million scarves and cooking for people and helping with home repairs even if he doesn't have the time for it."

"Or he helps his sister with her mayoral campaign while opening a café." Jack's perpetual desire to be useful hadn't been lost on her.

Merida nodded. "Exactly. He won't ever admit he's overcommitted, so I'm glad you see it."

Guilt pricked Elsa's breast. "It doesn't help that I showed up at the same time as all that. Now he's driving me around and making me sandwiches and introducing me to his friends when he should be focusing on everything else going on." And he was researching the curse in his spare time; she'd caught him face down on the keyboard late one night, snoring softly with how to break magical compulsionnjkjknnnnnkjkjnnnnnnnnnnn typed into the internet search bar.

Elsa had done plenty of internet searches on that same topic and the Witch in the Woods with no results. It was frustrating that even in a time when a world full of information could be accessed from anywhere, the witch still managed to remain an enigma.

"Maybe he is spending a lot of time on you," Merida said, "but you know what else he's doing?" She pointed at where Ben was laughing, head tipped back to expose the strong line of his throat. "He's smiling and talking more than he has in ages."

Elsa rubbed her free hand over the soft ache in her chest.

"I should start making him sandwiches. Or knit him something." Knitting was simultaneously dull and complicated, but it would be far from the most objectionable thing she'd ever done.

"I mean, don't go all fifties housewife," Merida said with a laugh.

"He enjoys knitting and cooking. And really, every good couple should have a soft one and a stabby one."

A soft one and a stabby one. Elsa liked that-almost as much as she liked hearing herself and Jack described as a couple.

Rapunzel was obviously the soft one in her relationship, but she wasn't sure of the others. She pointed at where Anna and Kristoff were high-fiving to celebrate their cornhole victory.

"Which one is the stabby one?"

"Oh, that's a special case," Merida said. "They're both stabby." She considered, head tilted. "But if I had to pick... Kristoff is the soft one."

Elsa chuckled. "I suspect he wouldn't like to hear that."

"Soft for her, anyway," Merida said. "He does have a literal sword in that cane."

Elsa had noted the skull-topped cane Kristoff carried with him everywhere. She'd already accounted for its usefulness as a bludgeoning implement, but this was an interesting development. "Noted," she said, eyeing the cane with new respect. Then she sobered. "So how do I best protect Jack? Besides gutting his enemies."

Merida shrugged. "Just show him you care. Little gestures will go a long way. And maybe help him set some boundaries so he doesn't work himself to death."

Elsa nodded, memorizing the instructions. "Thank you," she told the naiad. "For helping me with Jack. I really do like him." Her throat felt thick with how much.

Merida grinned. "I can tell. And hey, he's waving at you." Elsa turned to see Jack gesturing at her. "Want to help me get revenge on these two?" he called out, pointing at Kristoff and Anna. Rapunzel was kissing Eugene at the grill, apparently done with the game.

"I don't think even an ancient assassin can help your aim, buddy," Kristoff said.

Elsa narrowed her eyes at the demon. Oh, she was going to make him eat those words. She jogged over, stripping off her jacket. "I can pierce a cyclops's eye with a knife from twenty paces," she said. "This so-called 'cornhole' doesn't stand a chance."

🩸🩸🩸

JACK LAUGHED AS HE COLLAPSED INTO BED. HE'D GOTTEN A BIT TOO DRUNK AT THE BARBECUE, SO ELSA HAD DRIVEN THEM HOME. 

She'd required little instruction, having studied his driving, and though they'd gotten off to a bit of a lurching start, she was soon handling the vehicle like a pro.

"Cornhole victors," he proclaimed when Elsa appeared in the doorway in a large T-shirt and his rolled-up pajama pants.

"May our names echo through eternity."

They had kicked Kristoff and Anna's asses five times in a row, mostly due to Elsa's excellent aim and ability to distract her opponents by hissing. Even Jack had gotten a few good shots in, the alcohol and his delight at her militant approach giving him confidence.

"We deserve laurel wreaths," Elsa said. "Chisel our names in marble."

She crawled into bed, leaning against the headboard and propping herself up with pillows. She'd brought her tablet and a small notebook with her, and Jack watched with interest as she opened a browser search tab.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the notebook, which held a handwritten bulleted list.

"My list of things to look up." Elsa tapped the screen as she inputted a search query. "There's so much to learn about the modern day that I'll lose track if I don't write it down."

He leaned over to look at the list. Several items had been crossed off already.

Sesame Street

giant slalom

wine aerator

cum quoi it (correction: kumquat)

the Wright brothers

unsinkable Molly Brown

Henry VIII codpiece armor

multitool

REI

CO-OP

poutine

dry cleaning

Where to buy a sword cane

It was an ... interesting combination of topics. "When did you start making this list?" he asked, charmed by her eccentric, insatiable curiosity.

"Yesterday," Elsa said absently as she scrolled through images of poutine. "I was trying to keep it all organized in my head before then."

His brows rose. "You researched all of this in one day?" He'd never even heard of Henry VIII's codpiece armor, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"More than that," she said, clicking on a recipe. "These are just the things I was curious about while away from the PADD." She shook her head. "Tablet, I mean."

"You can call it a pad if you like," he said. It wasn't an iPad, but it was functionally the same.

"Tablet does sound unpleasantly biblical," Elsa mused.

"Personal Access Display Device is better."

"Ah," Jack said, understanding the origin and spelling of her preferred terminology at last. "That sounds like something from Star Trek."

She smiled, and his heart, clichéd organ that it was, skipped a beat. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what had changed about her over the past weeks. Her face was still as devastatingly beautiful, but it struck him as softer somehow. She smiled more easily every day.

Elsa returned her attention to the tablet-or the PADD, he supposed he ought to call it. His eyes traced affectionately over her full lips, her dark lashes, and the opinionated divot in her chin. She wound a strand of long hair around her finger as she read, mouth moving soundlessly. A few tangles had snarled the wavy strands, whether from the wind or too much cornhole celebration, who could say.

"Can I braid your hair?" he asked.

She blinked and returned her attention to him. "What?"

"Your hair," he said, motioning to the gorgeous blonde fall of it.

"My mom taught me to braid, but I never get to practice." When she still hesitated, he tried to make the motivation sound less desperate than I want my hands on you, however I can get them. "It's important to practice core skills, right?"

Her eyes might have twinkled at that. "Of course," she said, shifting on the bed to present her back to him. She shook her hair over her shoulders until it fell in a curtain to her waist. "An unpracticed swordsman has already lost the battle."

"Stay there," Jack said, scrambling to get a comb from his bathroom. He was nearly out the door when he realized with a jolt that he'd issued a command without meaning to. "Only if you want to, that is," he said hastily. "Sorry. It was a wish, not an order."

Elsa had tensed up, but now she relaxed and nodded at him, a smile brushing her lips again. He had gotten much better at catching commands before they left his mouth-adding please or what if or other qualifiers-but mistakes still happened. He was just grateful Elsa was giving him grace when he did slip up.

Emma had left a pack of hair ties for Elsa on one of her visits after she'd realized Elsa was using rubber bands-and what a reaming Jack had received over that oversight-so he grabbed one of those from the bathroom as well. When he returned, Elsa was just as he'd left her, sitting cross-legged while she researched, not because she'd been ordered to stay, but because she wanted to.

Jack settled in behind her, a lump of gratitude and something more in his throat. He'd touched her hair before-had shampooed it and sunk his fingers into it to angle her head back for kisses-but as he gently ran the comb through the long strands, it felt different. Like meditation in a way. The same calm came over him that he felt while knitting, and his breathing slowed.

He hadn't braided a woman's hair in ... how long? His last girlfriend had had short hair, so it must have been the one before. He was still on good if distant terms with all his exes; there had been no high drama, just mutual realizations that they didn't suit.

