Chapter 9
Lila
We tumble inside and Holt slams the door with his shoulder. The storm drops to a muffled roar, the quiet so sudden it buzzes in my ears. The dogs are already there, tails wagging, noses cold against my hands.
Holt shrugs off his coat, eyes fixed on me. The air between us hums — leftover adrenaline, leftover everything.
He takes in the tree glowing in one corner, string lights along the mantel, tinsel catching the firelight.
“It looks like Christmas threw up in here,” he grunts, but his mouth twitches, like he can’t help it.
“It’s called festive,” I shoot back.
He puts the lanterns on the counter and lights the other three. Soft whoomph after whoomph until the room glows gold. He positions them around the cabin and shadows leap over the walls—over him, over me.
He turns, face half lit, and says, “Better.”
I nod, throat too tight for words.
The dogs wind around our legs, whining for attention. He crouches to scratch behind their ears. They can’t get enough of him, pressing in close.
“They missed you,” I say.
His gaze lifts to mine. “That makes two of us.”
The silence hums between us, alive with everything we haven’t said.
I turn toward the fire, pretending to straighten the garland that doesn’t need fixing. “Why did you leave me, Holt? The real reason.”
He exhales, the sound low, scraped raw. For a second I think he won’t answer. Then—
“You were eighteen,” he says. “Barely. And you looked at me like I hung the stars. I knew I wasn’t the man you thought I was. Not even close.”
I turn to him, stomach tightening.
He keeps going, eyes fixed on the fire. “I told myself walking away was the right thing. You were bright and fierce and—Christ, Lila, you deserved someone who’d take you to college parties and fancy restaurants, not drag you into the dark with him.”
The words land like blows, quiet but heavy.
“I didn’t want safe,” I say. “I wanted you.”
He looks at me then, and it’s like being hit with the full weight of everything he’s been holding back.
“I know,” he says. “And that’s what scared me most. Because I knew once I touched you, I wouldn’t stop. I’d want too much. And I didn’t trust myself not to ruin you.”
The admission hangs there — half confession, half plea.
I don’t move. The fire cracks behind me, the tree lights blink softly, and for a long time neither of us speaks.
“You didn’t ruin me,” I whisper finally. “You just broke my heart.”
His breath catches. “That’s worse.”
He’s standing so close now I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“Holt…” I start, but the words blur.
He shakes his head slowly. “You were perfect, Lila. Still are. That’s what kills me.”
I swallow hard. “And what now? You decide I’m old enough to handle you?”
He flinches, but doesn’t look away. “No. I didn’t decide anything. I just… never left the mountains. Couldn’t. After that night, I couldn’t face the world down there. So I stayed up here. Out past the ridge. Alone.”
“Alone,” I repeat, and the word hits like cold air in my lungs.
He drags a hand over his face. Then, yesterday. Thought I was imagining things at first. But there you were, so tough out there in the wind, calling that damn cat—and I knew it could only be you. And suddenly every reason I had for staying away stopped mattering.”
The words sink deep.
“My showing up doesn’t fix anything,” he says.
“No,” I say. “It doesn’t.”
“But I couldn’t live another night thinking you were out there facing everything I caused alone.”
His voice coarsens. “I left because you were too young, too perfect, and I was… wrong in ways I didn’t know how to explain. I said it was for you. But it was for me. I was protecting myself from wanting what I wasn’t supposed to have.”
My heart pounds. “And now?”
His eyes flicker, molten. “Now I know wanting you isn’t the problem. Thinking I deserve you is.”
My breath leaves me.
He doesn’t move closer, not yet. Just stands there, chest rising and falling, waiting for something—permission, maybe, or courage.
I step toward him before I realize I’m doing it. My fingers brush his sleeve.
“I hated you,” I whisper. “For leaving.”
“I hated myself,” he says. “Every day since.”
The air between us is electric.
His hand lifts—hesitates—then cups my face, thumb soft against my cheek. My breath catches.
“You have no idea how much I’ve longed for this,” he says, voice frayed.
I swallow hard. “Then why are you holding back?”
