Page 1 of Missiletoe
Chapter1
Vix
“Riffraff, street rat, I don’t buy thaaaat…” I sang at the top of my lungs as I walked down the snow-lined street.
I fucking love Disney movies, and Aladdin is my favorite. Sometimes said love swells up and needs to be vented. This allows those around me the joy of experiencing my excellent singing skills, which was exactly what was happening on that particular afternoon.
I know they are excellent because Baz tells me so over and over. And any time someone disagrees with him, they change their mind after having a short, private chat with my best friend and brother. Brother friend. Yes, let's go with that one. Anyway, Baz probably tells them about how all art is subjective and that if they give my singing a chance, they will see the beauty in it.
Or something like that.
Baz is the best. Endlessly supportive, beautiful, and mine.
I’m his too. It’s always been this way for us since either of us can remember. We were both street rats during our childhood, you see. Now you know why I love Aladdin so much.
Baz has always taken care of me, and I have always taken care of him. There is no Baz without me, and no me without Baz. We are a package deal.
For the longest time, we thought we were bio-brothers. Maybe even twins. Boy, were we wrong. Like whoa. We’d wanted confirmation because who doesn’t want to know that they’re family for sure, right?
We got genetic testing done to confirm it, and it turned out we were so far from being related that we were lucky we’d ever even met. Most of me was from Central America, and most of Baz was from Egypt. Weird, no?
We look almost exactly alike—same messy red hair, same blue-green eyes. I’d always assumed we were Scottish with a freaky mutation that led to an amazing ability for us both to tan. But, like, a tan that never went away. Okay, it sounds stupid saying it out loud, but I was a child when I came up with the idea, so we aren’t going to make fun.
Making fun of children is wrong. Even Baz knows that.
Finding out we weren’t related even a little was devastating. Our red hair and blue-green eyes? They didn’t even come from the same place. Mine were from the bit of Scottish kicking around in me, and Baz’s were likely from the Irish he had in him.
The only part that was okay about said discovery was that it meant us punching each other’s V cards was way less weird once we found out. Yeah…we fucked a lot more often after learning that bit of information.
Let me make one thing clear—Baz and I aren’t together. Notthatway. But heismy other half. He and I are ride or die and will be forever.
Hell, we even named each other. I love Baz so much that I let him name me after a reindeer, for fuck’s sake. There’s a reason why adults don’t usually let children name other humans.
I, on the other hand, gave Baz the best name ever. It’s after my favorite plant at the time, basil. It smelled so good, and Baz didn’t because we were homeless and dirty pretty much all the time, so I gave him a nice-smelling name to make up for it.
He told me he named me Vixen because we couldn’t afford Christmases, so he wanted me to have one year-round. And because I love him for that, I go by Vix.
And because I have excellent naming skills, Baz only uses half of his name, because otherwise, people would be jealous. He told me so himself.
You aren’t going to be able to let the fucking part go, are you? I didn’t think you would either, but it was worth a shot.
What you need to understand is that Baz is protective. On the streets, the only thing you have is yourself, and some people aren’t even that lucky. But Baz had me, and he was obsessive about it. If someone roughed me up, that person didn’t come around again. No one saw them, and no one talked about them anymore either.
Folks, Baz can be a little scary if you don’t know him like I do. He’s killed a lot of people to keep us safe over the years—so many that he’s gotten really good at it. After the first few disappearances, no one messed with me even though I’m the opposite of scary.
Baby bunnies inspire more fear than I do. Sometimes they bite when they get scared. Not me. No, when I get scared, overly excited, or mad, I’m like a fainting goat. Zero killer instinct. If someone were to try to hurt me, I’d keel right over. Once Baz and I got off the streets, he took me to a doctor, and it turns out I have narcolepsy.
Due to that little quirk of mine, Baz didn’t trust me alone with anyone he didn’t consider family. The number of people on his list is tiny even to this day, but back on the streets, it was nonexistent.
So when another quirk of mine popped up, Baz didn’t handle it well. Puberty hit me like a freight train, but not in a height and muscle kind of way. No, I turned into the horniest thing ever. At first, I could take care of it myself, but as I got older, I started going into full-on heat around attractive men.
I couldn’t control myself at all. The number of times Baz had to drag me away from a sketchy potential hookup is not a number I’m proud of.
It was Baz’s worst nightmare. The only person he loved—a person who had the survival skills of a tadpole—turned into a panting slut if he didn’t get turned out on a daily basis. And when I was that keyed up, my judgment was nonexistent. I was ready to fuck anyone, and my arm was getting really, really tired.
Eventually, Baz told me he couldn’t deal with the fear of losing me to a murderer or a human trafficker and said that if I needed sex so badly, then he’d only be able to deal with me getting it from him. So instead of losing my virginity to a stranger, I gave it to Baz.
I know what it sounds like, but Baz and I aren’t in a romantic relationship.
