Santa Shifter Read online

  SANTA SHIFTER

  By Crea DelRand

  © 2016 Rachel Creager Ireland

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design Rachel Creager Ireland

  Cover photo from iStock photo.

  Finally it was 11:00 PM on Christmas Eve, and Jane dropped down onto the sagging couch at last. Everything was as ready for the holiday as it was going to get. The kids had hung decorations on the second-hand artificial tree last week. A string of lights blinked in the window. The few presents they could manage to buy each other made a pathetic pile under the tree: for Daniel, a gift card he could use to buy games for his outdated handheld console; for Serena, a cheap tablet she could use for messaging with her friends. Jane didn’t like either gift, but those were the things the kids wanted, so she’d bought them. Now they were under the tree, the leftover wrapping paper and stick-on bows stowed in the closet. Jane nibbled at the cookies left out for Santa. She’d already poured Santa’s glass of milk back into the jug, so there would be enough for the kids to have some cereal in the morning.

  Jane had picked up extra shifts at work to cover the Christmas expenses, and then the car broke down. Now she was further in debt than ever, and exhausted on top of it. When she was a little girl, she’d loved Christmas; now it was just another set of impossible obligations, and an additional opportunity to disappoint the kids.

  But somehow the kids always managed to be excited about Christmas. They loved the traditions of the season, the red velvet ribbons decorating the lampposts, the hot cider and carols and even the weather. They never worried that their gifts would be inadequate. They dove head first into everything Christmas. Serena even claimed to have seen reindeer tracks by the river and in the back yard.

  Jane’s eyes drooped. She should go to bed, but she wanted to enjoy a glass of wine, the one gift she’d allowed herself. She felt guilty buying something for herself, but she did it so rarely, didn’t she deserve this one treat? Maybe not, when she had yet to pay the mechanic, and the credit card payments were overdue. Cliff, the mechanic, was always so patient when she couldn’t pay him. She wondered if he struggled as much as she did to pay the bills. If so, it was because of deadbeats like Jane, who drove old beater cars to their low-paying jobs, and might take months to pay for their auto repairs. She raised her glass. “To Cliff, for putting up with the deadbeats.”

  Shivering, she pulled an afghan around her shoulders. She’d used to love winter: the first day after a big snow, when everything sparkled; the crispness of the air; scratchy warm sweaters and cozy boots; the smell of wood smoke that wafted over the frozen river from the hills, where people could afford to have fireplaces in their spacious homes. As an adult, however, winter mostly meant gas bills, trying to plug all the cracks that let drafts into the house, and keeping a blanket on the couch. (She was better off than that one winter the car’s heater had died. That year she’d kept a pile of thrifted blankets in the car, and handed them out to everyone as soon as they were buckled in.) Winter meant shivering, months of being cold to the bone with this deep feeling of not having enough heat inside herself to keep going. She felt as if at any moment she might simply cease to function, like a grasshopper in November.

  Sighing, Jane finished her wine and set the glass on the floor. She leaned back on the couch and let her eyes close. The little bit of letting go felt good. She wouldn’t linger long; she’d get up and go to bed shortly.

  She dreamt she was already there, in bed, and there was someone beside her. She moved closer for warmth. She felt the curve of biceps and deltoids, the tickle of hair on his chest. It was strangely short and thick, like fur. But in the dream it seemed normal, even sexy. It’d been so long since she’d touched a man, and something about this one felt wilder than most, exotic . . . He took her into his arms. She let herself fall into him, breathing deeply to take in his earthy musk.

  “But I don’t even know you,” she protested. Delightful as it was, this was surely inappropriate.

  “Don’t you?” he asked. “Haven’t I always been with you?”

  And it seemed that he had, that all the years she’d been alone, he’d been there, on the edges of her perception, watching over the family and waiting for Jane to let him in. What a relief, to know that someone had been there, even when she’d thought she was alone. Someone saw their struggles. Someone cared. She felt tears welling up in her chest and spilling onto her face. He tenderly kissed the tears on her temples and cheekbones. When he got to a tear just about to roll off the peak of her upper lip, she kissed him back.

  They held the kiss. She felt her body awaken. Every part of her, every cell tingled with life, with vibrant awareness. It was as if she had been gone, somewhere else, and suddenly she had come back to herself, was feeling again, was ready to take in the moment, to be in the moment. Somehow the life had ebbed from her, leaving Jane a shell of herself, but now the tide was crashing back in.

  She threw her arms around him. She pulled his lips into hers as if she would devour him, tasting his flesh and sweat, rolling her tongue over the sharpness of his teeth. He was as moved to passion as she, pulling away from the kiss just long enough to gasp for breath, then diving in for more. He wrapped his arms around her so tightly she thought he might crush her. She reveled to feel his bare muscles rippling under her ribs and abdomen. And lower, she could feel his hardness pressing into her softness.

