Elf-napped (A Filthy Dirty Christmas) Page 2

  Clara laughs too, but it feels different. There is a nuance to it. I know from her sweet aura she is not laughing at me with a mean spirit. She is reacting out of surprise.

  We are creatures who take everything so seriously and with a sense of superiority.

  My falling in love with a human was the butt of a joke among the other elves. Although my exile would not have been my choice, I was relieved that I never had to hear another creature’s chortling at my expense.

  Clara’s laugh is something else entirely. I never want to escape it. Her laugh starts soft and low, then rises like a tinkling bell. The notes rise higher the more amused she is. When she is so caught up in her laughter that she goes silent is what worries me. At first, I think it’s some kind of asphyxiation.

  “Do not panic. I will help you, my queen.” With both hands, I hold her head still and slant my mouth against hers.

  My lips must be some kind of magic because the contact results in her instantly gasping for breath. Clara inhales the breath from my lungs, so much so that I grow dizzy.

  Her body struggles against me in her mirth, so I hold her still, moving my hands down to her stomach. Clara jerks and squirms against me, but I press my mouth deeper and notice how my body responds to this new touch.

  I’ve saved her life now, but I don’t want to stop this contact. I follow my body’s signals and continue. We are kissing now. From what I’ve observed, this is what humans do as a precursor to mating. I can see why. Kissing my queen is the most thrilling moment of my life.

  Clara gasps and writhes as if she’s enjoying a game of tickles. This back and forth, with pushing and pulling and tugging and twisting, stirs the parts of my body hidden under my kilt.

  The way of humans is becoming more apparent the longer this goes. Every time she pushes against me, the friction causes my cock to expand and increases my desire for her.

  The wish to taste more of her overwhelms my senses, and I dart my tongue into her wet mouth. Clara lets out a whimper, and her body softens its rigidity. Something has shifted, and she presses her tongue back against my tongue. Her lips play with my lips. There are interesting, wet noises too. I understand why they call it smooching, because that is the noise our mouths make, and it’s delightfully exciting.

  As if compelled by some outside force, Clara pulls away from me, covering her mouth. To my shock, she turns and runs.

  “Did you not enjoy that, my queen?”

  “Nice try, but you’re more of a Buddy than a Legolas, pal!”

  As I can never be angry at my Clara for this insult, I throw my head back in laughter so loud it shakes the branches up and down the miles of the forest.

  Unfortunately, I don’t need to run after her, because my tree-shaking laugh has caught her so by surprise that she stops running. Her knees give way, and she falls with a soft thump into a snowbank. My sweet girl has fainted.

  Pity.

  My feet quickly crunch through the snow to where she lies unconscious. Now, what do I do with a passed-out human? Take her home with me, as planned. This changes nothing.

  I suppose I have to get her warm. These creatures are so fragile; it’s comical.

  Swiftly, I grasp her cold little body against my warm one and scan the woods for the other human.

  The male one with the ax quite literally voided his bladder when he saw me, and ran. What kind of a coward leaves another of his species alone in woods haunted by a ferocious elf?

  Not that I am going to hurt her. I could never.

  I see no sign of the puny man she called Daren with the chemically addled brain. Just as well for him. For revenge for touching one of my trees, I could easily sic a wood sprite to torment him the rest of his days.

  I pick up the weapon and carry it with us for the trip home. I have no use for it, but I should make sure it’s not here if he comes looking for it again. Or if he, more likely, reports an attack, and someone comes here to investigate.

  With my Clara in my arms, my worried brain settles. My heartbeat slows, even more so than what is typical for an elf.

  I finally feel calm and at peace, and I know what I have to do with my life now.

  Firstly, and always, take care of her.

  Inside my hovel, just on the other side of the brook, an eternal fire glows in the fireplace.

  Clara is very cold, so I remove the outer layer of her clothing. Setting her down on the hearth rug, I strip off her coat and denim, which have gotten wet in the snow. I toss them into the fire. She’ll never need the coat again as she’s not ever leaving. And no queen of mine will wear such lowbrow, manmade clothes ever again. An Elf Queen wears only elven cloth.

