Newblood & the Ice Princess: Tales of the Elven Princesses, #1

One

Ophelia shoved open the mercantile door with her hip, and the frigid air bit her nose. She shifted the grocery bag into one arm and tried to ignore the scent of all the things she was forbidden to eat. She lifted her gaze to the enormity of Alaska.

Mountains, jagged and white, stabbed the dark gray sky, spilling snowflakes that shimmered in light from the street lamp. Although morning, the sun would not peek over the horizon until after ten. Her small town huddled between the mountains and an inlet of the Gulf of Alaska, closed with ice. A person might lose her way in any direction and only the tundra wolves would find any trace.

As she stepped off the curb, Ophelia dug keys out of her purse. Something fell at her feet and she knelt to pick it out of the dirty, shoveled snow—a Star Trek uniform badge. Despite the newest movie’s phenomenal success, she was still the only teen Trekkie around.

Except for him.

Good feelings swirled up her back and wrapped around her in a hug. You must be someone from my calculus class. Only a geek would dare to be a Trekkie at our school. She closed gloved fingers on the cereal box trinket.

This wasn’t his first little gift. To begin with he’d given with no hint that he’d been there except the gift. As the months had passed, his giving grew clumsier, presumably with nerves as she drew him closer.

A pine tree, stunted by the short growing season, shook next to the rusty dumpster.

I framed your barn owl drawing above my desk at home. Ophelia’s words hung alone and white in the air before her. It’s beautiful.

A shadow crossed a crack of light.

I can hear you breathing. Ophelia had grown up in Alaska and knew better than to traipse after unknown creatures in the dark. Her nose stung. For four months he’d left little gifts in her locker, her pocket, on the seat in her locked car, even tucked into the collar of her neurotically overprotective Husky who had not raised an alarm. Even after all that secretive flirting, he wouldn’t show his face. Why are you tormenting me like this? I’ve loved all your gifts.

Only his breath, fast and white, responded in the cracked light.

She straightened and trudged to her little white car. You don’t care how I feel any more than...

A familiar truck engine roared up the road, capturing her attention.

Oh, no. Panic streaked down Ophelia’s backbone and she yanked open her door and tossed the grocery bag in.

Martin Brynner’s red Dodge Ram braked, oversized tires gripping the ice, spraying shards into the air.

The braking truck hardly registered in Ophelia’s mind as her survival instincts took over, forcing her to flee the predator that would leap out. She thrust one foot into the floorboard, but he was out of his truck and pouncing before she could drop butt into the seat. Martin. He towered over her, and she was a bunny rabbit with no escape.

He locked her in his hot embrace. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. The hand around her shoulder held red roses. He smoothed hair from her face and kissed her temple. You’re my goddess, my pathway to heaven.

What a freakin’ psycho. Ophelia forced her words through her tightened throat. Martin, I don’t want to talk. I want to go home.

The Brynners never picked up their landline phone, and so her twin sister Bianca had instructed her to break up with Martin by leaving a message on his machine. Bianca was good at dumping guys, but this was Ophelia’s first time at ending any sort of relationship.

Bianca put you up to this. Didn’t she? Martin’s hazel eyes once sparkled like a little boy’s when he looked at her. Not anymore. Now, they were a vivid blue with occasional flashes of rage. She’s jealous. She doesn’t understand what it means for you to be Sweet. I’ll protect you, I promise.

Martin, you’ve changed. Ophelia clung to reason. And I don’t like what you’ve become. I don’t want to go out with you anymore. Please...let me go.

But my mom had my party costume flown in all the way from Anchorage. Martin twitched his nose in a cute way. You’re gonna love it.

A lot of girls are crazy about you. She pushed at his chest, but he was a brick wall. Why don’t you...

Because you’re the only girl I’m crazy about. He smoothed his thumb over her lips. Are those other girls bothering you? They’re insects. You’re my Sweet.

Four months earlier, Ophelia thought he was the hottest guy on the planet, just like those other girls. Ruggedly handsome, Martin resembled an action movie star with wavy dark blond hair to his collarbone. He even had a dimple in his chin. But he was no longer an adorable little boy racing bikes through mud puddles with her.

