Deliver Me a Paladin for Christmas
Author: Tes Hilaire; Unknown
Date: 0100-12-31 19:00:00-05:00
Keywords: Paladin Warriors; Christmas; Short Story

Deliver Me
a Paladin
for

Christmas

by Tes Hilaire

Copyright 2012 by Tes Hilaire

Cover and design by Tes Hilaire

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without the permission in writing from its author, Tes Hilaire.

The characters and events portrayed in this short story are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Logan tucked in his elbows, sucking in his breath as he tried to worm his way through the mass of holiday shoppers flooding the interior halls of the mall. It was amazing how the season of giving could turn a crowd of shoppers into a mass mob of greedy elbows and dark looks. Everyone was cranky. They all wanted the last of that something elusive which they either hadn’t been able to track down yet or hadn’t bothered to look for until today.

Including you?

He sighed, running his hand down over his face. He hated crowds. He’d come back tomorrow except tomorrow would be too late. This would teach him to procrastinate.

He forged his way through the press of bodies, scanning the shop windows as he went. This would be so much easier if he knew what the heck he was looking for. But what did you give a woman who insisted she didn’t want anything?

Someone shoved into him from the side. He spun, automatically raising his arms to ward off the attack. Only there was no attack. Just two angry mothers yelling and tugging at some pillowy looking lion cub in front of one of those shopping islands. Apparently it was the last one, and little Bobby and darling Francesca both needed it under the tree Christmas morning.

He rubbed the back of his neck, popping the vertebra by manipulating his head side-to-side. He was beginning to seriously question if humanity was worth saving.

Needing some space—else he might grab the stuffed toy-pillow and rip its innards out, thus solving the dilemma of who got it--he ducked into the closest store. Almost immediately he could breathe again, the din of the rest of the mall fading in this relatively empty space. Empty by this particular day’s standards at least. There were a few other shoppers along with one very busy salesperson trying to help them all at once--and one other character standing just inside the door.

“What the hell? Aren’t there any holiday’s that are sacred to you guys?” Logan demanded, staring in disbelief at the vampire leaning against the tiled entryway, arms and legs folded as he watched the bustling shoppers whiz by outside.

The vampire shrugged, not even bothering to end his people watching—or should that be stalking—to look at Logan.  “Hey, even a vampire’s got to shop.”

“I thought you guys went for donations.”  As in the Red Cross kind—or the naïve, solitary shopper too hassled and overloaded with goodies to pay attention to the strange person following them.

The vampire finally looked at him, his lips pulling back into a fangy smile. “You offering, Paladin?”

“Sure, how about a one way ticket to oblivion,” Logan said, raising his hand before the vampire’s face exposing his glowing palm.

Try me, vampire. Do it. I will erase every one of the minds here if I have to. Just say the word and you’re less than dust.

“You’re that Paladin…Calhoun,” the vampire hissed, arms and legs uncrossing as he retreated back into the store a good five feet. As if that would help if Logan decided to exert the time and effort to end him.

“Nice to see I’m somewhat famous.” He took a step closer, straining to keep the light confined to the palm he held out before him. If it wasn’t for the shoppers. And the location. And the fact that Logan had only a few limited hours left to find the perfect gift…

He did not need this right now.

He leaned in, using both his height and the dreaded light pulsing in the palm of his hand to intimidate. “Shh, don’t tell. But if you leave. Now. I’ll forget you were ever here.”

The vampire took the suggestion to heart, bolting out of the store toward the nearest mall exit.

“Merry Christmas!” Logan called at his fleeing back. Didn’t anyone ever say thank you for the gifts they received anymore?

Sighing, he looked around the small store to see if anyone had made note of that little interaction. His brow furrowing in puzzlement. None of the shoppers seemed to have noticed but that might have been because they were all engrossed in checking out the stores wares. The store itself looked like a cross between a marching band store with the drum sticks and batons, and a BDSM dungeon with an interesting assortment of balls and chains and other medieval looking objects. The dungeon of hell theme was completed with dramatic black painted walls and pillars of decorative flame for effect.

Takes all kinds, he thought, shaking his head. He wondered how many of the half-dozen shoppers might have gone home with that vampire willingly if Logan hadn’t chased him off.

Convinced he’d done his good deed for the day, he started to turn to leave when a shelf of books caught his eye. He moved closer, picking up one that had a time-lapsed photo of a woman twirling wands of fire on the cover. He read the title: Unleash Your Inner Fire. His eyes widened, and he spun to take another look at the stock in the store.  The long chains with the assortment of balls on the end were all under a flame-decorated sign that said Poi, and the batons were under another labeled Staves, there was also sections labeled Staff, Torches, Chi Fans, Wands, and was that… Angel Wings? He looked at the back of the store. Behind the cash register was a larger sign, the lettering so overshadowed by embellishment he hadn’t realized there were words within the flames until now. It read: Angie’s Dance—your supplier for all your fire dancing needs.

He took a deep breath, letting it out. Angie might consider some new décor, or at least some posters with pictures like that book cover. He wondered how many other customers had taken one look and bolted without ever figuring out what the shop was really about. Certainly he would never have found this gem of a store if he hadn’t happened to stumble in here.

