Falling for Kindred Claus Page 4

  “Listen up, everybody,” she shouted, raising her voice to be heard above the crowd. “As you can see, Santa is finally here and ready to hear all your children’s Christmas wishes. So please keep in line—we are starting now!”

  She grabbed the big Kindred, who was still glaring at the dad, by the arm, and towed him back to “Santa’s throne.” It was a wide wooden seat with a high back, padded with a red velvet cushion.

  She got the Kindred to sit down on it, though his big body was still stiff with anger.

  At least another certain part of him wasn’t stiff anymore, thank goodness—she saw, glancing at the crotch of the furry red Santa trousers. Maybe he’d been right and it was just her scent doing something to him. She tried to remember if she was wearing any perfume today but she didn’t think so.

  “Hey, loosen up,” she muttered in his ear. The puffy white beard he was wearing was slightly crooked and she took the opportunity to straighten it as she spoke. “We’re about to get the line going. You have to not look so angry or the kids are going to be scared of you!”

  “Forgive me.” He took a deep breath and the angry lines between his black brows ironed themselves out. “It was just…when I saw him threatening you, I nearly went into Rage.”

  “Yeah, you looked enraged all right,” Lisa said, frowning. “But you’ve got to calm down now or you’ll scare the pee out of some of the littler ones out there.”

  “All right.” He nodded and took a deep breath. “This is the strangest mission I have ever been given, but I will do my best not to scare the children.”

  “Good.” Privately, Lisa thought he was still pretty scary. She wished she could get him back into Santa’s Workshop for a minute and stuff the red suit with pillows—at least that might make him look more approachable and more like a real Santa. Right now, he looked like a huge bouncer who had simply put on a Santa suit and was looking to crack some skulls.

  But it was too late for that now—she had to get this show up and running before anything else bad happened. Taking a deep breath, she called for the first child to come and sit on Santa’s knee.

  Somehow she had to get through this.

  Five

  Asher sat stiffly on the large padded chair, taking deep breaths and trying to control the remnants of the Rage that had threatened to overtake him. What was wrong with him, nearly losing control like that? Never, in hundreds of missions, had he ever let his emotions take over and make him do something stupid. He had told himself he was as cold as ice—impervious to anything.

  And all it had taken was one curvy little Earth girl to melt his ice and nearly ruin his self-control. When he had seen the male threatening her, his first impulse had been to pound the bastard to a bloody pulp. Seven Hells, he had to get a grip on himself!

  He took another deep breath, glad that he couldn’t smell her bewitchingly sweet scent. He hoped devoutly that this mission would be over soon so he could go. The girl affected him too much for comfort.

  He tried to compose himself and got ready for the first child.

  Unfortunately, it turned out to be the little miscreant who had started the scuffle in the first place. He came marching up to the wooden chair where Asher was sitting in the uncomfortably hot fur suit, a truculent expression on his freckled face. His father—the man who had threatened Asher’s contact—stood by with his arms crossed and a scowl, as though daring Asher to turn his son away.

  That was exactly what Asher wanted to do but when he looked at his contact, she gave a quick shake of her head. Clearly there would be trouble if he refused to host this particular child on his lap.

  Clenching his jaw, Asher beckoned to the boy and pointed to his right knee.

  “Sit,” he said curtly.

  The boy sat and then just looked at him.

  Coming up beside him, his contact hissed in Asher’s ear, “You have to ask him what he wants for Christmas!”

  Asher gritted his teeth.

  “What gifts do you want for the upcoming Earth holiday?” he demanded in a low growl.

  The boy blanched, but then lifted his chin defiantly.

  “I want a machine gun. A real one!”

  “Absolutely not,” Asher snapped, losing his patience. He might not know much about Earth, but he was well aware that they had projectile weapons as capable of claiming a life as any Kindred blaster. He was certain that a child with this temperament—and especially of this age—couldn’t handle such a responsibility.