It used to trouble him that he didn't seem able to feel the raw passion for a partner that his werewolf friends spoke about in the same glowing terms they spoke of the moonshift. He'd felt stuck and inadequate, remaining largely single as the people around him fell in love, got married, and started families.

Maybe he hadn't been stuck, though. Maybe he'd been waiting for the right person.

It was a big, scary thought. He'd known Elsa for little more than a month, and already she felt like an essential part of his life.

Not the quiet, gentle woman he'd long imagined he'd end up with, but a vibrant, complicated, hissing goddess.

And oh, how he wanted to worship her. On his knees and with his mouth and with his hands in her hair, gently braiding the silky strands.

Elsa made a humming sound and wiggled. "That feels nice."

"Good," he said, voice gone rough from the intensity of his thoughts. He secured the hairband around the end of the braid. It wasn't totally even, but it would do for now, and he would practice every night until he got it perfect.

So long as she was here. So long as she let him.

She grabbed the braid and inspected it, then twisted to give him a bright grin. "You're a man of many talents."

And you're the woman I want to use those talents to serve, he thought. But Elsa was new to this time and new to him, and he didn't want to frighten her with the intensity of his feelings, especially with the curse still hanging over them.

So he grabbed her in a hug from behind and kissed the top of her head. "Will you tell me the most interesting facts you've learned?" he asked, careful to word it as a request and not an order. He rocked her back and forth slightly, and she melted into his arms.

"Of course," she said, yawning. "But there are quite a few of them."

Good, he thought. "Then how about you tell me one new fact a day, if you like?"

She nodded. "Let's start with the mating practices of praying mantises."

As she launched into a disturbing tale involving beheading and insect necrophilia, Jack settled his cheek on her hair and reflected that he'd never been so happy to be horrified in his life.

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Chapter Text

YOU'RE GLARING AT THE SKY," ELSA POINTED OUT ON THE EVENING OF THE OCTOBER FULL MOON.

Jack scowled. He was. The sun was setting, and moonrise would soon be upon them. He couldn't believe how fast the days had been passing, but between his business, Elsa's shows, and Emma's rapidly escalating mayoral campaign, there had been little time to catch his breath.

There had been a few moments, though-pauses for dinner and Star Trek and morbid facts, an afternoon installing a training dummy in the backyard, sweet interludes for kisses. The famed Dreamney Falls Autumn Festival had begun, and he'd been delighted to escort Elsa to baking competitions and magic shows around town. They'd gone to an outdoor craft fair that morning, and she'd inadvertently become a hit with the local schoolchildren when she'd gotten a fang stuck in a caramel apple-the sight of a ferocious vampire struggling with sweets had been hilarious to the under-ten crowd, and though he wasn't sure if she'd deliberately played up her distress for them, he'd spied a secretive smile on her lips afterward.

It had been a fun, hilarious morning, but then he'd had to go to work, and now the day was slipping away, and with it Jack's good mood.

"Shifting is a waste of time," he said. "All that running around and howling at things." He could be balancing the books at the Emporium or finishing a scarf or kissing Elsa until her eyes were hazed with desire.

Those eyes were fixed on him now, sharp and alert from where she sat on the couch. He'd arrived home a few minutes ago to find her stuffing paper-wrapped objects into a soft carry-on bag. Assuming it was part of her performance, which evolved in new and surprising ways each week, he hadn't asked questions.

"Glaring won't make the moon rise any faster," she said.

Jack sighed gustily. "I wish it would make the moon not rise at all." He glowered at the bloody streaks painting the sky to the west.

"I suspect that would have a detrimental impact on the planet," Elsa said. "Though I have not researched it."

"Maybe this time the rabbits will know better than to hop in front of me," he said with no real hope. If there was one constant he'd noticed over the years, it was that rabbits were shockingly stupid.

She nodded. "Yes, you told me you prefer your meat pre-killed." Well, that made him sound like a hypocrite. "It shouldn't bother me," he said. "I eat meat from the store. Isn't it more ethical to do the hunting myself?" Except that a package of chicken breasts didn't have soft, innocent eyes. It didn't quiver in terror when he popped out of the bushes. It didn't shriek when he bit into it.

He rubbed his stomach, feeling sick.

The best nights were when he didn't catch anything at all, instead nibbling on berries and seeds. It was why he tried to eat a full meal before shifting to make his wolf stomach less empty. He'd reheat some leftover pasta soon and eat as much as he could stand.

"Not everyone is a hunter." Elsa's shrug was reflected in the window, and he turned to face her again, putting his back to the oncoming night. "We would be a limited society if that's all people were skilled at."

"Unfortunately, my wolf instincts don't love the idea of sitting and quietly knitting."

She nodded, then raised the bag. "I've been researching wolf diets, and I've created something you should be able to eat without feeling sad."

He blinked. The bag ... was for him?

Elsa busied herself taking out the things she'd stuffed into it, laying a series of paper-wrapped objects on the coffee table.

"These contain venison," she said, pointing at three thick rectangles loosely tied with twine. "I figure your claws or teeth will get through the paper."

He gaped at her. "You cooked venison for me?" He'd smelled an ominous hint of smoke in the air when he'd returned from work, but he hadn't expected this.

Elsa grimaced. "I tried, but it was ... not successful. Raw meat is probably better for wolves anyway."

He rubbed his sternum, feeling a rush of warm, nearly unbearable affection. "Elsa, this is so sweet. Thank you."

She was still fussing with paper-wrapped packages. "This one has a mix of nuts and seeds," she said, "and this one has apples, carrots, and assorted fruit." She gave him a tiny smile. "And I did manage to cook a can of chili successfully, so you can have dinner beforehand."

Jack was going to do one of several different things, though he wasn't sure which: cry, laugh, or throw himself at her feet. Possibly a combination of all three.

He was moving before his mind had made itself up. He didn't fling himself on the ground, but he did wrap her in his arms and lift her off the couch, squeezing her tightly as he rocked back and forth. Then he buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent as his eyes prickled. "You listened when I told you about the moonshift."

"I always listen to you," she said, voice muffled in his neck.

And she did. She drank in his lessons about the modern world and remembered details about his friends he'd forgotten he'd told her, and now she had created an entire werewolf care package to send him into the forest with.

"You are the absolute best," he said.

She squirmed, and he finally put her down. "Definitely not," she said, though she looked pleased, "but I'm glad you like it. Next month, I'll try to rig up a harness so you can carry the food with you when you're running." She cocked her head, considering. "Or maybe you could take me with you so I can plant food at strategic points throughout the night."

He grinned, all of a sudden liking the idea of running if it meant pursuing the flash of her blonde hair through the woods. "We'll brainstorm. Either way, having a stash of food to return to is a great idea. I'm not sure it'll stop me if something darts in front of me, but it will definitely help." He hesitated. "I still wish I liked shifting more." 

Elsa sat on the couch and patted the cushion. "Talk to me."

"I already talked to you about this last time," he said, joining her. "We won't be covering new ground."

She shrugged. "Maybe not, but you were the one who told me it's important to let things out rather than stewing on them."

Hoisted by his own petard.... whatever that meant. But she was right, and it was easier to have someone else give you permission to let out frustrations. Maybe they wouldn't cover new ground, but it was nice to talk about his hesitations openly after so long pretending he was a typical werewolf.

"You know I'm anxious," he said.

There was no judgment on her face as she nodded.

"Well, it's not just an occasional thing," he said. "I have panic attacks, but it's more than that. It's why I stay so busy-if I'm always working, my brain has so much to think about that there's less room for bad thoughts."

"What kind of bad thoughts?" she asked.

