The Beauty of Forever Page 4

  Not Christopher, though. Why? Samantha scanned the factory for him. There. Almost halfway across the floor. Her heart jolted. The truth slapped her in the face.

  She wanted something to happen.

  Samantha hurried after him, even though an underlying current of panic settled into her stomach. She wanted Christopher. To be in his arms. To have him between her legs. Dear God. To feel his teeth pierce her skin.

  No.

  She couldn’t. Shouldn’t. They worked together. He was already hard enough to deal with on a day to day basis, without adding extra complications like sex into the mix.

  No, Samantha. You are stronger than that.

  This was business. Her job. She’d do it as best she could and ignore the sexual chemistry. She could do it. She was an adult and a professional.

  Samantha finally caught up with Christopher at the train platform. He stood waiting at the edge, head bowed and hands behind his back.

  “You’re lucky the train wasn’t here,” he commented without turning.

  Samantha sighed. She stood a few feet away from him. His dark hair hung like a curtain around his face, hiding his features.

  “I would have taken the next one,” she said.

  They didn’t speak again until the train screeched to a halt in the station. They clambered onto the passenger car. It was empty. Samantha settled onto the hard plastic seat, keeping her gaze on the posters pasted on the walls. One wished everyone a Merry Holiday. Another promoted donations. Another reminded workers of their passenger obligations. The place, with its white and blue design, was the least festive and most corporate she’d seen so far in the entire factory. Christopher sat across from her. Her pulse quickened.

  “I don’t understand why you want to come,” he said. “I don’t need you. I’ve been working with Jacobs since I got here.”

  Samantha looked at him. To her relief, gone was the desirous glance he’d given her earlier, replaced instead by his business mask. She met him head on.

  “Helping you is my job and to do so, I need to know more about the business. Its ins and outs. Its people.”

  “You were a regional manager before, a much better position than this one. You demoted yourself and you expect me to believe you’re only here to help?”

  She gave him a wry grin. “Been reading up on my CV, haven’t you? Yes, believe it or not, I simply wanted to do something different. I wasn’t ready to commit to McIntosh’s for life.”

  Christopher’s tilted his head. A lock of hair hid his expression from her and the wild impulse to sweep it aside, skimming her fingertips over his skin, drove her hands into fists. He brushed it aside.

  “Forgive me if I’m skeptical. I’ve seen it all too often in your kind.”

  “My kind?” Samantha tensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Christopher stretched, resting his arm on the top of the chair at his side. He spread his legs. Samantha bit her lip. The man took up space effortlessly, commanding it without even realizing it, or perhaps he did.

  “You’re not magical, Samantha. You are human. You are food,” he stated.

  Uncomfortable with his blatant reply, she shifted in her seat.

  Christopher leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His blue gaze pierced into her.

  “I would however, give you a better use.”

  “A better use?”

  He grinned so his fangs stood out sharply and his eyes twinkled with mischief. Samantha held her breath.

  “If it were up to me, doll, I’d keep you chained to my bed to use whenever I wanted.”

  Her eyes widened as she interiorized his words.

  I’d keep you chained to my bed to use whenever I wanted.

  As food? As a sex slave? Her mind painted pictures both gruesome and erotic. To be his. At the mercy of his touch. Naked. Hot. Her flesh flared to life, tingling with desire which quickly zeroed in on her pussy, sending it into a rhythmic pulse. She swallowed a moan.

  Say something, Samantha.

  “That’s insane,” she managed. Could he hear the husk in her voice?

  “Is it? You took your time to respond to such an outrageous proposition.”

  She opened her mouth to defend herself but Christopher’s laughter filled the space. Rich. Dark. Devilish. Sensual. She pressed her legs together.

  “Don’t deny it, Samantha. I can tell when you’re lying. You humans are usually so easy to read. You were wondering what it would be like. Your cheeks flushed the delightful pink they usually do and it crept all the way down to your cleavage. The pulse in your neck thumped with excitement and your eyes took a faraway look. It’s okay, doll. I was envisioning it too.”

