Page 11 of Christmas with a Cursed Werewolf

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me of how the library—Ember—seems to know what I need before I do. "It must have seen a lot of history," I venture, watching his reaction carefully. After witnessing the castle's response to my kiss with Ronan, I know the place itself is somehow alive, aware.

"Indeed." His tone remains pleasant, but something shifts in his posture. The same kind of tension I noticed when I found the journal. "Though most of it is rather mundane. Supply ledgers, staff rotations, the usual business of running an estate."

I press a little harder, thinking of the strange symbols I've seen, the way the magic pulses stronger at certain moments. "What about the unusual business?"

His brush strokes slow slightly. "I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Everly."

"The things that make this place different. Special." I keep my eyes on Shadow's coat, though every nerve is attuned to his response. "Surely you must have noticed them, working here so long."

"Every old house has its quirks." His voice carries a note of warning now, similar to how he sounded when he found me in the library. "Best not to read too much into them."

"Even when those quirks involve magic?" The word hangs in the air between us, charged with meaning after yesterday's display.

The brush stills completely. "That's quite an imagination you have, Miss Everly."

"Like Master Rurik's imagination?" The name slips out casually, but its effect is immediate. I remember seeing it scrawled in the journal's margins, always accompanied by those strange symbols that seemed to shift and change.

Alistair's expression shutters closed, the temperature in the stable seeming to drop several degrees. Just like when the magic flared in the library, sending cold air swirling around Ronan and me. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Around."

"That's not a topic for discussion." All pretense of casualness vanishes from his voice. "Some names are better left unspoken in this place."

I return to brushing Shadow, but something feels different. The air around me tingles with awareness, like it did in the library when the magic was building. Somehow I know exactly what question to ask next, guided by the same instinct that led me to the journal. "Did something happen to him? Is that why no one talks about him?"

The words come naturally, as if whispered to me by the castle itself. The horses grow unnaturally still again, and for a moment, I swear I see faint blue sparks dance along Shadow's coat where my brush passes—the same color as the magical glow I've glimpsed in the library.

Alistair's face pales slightly. "I think that's enough questions for today, Miss Everly. Some mysteries are best left unexplored."

He turns to leave, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm onto something important. The air feels charged now, like the moment before the magic surged yesterday. Shadow nuzzles my shoulder, and warmth spreads through me, clearing my thoughts in an odd way.

As I finish grooming her, my mind races to connect the pieces. The curse affects more than just Ronan—I've seen how the castle itself seems to be failing, how certain areas are literallycrumbling. The magic responds differently when Ronan and I are together, as if our connection somehow strengthens it. And now this reaction to Rurik's name...

Movement catches my eye through the stable doors. Giselle stands by a distant wall of the castle, her hand pressed against stones that seem to be crumbling beneath her touch. Even from here, I can see her concern as she examines the decay. The sight reminds me of how the library's magic has been fading, how the books seem more desperate to communicate with each passing day.

A chill runs through me, different from the morning cold. The castle feels alive suddenly, aware in a way I can't explain. The fog outside seems to part deliberately, creating a clear path back to the building, as if inviting—or guiding—me to return. It's the same feeling I get in the library when Ember wants to show me something important.

I give Shadow a final pat, trying to ignore how the warmth of her coat seems to reach for me, trying to tell me something just beyond my understanding. The stables feel charged with potential now, like something significant has just happened. My fingers tingle with that same energy I felt when touching the candlestick, when the symbols first began to make sense.

The walk back to the castle seems different today. Yesterday's kiss changed something—not just between Ronan and me, but in how I experience the castle itself. The fog parts before me like a curtain, and I could swear the stones brighten slightly as I approach, the way the library's lights strengthen when I enter. More than ever, I feel like the castle—like Ember—is trying to communicate.

In the library, I settle at my usual table, pulling out the journal I've been studying. After yesterday's magical surge, the book feels different in my hands, almost eager. The text shimmers slightly in the dim light, making my eyes blur justlike the symbols did on the candlestick. But instead of setting it aside, I feel drawn to keep reading, as if the castle itself wants me to discover something.

My fingers trace the margins where those strange markings cluster most densely. The same warmth from the stables returns, settling somewhere behind my breastbone. It reminds me of how the magic felt when Ronan kissed me—wild and alive, but somehow right. Like two pieces of a puzzle finally connecting.

The curse is killing this place. I've seen it in the crumbling walls, felt it in the way the magic keeps fading. But yesterday proved something else—when Ronan and I connected, the magic grew stronger. Those moments in the library weren't just about attraction; something deeper was happening. The castle itself seemed to respond to us, as if our kiss somehow fed its power.

New passages seem to reveal themselves on the journal's pages, or maybe I'm just seeing them differently now. Words about binding magic, about sacrifice and balance. About how curses can twist and change over time, growing beyond their original purpose. The more I read, the more certain I become that I'm meant to help break this curse. Not just for Ronan's sake, but for everyone bound to this place.

The library shadows deepen around me as I bend over the journal, but I'm no longer afraid of the dark. There's comfort in it now, like being wrapped in a familiar blanket. Ember's presence feels stronger here, more focused, as if the library itself is helping me study. The magic pulses gently through the room, reminding me of how it surged yesterday when Ronan was here.

Something catches my attention—a passage I must have skimmed before about how curses can be anchored to places as well as people. The words seem to float off the page, making connections in my mind. The curse isn't just affecting Ronan; it's bound to Frostspire Keep itself. That's why the castle is dying,why certain objects seem charged with magical energy, why even the horses can sense something's wrong.

But there's hope too. Yesterday proved that the curse isn't unbreakable. When Ronan kissed me, the magic didn't just flare—it transformed. For a moment, it felt pure, alive, free from whatever darkness usually taints it. The castle itself seemed to reach for that energy, like a flower turning toward the sun.

I close the journal, but keep my hand pressed to its cover, feeling the subtle warmth beneath my palm. Everything is connected—the curse, the castle, the strange way objects react to my touch, how the magic strengthens when Ronan and I are together. I may not understand it all yet, but I'm starting to see patterns, to trust these instincts that feel less like guesses and more like remembering something I've always known.

Outside, the fog has thickened, turning the world beyond the windows into a blank canvas. But inside, everything feels clearer than ever. Whatever secrets Frostspire Keep is hiding, whatever darkness taints its magic, I'm meant to help uncover the truth. The castle itself seems to be choosing me, guiding me, teaching me to understand its language of symbols and sensations.

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