He had jumped straight past the moonshift, he realized. Well, maybe that was for the best. It was one thing to say, "I don't like to lose control," and another to admit that his brain was actively sabotaging him almost every day of his life. He bit his lip, embarrassed, but she deserved this truth if she was going to stay in his life.

Moon, he hoped she wanted to stay in his life.

"I often think I'm a fraud or a failure," he said through a tight throat. "Like everyone hates me, or there's no point to my existence. Or that I'm not enough of a man or a werewolf, that there's something wrong with me for not enjoying brawling or hunting or one-night stands." Intrusive thoughts that played like a song on repeat, and the frustrating part was that even though he knew they weren't true-well, sort of knew, most of the time-that didn't stop them from ringing through his head.

Elsa's expression stayed patient and understanding, so Jack kept going, even though it mortified him to do so.

"If I'm not exhausted when I go to bed," he continued, "I end up lying awake in the dark for hours, worrying about everything from the Emporium to stupid things I did twenty years ago." On nights like that the past was paved with regret, while the future spread out before him in a tangle of twisting paths, any one of which might drop him off the edge of a cliff.

His brain had always been like that, even when he was a child.

He'd worried about the thousand horrible outcomes that were possible if he made the wrong choices. The wrong classes, the wrong school, the wrong job, the wrong place to live, the wrong everything.

The wrong Jackson Overland.

"You aren't a failure," Elsa said. "And no one hates you."

"Lady Tremaine does."

She waved a hand. "She probably hates the clouds for raining on her. I'd be more worried if she liked you." He cracked a smile at that. "True."

"You're a complicated man," Elsa said. When he grimaced, she clarified. "In a good way. You're thoughtful and diligent, and you don't force yourself to fit the stereotype of the overly aggressive macho man."

"Thanks?" He found toxic masculinity abhorrent, but a small part of him might have liked to be considered a "macho man" nonetheless.

Elsa's mouth tipped into an expression of distaste. "I've spent too much time around petty tyrants-people with huge egos and small hearts who take their misery out on others. Battlefields are full of men who would tear apart the world to prove their strength."

Her eyes had gone distant, and he wondered what memory she was revisiting. She had lived a life of violence, too, but she didn't puff up her chest and brag about it. It hadn't even been a choice for much of her existence.

"Those men's lives are brief and bloody, and they die as small and alone as they always were inside," she continued. "There's nothing unique in that. I think true strength is in breaking from the stereotype to be a complex, thoughtful man." Her eyes refocused on him, and she smiled gently. "The kind of man who enjoys knitting and deep conversations. One who can admit he doesn't like harming woodland creatures."

"I don't think my friends and family like harming woodland creatures," he said, feeling the need to defend other werewolves who hunted on instinct.

"I just don't think they worry about it the way I do. They see it as part of the cycle of nature. It's like how people who hunt their own food and use every part of the animal are living more sustainably than people who only buy factory-farmed beef at the grocery store." His parents lived in that deliberate manner, bringing home whatever was left of their prey to be repurposed so the sacrifice of a life didn't go to waste. Jack couldn't even go fishing without feeling guilty about the fish flopping on the line, yet had no problem buying prepackaged salmon-albeit sustainably sourced-so didn't that make him worse than his werewolf brethren?

"And they are free to hunt down rabbits and deer if they choose," Elsa said. "Just as you are free to eat prepackaged meat and berries if you choose." She shrugged. "The world is too large for everyone to be the same."

What she was saying made sense, but he still felt the sting of shame. "Diet aside, I wish I could enjoy being a werewolf as much as everyone else."

She tucked her legs under her. "Besides the hunting, what about it bothers you?"

He spoke slowly, trying to explain a feeling he'd never confessed to another person. "I told you I work constantly to wear myself out so I can't think about the wrong things. It's my way of controlling my brain. I have a schedule and habits and I try to think rationally whenever I can. But when I'm a wolf... there is no schedule. There's no rational thought. There's just this aggressive energy, and part of what's scary is that it feels good. I run for miles under the moonlight and howl like a maniac and can't resist sniffing things and scratching inappropriately. It's all instinct, and while I'm transformed, there's this primal joy. But after I shift back, I feel sick."

"Sick?"

It was frustrating trying to explain this when he didn't understand it himself. He ran a hand through his hair, one leg jogging rapidly. "I feel embarrassed that I lost control. Or maybe afraid. What happens if I do something horrible as a wolf? What if I... I don't know ... piss all over City Hall or trample an endangered species or eat a baby or something?"

Elsa looked taken aback for the first time during this conversation. "Is eating babies a common werewolf behavior?"

"Not even slightly," Jack said with a ragged half-chuckle. "But see? That's how my thoughts spiral. I start seeing the absolute worst outcome, even if it's ludicrous." If he spent the moonshift publicly scratching his balls-something human Jack would never do-he worried he would end up accidentally eating an infant. If his business didn't turn a profit one week, he was certain he'd end up dying alone in a gutter.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?" Elsa asked. "Besides me, that is."

"I've gone to therapy. It's been a few years, though-I got too busy with the Emporium. And I was able to tell the therapist how my anxiety manifests at work or with my family, but I was always too embarrassed to talk about being a self-loathing werewolf." He didn't know a single pixie who regretted their wings or a centaur who would trade galloping for walking on two feet. "Do you ever mind drinking blood?"

Elsa shrugged. "No, because I couldn't live without it. I have my own problems, though."

"The curse," he said, feeling guilty for complaining about something so minor when she had been mystically entrapped for centuries. "I'm sorry, you must think I'm so selfish-"

Elsa reached forward and lightly pinched his lips closed, cutting off the sentence. "I will speak to my own thoughts, thank you."

He subsided to her authoritative tone. She released him, and when he didn't speak, she nodded approvingly. "I also fear losing control," she said. "Or not fear it, but despise it in myself. When I lash out or get angry beyond reason, it feels like there's some vicious, small creature in my chest I have no control over."

"That's a trauma response, though," he said. "You only lash out when you get triggered."

She shrugged. "I also naturally have a temper. It isn't my finest trait."

"But I have no reason to be anxious," he persisted. "My family is great. My life is great."

"I don't think you have to have a reason. You can be born that way, or maybe life has shaped you that way, but it's nothing to explain away or be embarrassed about." She worried her lower lip with one sharp fang. "My father was prone to dark moods," she said after a pause. "Weeks or months where he would feel despair over everything and nothing in particular. His father was the same, and some of his cousins as well. It was a private battle they all fought. Eventually, the joy would emerge again-it always did-but we never judged him for those dark periods. We loved him through them."

We loved him through them. "Oh, Elsa," he said, struck by the simple beauty of the phrase. "That's downright profound."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I know." Then she smiled, softening the declaration into a joke. "The point is, we're all fighting invisible battles. My father struggled with sorrow-clinical depression, I believe you term it now. I have problems with rage and acting on impulse. You're full of worries." She shrugged.

"I don't think it means any of us are broken."

How shrewdly she sliced to the core of the issue. Because yes, that was exactly what Jack had told himself. That he was broken.

That he was wrong.

What she told him felt like absolution.

Except maybe she was right, and there was nothing to be absolved for. Maybe it was okay that he wasn't like every other werewolf.

The moon was tugging, calling him to the forest. He needed to scarf down the chili and run out the door, but he needed to let her know how much her support meant first. "You've given me a lot to think about," he said, cupping her cheek. He kissed her, soft and slow, eyes closed against the setting sun. "Thank you."

She patted his shoulder briskly once the kiss was over. "Better you introspecting than me." Then she snapped her fingers. "Oh! I had another idea."

All her ideas had been amazing so far. "Yeah?"

"If you have an excess of carnal urges when you get back, would you like me to bite you?"

He blinked, startled. She hadn't fed from him since that first time, and he'd been quietly dying wondering when it would happen next. "Why specifically then?" he asked. "Obviously the answer is yes, but I might smell bad." He grimaced. "Sometimes I roll in things I shouldn't."