  “What?” The boy stared at him uncertainly. “But…I’m s’posed to get anything I want if I’m on the nice list!”

  “Well, you’re not,” Asher told him. “Your behavior has been unacceptable and you will get nothing but dirty lumps of carbon from Satan Claus—I mean Santa Claus,” he corrected himself. “Correct your behavior and maybe you will get a non-lethal gift next holiday season. Now get down and send the next child.”

  The boy’s eyes got so wide Asher thought they might swallow his freckled face. But the look Asher was giving him seemed to quell his defiance. He slid off Asher’s knee and ran back to his dad who shot him a last enraged glance and stalked off, stiff-legged, with his shoulders in an angry line.

  “Oh no!” Asher’s contact exclaimed. “Wait—you didn’t even get a picture,” she called to the man.

  “You can keep your fucking picture, lady!” the man shot back angrily. “I’m going to have a word with your boss and see what he thinks of his Santa acting like an asshole to my kid!”

  “Shit!” the girl muttered under her breath. She turned to Asher. “Look, can you please try to lighten up? You’re going to get me into so much trouble.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “But I didn’t think a child that young was ready for the responsibility of owning a projectile weapon.”

  “Well of course he’s not!” the girl hissed. “But you’re not supposed to say that! Just ask the kids what they want for Christmas, try to act jolly, and don’t tell anyone else they’re on the naughty list. Okay?”

  Asher nodded.

  “I’ll try,” he said honestly. Clearly he was missing some of the nuances of this mission but he wasn’t sure how to do any better. Also, he had never been “jolly” in his life. Still for her sake, he told himself, he would do his best.

  His contact was already bringing the next child—a little girl with long blonde braids who looked at him timidly as she perched on his knee.

  “Greetings,” Asher said, trying to sound cheerful. “And what gift would you like for this holiday season?”

  The little girl brightened at the mention of a gift.

  “What I want, Santa, is a kitten,” she announced.

  Asher frowned and scanned his memory. This was his first trip to Earth but he had studied up on its cultures, people, and animals before he had come. As far as he could remember, a kitten was a small furry animal with long whiskers and big eyes. That sounded harmless enough.

  “A kitten it is,” he said, smiling broadly.

  “Really?” The little girl looked at him in apparent joy and disbelief. “I can really have a kitten, of my very own?”

  “Yes, really,” Asher said firmly. “Since I believe you are on the ‘Nice list,’ I will certainly bring you a kitten when I break into your home before the holiday.”

  The girl frowned a little, clearly puzzled.

  “Oh, you mean when you slide down the chimney?” she asked.

  “Yes, when I break into your domicile by, uh, sliding down the chimney,” Asher affirmed, though he had no idea what a chimney was or how one went about sliding down it.

  “Okay.” The girl brightened. “And since I’m on the nice list, can I have a puppy too?”

  Asher remembered that a puppy was another kind of young furry animal—clearly this little girl was interested in animals. Much better than the other boy, who had wished for weapons, he thought.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “You can have a kitten and a puppy.”

  “And a pony?” the girl
asked eagerly.

  Asher was about to reply in the affirmative when he saw both his contact and the little girl’s mother shaking their heads vigorously. Oh—well maybe this last animal was too much responsibility, he thought.

  “I’m afraid I can only promise you a kitten and a puppy,” he told the little girl. “But maybe if you are very good, I’ll bring you a pony next year.”

  “Yay! Thank you, Santa!” The little girl threw her arms around his neck and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek—a surprising but also quite a pleasing result, Asher thought. He felt a warm glow as he watched her slide off his knee—maybe he was getting the hang of being Santa Claus after all.

  But before the next child came up, his contact came and whispered in his ear,

  “Hey, you can’t do that!”

  “Do what?” Asher looked at her, startled. He had been certain he’d done a good job with the girl—she had certainly seemed happy when she left—so what was the problem?