  Her stretchy long underwear is dry, but her woolen hat, scarf, and mittens are soaked through with snow and sweat. I toss them into the fire also.

  Even in her sweater and strange underthings, my eyes can see her body is delectable. She will look unearthly beautiful once she’s primed and ready for me.

  I will not wake her, though. Her tiny human brain is processing what she’s just seen, and she needs to sleep. I will sit here with her, acting as her cushion, keeping her warm and comfortable. I’ll feed her some of my homemade bread and cheese when she wakes up. Then I’ll make some tea and see if there’s anything else she requires before the sexual bonding ritual.

  My loins stir beneath my leathers at the thought of engaging in more delightful inter-species pleasures with my Clara.

  Most of my fellow elves view these desires as beneath our kind. As a rule, we do not engage in sexual gratification except for procreation alone. Specifically for North Pole elves, we are matched with a partner when we reach the age when reproduction is viable. We have many children, often before the age of 30, and then our libido goes away.

  Our reproduction is a very efficient system, but there’s no pleasure in it.

  And why would there be? We were born to work and serve Nicholas and do his bidding.

  As for me, I’ve been in free fall since my exile was decided. But now, I’m simply free.

  I can’t wait to get started. I can’t wait to fill these woods with a hundred little half-elves with Clara’s strength and beauty, and my long life and magic.

  Chapter Five

  Clara

  “Say it with me: I am worthy of love and affection.”

  I raise my filled wine glass in my right hand and repeat, “I’m worthy of love.” I raise my left hand, which holds a tin of peppermint chocolate toffee bark. “And affection!”

  Reba shakes her head. “Wine and candy are nice, but they won’t love you back.”

  “Sure they do. They cover me with extra padding to keep me warm in winter.”

  “Clara. Don’t talk about my best friend that way.”

  “The last guy I met online took me to a pyramid scheme party, and somehow I ended up buying him a seventy-five-dollar kitchen sponge, then he asked me to use it to wash his dishes.”

  “You just haven’t met the right one. I smell Christmas magic in the air.”

  This conversation replays in my dream as I slowly wake up in my extra-warm bed.

  Wait until I tell Reba about the first part of my dream. The part where a dark-haired, half-naked Legolas finds me in the woods, and he has the outline of the biggest Christmas package I’ve ever seen. Reba’s going to roll her eyes so hard.

  I still can’t believe Daren freaked out and pushed me out of the way.

  “That’s it,” I say, snuggling deeper into my La-Z-Boy reclining chair, pulling my blanket close around me. “I’m never dating again.”

  To my alarm, my La-Z-Boy responds in a deep, masculine voice with the diction of a very stern English professor. “That’s already out of the question, but I’m happy to hear you say it.”

  Every inner alarm bell rings, and I bolt upright, eyes flying open.

  That’s when the facts hit me, and I realize I’m sitting not at home in front of my space heater but in the lap of the creature that came to me in my dream.

 
“What the actual…”

  I scramble away from the huge arms that surround me, or try to, anyway. In my haste, I tumble to the floor.

  “Clara,” he says. “Have you hurt yourself?”

  Cursing, I sort of crab walk away in a truly embarrassing fashion because I do not want to put myself in danger by turning my back on this man…or thing…or whatever he might be.

  “Who…what…where…”

  And then, the hyperventilating begins.

  In my tunnel vision, the elf-ish person stands. I look up, wondering what he’s going to do to me, and for half a second, I can see under the leather skirt thing he wears. Oh. My. God.

  Although the untouched parts of me light up like a Christmas tree, I know I have to get out of here for my own safety.

  And in the future, I have to stay away from the free cider at Holly Tree farm, because someone spiked it with a hallucinogen.

  Throwing the blanket off of me, I face the creature.

  “Come back and sit on my lap, Clara, and let me feed you.”

  “How do you…where am I?” The words tumble out of me in shock and outrage, and fear.