  Chapter Seven

  Christopher suppressed the urge to bring Samantha onto his lap and kiss her senseless. The human had him by the balls. Her look of innocence mingled with curiosity and barely concealed lust was bound to drive him insane.

  And it was only one side of her. She was nosy, yet insightful. Confident. Passionate. Brave. She plunged ahead even though he frightened her.

  It had been a while since anyone had intrigued him so much. Everything about Samantha seduced him and thus, it drove him to tease her and continuously test her limit. Like a cat who plays with a bird before eating it, he knew he shouldn’t do it, but he couldn’t help himself. How far could he push before she flew away?

  The train slowed to a stop. Standing, he offered his hand to Samantha.

  “A truce?”

  Samantha drew in her lips, then her expression softened and she slid her smaller palm into his. Her warmth made the hairs on his nape stand. Accommodating her against the crook of his arm, he led her outside onto the platform.

  Her sharp intake of breath stopped him in his tracks.

  “It’s incredible,” she murmured.

  Christopher followed her line of vision. He wrinkled his brow, trying to see the valley from her perspective. Artificial light imitating the sun shone upon rolling green hills, where tall pine trees swayed from an equally simulated wind. Through the middle, a dirt road contrasted starkly against all the greenery, but it was nothing compared to the bright colors of the tents and thatched roofs pitched on either side.

  Christopher grimaced. He’d once asked Jacobs how he, a faun, could stand living in a place like this: fake. The creature explained that considering the quick disappearance of forests around the world, the arctic and Santa’s workshop were a safe haven. For them, it didn’t feel false.

  “What’s that shimmer there?” Samantha asked, pointing to a cluster of yurts closer to the edge of the woods.

  “Probably some fairy workshop.”

  “Fairies?” Her eyes widened, the unbridled awe in them drawing a smile from him.

  “Santa didn’t show you around much, did he?”

  Samantha shook her head. “We didn’t have the time. As soon as I landed I was given a pill to avoid any jetlag and brought to your offices.”

  Christopher raised his brows. “Let me get this straight, not even hours after you arrived, Santa was throwing you to the wolves.”

  “Um—”

  “And I’m the one without people skills?” Christopher said.

  Samantha averted her gaze, but a blush crept down her neck.

  “Santa’s a busy man,” she said. “He’d briefed me earlier, through email—”

  “Mr. Beaufort?”

  Christopher spun around, recognizing the high-pitched tone of Dianegarog, Jacobs’s driver. He waved at the creature with fiery hair, hovering to one side.

  “Dianegarog. Has Jacob sent you to meet us?”

  The fairy’s wings shimmered as he nodded enthusiastically. His colorful vest of orange and yellow twinkled like autumn leaves falling from willow trees.

  “Indeed. He has, sir. Though, we didn’t know you would be accompanied.”

  “Ah yes. This is Samantha Kraus. She has been hired to assist me.”

  Dianegarog looked from him to Samantha. His inquisitive gree
n eyes widened, then narrowed, and he pinched his wide lips into a comical pout. Dianegarog lifted his finger into the air as if to speak, then closed his hand into a fist. He pointed at Christopher’s fangs, then at Samantha. Christopher rolled his eyes.

  “I am not food,” Samantha stated.

  She strode forward, arm outstretched. Alarmed, Dianegarog held his driver staff in front of him like a shield.

  Amused, Christopher bit back a smile. Samantha stopped. She held out her palms in the universal gesture for peace.

  “I’m Samantha Kraus. Nice to meet you, Diane-gordog.”

  “Dianegarog.” The fairy lowered its makeshift weapon. “It’s like the gar in garden and the og in egg nog. Diane-gar-og.”

  “Diane-gar-og,” Samantha repeated.

  Beaming, the fairy approached Samantha. Shorter than a five-year-old boy in his human form, the one he used when Jacobs had visitors, he offered to shake. Carefully, Samantha took the proffered hand.

  “Well done, my lady. Now, if you’ll accompany me, Lord Jacobs awaits.”

