“Now we have to decorate a tree!”
“Why?”
“It’s a Christmas tradition.”
“I understand but is this not something adults do for children?”
“No, this is just as much for us as it is for them, even though we may pretend otherwise. You’ve never experienced a Christmas so I want to give you that now.”
Her kindness warmed his heart. So this is how it feels to be to be cared for. A surge of proactive possession swept through him. In thirty-seven years, the only people he’d every truly cared for were his daughters. It scared him that Violet was now number three. This wouldn’t end well. Here on Earth the male was the provider. He had nothing to offer. There was no need for warriors like him here. Their wars were fought on foreign soil. At his age, with no education, no job, and no money, he’d be considered a loser. A far cry from the high title of the Queen’s slave, the irony wasn’t lost on him.
“You don’t have to do th-”
“I want to.”
“Okay.”
She hopped off the couch and headed for a door in the far corner of the room. She disappeared and resurfaced a few minutes later, dragging out a giant rectangular box.
“This has been our tree for years, so it’s well loved and slightly threadbare. We should replace it, but we have such a sentimental attachment to it. I know it’ll be around until the metal pieces no longer stay in the slots.”
She must have seen the confused look that passed his face because she continued.
“This is an artificial tree. Lots of families who are big on Christmas use them because they’re a lot neater and cheaper than real trees in the long run. Come on over and help me put this thing together.”
He stood and followed her directions as she showed him how to separate each piece into a color pile. Fifteen minutes later, they had the tree up and wrapped in tiny white Christmas bulbs.
“Now comes the fun part.”
She disappeared back into the closet the Christmas tree came from and reappeared with a large, pale blue plastic container. She placed it on the floor and knelt down to remove the cover.
“These are Christmas ornaments. Half of them go back to when we were kids.”
She lifted up a piece of wood that had been carved into the shape of a stocking, painted a brick red and boasted what had to be a picture of Violet as a child.
“This is my second grade school picture.”
The adorable girl with the slicked pony tail, bright eyes, and crisp white t-shirt looked enchanting. He felt the corners of his lip twitch upward. How different her childhood must’ve been from his. Xanthus pictured himself at ten: a thin boy with bare feet, a dirty, smudged face, and holey, stained clothing. It was the age he was first eligible to fight and earn his place at the Zenth’s side. A life in the castle was preferable to the menial labor that waited for them outside the gates and on the castle grounds. When he’d knocked his first opponent on the ground he saw hope. It was that tiny sliver of light that kept him on top, fighting like a feral animal.
The sound of Violet’s voice brought him back from the darkness. He focused in on another handmade ornament and daydreamed about a world where light and love were a normalcy.
He stood back and examined the tree. It was all too easy to pretend he belonged here and Violet was a woman who chose to be at his side. His fingers itched to caress strands of her silken hair, and he craved the taste of her lips. He gritted his teeth. He’d leave her with his pride intact if it was the last thing he did, since it was all he had.
“We need to talk.”
She frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“My bands have been activated.”
Her face twisted in horror. She covered her mouth with her hands.
“Oh God, is Kala close?”
“No, but it’s only a matter of time now that she’s entered Earth’s atmosphere.”
“Is there anything you know of that can scramble the homing beacon?”
“Yes, the cold. This is why I landed here in Canada during the height of winter.”