"You were unhappy after the last full moon," she said. "So this time I'll bite you and drink your blood until you're happy, and then you can fall asleep easily." She nodded decisively.

A brilliant idea. Way better than self-loathing combined with melatonin and whale noises. "Absolutely," he said.

With that to look forward to, he actually wanted the moon to rise.

🩸🩸🩸

ELSA WAS DOZING ON THE COUCH WHEN THE DOOR OPENED.

She came awake instantly, rising to a seated position.

Jack stood in the doorway, looking exhausted. A streak of dirt crossed his forehead, and his clothes were rumpled.

"How was it?" she asked. She'd been nervous, wondering if her werewolf care bag would actually be helpful.

To her relief, Jack smiled, though the expression was a tired one. "I filled up on venison and didn't eat a single woodland creature." He shucked off his coat, hanging it up before tossing his keys and wallet in the bowl. "I did chase a few, but that was more for the fun of it."

Elsa clapped her hands. "Excellent. How are your carnal urges?"

He laughed, running a hand over his face and smudging the dirt further, then gestured at his bulging crotch. "Very present." She'd sensed the lingering wildness under the surface, tinged with lust. As he stared at her, the lust grew stronger. "Good," she said. "I'm going to bite you now."

She had him pinned to the wall in a flash, one hand at his shoulder and one in his hair. Her stomach cramped and her fangs lengthened. She was thirsty, and she couldn't wait to have his delectable blood coursing through her.

Jack grunted and cupped her ass, then hoisted her into the air. Elsa wrapped her legs around his waist, then tipped his head to the side, licked the vein throbbing in his neck, and plunged her fangs into it.

Hot, decadent bliss.

Jack's blood roared through her in a wave of pulsing energy.

She swallowed eagerly, moaning at the taste. Chocolate and spice lingered under the rich, coppery top notes. It was like drinking electricity, bright and invigorating.

"That's it," Jack said roughly, tipping his head back against the door. "Take whatever you need."

It was an order, but not one she could be angry at. Not one issued consciously either, she'd wager. She clutched Jack closer, vampiric instincts telling her to keep her prey immobilized. Arousal pumped through her in time with her pulse. Their pulse now, because her bite had put their hearts in time. His pumped fast and strong as he gave, and hers matched its pace as she took.

When she was sated, she disengaged and licked his neck to help seal the punctures. Then she grabbed his face and kissed him, traces of blood lingering on her tongue.

Jack moaned, meeting her kiss lick for lick. He pushed off the wall and carried her to the couch, where he tipped her on her back.

Then he was on top of her, rolling his hips to drag his cock over her cunt.

Someday Elsa would have to get them naked before she bit him, because neither of them could stop long enough to strip now.

Her climax was building fast, and her nerves sang with sensation everywhere they touched.

She cried out as the orgasm pulsed through her. Heat sparkled from her belly out to her fingers and toes as she clenched again and again, her body seeking what only he could provide.

Jack came with a great, groaning shudder, and the psychic energy of his orgasm sank into her. It was like drinking from a golden chalice filled with liquid starlight, each moment of his pleasure intensifying her own.

When they were both finished, Elsa felt like she might melt into the couch. Her limbs were loose and heavy, and she was so sated physically and mentally that she might never move again, even if Jack's weight was nearly crushing her.

He groaned, then slowly shifted off her and stood, swaying.

"Fuck," he said. "You're going to make me like the moonshift after all."

Elsa grinned, pushing herself upright with trembling arms.

"Think you'll sleep well?"

He gave her a speaking look. "It'll be a miracle if I make it three steps without passing out." He reached out a hand to help her up.

"I'll shower some of this dirt off, and then we can go to bed." Elsa let him help her up, though he seemed about as shaky as she was. "Are you going to the Emporium in the morning?" Emma had another rally planned for the next evening, but it would be nice if he could sleep in with her.

"Not a chance in hell," he said with a crooked grin. "I'm turning off my alarm."

"Good," she said, pride suffusing her. She'd discovered one excellent way to protect Jackson Overland-Frost from himself.

🩸🩸🩸

ELSA KEPT A WARY EYE ON THE GUESTS AT EMMA'S RALLY.

The election was less than a week away, and this would be a prime moment for someone to cause a scene. The polls showed a close race, and Lady Tremaine would not like that.

Elsa was amazed at how quickly time seemed to be moving.

Emma had announced her candidacy last minute for such things, having launched her campaign in August for an early November election, but it felt like so much had happened. When Elsa thought of how she'd first arrived in Jack's living room-hissing and defensive, ready to rip out his throat-it felt like she'd been a different person then.

Not that she didn't hiss anymore, of course. She still bared her fangs and reached for her knives when startled. She hadn't yet adapted to the hugging habits or casual trust that Jack's friend group employed. And the flash of a black cloak in her peripheral vision-of which there were more than a few in Dreamney Falls, especially around Halloween-would set her heart racing as rage suffused her. But it was never actually the Witch in the Woods, and the more time passed, the quicker Elsa was able to regain control over that anger.

She still didn't fully believe everything would be all right in the end, because historically it hadn't. But for the first time, she was allowing for the possibility.

Once she found the witch and severed her head, of course.

The rally was being hosted by the Human-Centaur Polo League at their barn. The motto of this unusual sporting organization was Twice the torsos, twice the fun, which reminded Elsa of something her Great-Great-Uncle Dragoslav might have said while showing off his skeleton collection. He had been beheaded in the vampire wars a decade before Elsa's father, but she had fond memories of playing knucklebones while he regaled her with the history of each victim in his collection.

The barn was spacious and clean, smelling pleasantly of hay and lemon wood polish. Strings of festive lights hung from the rafters, and the walls contained racks of polo equipment.

Jack's Plant Emporium was catering the event, and the room was lined with tables piled high with food that appealed to the tastes of multiple species. Emma had tried to pay for the spread, but Jack had refused, saying this time would be his treat.

It was the sort of generous gesture to be expected from him, but Elsa couldn't help but think of Merida's warning: He runs himself ragged trying to help everyone. Jack was happy to donate time and money to help his sister, but Elsa would need to keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn't push himself so far he-or the Emporium-collapsed.

The barn doors were open to the chilly late October night, but Rapunzel, Anna, and a few other witches and warlocks had summoned glowing orbs that circulated through the crowd, giving off heat. One passed over Elsa and she tipped her head back, letting the warmth spill over her face before she resumed her bodyguard duties of looking for trouble.

A flicker of movement outside the barn doors made her stiffen, but she relaxed when a centaur galloped through, blowing a kazoo. On his back was a human waving a pink Howling for Change flag. They galloped up and down the center of the barn while people clapped, howled, cheered, pranced, or undulated with delight.

How marvelous this time was that people should interact so freely and give of themselves so openly. Riding centaurs was strictly forbidden without consent, of course, but Elsa had known some who would rather have galloped over a cliff than allow a human on their back even in dire emergency. This group simply liked playing a game together.

The centaur was followed by Emma herself, who strolled into the barn in a tailored gray suit that screamed of Kristoff's influence.

"Welcome!" Emma called as she stepped onto a makeshift stage. Her shoes, as always, were pink. "I'm so glad you could make it out tonight."

A cheer went up.

"I started this journey with nothing but strong opinions, hope, and the assurance of the election board's scryer that I am not, in fact, an agent of pure evil," she continued. Chuckles followed this.

"So it's astounded me that in little more than two months, we've built this community. It's all thanks to you-both the people gathered here tonight and those who couldn't make it but have been helping in other ways." She grinned. "It takes a village to raise a mayoral candidate. So thank you for your help, large and small-the people who donated money or advertising space, who canvassed door-to-door, who called their friends or bought campaign merchandise or, hell, even gave me a smile on a day I needed it. When we win-and we will-you will be the real heroes of this story."