  Christopher motioned for Samantha to go in front. She gave him a brief nod before cocking her head to speak with Dianegarog. The fairy, who normally kept to himself, fluttered at her side, words stumbling over each other in his haste to talk to the human.

  When they reached the train station’s exit, Samantha glanced at him. Christopher held his breath. Blinding happiness radiated from her.

  “It’s like Cinderella’s carriage. Except, there are no horses.”

  “It’s driven by fairy magic, my lady,” Dianegarog explained.

  Christopher frowned. He’d always found the white wooden structure, shaped like a dome and decorated with flowers, too much. Samantha, on the other hand, seemed thrilled. She climbed aboard, her gaze jumping from one spot to the next, taking in every detail.

  “Sir?”

  Christopher nodded at Dianegarog and sat next to Samantha. Heat emanated from her, licking his skin, awakening a pang which settled permanently against his fangs as they set off, powered by the fairy magic.

  He tried to ignore Samantha, but she twisted in her seat, oohing and aahing at everything as they drove past the woodlands. Finally, he glanced at her. Hands folded tightly on her lap, perhaps to stop herself from clapping enthusiastically, her eyes shone. She practically glowed, reminding him of a time when he’d appreciated humans and had marveled at their ability to find wonder in the smallest thing.

  “Look there.” He pointed to a cluster of low, thatched gazebos, linked together with vines. Within, a group of what appeared to be small, slender children sat at a long table. Their voices rose in a melodious harmony as they sang in their mother tongue while weaving colorful threads. At the sight of them, they stopped. Lash-less eyes too large for their faces stared, taking in every detail of the strangers traveling through.

  “What are they?” Samantha whispered.

  “Woodland gnomes.”

  “They don’t look like gnomes.”

  Christopher chuckled. “There are many types of gnomes, Samantha. The gnomes here come from a long family of weavers and seamstresses. They are the Xanthes. They are, as you can see, not very tall, but graceful people, with an otherworldly beauty.”

  “What are they doing?” she asked.

  “They are the baby weavers. The blankets they make will be destined to paranormal babies, each one with a dose of magic to bring each child sweet dreams of a bountiful life.”

  “But they’re doing it by hand. Doesn’t it take them forever?”

  “Samantha, here we favor the traditional way of doing things. Albeit, sprinkled with a bit of magic.”

  “Why?” Samantha asked. “Machines can do it so much faster.”

  Christopher sighed. “Only a human would ask that. Machines are taking over everything and magic is ceasing to exist. As supernatural creatures, we believe in maintaining magic, or tradition, if you rather call it. Humans, most of them at least, don’t understand this. They don’t understand magic. So Santa manufactures their toys with machines. Easy. Fast. Worthless.”

  “I see.” She remained thoughtful for a few minutes. “And what about electronic devices? Isn’t the paranormal community integrated? I mean, you have a phone and computers and—”

  “Of course we also have technology, but most of us have learned to balance the new with the old. Specially, the long-lived. Every item here has some form of magic. Life is already hard as it is. We’re just making it more special.”

  For a while they didn’t speak. Bird songs traveled through the air, mingling with the tinkling laughter of the valley’s creatures and the occasional sound of machinery. Jacobs’s section of Santa’s factory was one of the most magical of places, rooted in a past which existed long before even Christopher came to be.

  The carriage began its ascent, turning into a quieter section of the valley. Gradually, the landscape changed. Clipped grass, flowerbeds blooming with colors, an assortment of trees and bushes, and here and there, smaller walking paths leading toward groves or pools of crystalline waters.

  The road widened and evened out. Classical Greek sculptures, representing love and playful amorous moods, lined the way.

  “What is this place?” Samantha asked.

  “Jacobs’s home and headquarters.”

  “It reminds me of Versailles. Have you ever been?”

  Christopher smiled. “I have. Many years ago. I believe it was what Jacobs was aiming for, but in my opinion, he failed.”