  Without an ounce of effort, it seems, the creature picks me up. Up close, his deep, iris-less eyes take me in and mesmerize me. I see flecks of light in their depths like I’m looking at the Milky Way galaxy. For a brief moment, I’m lost in them before I remember myself.

  “P-please don’t hurt me,” I whimper, getting control of my breath and now beginning to tremble.

  “You are in shock, I think,” he says. “I am sorry for dropping you; I wasn’t prepared for you to try to get away from me.”

  I swallow. “You weren’t prepared…you…I….” The trembling turns to a full-on earthquake from within.

  “Poor Clara,” he croons, but kindly. Not mocking at all.

  Once again, we are perched on the floor, and I am wrapped up in a fur blanket and held against his glowing, warm skin.

  “Of course, you’re shocked. Here is what happened. You and a male of your species wandered into my woods and started chopping down trees. I came out of my home to investigate the intrusion, and scared the puny male specimen away. And to my delight, you remained behind. My Clara. But of course, you must be wondering how I knew your name. That will come later. For now, suffice it to say that we, the elves, know each and every one of you quite intimately. I’ve been in charge of you for many years.”

  So not only am I being held against my will by some sort of supernatural creature, but he thinks he’s the boss of me? That’s adorable.

  “You are out of your tree, m-mister.”

  “You may call me Eldrin, my queen. My formal name is Eldrin Brynfire the fourteenth, but you may call me El, if you prefer. A queen of a Christmas elf may call her king anything she likes. And I am not out of my tree. We are, more or less, inside of a tree, for lack of a better human explanation.”

  Okay, this guy is either a next-level cosplayer that Reba hired to play a joke on me. Or…

  When I manage to tear my gaze away from his eyes, I take in the bone structure so perfect I want to weep.

  I have a strange urge to reach up and trace my fingers over his full, unsmiling lips, high cheekbones, sharp jawline.

  Looking down at his body, one thing that makes me smirk is his feet. They are huge, like a human male’s feet, but hairless. Gazing at him induces a sense of calm that I don’t quite understand.

  Smiling, I comment, “You say you’re a Christmas elf, but you aren’t wearing any striped leggings. Where are the cute little curvy shoes with bells on the toes? And where’s your pointy hat?”

  Eldrin’s eyes go cloudy like a storm in the distance. “Human Christmas movies have characterized us as wee little worker bees dressed in red and green. That is not the case. Humans have mixed up gnomes and elves for centuries. It’s embarrassing for you.”

  He’s so sure of himself that it should piss me off. He would piss me off if I weren’t so unspeakably aroused. And so, I laugh.

  My damn obsession with fantasy books and movies has conjured this person, somehow. My mom and dad always said my interests were concerning. And now I know they were right—my body is ready to dry hump the first magical creature who steps out of the trees. I’ve never felt such an automatic physical attraction to anyone. Not anyone human, anyway. Legolas was my first crush, human, fantasy and celebrity crush all at the same time.

  I’m a mess, and now I’m caught up in some kind of mental breakdown of my own doing.

  “You seem out of sorts, still. Is this still a precursor to the bonding ritual, or have we veered off course?”

  “Excuse me? Did you say ‘bonding ritual’?”

  He nods and says matter-of-factly, “The one involving the genitals.”

  “Oh hell no, Christmas elf.”

  I squirm in Eldrin’s lap to try to move, and the friction of my ass against the Yule log in his kilt alerts me to some actual facts. This man, or whatever, is as rigid as a tree trunk. And huge.

  “I’m sorry you’re hesitant. It must be obvious that I’m not experienced with sexual bonding. But I assure you, I’ve studied all the proper instruction manuals, and I think you’ll find me adequate.”

  My brain screams, Run, you fool!

  My other bits already know just how adequate he is.

  Physically, this Eldrin person embodies every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had. And yet, my body fights with my brain, which remains in fight-or-flight mode. I continue to struggle in his arms, scanning the room for any sign of a doorway to the outside. And yet, I don’t hate how much more aroused he seems the more I wiggle and squirm.

  What is wrong with me? Did I get hit in the head with a tree branch? Did a Christmas tree fall on me?