She pushed again at his muscled pecs. I want to go home now. Please, let go of me. Reasoning with him was not working. She’d tried and tried for weeks. Her frustration hit its limit.

He kissed her face and down her neck, breathing in deeply, nose to her jugular. Mm, you are so sweet, and I am so...hungry.

She cringed. Stop it, Mar...

Martin devoured her voice with his kiss.

Don’t resist. He’ll stop and go away once he thinks he’s gotten his way. The balance of power was severely in his favor. And it wasn’t just that he was six feet, two inches tall with massive chest and shoulders. Martin’s father was the chief of police, the only police, in fact, for hundreds of miles around. Vast wilderness, frozen and devoid of humanity, cut her off from all other official help.

Everyone would say it was her fault. She was a geek trying to bring down the graduating class’s golden boy, they’d say. She couldn’t tell her parents either. Her father’s kidneys were about destroyed. Dad would be so enraged. It’d kill him. Ophelia’s diabetes was out of control, too. All that on top of Martin Brynner would be too much for her mother to bear.

Ophelia tried to escape in her head while Martin invaded her mouth, vector calculus or even the multiplication tables, waiting until he finished, enduring what she’d once enjoyed. Free. I need to be free. But she couldn’t get away. Her mind raced to find any crack, like a wild bird panicked in a cage. Her breath froze in her throat.

Something slammed into Martin’s head. He broke contact and jerked to the side.

Ophelia sucked in air like a drowning victim breaking the water’s surface.

A rock rolled on the ice at their feet. It ought to have split Martin’s head wide open. It hadn’t left a mark.

A diabecracker. Martin’s eyes flashed harsh yellow in the lights. He dropped her and sprinted toward the shaking pine tree.

Diabecracker? Ophelia caught herself against the car and fell into her seat. Slamming the door, she crammed the key into the ignition and fled. She passed the three bars and post office on Main Street and fishtailed as she rounded the corner onto Ptarmigan Lane, inches from going into the ditch.

Tears trickled down her face and her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. If only I knew his name.

Four months and he’d finally acted.

Maybe he does love me. She dismissed the nonsense from her mind as she rounded the playground corner. The neighborhood was still dark, but the light shone in her mother’s clinic above their cedar-sided, detached garage. She let go a breath and directed her car into the assigned parking spot between the garage and house.

Her mother passed in front of the window, checking to see she was safe.

Ophelia grabbed up the groceries and hurried into the solace of her home, only sliding once on the ice. She kicked off her boots under the porch light and charged through the door. Why can’t Bianca remember to lock this door? Oh, because she doesn’t have an overbearing jackass ex-boyfriend to deal with. She slammed the door behind, collapsed back against it, and hugged the grocery bag to chest. Safe.

Exhale.

Her dog trotted down the hall from her parents’ bedroom, whacking the Christmas tree with his tail as he passed through the living room and entered the kitchen.

An Alaskan Husky, Kiska was fluffy white with gray accents and light blue eyes. He sniffed her hand, scratched the door, and growled, no doubt wanting to find Martin and disembowel him.

Ophelia examined the uniform badge under the oven light. Whoever you are, please, be all right.

The living room was still dark.

I’ll ask if I can live with Grandma in Seward for the rest of the school year. Martin will graduate and leave, and then I’ll come back. Her parents would be okay with the idea, because they worried that stress was making her sicker, too. She set the groceries on the table, took off her coat and hung it on the assigned hook.

Oh, my dog! Oh, my dog! Bianca pounded down the stairs. Where the heck were you? At least she’d remembered to use ‘dog’ and ‘heck’ instead of ‘God’ and ‘hell’ to launch her hissy-fit.

Getting your breakfast. Ophelia yanked the milk jug out of the bag, shoved it into the refrigerator, and managed to slam the door before the sisterly ambush hit full on. Mom got an emergency call in the middle of the night and an avalanche couldn’t wake you up, so I...

Bianca burst through the kitchen archway, latched onto Ophelia’s arm, and dragged her back to the stairs. I need to fit you into your party dress one more time.

I’m staying home.

Like hell you are. At the moment, Bianca’s long auburn hair was smashed up the side of her head with the leftovers of the previous day’s styling products. Mascara drizzled from around her ice-blue eyes.