It was a good speech, but Elsa was used to that by now.

Emma was charismatic and warm, and people loved her. Elsa wasn't here to listen to pretty words, though-she was more interested in how Lady Tremaine might sabotage the event.

Nothing had been as dramatic as the assault on Emma's first rally, but Lady's touch had been evident in more subtle ways since then. Conservative websites had denounced Emma for being unable to protect people at her rallies-"Are Our Children Safe from Explosions with Emma Overland?" had been a notably overwrought headline-and nasty ads aired on the TV and radio. The complaints were varied: Emma was too young and inexperienced for the office; Emma would tear down the magical legacy Lady had worked so hard to protect; Emma would be a liability as a werewolf since public service couldn't take a break for the full moon. As if Lady Tremaine never stepped away from her desk to eat or sleep or shit.

Elsa studied the shifting crowd and exit points. Across the barn, Jack was doing the same. He looked rather ferocious, having traded his sweater vest for a long-sleeved black shirt that highlighted his muscles and the breadth of his shoulders. If she hadn't been on duty, Elsa would have spent quality time ogling him.

Her skin prickled, which meant her intuition had picked up on a shift in the environment. She looked harder, trying to determine what had changed.

The barn doors that had been open a minute before were now closed.

It could have been done by someone wanting to keep the heat in, but Elsa would rather be paranoid than caught off guard.

She made her way along the wall, fingers hovering over the sheathed knives at her thighs.

Jack, always attuned to her, mirrored her movements. "What is it?" he asked when they met past the last row of spectators. "Did you see something?"

"The door is shut." Then, realizing the folly of having both of them investigating the same thing at the same time, Elsa pointed toward Emma. "You should stay near her."

He nodded and slipped away.

The barn doors had a gap beneath them-not large, but enough for something small to wriggle through. Elsa crouched and saw the flash of black scales. A narrow, pointed face emerged, no wider than two of her fingers put together. Its red eyes were slit-pupiled, and smoke rose in twin wisps from its nostrils.

A smoke adder. Known for the burning pain of its bite-which was usually not fatal, unless an excessive amount of venom was delivered-and its tendency to conceal itself in clouds of smoke. At the sight of her, it startled, and smoke began billowing from it in earnest.

Though the snake might be five feet long at most, it could fill the entire barn with black, acrid smoke in under a minute. People would panic, and with only one exit, the stampede could turn deadly.

Elsa didn't make a habit of handling reptiles, but she knew the basics: grab the snake behind the head so it couldn't bite. She took a deep breath, then regretted it when she started coughing.

The peppery smoke burned, and tears flooded her eyes.

She couldn't see the snake anymore. Within seconds, the smoke had thickened and spread. It was now climbing the walls and reaching dark fingers toward the interior of the barn. Behind her came the first scream of "Fire!"

Usually not fatal, Elsa reminded herself, gritting her teeth.

Then she plunged her hand into the smoke. Hot scales met her fingertips, the texture rough and soft at once. Elsa wrapped her hand around the snake, hoping she was in roughly the right place.

She was not.

A shriek tore from her throat when a pair of sharp fangs sank into her forearm. God's throbbing knob, that hurt. The first spurt of venom pumped inside her arm, and it felt like being stabbed by a hot poker.

At least if the snake was biting her, it couldn't bite anyone else.

She fumbled for the barn doors with her free hand, cursing under her breath. Finally, one swung open, and she staggered into the cool night.

How to get this thing off her? Chopping the snake in half wouldn't be enough-it bit down in its death throes, and its fangs would remain sunk in her arm for gods knew how long. Besides, it hadn't bitten her out of malice, only because it felt threatened. The one thing she knew could stop an enraged smoke adder was dumping it in cold water, which would put it into a torpor and release the bite.

Elsa's head spun as the poison sent alternating waves of fire and ice through her body. She shuddered, then hissed when the pain intensified further.

There was a small pond down the hill she could jump into... but would she make it before the snake delivered enough venom to kill her?

🩸🩸🩸

ELSA!"

Jack's pulse thundered as he ran after her, choking on the black smoke that obscured his vision and burned his lungs. She'd screamed once from within that darkness before going silent, and terror clawed at his chest.

Was the barn on fire? He didn't feel heat, but what else could it be?

He'd aimed his feet in the direction of the exit, but he couldn't see where the opening was. Thankfully, a gust of wind parted the smoke long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the night sky-and Elsa staggering down the slope toward a small pond. The smoke followed her, and he realized it was coming from something coiled around her arm.

He shoved the second barn door open. People were running and screaming, but he only had eyes for Elsa.

What was that on her arm?

He gained on her quickly, feet churning up mud and grass.

"Elsa!" he shouted.

She tripped, falling onto her hands and knees. Then she crawled forward through a veil of smoke... and tumbled face-first into the pond.

Jack leaped into the pool after her with an enormous splash. His feet hit bottom when the water reached his neck. Damn, that was cold. Jack's muscles cramped, but adrenaline kept him moving. He fumbled around, trying to find Elsa beneath the water.

His fingers touched soft skin, and he pulled her upright.

Elsa emerged coughing and spluttering. Her feet kicked his shin before she stepped on his boot to gain purchase, chin barely topping the water.

"What happened?" Jack asked, frantically patting her underwater. "Were you on fire? Are you hurt?"

In response, Elsa lifted her arm out of the water... revealing a snake wrapped around it. The reptile slid off and sank into the water.

"F-fine," Elsa said, teeth chattering.

Bullshit she was fine. Jack hauled her into his arms and waded toward shore. The smoke was receding now that the snake-which had apparently been the cause-was gone, and a crowd of shocked people surrounded the pond. "Someone call a doctor," he shouted.

"Call a w-warlock for p-poison n-negation," Elsa corrected, clinging to him with her left arm. Her right hung limp at her side.

"That was a s-smoke adder."

Jack's stomach dropped. He'd seen those on a nature documentary, and his memory said they were highly venomous.

"I'm calling Alzapraz," Tinkerbell said. "If anyone knows how to fix this, it's him."

Jack hoisted Elsa out of the pond before clambering out himself. An icy whip of wind lashed his skin, and he shivered. Elsa was shivering worse, though.

"Is she okay?" Emma asked, crouching beside them. "What was that?"

"Smoke adder," Jack said tersely. "Someone must have planted it to sabotage the rally."

Emma made an outraged noise, then stood and moved away to make a phone call, presumably to the police. She shot worried glances over at Elsa every few seconds.

Elsa glanced at her arm, then grimaced and closed her eyes. When Jack followed her gaze, he wished he hadn't. Her skin was red and swollen around the puncture wounds, resembling an overcooked sausage on the verge of splitting.

"Stay with me, sweetheart," Jack said, wet hand trembling on her forehead. "Please." If he could order her to heal, he would, but his commands only affected her actions, not the inner processes of her body.

"N-not dying," Elsa said through gritted teeth. "I think, anyway."

"You'd better not be," he said vehemently. When she groaned, he looked around wildly. "Does anyone have a first aid kit? A blanket? Anything?"

Kristoff shucked off his suit coat, and Jack wrapped it around Elsa, who moaned at being jostled. "I'm sorry," he said. "We need to keep you warm."

"This hurts like a bitch," she spat.

"I can confirm," Kristoff said, forehead furrowed. "One of those bit me in Andorra a few centuries back. It hurts, but it isn't fatal if you disengage the snake quickly enough."

How quick was quickly enough? Maybe twenty seconds had passed between Elsa's scream and her tumble into the water.

"Jack?" Elsa asked without opening her eyes.

"Yes?" He stroked her wet hair back from her face.

"Don't let anyone kill the snake. It doesn't know any better."