  “You can’t promise any specific gift—especially not a pet!” she hissed.

  “Why not?” Asher demanded, confused. “She seemed like a gentle and responsible child—I think she can handle having some pets.”

  His contact sighed in apparent exasperation.

  “Look, the parents might not want to give their kids an animal or they might live someplace where pets aren’t allowed. So no matter what the kids ask for, you just say, ‘We’ll see. Santa has to go back to the North Pole and check to see if the elves can make that for you.’ Or something like that! Got it?”

  Asher nodded.

  “Got it,” he said, frowning. Damn it, playing “Santa Claus” was turning out to be the most complicated mission he’d ever undertaken! And it wasn’t over yet.

  Looking down the long, snaking line of children and parents, he thought that it was going to be a very long mission indeed.

  Six

  The big Kindred was really trying—Lisa had to give him that. But he was simply not a good Santa—maybe because he had no idea who Santa was supposed to be in the first place.

  She loved Christmas herself—and had adored Santa when she was a little girl. It was one of the reasons she’d taken this crappy job in the first place. She wished she could take the big Kindred home, sit him on her couch, and make him watch some Christmas classics like Miracle on 34th Street or The Santa Clause or even Nightmare Before Christmas to give him an idea of what the holiday was all about and how Santa was supposed to behave.

  But of course there was no time or opportunity for any of that—she just had to try and nudge him in the right direction and hope the kids weren’t too scared of him.

  And some of them certainly were scared. A substantial number of them took one look at “Kindred Claus,” as Lisa was beginning to think of him, and started to cry. One girl got so upset when her mom tried to get her to sit on “Santa’s” lap, she threw up, right in the fake snow. Lisa called for a clean-up crew and they tried to go on but it was all downhill from there. Parents were leaving the line, dragging their kids with them, and she heard several of them saying something about finding a “better Santa” someplace else.

  All of it was ominous news and she wondered, with a sinking heart, how long it would take for her boss—the mall’s manager—to find out what was going on in Santa’s Village and react to some of the complaints he was no doubt receiving.

  Still, the big Kindred kept trying. He was good with the very young kids—the babies—she noted. Though he got a slightly panicked look in his green eyes when he was handed a tiny newborn, he cradled the baby gently against his broad chest and tried to smile as Gary clicked a picture for the parents. But most of the kids were old enough to know what Santa ought to look like and the big Kindred definitely did not fit the bill.

  Things finally came to a head around the end of the second hour when a little boy refused to sit on the Kindred Santa’s lap, even though his mother insisted on it.

  “Get up there, Dougie,” she snapped, pointing one long red fingernail at the big warrior. “Get on his lap right now or no presents for you! None! Do you hear me? No presents for Christmas unless you sit on Santa’s lap!”

  Lisa had learned a long time ago that you couldn’t parent other people’s kids. But she couldn’t help herself—she went up to the mom and tried to reason with her, as gently as possible.

  “How old is Dougie?” she asked, pointing to the little boy, who was staring at the big warrior with his lower lip trembling and tears standing in his big brown eyes. “He might be a little young—sometimes kids are afraid of Santa, you know.”

  “He’s four,” the mother snapped. “Old enough to get on Santa’s lap for a goddamn picture. Get up there, Dougie!” she went on, raising her voice. “Hurry up! We waited for two hours, now get on Santa’s lap!”

  “D-don’t wanna,” the boy whispered, his eyes getting even wider with fear.

  To the Kindred’s credit, he was at least trying to be helpful, Lisa thought. He patted his knees and tried to give the child a reassuring smile.

  “It’s all right, small one,” he rumbled. “You can come and sit with me—I don’t bite.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. At the mention of biting, the little boy’s face grew white with fear. He broke and ran, trying to get as far from Santa’s throne and its scary occupant as possible.

  But his mother was too quick. She swooped in and picked the child up. Then she marched in her high-heeled, leopard print boots right up to the big Kindred and plunked the kid on his knee.