Be careful. Ophelia struggled to free herself as she was dragged up the stairs. If Mom and Dad hear you say the ‘H-E-Double-Hockeysticks’ word, you won’t get your car keys back. I hate driving you around and cleaning all your Mountain Dew bottles and candy wrappers out of my car every day.

Oh, my dog, Ophelia, you so need to channel your ‘inner bitch.’ Bianca dragged her into their bedroom.

I don’t have an ‘inner...’

Bitch, Ophelia! Bitch! Bianca spun her around and gripped her shoulders. ’Course, ya do. Comes standard with the boobs. She let go and tromped away.

Ophelia flipped on the lights. I ran into Martin at the store, or rather he ran into me, and slobbered all over me. Her side of the room was furnished with white wrought iron and decorated in pink.

Bianca’s side of the room was identical, except it looked like a bomb had hit it. Dirty laundry heaped over the bed and chair and dangled from nails plastering movie star posters to the wall. Her desk held a sewing machine instead of a computer.

Bianca dragged a stool over. Take that disgusting sweatshirt off. You’d wear it and jeans every stinkin’ day of the week, if not for me.

Ophelia batted her sister’s hands away. I’d be a lot more comfortable, too. She peeled the ‘I Love Tribbles’ shirt off by herself.

You don’t care about your appearance, but at least you have the sense to keep your ears covered. Bianca pulled her hair out of the way.

Ophelia eyed her mirror reflection and the pointy ear sticking out, identical to her sister’s. She pushed her hair back over the embarrassing deformity.

I’m going straight to a plastic surgeon, said Bianca, popping buttons out of tiny loops on the costume. First thousand I make out of high school. I looked it up, can’t get our ears clipped before we’re eighteen without parental consent.

Ophelia remembered the horrified look on their father’s face when Bianca had asked for that. "We could just go as Vulcans from Star Trek."

Mom had touched his hand, shook her head a little, and brushed the hair from his ears to reveal points. It’s genetic, she’d said. Please don’t hurt Daddy’s feelings by asking again.

Keeping the ears secret, she and her sister were considered very beautiful with full lips, small noses, and lithe bodies.

Bianca also had style. She wanted to be a Hollywood costume designer. She went to her dressmaker’s dummy and unzipped the long pale blue dress on it. "We’re going as The Princess Bride."

The dummy had an arrow through its head and bite marks on its neck.

We’re not even blonde. Ophelia folded her arms. Don’t you think you’re being a little bit ridiculous?

"Who’s ridiculous? You own five different versions of Star Trek First Contact, VHS, DVD, Collector’s Edition DVD, Blu-Ray, and Digital Copy for your cell phone." Bianca tossed the dress over her head.

"It’s my favorite Next Gen movie."

Bianca didn’t notice her whine. Martin ran you down? Oh, dog, I hate that scabby warthog. Stand on the stool.

I don’t want to go to the party tonight. Ophelia stepped up onto the stool anyway. Ouch. Her straight hair snagged on her gold heart-locket. She freed the hair and crammed it back into a ponytail holder.

I was just on a costumer’s website and read the sleeves were sewn in two separate pieces. Bianca popped back with seam ripper in hand. Put your arms through. There’s supposed to be a tight inner sleeve and a flowing outer sleeve, not one long flowing sleeve. She zipped up the back and went to work, ripping out the sleeve. So, what happened? Did you finally tell him to go strangle his own chicken?

Martin never gives me the chance to tell him anything. When I do manage to get a word in edgewise, it’s like it doesn’t even register in his brain. He doesn’t listen.

It’s no use talking to his head. You know that’s not where he keeps his brain. Bianca worked on the other sleeve.

I don’t want to go to the party tonight.

Oh, my dog, how can you say that? Bianca yanked off the sleeve. I’ve spent weeks making our costumes. Do you know how many poopy diapers I changed to earn enough money for this fabric? If you don’t go, I’ll mix up your little dolls.

They’re action figures. And don’t you dare touch them. Ophelia quickly looked to ensure that Captain Kirk, Yoda, and the others were safe. It took me all day to sort and clean them last time you did that.

Whatever. Geek.