  It was the first time she’d touched a man in six years, since the kids’ dad had died in a car accident. As she slowly surfaced from devastating grief, Jane had vowed then to prove to herself that she didn’t need a man, but now she wondered if maybe she did, if she’d been depriving herself of some essential need, not to be taken care of financially, but to be touched, to be desired. This man certainly desired her right now, and she abandoned her vow, to let him kiss her body reverently, neck, sternum, breasts—oh holy breasts, source of nourishment—a sharp but fleeting bite on the nipple, leaving an empty need as he moved on. Ribs. His kisses growing softer and lighter as he moved down. Abdomen, just below the navel. The hip bone. The hollow beside the hip bone. And dear god, he kissed her pubic mound, and he kissed below it. His tongue touched the labia, wriggling between them to find that spot.

  Jane took in a deep breath and let it out, opening her knees wide to welcome him in. He dove into her with gusto. She’d had no idea a man could enjoy lip service so much. She offered up her hips to him, rolling into the wet softness of his tongue, sighing with pleasure as he explored the folds of her labia. When he circled her clit, she had to giggle. He paused, looking over her pubic mound with wide-set, almond shaped eyes. For a heartbeat, their eyes met in the moonlight pouring in between the open curtains. Then she thought, great heavens, don’t stop, and tilted her hips a little bit more toward his luscious tongue. He smiled and went back down into her wild forest.

  Moaning, she caressed his face, his wide cheekbones, his sleek black hair. On either side of his head, there were odd bumps, like the beginning of some kind of horn. It was curious, but the touch seemed to stimulate him, so she rubbed the nubs, and the sound of his breath quickening added to the pleasure of his yonic kisses.

  She was so close—she was a hair away from imploding, when she was startled awake by a firm, single knock on the door. Opening her eyes, Jane was surprised to find herself on the couch, fully clothed, and alone in the dingy living room lit by the blinking of the shabby Christmas tree. Her hair was stuck to her head with sweat, but she was cold, and it added to her disorientation. The dream had been so intense, it could almost be reality, while this place, this room in this house, this life, didn’t seem like where she belonged at all. She wanted to go back into the dream. She closed her eyes and lay on the threshold of it, not moving, until the knock came again. />
  Who on earth would come to the door at this hour on Christmas Eve? Reluctantly, slowly, Jane rolled her chilled limbs off the couch. She took in a deep breath to wake herself, but it didn’t help. She stumbled toward the door and blinked into the peephole.

  In the dark, obscured by falling snow, she could swear it was some kind of animal. Like a deer, maybe, with a sizable rack. But she couldn’t get a real look at it, and the outside light bulb had been dead for months. The creature made a huffing sound and shook his head, then knocked his antler on the door again.

  It was stupid, but she needed to get a better look, so she opened the door. Immediately he stepped in, turning his head sideways to get the rack through the doorway. Jane backed away from the approaching antler. It was so big, she couldn’t even reach the animal’s body beyond it, if she’d been willing to touch him. But it would probably be risky to touch a wild animal, anyway. But what was one supposed to do when a deer insisted on coming into the house?

  “Hey, hey, what are you doing? You don’t belong in here,” she said. Of course she didn’t really think that animals could understand human language, but how else should a person talk to a deer? “Outside, that’s where you belong, out in nature,” she said, gesturing toward the door behind the creature. He peered at her with black eyes. How unusual, she thought, for an animal to look a person in the eye. The deer held her gaze. She almost thought he might be trying to tell her something.

  His nose twitched. It was black and shiny, moist. He stepped a bit closer. Jane was afraid to move. The animal’s head was close to her face now, sniffing intently. He was examining her, she thought. She wondered if she measured up to the deer’s expectations for a human.

  He had white fur at his upper chest, and it looked so velvety that Jane had to refrain from touching it. She shook her head to clear it. What was wrong with her, almost touching a wild animal? Then she noticed that she was strangely reminded of the soft hair on the chest of the man in her dream.

  Wind was blowing in through the door. She needed to do something. The deer was already fully in the living room, stamping snow off his legs onto the ratty carpet. Could she call someone, the sheriff, maybe? Her phone was in the kitchen next to the garage door. She edged backwards to the door, then turned around to grab her purse. In three seconds she had the phone in her hand, back in the door between the kitchen and living room. And there was no deer. Where in this little house could such an enormous creature go in three seconds?

  Standing where the deer had been was a man. He was wearing an outlandish jacket of rough leather, with metal disks attached to the chest. Long braided ropes in bright colors dangled from the sleeves and waist, like thick fringe. But Jane barely registered anything more than that he was human.

  “Where did he go?” Jane said, disoriented. “The deer—did he leave? Who are you?”

  “You don’t need to worry about the reindeer. Do not be alarmed,” the man said, with a slight accent that Jane couldn’t place.

  It occurred to her that there is perhaps never a time when someone says, “Don’t be alarmed,” that something entirely alarming isn’t underway. She had her phone in her hand—

  “You’ll find the device won’t work. I seem to have that effect on electronic things,” he said, as if he could read her thoughts. “And please don’t make a loud noise. I know you wouldn’t wish to wake the children.”

  Jane felt cold. It was as if the world had stopped turning. Everything was suspended, except the wind blowing in the still-open door. Snow was starting to drift in the corner.