"Oh, sweetheart." Jack's eyes blurred with tears at the gesture of kindness to something that didn't deserve it. He might dislike hunting during the full moon, but he would gladly smash that snake with a rock right now.

When he didn't say anything further, Elsa slitted her eyes open. "I mean it," she slurred. "Can't b-blame something with t-teeth for biting."

A lump filled his throat. "All right, I'll keep the snake safe." Assuming it hadn't already drowned. "Please just focus on getting better."

"I'll get the snake," Anna said, pulling thread out of the pocket of her leggings and heading to the pond.

His friends were clustered around them. Eugene consulted with Kristoff while Tinkerbell flitted back and forth, making air drops of various helpful items: a horse blanket, a water bottle, a sweatshirt. As Jack dragged the blanket over Elsa, Rapunzel crouched and pressed her finger to Elsa's forehead. "I'm going to try a pain relief spell," she said. Her finger traced runes as she whispered.

Elsa opened her eyes more fully when Rapunzel was done.

"Thank you," she said, voice raspy with smoke. "That helped."

"Good." Rapunzel smiled. "It doesn't look any better, but that should keep you feeling okay for a few minutes."

Elsa shivered.

"Let's get you warmed up," Jack said. He looked at Rapunzel. "Do you have a spell for that?"

"No, but I bet Anna does."

Anna had returned from the pond with the snake floating midair beside her in a cage woven of light. Jack glared at the creature, wishing he had wolf fangs to bare at it.

"Yeah, I've got something," Anna said. She pulled thread from her pocket again and started tying knots. "Ayorva en cor-poriyil."

A wave of heat rose from Elsa's prone form, and her hair instantly dried. A moment later the same heat hit Jack, expanding outward from his core. Even the droplets on his glasses vanished.

He exhaled in relief. "Thank you."

"Alzapraz was drinking two blocks away," Tinkerbell announced, buzzing into view. "He'll be here soon, and he told me the ingredients he needs for a poultice. Rapunzel, can you summon them?"

"Absolutely." Rapunzel went to consult with Tinkerbell.

Alzapraz Corona was Rapunzel's ancestor and an expert in many types of magic, chief among them life magic. But the warlock's mastery was incomplete, and his physical body had aged despite his immortality-which meant Jack had doubts about how "soon" the decrepit man would be able to get there. He gritted his teeth against the surge of impatience and shifted to put Elsa's head in his lap. "You're doing great," he told her.

"I know I am," Elsa snapped.

Jack was going to take her peevishness as a good sign. He stroked her hair, pressing his lips together to suppress their trembling.

Rapunzel returned with an armful of ingredients. She knelt down and started mashing a mixture of bananas, toadstools, herbs, and milk in a copper bowl. Jack forced himself to match his frantic breathing to the steady grind of the pestle. Elsa needed him to be her rock right now.

Her free hand caught his, and she squeezed his fingers. She didn't speak, but her eyes shone with fear. Jack's own eyes prickled with tears as he raised her knuckles to his mouth. "It's going to be okay," he said roughly.

"Here's Alzapraz," Rapunzel said, standing and brushing grass off her knees.

The ancient warlock took Rapunzel's place, kneeling with a cacophony of groans and clicking joints. He had long white hair, a scraggly beard, and age-spotted skin so wrinkled it looked like he'd been twisted up and wrung out, but his eyes were bright and intelligent beneath caterpillar eyebrows. "Smoke adder, eh?" he said in a voice like a creaking floorboard. "One of those bit my testicles once. Not fun."

Kristoff and Eugene made matching noises of alarm. Jack would have, too, if he didn't have more pressing things to worry about.

"H-how did a snake get near your testicles?" Elsa asked.

"You haven't lived until you've played the Russian roulette of sex games with a bevy of kinky snake shifters," Alzapraz wheezed.

"It was still worth it."

"Can you please stop talking and fix her?" Jack asked. He wouldn't normally be so rude to Rapunzel's relative-or anyone else-but this was a dire situation.

"Yes, yes," Alzapraz said, waving a hand. "All things in their time." The warlock grabbed the bowl, then daubed the mixture onto Elsa's arm. "Genezserpil o' corpora," he muttered. Then he pulled a strip of linen from the sleeve of his purple velvet robe and tied it around the wound. "Keep that on for a few hours," he said. "At midnight, go outside and light a candle to Hecate, then remove the bandage and bathe the wound in moonlight. You'll be good as new."

Elsa already looked more relaxed, and Jack was pleased to see her arm was shrinking back to its normal size. "Thank you," she said, sitting up.

"You have an ancient sound to your voice," Alzapraz said, inspecting her closely. "When do you hail from?"

"France, some six centuries past. My mother was Norwegian"

He coughed. "I haven't met anyone that close to my age in a while. You're much better preserved than me, though."

Elsa cocked her head, looking curious. "How old are you?"

"Older than that," he said dryly. He started to stand, got a few inches off the ground, then sank back down. "Curse it, I'm going to have to lose more of my dignity, aren't I?"

"I'll help you up," Tinkerbell said. She ignored his glower, deftly raising him to his feet with one flap of her wings.

Elsa was staring intently at Alzapraz. "You're a life warlock," she said, and Jack instantly understood her train of thought.

"Guilty as charged," Alzapraz said.

"Do you know another life witch who goes by the moniker the Witch in the Woods?" Elsa asked. "A few inches shorter than me, pale skin, long curly dark hair, likes Star Trek, and has a habit of mystically enslaving assassins?"

Jack was tempted to smack his forehead. Of course, they should have asked Alzapraz first. How had he not thought of that? Vast age and experience aside, Alzapraz might be familiar with other practitioners of life magic. Maybe there was a directory of sorts.

"Star Trek?" The wrinkles deepened into canyons as Alzapraz's forehead furrowed. "Can't say about that part, but the Witch in the Woods, sure." He let out another wheezing chuckle. "I told her that was a boring name, but she insisted simple was better to be remembered over the centuries. Guess she was right."

Elsa shot to her feet instantly, and her fists clenched in the old man's robe. "Tell me where she is," she hissed, baring her fangs.

"I will rip her heart out, eat it, and floss my teeth with her veins." Jack winced at the words as he clambered to his own feet. Not everyone was as accustomed to Elsa's dramatic threats as he was.

Alzapraz didn't seem alarmed, though. "I'm beginning to understand the assassin portion of your question."

"Elsa," Jack said, gently laying a hand on her shoulder. "He did just save your life."

"I'm not going to floss with his veins," Elsa pointed out as she released the robe. Then she eyed the ancient warlock. "Sorry. Thank you for saving my life."

Alzapraz waved a hand. "Never get offended by someone else's centuries-old blood feud, that's what I always say." He tipped his head to the side, and his neck cracked loudly before he put his hand to it with a grimace. "Funny you should mention the Witch in the Woods. Kristoff and Anna went to see her a few years back."

Elsa whipped her head around to glare at Kristoff.

"What?"

Jack mirrored the movement and the question. "What?"

He liked Kristoff, but if the demon had known about the Witch in the Woods this whole time and hadn't said anything...

Kristoff's jaw dropped. "Gothel?" he asked. "She's the witch you're looking for?"

Gothel. The villain had a name at last.

"Oh, shit," Anna said, eyes wide as she looked between Elsa and Kristoff. "I knew I didn't like her even before she tried to have us killed."

Elsa snapped her fangs. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Yeah," Jack echoed, crossing his arms and glaring. "Why didn't you?"

Kristoff held his hands up. "In my defense, she didn't call herself the Witch in the Woods or skulk around in a cloak when we met her. It was a brief encounter, really. I tried to regain the immortality she'd stolen, she called my nemesis to have him murder us..." He shrugged. "Just business."