  “There!” she declared, scowling at her son. “Now smile for Santa, Dougie! Freaking smile!”

  Lisa’s heart nearly broke for the little boy. He looked up at the huge Kindred and tried to smile. But when the warrior smiled back, his fangs became visible beneath the fake white mustache.

  The biting comment must have been uppermost in the little boy’s mind because his own trembling smile collapsed into a wail and tears started pouring down his cheeks.

  Abruptly the big Kindred stood up, holding the boy out at arm’s length.

  “What in the Seven Hells!” he growled, looking down at himself.

  Lisa bit her lip as she saw the dark stain on both the little boy’s jeans and the red trousers of the Santa suit. When the acrid scent of urine hit her, she knew what she had feared had happened…

  Dougie had peed all over Kindred Claus and the night was finally and completely ruined.

  Seven

  “Now, look what you did!” the mother rushed forward and snatched her son, “Dougie” from Asher’s hands. “You made him wet himself, you big freak! Who are you, anyway? You’re the worst Santa Claus I’ve ever seen in my life!”

  Asher was taken aback. He’d been trying his very best, despite the difficult situation. Yet it seemed he just couldn’t get this mission right. The children were frightened of him to the point of vomiting and urinating, no matter how “jolly” he tried to be—and Asher had the wet trousers to prove it.

  He looked down at himself in disgust. He needed to get back to his ship and take a shower. But he had no idea what Dru would say when he heard about tonight’s work—the mission certainly couldn’t be considered a success in any way. Unless the point of it had been to frighten children, that was.

  Now his contact was talking to the other humans waiting in line, explaining that there had been an “accident” and Santa would have to go back to the North Pole to get Mrs. Claus to clean his suit for him.

  “So I’m afraid we won’t be having any more visits with Santa tonight,” she said apologetically, raising her voice to be heard above the crowd.

  There were angry mutters and several raised voices at this.

  “Hey, we waited in line for three hours!” one man shouted, glaring at her. “What the hell is wrong with you people?”

  “Yeah!” a woman exclaimed. “We want a picture with Santa!”

  Asher felt the Rage rising in him again and a growl began in his throat when he saw the curvy
little Earth girl threatened. He stepped up behind her and glared at the angry people. If any of them tried to hurt her, he would make them very, very sorry.

  His ominous glare seemed to have the desired effect. The shouting people turned pale and slunk away. Soon the entire crowd was dispersed and they were the only two people standing there.

  “Thanks.” The girl looked up at him gratefully, but not very happily, Asher thought.

  “I would not allow them to hurt you…” He paused, frowning. “I do not even know your name.”

  “Lisa.” She looked up at him. “And you are?”

  “Commander Asher of the Kindred Elite Espionage Corps. But you already know that, don’t you?” Asher asked, frowning.

  She shook her head.

  “How am I supposed to know your name? All I know is that a local charity sent you. Um, Kindred for Kids or something like that?”

  Asher shook his head as well.

  “What are you talking about? I don’t know of any such charity. My handler told me I was to come to these coordinates and meet my contact to get the details of my next mission. He said my contact would be wearing holiday clothes—which you are—and would approach me directly—which you did,” he pointed out.

  “Well, yeah—because I was looking out for the Kindred who was supposed to play Santa Claus!” Lisa exclaimed. “But I just—”

  At that moment a small blonde Earth woman with gray eyes and a large Beast Kindred warrior let themselves into the Santa’s Village enclosure and came towards them.

  “Excuse us,” the woman said, looking at Lisa. “But I’m Liv and this is my husband, Baird. I think he was scheduled to play Santa for you today but we went to the wrong mall by mistake. I’m so sorry!”

  “What? You’re supposed to play Santa?” Lisa looked up at the Beast Kindred who shrugged apologetically.

  “Sorry,” he rumbled. “Hope we didn’t ruin everything.”