Page 3 of Christmas with a Cursed Werewolf

The fireplace behind my desk crackles, its heat doing nothing to warm the chill that's settled in my bones. Briar stands perfectly still, but her heart races.

I can hear each beat, smell the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

She's taking in everything. The ancient books lining the walls, the heavy wooden desk between us, the way shadows dance across the stone floor.

"The West Wing is forbidden." I let ice coat each word, trying to ignore how the castle's magic pulses in response to her presence. "This isn't a museum for you to explore at your leisure."

"I apologize." Her voice stays steady despite her racing pulse. A curl of auburn hair has escaped her bun, brushing against her neck. I force my gaze away. "The castle... it's fascinating. I've never seen anything like it."

"That's because there is nothing like it." I rise slowly, using my height to intimidate. The movement brings her scent closer, making my head swim. "And there are areas that are not meant for guests. Do I make myself clear?"

The temperature drops several degrees. Frost creeps along the windowpanes though the fire still burns hot. The castle's magic swirls restlessly, responding to my agitation—or perhaps to her. She's too close. Even across the desk, I can feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"Crystal clear." She meets my gaze directly, green eyes bright with challenge. "Though I can't help but wonder what you're hiding."

My control slips. The flames surge in the hearth, casting wild shadows. My fingers itch to reach for her, to show her exactly what kind of monster lurks behind these walls. The curse writhes under my skin, demanding I claim what's mine.

But she's not mine. Can never be mine.

"That's none of your concern." I grip the edge of the desk, wood creaking under my fingers. "Return to your room. Do not let me find you in the West Wing again."

She turns to leave but pauses at the threshold. The light catches her profile, softening her features. "You have a remarkable home, Mr. Wolfe. Even if parts of it are forbidden."

The way she says my name sends electricity down my spine. I track her movements long after she's gone, listening to herfootsteps fade down the corridor. Her scent lingers, mixing with the ancient magic that permeates these walls.

The castle feels different tonight—more volatile, less predictable. Like it's responding to something. Or someone. I press my palm against the cold stone wall, trying to ground myself. The magic pulses beneath my touch, almost eager.

A knock interrupts my thoughts. Fiona enters, her usual composure fractured. Her hands fidget with her apron, and she won't quite meet my eyes.

"Mr. Wolfe?" Her voice wavers. "The fireplaces in the east wing... they're acting strangely again."

I suppress a growl of frustration. "How?"

"They keep going out, sir. No matter how many times we relight them." She shifts nervously. "And there's frost forming on the inside of the windows, even near the lit hearths. The guests are beginning to notice."

More signs of the castle's instability. It's been happening more frequently since Briar arrived, though I refuse to acknowledge the connection.

"I'll handle it." I move past Fiona, ignoring how she shrinks away from my presence.

The corridors are darker than usual, holiday decorations casting strange shadows on ancient stones. Each fireplace tells a different story of unrest. In the library, flames leap unnaturally high, sending sparks toward precious texts. The dining room hearth barely smolders despite fresh logs.

The curse's grip shifts and changes, following no pattern I can trace. Even the holiday garlands show signs of decay—pine needles brittle and gray, ribbons fading to ash. The magic pulses through the castle like a fever, hot one moment, ice-cold the next.

Claws click against stone, and Rakan emerges from the shadows. His silver-streaked black fur bristles, golden eyesmeeting mine with urgent purpose. Even in wolf form, his concern is clear.

The pack grows restless, his thoughts reach mine. They sense the wrongness in the air.

How bad?

Worse than before. The magic fights itself. Even the youngest can feel it.

I study my oldest friend, noting the tension in his powerful frame. Rakan has stood beside me through countless challenges, but this unease is different. The castle's magic has never behaved quite like this.

Keep them close to the castle tonight, I direct. Watch the perimeter.

His thoughts brush mine again, tinged with curiosity. The girl's scent lingers here. The magic strengthens where she walks.

Leave her out of this,I snap, the command sharper than intended.

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