  “I think I see the problem. I must feed you now. Please sit at the table.”

  With that, Eldrin stands and sets me down gently on a strange chair made of woody vines that appears to have grown straight up out of the earthen floor. Eldrin’s home looks like a circle of trees joined together by walls made of polished precious stones. The ceiling is a mass of tree limbs, dried flowers, herbs, and kitchen tools hanging from them. Along one wall are jars of things that appear to be tinctures, syrups, and infusions of leaves, berries, and fungi.

  Before me, Eldrin sets a plate made of wood filled with cheeses, meats, breads, and spreads. “What the hell is this? A charcuterie?”

  He hands me a crystal cup filled with wine and smirks. “Where do you think humans came up with the idea?”

  I watch him turn to stoke the fire, where he fills a teapot that sits above the flames on some type of cooking surface.

  I can’t deny that I’m hungry.

  “How do I know I can safely eat this?”

  Turning back to me, Eldrin picks up the crystal cup and holds it under my nose. The wine has an aroma of sugar plums and hibiscus, and I find that I’m very thirsty for it. He leans down and speaks in a way that I can’t tell if he’s serious or joking. “What good would it do for me to poison my queen?” He has a point. Or maybe his words have power over me, and his tones slide into my ears and drip down into my nethers. Dampness blooms in my panties.

  I take the cup and sip. The warm, spicy wine slides down my throat and quenches my thirst instantly. Forget about free hot cider; he should seriously consider bottling this stuff and selling it. This wine is pure Christmas.

  “Hardly beneficial to harm you. It would get in the way of making our half-elf babies together, my queen.”

  At this, I do a truly ghastly spit take.

  Eldrin rests a hand on my back as I dab my face dry. “Are you alright, my queen?”

  “Babies?” I croak when I’m barely finished gasping for breath.

  His hand radiates heat through my sweater, and I find that my discomfort from sucking wine down the wrong pipe has abated.

  I turn to him in amazement. “How did you do that?”

  Eldrin’s top lip quirks. “Now, do you believe I’m real?”

/>   I don’t respond, only bite my lip.

  His huge eyes somehow darken even more, and I see my reflection in them. I see how I look to him. A low growl escapes his throat.

  “Eat first, then we’ll talk. Will that satisfy the precursor requirements to intercourse?”

  I snort. “The way you talk is something else.”

  “I think you’ll find I’m well versed in your English vocabulary.”

  I repeat back at him, imitating his haughty style of speaking. “I think you’ll find I’m well versed in your English vocabulary.” I crack myself up and have a case of the giggles.

  Eldrin is not amused. “I suggest you eat something.”

  Am I crazy, or does he seem hurt by me? I take a beat to examine his stony expression. Yes, I see now that I shouldn’t have mocked him. I know how that feels, all too well.

  Perhaps I need to accept his hospitality and then get my wits about me to exit this fever dream without too much trauma.

  I tuck into the food he’s laid out before me, all too aware that he’s crouched right next to me. He watches me intently as I eat. It’s unnerving, but the taste of the food makes me forget my self-consciousness. The bread looks like pumpernickel but is softer and more flavorful. The cheese is pungent and tastes so good, along with a smear of something that looks like a mash of herby vegetables. I feel half full after the first bite. The tartness of the cheese is overwhelming, like aged gouda but better. It’s so strong that I don’t think I would ever eat this if a human tried to feed it to me. But I wouldn’t want to insult my captor any more than I already have.

  I take a small bite of the chopped stuff, and it tastes nutty, sweet, and salty like the best chutney ever made. And somehow, that’s it. Three bites and I’m full. Earlier today—if it’s still today, who knows—I had saved up room for tasty holiday treats at the farm, and now I’m stuffed.

  “It’s all so good,” I tell him.

  “Elven food has been perfected to keep us nourished in the most efficient amount of time so we can eat quickly and get on with our duties.”

  I look up into his eyes, suddenly wishing I could see some more feelings in there. But the black orbs only show my reflection. I feel a little sad that that is his existence, but I don’t want to say precisely that.