“Because I won’t take what you don’t give.”
I don’t breathe. My pulse beats against his thumb.
“I’m not holding back,” I whisper.
A low sound escapes him. He leans in—slow at first, breath grazing my mouth.
I tilt my chin up.
The kiss isn’t gentle this time. It’s fierce, hungry, years snapping tight.
Heat surges where our mouths meet, spreading through my chest and down to my belly.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair.
The scrape of his stubble grazes my skin, sending a shiver racing through me.
I push closer; he meets me with restraint that feels more dangerous than hunger. The world narrows to breath, heartbeat, the solid weight of him.
When I finally pull back, my lips tingle. The air between us crackles.
He’s breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine.
“Lila,” he rasps. “If I touch you again, I won’t stop at one kiss.”
“Then don’t.”
His dark eyes bore into mine, and a hum, low and physical, moves through the room. The fire seems to burn brighter, the shadows sharpening.
My pulse speeds until I can feel it everywhere—neck, wrists, inside my mouth. Heat blooms under my skin, a heavy warmth that rolls through my body like a wave.
“Holt,” I whisper. “What’s happening to me?”
He goes utterly still. The gold in his eyes catches the lanternlight, deepening until it’s not just reflection—it’s coming from somewhere inside him.
“Breathe,” he says, voice wrecked. “It’s nothing to be afraid of.”
But he’s breathing fast, too, and the cords in his neck stand out like he’s fighting something invisible.
The heat builds. Every sense sharpens—the hiss of the logs, the rasp of his breath, the faint whisper of tinsel on the mantel. I can smell the snow melting on his skin, clean and wild.
My body knows what it wants before I do. I sway closer, driven by a need that’s both mine, and outside of my control.
He catches my waist, not pulling me in, just holding me there. His eyes flicker shut. When he opens them again, they’re glowing intensely—predatory, beautiful…
Beastly?
He growls low, the sound thick with need. The room crackles with it—heat, breath, wanting. The world narrows to him and the incredible pull between us.
Then he tears himself away from me, chest rising and falling like he’s been running for miles. “You have no idea what I’m holding back,” he mutters. “Not yet.”
He drags in a shuddering breath and backs to the cabin door.
“You have to trust me,” he says. “You need to stay inside. Lock the door.”
“Holt, wait—”
He’s already moving, shoving the door open, snow blasting in around him. For a heartbeat he’s framed in the threshold—wind whipping his hair, eyes bright gold in the dark.
Then he’s gone into the storm, swallowed whole.
The door slams on its own weight. The fire flares, the lanterns tremble. For a long moment, I just stand there, heart hammering, skin still tingling where his hands were. The whole cabin smells of him—smoke, pine, something darker underneath.
Then the silence shatters.
A sound tears through the storm outside—low, furious, nothing human.
My body moves before my mind catches up.
I wrench the door open. The wind slams against me, but the cold barely registers. His name pounds in my chest.
“Holt!”
Snow whirls in white sheets. I stumble off the porch, boots sinking deep, my voice ripped away by the storm.
Another sound cuts through the wind—a guttural roar. It goes all the way through me, vibrating in my bones. My pulse kicks. Every instinct screams to run back inside, but I can’t. I push forward, half-blind, heart in my throat.
“Holt, where are you?”
A flash of movement near the tree line—huge, fast, gone. The snow muffles everything.
“Holt?” I whisper again, smaller now.
Then I see it.
Between the trees, something moves—shoulders too broad, a shape that ripples with power, breath steaming in long bursts. In a heartbeat, the storm clears, and two rings of gold flash through the dark.
I stumble back, hand clapped over my mouth, every thought dissolving into the rush of wind and the thunder of my own heartbeat.
The shape lifts its head, watching me — and for one dizzy second, I swear the look in those eyes is the same one that’s been undoing me all night.
Then it turns and vanishes into the dark, snow swallowing the sound of its retreat.
I stand there, shaking, trying to believe what I just saw.
Holt.
Not gone.
But not human.
And somewhere deep inside me, beneath the shock and the fear, a strange new certainty rises like a second heartbeat.