Chapter 1
Ice Demon
I’d always thought people who said they feltactualelectricity in the air were being dramatic. That was before the shimmering string lights on the outdoor patio flickered ominously with timing so perfect it had to be cosmic mockery.
My date hadn’t noticed. He was too busy recounting his collection of nutcrackers with all the enthusiasm of a toddler eating sugar cookies.
I hated cookies.
“And you know what’s fascinating about Steinbach nutcrackers versus Erzgebirge? The lacquer quality. World of difference.” Mike paused to take a sip of his gingerbread espresso martini from the flight of Christmas cocktails he’d ordered himself. “I’m taking you on quite the holiday journey tonight, aren’t I?”
A journey directly into the ninth circle of hell, maybe.
This was what I got for not trusting my instincts. I’d nearly canceled this date a dozen times today, especially after Mom’s call. Mom and Dad’s biannual visits from their research facility in the Arctic were the only family time I had, and I’d found out they wouldn’t make it this month because of some solar flare monitoring emergency. Typical. Some people’s parents workedregular jobs like accounting or teaching; mine tracked magnetic storms like it was an everyday career choice.
“So when did your love affair with Christmas begin?” Mike leaned forward, elbows on the table as a white flake drifted onto the dark tablecloth between us.
I fought the urge to brush it away. Instead, I took a long, fortifying sip of my mercifully un-festive vodka soda. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”
His expression shifted as if I’d confessed to burning nutcrackers in my spare time. “You don’t... celebrate Christmas?”
“Not really my thing.” I shrugged, watching as another flake landed on his shoulder.
“But... everyone celebrates Christmas!” He reached up to scratch his head, unleashing a blizzard. “It’s the most magical time of the year!”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste metal. “I prefer temperatures above freezing and not being bombarded by relentless cheer for two straight months.”
His face fell, and the instrumental holiday music playing over the patio speakers seemed to grow louder in response. Was there not a single place on earth where Christmas didn’t somehow try to inundate my life?
Around us, Palm Springs had the perfect November evening temperature, yet the bistro had already transformed into Santa’s fucking workshop. Garlands draped from every possible surface, the nearby palm trees were strangled with twinkle lights, and the sound system played a jazz rendition of “Let It Snow” that made me want to commit arson.
“You know, my family always says I have Christmas in my blood.” Mike grinned, sending another flurry from his scalp as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I decorate the day after Halloween. This year I put up three trees.”
“Three trees,” I echoed flatly. The mental image of three murdered pines shedding needles all over his nutcracker-filled home made my eye twitch.
“You should see my place! I go all out with the lights andsynchronize them to music. The neighbors call me Mr. Christmas.” He beamed with pride while I internally contemplated how many ways I could exit this date. Fake emergency call? Spontaneous combustion? Actual death?
“Fascinating.” I glanced at his dandruff-dusted shoulders. At this rate, he’d have his own personal snow globe effect by dessert.
A prickling sensation crawled up the back of my neck with the distinct feeling of being watched. I casually turned my head, scanning the patio until my gaze landed on a table in the corner.
Holy shit.
Nine men. Nine impossibly large, handsome men, all staring directly at me with an intensity that made my skin heat despite the increasing chill from the air conditioner wafting out through the patio door. I quickly turned away, focusing back on Mike, who was now detailing his upcoming European Christmas market cruise.
“...and the market in Nuremberg is supposed to be incredible. Seven days of pure Christmas magic!” He scratched his scalp again, this time dislodging what looked like a small avalanche. “Hey, you know, I just had the most amazing thought… why don’t you come with me?”
I nearly choked on my drink. “Come with you? We’ve been on exactly half a date.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but we click so well!” He reached for my hand across the table, and I pulled mine back to adjust my hair. “Think about it: mulled wine, handcrafted ornaments, the snow gently falling on cobblestone streets...”
The mere thought of voluntarily subjecting myself to snow, cold, and round-the-clock Christmas cheer made me want to hurl myself into the nearest cactus. To think I’d swiped right because his profile mentioned enjoying quiet nights and documentaries. The man was a Christmas terrorist.
“I can’t get the time off work.” I hated lying, but sometimes it was absolutely necessary.
The prickling across my skin returned. Against my better judgment, I looked back at the table of nine.
Still staring. If anything, they seemed even more focused now, like I was the last pancake at a lumberjack buffet. One of them, a dark-haired mountain with shoulders that could block out the sun, raised his glass slightly in my direction.