Jack couldn't believe it. Kristoff and Anna had fallen in love during a road trip to find an infamous witch two years ago, seeking the return of Kristoff's immortality and advice for defeating his enemy on the demon high council. The witch had been less than helpful and had promptly sold them out to said enemy.

Had Elsa been in the cabin on that day two years ago, watching Star Trek? Or had she been trapped in the crystal, dreaming cold, lonely dreams?

"Where is she?" Elsa demanded. She was trembling head to toe, and Jack couldn't imagine the intensity of what she must be feeling.

"About two days' drive from here," Kristoff said.

Jack's heart raced. He could hardly breathe. Two days? That was nothing. He grabbed Elsa's hand. "We can leave first thing tomorrow," he promised.

Elsa's lips quivered as she looked up at him. Then she buried her face in his chest and began to cry.

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ELSA SOBBED INTO JACK'S SHIRT, BODY SHUDDERING WITH THE FORCE OF IT.

He'd picked her up the instant she'd begun crying and was carrying her to the parking lot. Good. She didn't want anyone else to see her like this.

She hadn't cried in centuries.

It was like discovering a lost art-the ability to weep. When hate had been her armor, there had been little room for tears.

She'd forgotten how her eyes squinted and her nose tingled or how her throat felt raw from the choked noises she was making. It was an ugly feeling but also a relief-like a dam had burst and some horrible pressure had finally been released.

The witch was two days from Dreamney Falls. And Jack was going to take her there.

"Sit in the car or go home?" Jack asked as he set her down next to the SUV.

"Home," she gasped.

It didn't escape her that she'd thought of his house as home. As she leaned her forehead against the window, the raw cries in her throat turning to soft hiccups, she wondered if that was dangerous.

But she hadn't had a home in so long. And when she thought about where she wanted to curl up and hide from the world, that house with its earth tones and sturdy furniture and the peeling paint in the kitchen was the first choice.

He drove silently, though he kept a hand on her knee. A big hand, but one capable of tending to the most delicate orchids. Elsa wasn't delicate, but it was nice to feel like it every once in a while. Or not delicate, but ... protected. Like she could put down her weapons and rest, and someone would be there, keeping watch.

Her clan's war camp hadn't been a soft place, but there had always been someone on the lookout. Succubi or other daytime species when the sun was up, vampire warriors at night. It had been easy to fall asleep at those fires with meat and blood in her belly and warm furs keeping the cold at bay. Despite the stereotype of the aloof, mysterious loner, vampires were clan creatures-they weren't meant to be alone.

By the time they reached the house, her tears had stopped. She rubbed her wet cheeks, tasting salt on her lips. Her head throbbed and her eyes felt swollen, but a feeling of peace had settled over her.

Jack set her up on the couch under a blanket, then retreated to the kitchen to make tea. "Need blood?" he called.

Elsa took stock of her body. This was too early to need sustenance, but the snake bite had taken a toll. "A small mug, please." His head popped around the corner, and he tapped two fingers against his neck. "Want it from the source?"

That would be delicious, but-"If I drink from you, I'll get aroused, and I'm too exhausted for that." Even a succubus had her limits, and Elsa felt wrung out. If she tried to grind on Jack's lap, she'd probably topple over.

"Fair enough. Just know it's on offer whenever you need."

Sweet wolf.

Elsa closed her eyes while he bustled around the kitchen.

The witch was two days away, but how would they break the curse?

A mug clinked on the table, and she opened her eyes to the welcome sight of steaming blood dotted with marshmallows. Jack sat next to her as Elsa grabbed the mug with murmured thanks. She drained it in a few deep gulps.

Much better. Her foggy head was clearing, and the exhaustion weighing down her limbs had begun to lift. Even the sore throb of her bitten arm was diminishing as the blood nourished her.

"Did they catch the person who left the snake at the rally?" she asked, realizing she'd forgotten that aspect of things. "And was anyone hurt?"

"No one else was hurt," he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Thanks to you. Emma texted me that someone saw a car speeding away afterwards, but they didn't get the license plate. It had to have been Lady, though."

She thought of the smoke adder and how unfair it was for any creature to be used like that. "Is the snake all right?"

His expression softened as he looked at her. "I'll text Anna to double-check." He typed on his phone, and a minute later it chimed with an incoming text message. "Yes, she got some wildlife researchers from the college involved. They'll rehabilitate it and figure out what to do with it after that."

"Good." With that question resolved, she could focus on the most important issue: what to do about Gothel. Elsa knew a bit more about the witch now, but she didn't know nearly enough. "Do you have Alzapraz's phone number?"

He nodded. "Want me to call him?"

"Please."

Jack dialed and put the phone on speaker. It rang twice before the warlock answered. "Hello?"

"This is Elsa Arendelle-Devereux," she said.

"The vampire succubus who got bitten by the snake?"

"The same. Thank you for healing me." She eyed the clock-three more hours until midnight, when she could remove the poultice and bathe the wound by moonlight. "Since you know Gothel, I was wondering if you're also familiar with a binding spell for eternal servitude. I'm not immortal, but centuries ago she tied my life to a crystal. After that, she could summon or banish me at will, and I was mystically compelled to obey her orders."

"Oof, that's a nasty one." Alzapraz sighed. "Gothel never was overly burdened by morals."

"No," Elsa agreed. "She usually ordered me to murder her enemies or source the humans she drained life from." She frowned, struck by a thought. "Do you extend your life span that way, too?" He made a startled noise that evolved into a coughing fit. "So that's how she's doing it," he said when he'd regained his voice. "And Hecate, no. Though ask me again on a day when the arthritis cream isn't working."

The witch's hands had looked young throughout the years, not gnarled and spotted with age. "Is that why you look so old?"

Jack winced.

"What?" she whispered to him. "He must have a mirror."

Alzapraz had apparently overheard that, because he burst into wheezy chuckles. "I look like shit, I know. There's always an exchange with life magic-in my case, I traded my physical health for extra years of life. Thank goodness for Viagra."

"Oh, wow," Jack said. "Let's not mention that to Rapunzel."

"Why not?" Alzapraz asked. "I'll never understand why young people treat their elders like naive infants. Do you imagine you've invented a single sexual activity we haven't done before?"

Elsa was starting to like this Alzapraz. "That's a good point," she said. "My Great-Great-Uncle Dragoslav claimed he introduced the Romans to anal plugs."

Jack made a choking sound.

"Oh, I'm sure anal play predates that," Alzapraz said. "I'd estimate it happened around the time humanity discovered fermented fruit. If there's one constant across the years, it's that people love getting drunk and stuffing inappropriate objects up their bums."

Jack cleared his throat. "Can we return to the topic at hand?"

"Yes, let's," Elsa said. There would be time to tease her proper werewolf about anal play later. "Jack bought the crystal from the witch, so he can control my actions now. We want to break the binding spell, but we don't know how"

Alzapraz hummed. "How was the spell cast to begin with?" 

The memory was burned into her brain indelibly, and shame tightened her throat as she revisited how foolish she'd been. "We were in battle against the clan who murdered my father." It had been a frozen, moonlit night, and blood had stained the snow while screams filled the air. Elsa had shrieked her fury into the frigid sky as she battled toward the vampire who had slain her father. "During a lull when the enemy retreated to regroup, the witch approached me and said she had been watching me for a long time and admired my skill and ruthlessness. She said she could offer what I craved most: vengeance."

Gothel had been a strange, surreal figure in her black cloak, face shadowed and pale hands upraised as she promised Elsa the head of her father's killer. Or what Elsa had assumed was the head of her father's killer.

Jack nudged her hand with his, and she took it. It was nice to have something to hold on to while she shared this horrid memory. "I was naive and had never met a witch before," she continued.

