Page 10 of Christmas with a Cursed Werewolf

The kiss is fierce, desperate, filled with all the longing I've been fighting. She makes a small sound of surprise that turns into a sigh of pleasure as she melts against me. Her lips are soft but insistent, matching my intensity as though she's been waiting for this as long as I have.

Around us, the library's magic explodes. Books fly off shelves, pages rustling like wings. The chandeliers spark and flare, casting wild shadows on the walls. Even the floor seems to vibrate with power, as if the castle itself is responding to our connection.

I should stop. Should push her away before the curse takes hold completely. But then her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer, and coherent thought becomes impossible. She tastes like sunlight and possibility—things I thought were lost to me forever.

The wolf howls inside me, wanting to mark and claim. The curse pulses through my blood, a dark counterpoint to the brightness of her touch. I deepen the kiss, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping my scalp in a way that makes me growl.

In the distance, Rakan's answering howl echoes through the castle grounds. The pack feels it too—this surge of power, this shift in the very fabric of Frostspire Keep's magic. The sound breaks through my haze of desire, reminding me of exactly what I am. What I could do to her.

I tear myself away, stumbling back. The loss of contact is physical pain, but the fear of hurting her is worse. Briar stands there, lips swollen from my kiss, eyes bright with something that looks dangerous like hope.

"That shouldn't have happened." The words taste like ashes in my mouth. Around us, the library's magic settles, though books still quiver on their shelves. "You need to go. Now."

"Ronan—" She reaches for me, but I step further back. The hurt that flashes across her face is almost enough to break my resolve.

"Please." I hate the way my voice shakes. "Just go."

She hesitates, and for a moment I think she'll argue. But then she turns and walks away, her steps quick and uneven. The library doors close behind her with a soft click that sounds like finality.

I wait until her footsteps fade before letting out a ragged breath. The curse churns inside me, angry at being denied. Books continue to shift and settle, as if the very walls of Frostspire Keep are upset by her departure.

Moving to the window, I press my forehead against the cold glass. Outside, snow falls in thick curtains, and somewhere in the white wasteland, Rakan leads the pack in another mournful howl. They felt the magic surge. They know something has changed.

The taste of her lingers on my lips, a reminder of what I can never have. The curse may have weakened for a moment in her presence, but that only makes it more dangerous. I can't afford to lose control again.

No matter how right it felt to hold her. No matter how the castle's magic sang when we touched. No matter how much every fiber of my being screams to go after her.

I have to protect her. Even if it means protecting her from myself.

The library settles into uneasy silence, but the magic still hums with potential. Like the castle itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next.

I already know. Nothing can happen next. Nothing will happen next.

No matter how much it kills me to ensure it.

Whispers of the Past

BRIAR

The morning fog clings to Frostspire Keep like a second skin as I make my way to the stables, my mind still reeling from yesterday's events. Every time I close my eyes, I see the library's shadows dancing, feel the surge of magic when Ronan kissed me, remember how the very air seemed to pulse with energy. The mysterious symbols from the silver candlestick keep appearing in my dreams, tangling with images from the journal's pages until I can barely separate memory from imagination.

Shadow, the black mare in the first stall, whickers softly as I enter. The stable's warmth wraps around me, carrying the familiar scents of hay and leather. After so much strangeness—magical disturbances, mysterious journals, and that kiss that seemed to make the whole castle tremble—there's comfort in such an ordinary task. At least, that's what I want everyone to think.

When I lift the brush to begin grooming Shadow, something strange happens. The usual morning restlessness of the horses settles into perfect stillness, as if they're all holding their breath. Shadow's coat feels unusually warm beneath my hands, almostvibrating with energy—the same kind I felt in the library when the books seemed to whisper their secrets.

"Curious," I murmur, watching how she leans into my touch. The brush glides through her coat with unusual ease, as if she's helping me somehow. In the next stall, a chestnut stallion stretches his neck toward me, his eyes too knowing for comfort. The sensation reminds me of how the candlestick warmed under my touch in the dining room, how the symbols seemed to shift and dance before my eyes.

I've always been good with animals, but this feels different. The horses seem to understand why I'm really here, and instead of shying away, they're almost encouraging my presence. It's like they know I'm trying to understand the castle's secrets, trying to help Ronan break free from whatever holds him captive.

My fingers tingle where they touch Shadow's coat, similar to how they felt when I traced the symbols in the journal. Yesterday's kiss proved that something happens when Ronan and I connect—the way the magic surged, how the library seemed to come alive around us. There has to be a connection between everything I'm discovering: the curse, the castle's decay, the way certain objects seem to react to my touch.

"They've always had good instincts about people."

I turn to find Alistair in the doorway, his butler's uniform impeccable even at this early hour. He moves to the chestnut's stall, picking up another brush with practiced ease. His arrival breaks my train of thought, but I can't lose this opportunity to learn more.

"Have they been here long?" I ask, trying to keep my tone casual despite my racing heart. "The horses, I mean." Yesterday's magical surge in the library proved there's more to this place than anyone's telling me. Even the simplest question might lead to something important.

"Some bloodlines have been with the estate for generations." He begins grooming the chestnut, his movements precise and measured. Each stroke of the brush seems deliberately timed, as if he's choosing his words with equal care. "Much like the staff. Frostspire Keep has a way of... keeping what belongs to it."

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