  The phone appeared to be dead, though it hadn’t even been completely dead two hours ago when she’d plugged it into the charger.

  She turned back to the stranger. “What do you want?”

  “I wish to present gifts to you and your children. It is my function to give gifts. I find many things in my travels, that can be useful to those who haven’t so traveled yet. That is all I want. I have no intention to harm you in any way. You should know that I cannot stay if you ask me to leave.”

  “What are you, some kind of vampire?” she asked, trying to appear flippant, unafraid. He had very dark eyes, black, even.

  “No, I’m a shaman. I do not prey on humans.”

  “What makes you think I want your gifts?”

  “You are free to say no to what I offer, if that is your choice. But one of the places to which I travel is the dream realm, and when we met there, you were . . . ah . . . welcoming of my gift to you.”

  Jane was speechless. How could he know what she’d been dreaming? He couldn’t, it must be some kind of guess. Maybe he’d been peeping in the window, watching her sleep . . . but that didn’t explain anything. Looking at the man, she saw almond shaped eyes, and wide cheekbones, framed by shoulder-length black hair. He was the man in her dream. Her body began to buzz at the memory of her dream desire. But this wasn’t a dream, this was a home invasion. Or was it?

  “I’m still dreaming.”

  “I’m certain that I’m here,” the stranger said. “But if it is helpful to you to believe that you are dreaming, then you may continue to think that.” He paused a moment, thoughtful. “You are more free in your dreams, aren’t you?”

  Suddenly her eyes were hot with tears. “I don’t know what freedom is. Outside of dreams.” She tried to stifle a sob, then gasped for breath.

  “Oh Janie,” he said, tenderly. He stepped forward, holding out his arms. She entered his embrace. He leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “Dear Janie. You’ve been struggling so hard, so long, trying to get by alone. It’s time you relaxed, and let the blessings of the world into your life. Let me help you.”

  Could it be true, that there was a person in the world who wanted nothing more than to help her? Somehow he knew her name . . . The thought made her cry even harder. It didn’t make sense, but she felt safe in his arms, as if she could trust him completely. She relaxed into his chest, sniffling and taking in the smells of leather and sweat, and something else, that reminded her of the dog she’d had as a girl, the way his fur smelled when he came inside from a long run on a crisp fall day.

  In one motion he kicked the door shut, and swept an arm under her legs, lifting her effortlessly. She let him carry her like a child to the bedroom. (How did he know where it was? Oh yes, this is a dream.)

  He lay her gently on the bed. With deft fingers he unbuttoned her blouse and lay it open, then her front-hook bra. Her breasts were exposed in the twilight of the unlit room, the nipples already ruckling. “Ah, Janie, you are a beautiful woman,” he murmured, and, cupping her breasts in his hands, he bent down to kiss first one, then the other. His lips were warm on her cool skin. It felt like being worshipped. Perhaps it was, that he was witnessing the archetypal woman in her, the Divine Feminine, to whom worship is always due. She didn’t know where this thought came from, but it felt truer than any thought she’d ever had.

  “Who are you? What is your name?” she asked.

  He lifted his head and paused a moment, as if it were a question that required some thought. Then, “Rangifer. You can call me Range.”

  “Range,” she said, and she liked the feel of that in her mouth, so she said it again. “Range.”

  He removed her sneakers and jeans, then his jacket. Jane gasped at the sight of his bare chest: lean, strata of muscles overlaid with a light, white fur. Then they were both naked, he on elbows and knees over her in the bed, with his aroma of earthy musk and fresh herbs. He kissed her cheekbones, her forehead. His warm cock was still at rest, laying across her thigh like a sleeping lion, but even as she noticed it, it was already beginning to twitch awake.

  Jane reached up to his hair, the top of his head, where, just like in her dream, he had two little nubs, each like the place where an antler might grow. She rubbed them and he moaned and leaned his head into the touch.

  Then she put her hands on the sides of his face and brought his mouth to hers, reveling in the moist heat of his lips, his hair hanging like dar
k curtains around her face. Her breath deepened. His knees moved between hers, and she opened them wide in invitation, rolling her pelvis into his, feeling his hardness grind against her softness and the bones all around it. His cock, now a monolith, ground against her labia, and she was surprised how wet she was already.

  Everything she was wanted him in her. She wanted to eat him and breathe him and fuck him all at once. She wrapped her arms around his torso and her legs around his legs, squeezing as if she could absorb him through her skin.

  “I’d like to enter into your deepest places,” he growled, tense with the strain of holding himself back. They were both gasping for air between deep kisses. “I’d like to make love to you, not just your holy body, but the totality of your soul.”

  “Dear god, do it, take me,” she whispered, breathlessly, and he did.

  The cock probed gently for her opening, then found home. With a long moan, Range released himself to his passion, thrusting so deep it felt like forever. Like a river, like being a river laid open to the air by his presence within her. Water that runs to ocean, transmutes to vapor then rain to fall back into the river. They were in a place outside of time, outside of place and being, and there was only river, this river that Jane was. O strange and glorious union, mysterious divine place two people may enter into, together.