  Samantha pursed her mouth. “I don’t agree. It’s grand, it’s beautiful, and it invites you to get lost in them and explore.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s not what Louis XIV was aiming for. He wanted it to be an expression of power and authority. Glory.”

  “Perhaps,” she conceded, eyes glimmering. “But didn’t Versailles exist before Louis XIV? And wasn’t it a royal residence of leisure? A place where the French monarchs could retreat to, rest and escape from the mundane?”

  Christopher cocked his head.

  “I think Jacobs’s estate has achieved that,” Samantha continued.

  He glanced outside. The sculpture of a group of dancing nymphs, beneath a canopy caught his eye. The footpath behind it flashed with patches of sunlight and shadows, leading into the unknown. A tingle coursed through him. What lay beyond the corner? More art? A fountain with rushing water? Flowers the color of the rainbow? Animals running free and careless? The urge to get off the vehicle and discover it had him closing his hands into fists. Or maybe, it was the influence from the woman at his side.

  “Touché,” he finally said.

  He knew the moment Samantha spotted the house because of her exited squeal.

  “Jacobs’s home and offices,” he explained.

  Sunlight hit the front of the Greek-revival style home. Bold, marble-like columns surrounded the building. White curtains swayed like ghosts against the large, open French windows. The sound of people typing filtered to the exterior.

  The carriage slowed and stopped. Dianegarog came around and opened the door. He helped Samantha out.

  “How many columns does it have?” she asked the fairy.

  “Thirty.”

  “Wow.”

  “This way, please,” Dianegarog said. He indicated they should take the steps to the front door, a double structure divided into four panels. There, Ailu, Jacobs’s secretary, waited.

  “Welcome Lord Beaufort and Lady Kraus,” she said.

  Christopher glanced at Dianegarog. He gave him a brief nod. Jacobs was expecting both of them.

  “This is incredible,” Samantha said.

  “Sweetheart, if this impresses you, wait until you see some other parts of this business.”

  “This way please,” Ailu said.

  The elf was radically different from either Santa’s or his own secretary. She had the same tall, slender frame of those of her kind, as well as the pointy ears, but her hair was dark like the bottom of the ocean and her eyes were blue like the
sky. She dressed in a conservative, long-sleeved brown dress and her hair was pinned into a braid at the top of her head, adorned by a simple golden brooch in the shape of a leaf. Christopher nodded to himself. She was not of the Nortckolm cast of elves, then, but of the Metsa’ko. Woodland elves from the Northwest.

  They entered a heavily decorated room with elaborate, patterned wallpaper, and a mix of furniture styles. Ivory and reds dominated the space, and an assortment of items drew the inquisitive eye.

  “Please wait here. Lord Jacobs will come shortly.”

  Without another word, she slipped away, her felt boots silent against the wooden floors.

  “She’s amazing. All this is amazing.” Samantha spread her arms. “This room looks like it’s been taken from the Victorian-era.”

  Christopher snorted.

  “It’s too gaudy and disorderly. The materials are not right. But it’s a good imitation.” He settled into a plush, rosewood sofa.

  Samantha placed her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed. “I know it’s rude to ask, but how old are you?”

  Christopher crossed his leg over his knee. He didn’t miss Samantha’s sharp intake of breath.

  “Did you consider I could simply be a historian?” he replied, smiling.

  “No, but you wouldn’t be working here if it were the case.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  She threw her arms up in the air. “You’re impossible.”

  Christopher chuckled. “I was born in the 1500s, so yes, I had the pleasure to experience the Victorian-era firsthand.”

  Her mouth fell open, but she recovered quickly by exploring the details of a lamp held by a porcelain sculpture.

  “And Jacobs?” she asked.

  “I have never been so rude as to ask him his age.”

  “Indeed he has not, but if you wish to know, Ms. Kraus, I will gladly tell you.”

  Samantha spun around.

  The faun strode forward, hooves clapping hard against the floor and hand outstretched. He wore a gray polo shirt open at the chest and his glasses were perched around his neck. Samantha shook hands with him.