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PROLOGUE

Sugar

C olorful lights glittered up and down the empty street. The first major storm of fall had hit Santa’s Village and here I stood on the school walkway looking ridiculous in my red velvet pants and blazer, no winter coat, and lightweight black boots.

I heard him before I saw him. The tapping of his cane. The heaviness of his boots.

Sno’s hunched figure turned the corner, the gray silhouette of my 90-year-old elf nanny appearing through the thickly falling snow. His red and white striped cane tapped the concrete as he limped toward me.

Even though magic spells protected the village from the worst of the north winds, snow still got through. No one else was out in this weather. They were all in school or doing their jobs. No one but me and Sno, and I felt terrible.

I ran toward him, slipping and sliding as I went. Even though I was only in second grade, I knew better than to run. My shoes weren’t made for the ice. But I didn’t care. I was mad and sad and very very bad.

I nearly slid into Sno, who caught me easily with his free arm, holding me close as he spoke.

“I hear you’re banned from the Christmas party this year. And suspended for the next two days.”

I stomped my foot and tightened my shoulders. “I don’t care. I don’t like the other elves and shifters. I called them bad words.”

“Your teacher called and told me what happened. You ran out of class and into the storm.”

I kicked at a tiny drift of ice. “My teacher doesn’t know anything.”

He sighed, the snow making the sound seem loud against the silent, empty town. “Thank you for waiting at the gate for me to come and get you.”

That was my father’s rule. He didn’t want me walking alone even though his huge house was so close to my school.

Snow held out a bundle of wool. “You forgot your coat this morning. I brought it.”

Even with the cane, he was quite adept at getting me into it, fastening the buttons and bringing the hood over my head. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and escorted me home.

Within five minutes, we were both inside the warmth of the mansion, shaking off the snowflakes and hanging up our damp coats.

Sno led me into the kitchen where the air was warmer and wonderful things were bubbling in big pots on the big shiny stove. “Sit,” he said.

I took my usual chair, put my elbows on the table and, with my chin in my palms, sulked.

Everything smelled so good. It was safe here. Comforting. But I was still mad.

Sno kept his back to me while he took things from the fridge, puttered a bit, and then brought out fresh cookies from the oven. He set the tray on the table on two soft pads in front of me, then placed a glass of milk by my right hand.

Slowly, because of his aching bones, he sat to face me. “Now,” he said, voice soft and gentle. “Can you tell me why you ran away?”

“I already told you.” I reached for a hot cookie.

His hand came over mine so fast I barely saw it. He gently pushed it away from the cookie tray. “These need to cool a bit.”

I pouted.

“Why did you say bad words to the others?” Sno’s voice was calm. He never raised it, not even whenever I got loud, screaming, shouting in anger and hurt. He only spoke lower and lower until it was a whisper and I had to stop myself to hear what he was saying.

“Because they called me names first,” I replied. Like spoiled and brat and son of a Santa . The other kids teased me about my father who was one of the Santas who delivered gifts to kids on Christmas Eve. Without even trying to get to know me, they decided I must be conceited living in a mansion in Santa’s Village while they all lived in small townships on the outskirts.

“Oh, I see,” Sno said, nodding. “So, you thought it was okay to do to them what they did to you.”

I nodded, biting my lips. “I said they were monkey poop milk chunks. Only I didn’t say poop. And I said they were penis breaths, too. Our teacher heard.”

Sno’s mouth twitched. His blue eyes grew large as he rapidly blinked several times.

I continued. “Then my teacher said I had gone through all my warnings and now I couldn’t go to the Christmas party.”

“And you ran out of class?”

I bit harder on my lip, a strange sound escaping through my nose as I nodded.

“Come here,” Sno said, gesturing for me to get up.

It was like a lot of air was filling me up fast, yet I couldn’t breathe. Numbly, I got up and went to him. When I was standing in front of him, I said, nearly yelling, “I don’t want to go back!”

Sno just looked at me. That was all it took, and I burst apart, sobbing like a baby. I’d disappointed my teacher, the other kids and now Sno who’d had to come out in the cold to get me. And then there was my father. Santa Christero. He’d be so mad when he got home.

Sno held out his arms and I immediately fell into them, crying against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I babbled. “I’m sorry I messed everything up for Christmas.”

“Baby, you said a few bad words. We’ll work on that later, but right now you need to know as the son of a revered and highly respected Santa, life won’t be fair. More will be expected of you. You’re just a little one now, baby, but you’ll understand better as you get older. I promise.”

Sno rubbed my back and kissed the top of my head. I wiped my face on his collar, but he didn’t seem to mind.

When I sat back, the tears finally slowing, he had a holly embroidered hanky in his hand and gently stroked my cheeks and eyes.

“You can be a big boy and help me around the house for the next two days, right?”

Begrudgingly, I nodded. I hated chores but I loved Sno. I’d do what he said.

“And then when you go back to school?—”

“But I don’t want to go back!” My eyes welled up again.

Sno cupped my chin. “Baby, your teacher and I talked. The other boys are being warned not to name-call again.”

I crossed my arms. “But they still get to go to the party.”

“We’ll have a party here. Make a cake. Plus, you’ll have a real Santa at your party,” he offered.

I shook my head. “It won’t matter. They’ll keep teasing me next year and the year after that.”

Sno turned me to face the table. “There, there,” he said, picking up one of the tree-shaped cookies. “It’s cooler now but still warm.” He handed it to me, then dragged my glass of milk closer.

Later, when my father got home, I heard Sno telling him, “It can’t be helped that you are his father. You rescued him as an orphaned baby and adopted him. The other kids are jealous.”

When Father tucked me into bed that night, I prepared myself for a lecture on using bad words. Instead, he said, “Don’t worry, Sugar, everything will work out. I’ll make sure.”

By third grade, when things had most definitely not worked out, Father took me from the school permanently and hired a tutor.

By then it was too late. I’d already formed a firm belief system inside my mind that I was a bad boy. The tutor felt like further punishment because I couldn’t do anything right.

I was a fuck up and that was that. What was the point of paying attention to lessons, or doing my homework? Besides, my father was, in essence, royalty. I was merely an elf with no magic, and I wouldn’t ever become a Santa like him. Plus, he was super rich. Which meant I was rich, too. Which meant I’d never need to work anyway.

When I became a teenager, sneaking away at night to hang out with other errant and wild elf kids, I knew Sno and Father had all sorts of words between each other about me. About how to better handle me.

Sno, ever patient and loving, still called me baby. I felt most guilty about being a disappointment to him. He had given me all his love and caring, and this was how I repaid him. But that didn’t change how much I didn’t fit in here in Santa’s Village, and how angry that made me.

Father liked to say to me, “You just need to grow up and be more mature.”

I hated that word. Mature . What in all the elven hells did it even mean to me in an environment where so many of my fellow elves were jealous while at the same time looking down on me.

I secretly continued to run the streets at night. I had my first sexual experience as an omega during a snowstorm, the alpha elf topping me underneath the green and pink-lit Christmas pavilion stage in Candy Cane Park.

I could’ve frozen my ass off. I could’ve gotten pregnant if I’d been in my first teen heat and didn’t realize it. Also, it was a terrible first time and hurt badly. Who knew sex totally sucked?

One more thing I couldn’t do right.

One more thing to reinforce what a bad, naughty elf I was.