Page 13 of Christmas with a Cursed Werewolf

The study feels different now, more intimate somehow. Books continue shifting on their shelves, but the movement feels less random, more deliberate. It reminds me of how Ember—the library—responds to my presence. I trail my fingers along the spines, feeling that now-familiar warmth pulse beneath my touch.

"The curse feeds on isolation," I remember reading in the journal. "With each passing year, the walls grow higher." But what if that's not just metaphorical? I've seen how the castle responds when Ronan and I are together, how the magic strengthens instead of fades.

Another book slides from its shelf, landing open on the desk. This one shows various magical symbols, including some that match those I saw on the silver candlestick. The text seems to shimmer as I lean closer:

"True transformation requires willing sacrifice. The price must be paid in faith and fear alike."

The temperature drops suddenly, and frost patterns spread across the study's windows. They form shapes that echo the symbols in the book, as if the castle itself is trying to communicate. I think of how Ronan looked after our kiss—torn between desire and terror, wanting to pull me closer even as he pushed me away.

"Like living in a fairytale gone wrong," I'd written to Sara Ann. But maybe that's not quite right. Maybe it's more like living in a fairytale that hasn't reached its ending yet. Janet had to trusther heart even when everything seemed impossible. She had to hold on despite her fear.

The computer screen flickers, drawing my attention back to Sara Ann's words: "Maybe this isn't just about breaking a curse. Maybe it's about having the courage to hold on when everything and everyone tells you to let go."

"It won't be that simple, I'm afraid."

I whirl to find Alistair in the doorway, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light. He glances at the open books on the desk, then at the frost patterns on the windows. Something flickers across his face—recognition? Concern?

"The story of Tam Lin," he says quietly, moving to examine the illustration. "An interesting choice."

"The book chose me," I reply, watching his reaction carefully. "They seem to do that a lot here."

"Indeed." His faded blue eyes meet mine. "Though I've noticed they choose differently for different people. The castle has its own way of... guiding those who need guidance."

"Like it guided me here in the first place? That email invitation I can never find anymore?"

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Some stories write themselves, Miss Everly. We merely play our parts."

"And what part am I supposed to play?" The question comes out sharper than intended. "Everyone keeps warning me away, but the castle—the magic—it keeps pulling me closer."

"Perhaps that's your answer right there." He runs one finger along the edge of the book, tracing the outline of Janet holding her transformed love. "Not everyone has the strength to hold on through the darkness. But then, not everyone is meant to."

The air feels charged again, heavy with meaning I can't quite grasp. "You know more than you're telling me."

"I know many things, Miss Everly. But knowledge isn't always the key." He moves toward the door, then pauses."Sometimes the right question isn't 'what do I need to know?' but rather 'what am I willing to risk?'"

He disappears into the corridor before I can respond, leaving me alone with the shifting books and dancing shadows. But his words linger, mixing with Sara Ann's email and the tale of Tam Lin until everything seems to blur together like watercolors in the rain.

I look down at the illustration again—Janet holding on despite impossible odds, her love stronger than any magic. The frost patterns on the windows seem to pulse in time with my heartbeat, and somewhere in the castle, I swear I hear wolves howling.

"I'm willing to risk everything," I whisper to the watching shadows. To Ember, to the castle, to whatever force keeps drawing me deeper into this mystery. "I'm not letting go."

The words feel like a vow, heavy with promise and possibility. The study's magic swells around me, books trembling on their shelves as if in response. Even the old computer's screen brightens for a moment, Sara Ann's email still glowing with truth:

"Be careful, but trust your instincts. They've never led you wrong before."

Outside, snow begins to fall, thick flakes swirling past the frosted windows. But inside, I feel warmer than I have in days, certain of my path for the first time since arriving at Frostspire Keep. Let Ronan push me away. Let the curse fight back. Like Janet, I'll hold on through every transformation, every test.

Some stories write themselves, Alistair said. Looking around the study, at the books that seem to brighten under my gaze, at the magical symbols that dance across frost-covered glass, I realize something: I'm not just reading this story anymore.

I'm living it.

And I intend to see it through to the end, no matter what it costs.

The Warning

RONAN

Istalk the castle's perimeter, staying inside but close to the windows where I can monitor the grounds. My wolf senses stretch outward, scanning for any hint of magical disturbance. The wards are weakening—I can feel it in the way the air shivers, how the boundaries between inside and outside blur like watercolors in rain.

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