Hudson's Christmas WishBy: Lynn Hagen
Christian’s Coven 12
Judah Rollins is sent to a warehouse by the temp agency. He’s broke, about to be evicted, and the promise of twenty bucks an hour seems like a blessing. That is, until he enters the warehouse and finds himself in another realm.
Judah is trapped in Santa’s workshop and can’t leave until he completes the Christmas list. When he is sent to procure two bottles of Red Spanking, his world flips upside down.
All Hudson ever wanted was a mate. After returning home from Dalton Falls, he feels so alone that he’s considering going nomad. When his mate stumbles out of one of the back rooms at The Manacle, Hudson chases the human into another real--only to discover that he’s trapped in Santa’s workshop.
Forced labor, Elite Ops Security, and a Santa too out of it to deliver gifts is only the beginning.
If Hudson and Judah don’t save Christmas, it will disappear forever.
“Hi, I’m Bobbles, and I’ll be the one giving you your tour. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.” Bobbles smiled without separating his lips. “There are only a few rules to follow, but other than that, I think you’ll enjoy working here.”
Judah stood there, his mouth hanging open as he took in all the bright and shimmering colors of the warehouse. “The temp service told me I had a job at a distribution warehouse.”
“You silly willy. This is a distribution warehouse. The largest on the planet. We recruit every year to help out the elves.”
It seemed Bobbles had partaken in one too many drinks or drugs. Although the place was all decked out for Christmas, there was no way Judah would believe this was Santa’s workshop. Bobbles was off his flipping rocker. But Judah needed the money, so he kept his mouth shut.
“I need you in the alcohol and firearms sector.” Bobbles tapped his red-and-green clipboard that was smattered with Christmas stickers. “Although we’re pretty lax here, I expect hard work out of you. And don’t even think about stealing any alcohol. We had to fire a few guys for doing that.”
Judah slowly turned, wondering if he was still in bed dreaming. Mrs. Main, the woman who had called him about this job, had said he would be working in a fun and exciting environment, and that the pay was top-notch. Had she known where she was sending him?
The walls were a bright red, with strips of white wrapping around…everything. The place smelled like one big peppermint, and wreaths hung from handrails, and mistletoe from strings like cardboard stars at a prom. Holiday music blared over speakers. Judah hated holiday music.
Glitter covered the floor, people with walkie-talkies slowly roamed through the crowd of workers, and the largest table Judah had ever seen sat in the center of the room. A map of the world was spread across the table. It wasn’t just any kind of map, either—from what he could see, little lights blinked all over the thing.
He stood there in utter amazement as Bobbles walked away to talk to someone. Judah moved closer, wondering what all the lights meant.
“The red lights indicate places we’re not allowed to go,” Bobbles explained as if he could read Judah’s mind. Judah hadn’t seen Bobbles approach, but the guy stood right behind him. “Those areas are what we here at the workshop refer to as ‘The Gladiator Zones.’ They’re the roughest neighborhoods, and only the Elite Ops Elves travel there.”
“You don’t by any chance self-medicate, do you?”
Bobbles’s laugh was light, breezy, and downright irritating. How anyone managed to have a beautiful laugh while inserting snorts was beyond him. “No, silly willy. It’s the festive atmosphere. You’ll catch the Santa spirit soon enough.”
Judah remembered the crackpot had said something about rules. “So what are the few rules I need to follow?”
Bobbles’s smile grew tight. The spark in his purple eyes dimmed slightly. If Judah didn’t know any better, the nutjob looked kinda scared.
“Well, there are only two rules you must adhere to. And there is no getting around them.” He moved closer, cupping his hand to one side of his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was just a whisper. “Don’t mess with Dick is rule number one.”