Slut. Ophelia refolded her arms. Only my sister could convince the Student Council to throw a costume party for Christmas.

Hey, it’s not my fault the water pipes froze and broke and ruined the gym floor for Halloween. Bianca jerked her arms out of the fold. Let them dangle and be still. She fetched a new sleeve from her sewing machine, slid it on, and pinned it into place. I need to figure out how to sew the inner and outer sleeve into the holes without them bunching up.

As much as she hated the actual work, Bianca never missed a school social occasion. She even sneaked out for a toga party, though she was grounded for flunking the Ancient Greece and Rome section of World History. Twice.

Ophelia sighed and prepared to endure. Her thoughts drifted back. My secret admirer... her cheeks heated up ...nailed Martin with a rock.

Oh, my God.

Dog, Bianca. Dog. If Mom hears you take the Lord’s name in vain, she won’t calm down until you go to Confession and Father Wings isn’t due until Christmas Eve.

Oh, my dog. You found out who your secret admirer is, and you didn’t tell me?

No. He pitched the rock into Martin’s head from behind the dumpster, pitched it just like he was in the Majors. Ophelia smiled, a breath passing through her lips as she relaxed in the memory. Should have split Martin’s head wide open, but it only—

Pissed him off? I always said Martin Brynner was hardheaded. Maybe your secret admirer will be at the party. Everyone’s going. Bianca set down her pin cushion.

But if he doesn’t want anyone to know who—

It’s a costume party, remember? Bianca stepped around and fingered the sleeve gathers. He can wear a mask. Come along with me and Jimmy.

Martin will have a fit when he shows up. It’ll give Dad a heart attack and Mom’s already a wreck because he won’t stop working. How to break that toxic chain consumed Ophelia.

Go with Martin then. I’ll figure out who your true love is, and you can slip out with him. All of Jimmy’s friends will be there too. We’ve got your back.

What if my secret admirer is a selfish jackass or a dirty old creep?

Bianca picked up the other new sleeve from her sewing machine. Your secret admirer’s been wooing you for four months now. Selfish jackasses and dirty old creeps don’t have that kind of patience. They only care about their own f—

Wooing? Ophelia spoke fast, before her sister could utter the ‘F’ word and get them both in trouble.

Bianca pointed at the wall behind Ophelia’s bed.

Ophelia turned and saw all the drawings he’d left in her locker and other secret places. They papered nearly every inch behind her behind, nightstand, and desk. Eagles. Wolves. Grizzly Bears. Owls.

Two

The drawings of various birds were framed and visually balanced on the wall surrounding her recently dusted headboard, lamp and nightstand, desk, and computer. Her pink quilt and frilly pillow case were freshly laundered and ironed. A fawn-colored Tribble was positioned exactly in the pillow’s center. No dirt speck dared cross the duct taped line which separated her side of the room from Bianca’s side. I love birds.

The army of action figures on her desk, which had grown too since her admirer had materialized, stood ordered by show, season, and rank, if applicable. A cartoon version of the Scientific Method was listed on a framed poster next to her white curtained window.

She opened her fist and examined the Star Trek cereal box trinket again. He gave me this at the store, tossed it at my feet from his hiding place.

I’m telling you... Bianca cupped a hand over hers ...the boy’s one love-sick puppy.

Why won’t he let me know who he is?

Face it, Ophelia, you’re drop-dead gorgeous, and you’ve been going out with a rich guy. He’s intimidated. So, make the last step easy for him.

The December sun finally came up, only to be hidden behind clouds. It went back down a few hours later.

The oppressive night returned, and Ophelia parted the curtain to see Martin barrel out of his truck in a long, black trench coat. Beneath it he wore a black waistcoat with tails, white shirt and bowtie, and a red and gold sash across his chest. He smiled, revealing plastic fangs.

Oh, good grief.

What? Bianca elbowed her away. Oh. My. Dog.

Bram Stoker must be rolling over in his grave. Ophelia fetched her dress coat from a chair.

Who? Bianca chased her out, fussing over her tiara.

"Bram Stoker, author of the original vampire novel, Dracula. I had to read it for Honors English. Mrs. Cox wouldn’t let me opt out. Ophelia had been sorted into all advanced classes when they were freshmen. I wanted