"I was unaware one might offer trickery." Battle lust had been hot upon her, and with her heart pumping furiously and the wrong sort of pride surging at her combat talents being praised, Elsa hadn't paused to think. "I said yes, and she cut her palm, dripping the blood in a circle around her."

"A blood binding," Alzapraz said. "That's an intimate spell. She must have really liked you."

"Don't say that," Elsa snapped, jerking away from the phone. "There is nothing of affection in what she did to me."

There was a pause while she breathed heavily, glaring at the phone.

"I don't mean to say she was correct," Alzapraz said more gently. "Or sane, for that matter. I just mean that a blood binding connects the spellcaster with their target on a more personal level. You would have been in her thoughts often."

Elsa bared her fangs. "Well, she ended up selling me on eBay, so I can't have been that important."

Jack squeezed her hand.

"How did the ritual proceed?" Alzapraz asked.

Elsa closed her eyes, revisiting a night of stark colors: black and white and red and the uneven flicker of torchlight. "She had me cut my palm and clasp my hand with hers. Then she started chanting and drawing runes in the air, and wind and light came from nowhere." She shook her head. "I wish I could remember the words."

"They would have been customized to the moment," Alzapraz said. "Spellwork like that is very advanced-there's no all-purpose spell to bring someone under your thrall. She would have needed to combine multiple incantations and modify the language to the precise situation."

Well, that made her feel marginally better about not memorizing it. "When the light vanished, she was holding a piece of quartz. She said, 'I banish you to your vessel, and the world went away." 

Elsa shivered and opened her eyes to look at Jack. She hadn't told him what sort of command would return her to the plastic crystal, and it made her nervous to say the words out loud.

He might be able to say many things and achieve the same effect, but as Alzapraz had pointed out, sometimes spells were specific. Maybe the precise words mattered.

If they did, she should never have spoken them before her new captor, no matter how unwilling he was or how she felt about him.

Jack wouldn't betray her, she told herself. But there were ways a person could be influenced-threats, torture, etcetera-and if he spoke the words, willingly or not, she would be banished back to her prison. And then what? How long would the gray haze last this time? Would she ever see this era or these people again? What if someone slew Jack and stole the crystal from him while she was unable to help?

His expression was compassionate as he rubbed his thumb over her fingers, and Elsa told the paranoid part of herself to quiet down. He was here, he was alive, and he'd sworn not to command her again. It was enough for now.

"Well," Alzapraz said, "the good news is, the spell can be reversed."

Elsa gasped, hope bubbling up in her breast. "It can?"

"The bad news is, Gothel has to reverse it herself." Elsa's stomach dropped, and the fragile hope splintered into bitter anger. There was no way the witch would do that. If she'd had any intention of freeing Elsa, she'd had her opportunity when putting the crystal up for auction.

"Why can't I get another witch to do it?" Jack asked. "Since I own the crystal now."

"She sold the crystal to you, but that doesn't change the base nature of the spell." Alzapraz clicked his tongue. "Think of it like land someone gets to occupy only as long as they're alive. When they die, it goes back to whoever gave them possession. So you may possess the crystal-and Elsa-for now, but rights revert to Gothel. If you were to die without selling the crystal to someone else, she would reclaim it."

"Oh, gods," Elsa said. She hadn't realized. "So if we can't break the spell ourselves, even if I were to grow old with Gothel." A thought she hadn't truly let herself entertain before realizing that future might be ripped away. She shook her head, refusing to accept it. "Maybe I'll die before him."

Jack looked distressed. "I don't like that."

"Unfortunately, spells like this are designed to be impossible to break by others," Alzapraz said. "It's dark, complicated, nasty magic most people would never touch, but I've seen it a few times over the centuries. You may age, but because Gothel tied your existence to hers, that connection will last until she releases you." Her stomach felt tighter and sicker with every revelation. So Elsa could age alongside Jack, but the moment he died she'd become Gothel's servant again, and she would linger until the witch was done with her.

It was a horrific thought.

Elsa had never stopped fighting, though, so she reached for another possibility. "What if she dies? Will I be free then?"

"I'm not sure," Alzapraz said slowly. "My best guess is yes, but it depends on the wording used in the initial spell. She would have needed to include an end provision no matter what-most likely something like Lygaria a' servidail casglir liberum oula mortium, which roughly means 'the bond of your service to end with my release or my death! But if she was feeling particularly cruel, she could have said casglir liberum oula mortiuz-'to end with release or our death."

It took Elsa a few moments to parse the words, and then she stiffened. "Wait-"

Jack spoke at the same time. "You're saying it's possible that if the witch dies ... Elsa does, too?"

Please, no, she thought. Jack squeezed her hand hard, and she squeezed back until her bones ached.

"Possible, yes," Alzapraz said. "Likely? I struggle to believe even Gothel capable of that. And she may have used entirely different wording. The language of magic is complicated, which is another reason she has to be the one to break this spell. Only she knows the stipulations she put in place."

"Putain de bordel de merde," Elsa whispered. She stared at the black rectangle of Jack's phone, wishing the answer to their predicament was as easy to look up as any other information on the internet. Her head ached, and a heavy, painful feeling pressed against the inside of her ribs.

She couldn't go back to the existence she'd lived before. She wouldn't.

"Can I at least torture her?" she asked. "I couldn't hurt her before, but since she sold the crystal..." She obviously hadn't tried hurting Jack, but she instinctively knew she wouldn't be able to, and not just because she cared for him.

"Probably!" Alzapraz said with the forced cheerfulness of an auctioneer trying to point out the finer traits of a racehorse with three legs. "The mystical compulsion is tied to ownership of the vessel, so whatever protection she put in place probably is, too. What we're dealing with here is more the fine print-extended warranty, liability, reversion of rights, things like that."

Elsa hissed.

"I'm sorry," Alzapraz said. "None of this is pleasant to say or, I'm sure, to hear, but it's the truth."

She wanted to cry again, but her eyes wouldn't produce tears. Perhaps she had used them all up.

Jack's jaw was tense. His feet tapped a rapid rhythm against the floor. "We'll find a way to convince Gothel to break the curse," he said. "Or trick her into doing it."

Elsa appreciated how certain he sounded, even if he was just saying it for her benefit, but she was a blunt weapon. She approached things head-on and smashed them, and her experiences with trickery had largely been in the service of others. If tricking Gothel into releasing her was the solution, she had about as much hope of that as she did of traveling back through time to stop her former self from speaking to the witch in the first place.

"I'll force her to break it," she said. "Even if I have to gouge out her eyes and feed them to her."

Jack's own eye twitched.

Alzapraz's rattling sigh came from the phone speaker. "Well, good luck. I'm not a fan of forced eternal servitude, and it's been disappointing to see Gothel's trajectory over the years. She used to be fun before she got so paranoid."

Elsa made a face. Alzapraz must have known Isobel for a long time, then, because she had always been paranoid. "I hope you're not friends, because I may commission Jack to knit a hat from her intestines."

Jack blanched and leaned back, shaking his head.

Well, perhaps this was a good reason to give knitting another try.

"I've seen worse," Alzapraz said with the resigned calm of a true immortal. "And Gothel and I were never much more than fuck buddies." There was a pause. "She always found power in what she could take from others. If she took something from you, take it back. Oddly enough, she would understand that."

Elsa dug the heel of her free hand into her eye, pressing against a growing headache. She had words for many things in many languages, but she didn't have a word for the sick, glistening hate that filled her guts like tar. She didn't know how to speak the feelings that made her want to scream.

Ultimately, her most well-practiced language was that of violence, so Elsa let go of Jack's hand to grip the hilt of the knife holstered at her thigh. The leather wrap was smooth from her touch over the years, well-worn and waiting.

If the only way forward was to torture Gothel into releasing her,

Elsa would set herself to the task.

"I will take my life back," she vowed. "Whatever it requires."

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