Free Winter's Tale by Emma Holly Page B

him.
    She thought she heard a gasp of pleasure.
Again stone grated, tiny marble particles raining from his joints
like sand. She wanted to beg him not to move, to let her do
whatever was required to bringing him to climax.
    Her breathlessness stole her chance to
protest. His stone arms had moved. His hands were cupped beneath
her bottom before she gathered air to speak.
    She really couldn’t speak afterwards. The
touch made her crazy, motionless though it was. She tingled
everywhere they came into contact, streaks of super-strong
sensation pinging up adjacent nerves. Rubbing her skin on his
became pure pleasure. Her head fell back, her long curls
unraveling. She groaned as the orgasm gripped her pussy like a hot
hand.
    She tightened harder than she ever had in her
life. This was what he’d needed. His not-quite-stone cock jerked at
the constriction, then swelled, and then she felt a rush of extra
wetness inside of her.
    He was coming—physically ejaculating and not
just experiencing ecstasy. She didn’t know what to make of that,
but she didn’t have long to wonder.
    A splintering crackle, like a sheet of ice
put under too much pressure, was her sole warning. A second later
his statue form exploded into a zillion cloudlike pieces.
    Robbed of support, December dropped, landing
on her naked butt and hands out of sheer reflex. Her ears rang with
shock, or maybe from the amazing climax she’d been yanked out of.
She shook her head to clear it, red spots dancing before her
eyes.
    Where he’d stood, the dust from a heap of
white sand was settling. Even his pedestal had crumbled.
    “Hans?” she called hoarsely, absolutely not
ready to accept he was gone.
    Hans didn’t answer, inside her head or out.
To her dismay, the red spots she saw didn’t disappear. Instead,
they were joined by the same low growl she thought she’d heard
before: growls plural, actually. The snarls multiplied . . . three,
then four. Holy crap, the red spots were eyes!
    She scrambled to her shaky feet, grabbing her
pajama top on the way.
    “Nice doggies,” she said, shoving her arms
into the sleeves. It was just as well she didn’t see her pants. Her
knees shook too badly to have stepped into them.
    Four giant hounds crept like shadows out from
the trees. Their black fur was thick, their lowered heads as tall
as her shoulders. Their lips curled back from their teeth, baring
long yellow fangs.
    December was pretty sure a game of fetch
wasn’t on their game plan.
    They must have been accustomed to hunting as
a pack. She didn’t get the opportunity to decide if she ought to
run. They spread out and surrounded her too quickly.
    “Shit,” she breathed, her heart thumping hard
enough to escape her ribcage.
    Her father used Rottweilers to patrol their
properties. When she was six, before she began her perpetual tour
of the world’s boarding schools, he’d tried to involve her in their
training. She’d liked the dogs well enough. They weren’t
bad-natured, and they were very smart. When he realized she’d
rather play with them than teach them to attack, he’d lost his
temper. They’re not for cuddling! he’d scolded. You’re
going to ruin them!
    Right that moment, she’d have been grateful
for a couple dozen of his most disciplined canines. Right that
moment, she’d have been grateful to see him.
    But maybe both wishes were pointless. These
fae dogs would make mincemeat of a hundred normal ones.
    I’m not prey , she thought firmly,
trying to square her shoulders. I will not show fear to
them . She also wouldn’t kneel, in case the praying part of the
story was accurate.
    She didn’t know if her mental bravado had an
effect, but one of the dogs lay down on his forelegs and haunches.
He must have been the lead beast, because the others followed his
example. December took an experimental step to her right, but
immediately had to freeze. The alpha dog’s head lifted in
warning.
    His hair-raising growl didn’t sound
natural.
    “Okay,” she