Page 2 of Christmas with a Cursed Werewolf

"Rest," Alistair says. "Someone will fetch you for dinner." He pauses at the door, his faded blue eyes suddenly sharp. "And Miss Everly? Please remain in your room until then. The castle can be... confusing for newcomers."

The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds oddly final.

I should unpack. Should rest. Instead, I find myself drawn to the window, watching snow swirl against darkening sky. Something about this place feels familiar, like a half-remembered dream.

The castle seems to pulse with a strange energy. Or maybe that's just my imagination, fueled by too many gothic novels and not enough sleep. But there's something about the way shadows move in the corners, how the air itself seems charged with expectation.

I turn away from the window, intending to at least pretend to follow Alistair's advice. But my feet carry me to the door instead. The handle turns easily under my hand.

The corridor outside is empty, silent except for the whisper of wind through ancient stones. Logic says I should stay put, but curiosity has always been my weakness. Besides, I'm here to research the castle's history—how can I do that from one room?

I tell myself I'm just going to explore a little. Get my bearings. But with each step, I'm drawn deeper into the castle's maze of hallways. The portraits watch my progress, their eyes following me through the gloom.

The temperature drops noticeably as I turn a corner. A set of double doors looms at the end of the corridor, partially ajar. Something about them sends a shiver down my spine—a warning, maybe, or an invitation. Moonlight spills through the gap, creating silver patterns on the floor.

The West Wing. It has to be. Alistair's words echo in my mind, but the pull is too strong to resist. There's something here, something calling to me.

I slip through the gap in the doors, heart pounding. The air here is different—heavy with secrets and something else I can't quite name. Moonlight streams through tall windows, illuminating a space that feels both lived-in and abandoned.

A low growl freezes me in place.

I turn slowly, every nerve screaming danger. In the shadows, something moves—something massive and definitely not human. My breath catches in my throat as the creature emerges into a shaft of moonlight.

Silver eyes gleam in the darkness. The beast steps forward, and I can't stop my sharp intake of breath. It's a wolf, but impossibly large, with dark fur that seems to absorb the moonlight. Powerful muscles ripple beneath that midnight coat as it moves toward me with predatory grace.

I should run. Should scream. Instead, I stand transfixed as those eyes lock onto mine. There's intelligence in that gaze, and something else—recognition? The beast's head tilts slightly, studying me with an intensity that seems far too human.

The wolf's growl softens, becomes almost questioning. For a moment, we're caught in a strange tableau, neither of us moving.

Then the air seems to shimmer, like heat waves rising from summer pavement. Where the beast stood, a man appears. Tall, dark, and radiating barely contained fury. His grey eyes still hold that silver gleam, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with suppressed rage.

"What are you doing here?"

I stumble back, my voice failing me. He advances, and I catch glimpses of sharp features and barely contained power in his movements. His suit is immaculate, but there's nothing civilized about the way he stalks toward me.

"The West Wing is forbidden." His words come out as almost a growl, and I swear I see a flash of fang. "Leave. Now."

Questions crowd my throat—about the wolf, about him, about what I just witnessed. But the look in his eyes brooks no argument. I turn and flee, my heart racing for reasons I'm not ready to examine.

Back in my room, I press my back against the door, trying to make sense of what I've seen. The beast. The man. The way my pulse jumped at his proximity, despite my fear.

What was that?And what have I gotten myself into?

The castle creaks around me, as if in answer. But its secrets, like those of its master, remain hidden behind walls of stone and silence.

A knock at my door makes me jump. Alistair's voice comes through the wood, perfectly composed. "Miss Everly? Mr. Wolfe requests your presence in his study. Immediately."

A Flicker in the Dark

RONAN

Iwatch Briar enter my office, her steps measured and deliberate. The lavender scent of her skin mingles with traces of fear, but there's something else too—a spark of defiance that makes my wolf stir.

Alistair hovers behind her, his usual composure fractured by concern.

"Miss Everly, sir," he announces. His faded blue eyes dart between us, reading the tension in the air.

"Leave us." I keep my attention fixed on the papers before me, though every sense is locked on her presence. Alistair hesitates a fraction too long before bowing and closing the door with a soft click.

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