Jessica would love this place.

All of a sudden his little misadventure with the two mothers fighting over the cub seemed more like fate. He moved forward into the store, making a b-line for one section in particular. Stopping at the display, he ran his fingers over the shiny metal staff that connected the short chain and wick wrapped head.

“Can I help you?”

Logan turned to the woman at his elbow, scanned her nametag and smiled. “Why yes, Angie, I think you can.”

***

Logan whistled as he stepped off the mall escalator, the long slim box tucked tight under his armpit as he pushed through the double doors into the car-packed, underground parking garage. He’d found it. That special something that he just knew was going to curl his mate’s toes. He’d even done it with time to spare.

Pity the man trying to get out of this garage an hour from now. If he thought the mob scene above was bad, he hated to imagine what would happen when they got within their boxes of armored steal and tried to get the goods of their hunting session home.

Rounding the pillar marked G, he bore a left, heading toward his Audi. He was more than halfway there when three figures stepped out from behind a large van, fanning out across the cement.

He stopped, blinking against the dim lighting, almost convinced he was imagining things. But no, his buddy was back, only this time he’d brought two friends.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” He stomped his foot, childish maybe but necessary. “Are you all idiots? Hello? Calhoun? The Paladin with the ability to wipe out you and any vampire in the area?”

His buddy smiled, jerking his head. “You could, but first I suggest you look behind you…”

Logan twisted, saw the merker, and sighed, setting down the perfectly wrapped gift on a nearby Camry. Looked like he wouldn’t be getting home in time for Jessica’s promised once-a-year, Christmas Eve dinner after all.

***

Logan hoofed it around the corner onto his block, his eyes locked on his goal, the sixth townhouse on the street. He’d had to look for another spot as his normal one had been taken. The neighbors were hosting a dinner party and it seemed his spot had been considered the spoils of the parking war. Which meant he’d had to park almost a half a mile away, adding even more time to his really-fucking-late for dinner timeframe.

Damn, he’d been looking forward to seeing if his mate could scrounge together anything beyond a peanut and butter sandwich too.

Maybe she kept it warming in the oven. Or better yet, she put it away and we can heat it up. It wouldn’t be as dried out that way.

He reached the front door, juggling the gift from one arm to the other as he searched his jacket pockets for the keys. He eventually found them and twisted open the lock.

“Logan?” Jessica called from the back of the house, the creak of the heavy, old door giving him away.

“Hey, Jess. Sorry I’m late.” He shed his coat, quickly ducking into the front parlor to stuff the gift under the tree. It was the first year he’d had a tree, and he was glad Jessica had insisted. He couldn’t wait to watch her open her gift amongst the rest of the holiday splendor.

“What kept you?” Something went thud in the sink. A moment later the water began to run.

“Just ran into some old friends,” he said, making his way down the hall. She was shoving the last pan into the rack when he came in. And a quick survey showed nothing else on counter or table. He grimaced. “Is dinner cold?”

“Actually…” her eyes darted to the oven.

He pulled it open…and immediately slammed it shut. He glanced up at the cloud of smoke that rose and spread across the ceiling.

“At least we took the batteries out months ago, right?” Jessica offered.

“Yeah. Because you know, the turkey—that was a turkey wasn’t it?” he asked. She nodded. “It probably wouldn’t have been salvageable anyway.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You, ah, left the bag of giblets inside.” At least that’s what he thought he’d seen poking out through the charred ribcage.

“Giblets?”

He clamped his mouth tight over the laughter that wanted to erupt.

“Logan…” she warned.

“The uh, heart, neck, liver and gizzard. They put them in a bag and stuff them inside the breast cavity.” He made a stuffing motion with his hand.

She threw up her arms, flames flickering from the tips of her fingers. “It said it was oven ready!”

“Yeah, but, most people know…” he shook his head at the livid look in her eyes. “Never mind.” He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sure we can scrounge something else up.”

“Hmmm…I have tons of mashed potatoes. But that’s about it.” She tipped her head up to him, a sure invitation if he’d ever seen one.

“Or...” He pressed a kiss against her offered lips. “Maybe…” He nibbled the sweet curve of her upper lip. “We could just skip dinner…”

“And move on to desert?” she suggested, the tip of her tongue sliding across his own. He groaned, his eyes crossing as she slid one of her slim hands down the back of his pants to cup his ass.

“Oh, yeah. Great minds,” he murmured against her lip, working his hands around to the snap of her jeans. “Thinking alike.”

“Wait!” She pushed against his chest, breaking his hold and scrambling out of his embrace.

He was left holding air, his mind stumbling to catch up with program. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just want to show you something.” She took his hand, dragging him towards the study that he’d converted into her practice room. All his files and whatnot had moved upstairs into the spare bedroom, the closet being taken over by the things she’d recovered from her apartment before her parents sold off everything else. He’d managed to get the beach house for her, and had even stipulated that everything remain as is, furniture, decorations—and artwork—included, but he couldn’t help but feel bad for the world she’d had to give up for him.

