Page 21 of Some Swans Don't Swim
From my view between the thick, icy branches, Sawyer hadn’t missed a beat. His surprisingly quick steps had altered direction with a smooth slide of his feet. Krampus followed, his angry growl rumbling through the air.
The trees were so icy and weighted down that I doubted Krampus could see what was waiting for him on the other side. Besides, he seemed laser focused on catching a fine piece of ass like Sawyer.
Ten feet away from the nearest swan statue.
I backed up slightly, waiting.
Five feet.
If this didn’t work for whatever reason, I was out of ideas.
Sawyer burst through the trees and into the circle between two statues. Krampus appeared next, then slowed, his eyes going wide, realizing too late where he was skidding.
I had no idea what was supposed to happen next, but I didn’t want Sawyer or me to be involved with it anymore. With my hand on the bulk of Sawyer’s arm, I dragged him from the circle.
The stone rings turned golden and sparked blue magic that quickly dwindled. The statues’ eyes glowed green instantly, all aimed at Krampus, even the one on the stairs. Stone came alive all over his body, crawling like gray veins across his red eyes, webbing up over his tall horns, crackling down over his furry cloak. He froze mid-step. The bells on the hem of his cloak stopped mid-jingle.
He was turning into a statue, and as the stone continued to expand over him, it faded from the seven swans. White, downy wings stretched and flicked the golden rings to the snow. Their graceful necks arched, and their black eyes gleamed with Christmas lights and freedom. They were gorgeous, but also a little bit frightening because last time I’d checked, swans weren’t supposed to be bigger than I was.
The one on the stairs climbed up, her billed feet slapping the ground lightly, and bowed her head toward me. She was a little smaller than the rest, a little frailer, but she’d been the one to save the children.
“You did it,” Sawyer said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Wedid it,” I reminded him, my gaze on the swan. “All of us.”
A loud “whoop” went up from about thirty feet away where Eddie and Jacek were striding toward us.
“Krampus is toast!” Jacek hollered.
The seven swans turned as one in the direction of the sound with barely a rustle of their feathers. Their beady eyes stared.
“So...” I cleared my throat, and when their attention was back on me, I nodded toward the statue of Krampus. “Thanks for that. Did you...enjoy your migration here?”
Stupid. I was terrible at talking to swans.
They weaved their necks back and forth, almost like a nod of agreement that I really was terrible at talking to swans. Their not-so-spindly legs carried them closer.
“Nice, pretty swans. We’re on your side, okay?” I stood to block them from my vamps, Night’s Fall raised, in case the swans did something weird.
Like now.
What the hell?
They were losing their feathers, not like dropping them to the ground, but turning them into smooth, human flesh with a silvery quality to it. Their bodies shifted into human shapes, still with long, graceful necks and perfect white hair that flowed over their very female, very naked skin.
Whoa. No wonder Krampus had fallen in love with them.
“The vampire slayer,” one of them said after she’d shifted, her voice like liquid sugar.
“You helped us,” another said.
They seemed kind of surprised. I shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
“We’re grateful you helped us, someone as famous as you,” the seventh swan-human, the one who’d bowed to me, said.
“Oh, I’m not...”
Sawyer ran his knuckle down my spine, a reminder, a warning not to downplay myself, that filled me with a longing shiver.