She situated him by the door, then moved to the center of the room, shaking her limbs as if preparing for the track rather than whatever she was about to do standing still in the twenty by twenty room. They’d converted this room because it was the biggest, and because it also had the advantage of the high ceilings that went throughout the first floor. The old wooden floor had been pealed up, tile laid down. The walls had been re-drywalled and painted with a flame-retardant material and the windows covered with light-blocking window dressings that were similarly resistant and would not billow with any sort of air-current. An architectural-historian would have a heart attack.

“Think you can do the shield thing, just in case?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, working his power into a spinning circle of energy around her. She’d mastered some of the basic techniques of her gift—like turning it on or off—but anything with finesse was taking far longer for her to learn how to control than she would like.

“Okay, here goes,” she said, taking a deep breath, and then flicked her hands open, fingers pointed down toward the floor. Flames shot from her palms, running up her fingers and curling around the backs of her hand. It was beautiful, better yet, not a single lick of fire escaped her control, the intense curls of white and blue maintained at a steady line from her wrist and below.

“You did it!” he congratulated, wanting to go to her and pull her into his arms.

She smiled, bringing her arms around before her. Her brow furrowed as she curled one hand around the flame, confining the dancing colors down into a ball before releasing them in an arc toward her other hand.

Logan held his breath, afraid to distract her, but she did it three more times without any faltering of her aim or her control.

He whistled. “I’m impressed, Jess.”

“Wait, there’s one more thing.” She raised her hands up toward the ceiling, quickly bringing them down. He saw the shock on her face when her control failed, the fire slipping its leash. He swore he could feel it’s glee as it whooshed around her, consuming every particle in its path that it could until it slammed into his shields and was blocked, the fire screaming in denial as he clamped the shield down tight around it, smothering it out of existence.

“Jessica?” he called through the smoky room, even though he knew she was okay. The fire would not touch its maker. Still, it was a relief when the haze dissipated enough for him to see her still standing, a bit shell-shocked maybe, in the middle of the room.

“Well,” she tried for a chuckle. “Thank god for your shields, right?”

He swallowed. “That’s…hot.”

“Though problematic.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I thought I’d finally gotten it.”

He grinned at her, eyeing the expanse of glistening skin before him. The fire had consumed everything, all right. Right down to her socks. “I’m not sure I’m seeing the problem here.”

She glared at him, wiping a bit of soot from her belly where the fire must not have burned quite hot or quite long enough to totally dissipate the material.

Maybe now was the time for some cheering up. And, if he was good, very good, maybe he could distract her long enough she’d forget about putting new clothes on too. Definitely a win-win.

“Hey, I got you something while I was out.”

“You did?” she tipped her head, her dark curls dragging enticingly across the tip of her breasts. Oh man she was hot. Maybe, if he was really, really lucky he could convince her to try her new gift out—without the clothes.

“Here,” he motioned her to follow him into the front parlor. The shades were already drawn, the tree plugged in, his lone gift waiting under it.

“You didn’t…” she said from behind him.

“It’s just a little something.” He reached over, grabbing her hand and tugging her down to the rug with him. She didn’t fight him. In fact, he swore he could see just the slightest curl of her lip. Uh-huh. Ten bucks she had a gift for him stashed away somewhere too. “Don’t get me anything,” my ass. What a schmuck he would have looked like if he hadn’t.

“Come on.” He grabbed up the gift, offering it to her.

“You want me to open it now?” she asked.

He glanced up at the clock. After eleven. Close enough as far as he was concerned.

“I guess we could wait until midnight,” he said morosely, starting to stuff it back under the tree.

“Yeah, right.” She snatched the gift from him ripping it open. He waited, holding his breath as she uncovered the pair of fifteen-inch long chain and staff combination.

“Logan? What are these?” she asked, lifting one up.

“Angel wings. They’re actually for fire dancing,” he said, pulling out the book and instructional DVD that had been buried in the tissue paper to show her, “but I thought either way they were fitting.”

She didn’t say anything. He looked up, found her staring at him.

“I, uh, well I just figured, since you had to give your wings up for me…”

She just stared at him, though he thought he saw a sheen of moisture in her eyes.

Ah, crap. He shifted uncomfortably. “Was I wrong? Is this not a good gift?”

“No. You weren’t wrong.” She set them down, climbing up into his lap. “They’re perfect. Just like you. Thank you.”

He swallowed, shuddering at the feel of her thighs wrapped around his hips. “You’re welcome?”

She laughed, the movement doing the most intriguing things. “There is one thing else I’d like for Christmas though…”

“Wait,” he dragged his gaze from her jiggling breasts. “I thought you said you didn’t want anything.”

“Nuh-huh. I said I didn’t want anything but you.” She grabbed the lapels of his button down. “Come on, Calhoun. I want to unwrap my real gift.”

He grinned, his cock pulsing excitedly behind his button fly. “Damn, woman. I thought you’d never ask.” And then proceeded to let her, right there under the sparkling lights of their first, ever Christmas tree.