Chapter Twelve #3
“Berry, I’m pretty sure you can guess how I keep it this way?” He gives me a look, the kind that says remember what I said.
“So you have a maid. Wow, it must be nice to have someone to clean up after you.” I smirk as I slowly stroll through his home.
Although the outside was gingerbreadesque, the inside gives more woodland lodge.
With wood beams spanning across the living room ceiling and the large hearth roaring with a blazing fire, all it needs is the creepy animal head mounted above with a couple guns to finish it off.
Granted nothing about Ryatt screams he hunts for sport or even at all. There are only a handful of family pictures throughout the space, otherwise it feels almost more like a showcase and less than a home.
My apartment might not be as fancy, but at least it feels lived in.
“Sit anywhere you’d like. I’ll go make us some hot cocoa…with whipped cream and chocolate.”
I don’t sit down, but I do move towards the fire as I shed off some of the layers he gave me. There’s only one explanation for how he did it, even if I can’t believe it. Magic.
But if he is using magic, then what else can he do? Or what else has he done? How is any of this real?
When I peel off the jacket, I find he even changed my clothing beneath.
Instead of my cream shirt, I’m now wearing a burnt orange knit sweater.
Where my jeans once were is a black skirt and tights with fluffy white socks sticking out of the tops of my boots.
This isn’t even the same outfit he switched me to before.
How much magic does he have? Also, an endless wardrobe for the win!
Ryatt walks back into the living room with two steaming cups of hot cocoa and a bag of popcorn tucked under his arm.
“I wasn’t sure if you were hungry or not. So I thought I’d bring a little snack for now until we can go to the diner.” He walks over, setting the cups down on coasters before sitting down in the arm chair next to the sofa.
“I’m starving but I need answers. A lot of them.” I say when I sit down on the sofa. The hot cocoa’s warmth feels amazing against my skin as I take a sip.
He sighs as he closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you. I thought I’d have more time.” He mumbles.
I’m not even sure he’s talking to me until his eyes snap open with a weariness I’ve never seen before.
I reach across the space, resting my hand above his knee. “It’s going to be okay Ryatt. I’m sure once you explain everything, I’ll get it and we can move on.”
“You say that because you think I’m going to say we are all just really into Christmas. Not that we are the holiday. The things you’ve grown up reading about. That you actually met the real, legit Mrs. Claus that’s at least a millennia old but nobody dares to ask.”
“Ryatt, seriously—what is going on with you?” I demand, folding my arms. “You keep dodging things like you’re hiding a secret identity. If we’re going to keep… whatever this is… going, I need honesty. Not weird metaphors about training and mysteries and… Reindeer Games.”
His jaw flexes. He looks away, then back at me, something raw flickering in his eyes.
He takes a breath.
“I’m a reindeer.” “Not just any reindeer. The reindeer. My last name is Dasher because I come from a long line of shifters who’ve carried Santa’s sleigh across the sky for centuries.”
My brain flatlines.
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him. My thoughts fizz and crash like static. Did he just say… shifter? As in… animal? As in the stuff my Kindle app tries to recommend whenever I read too many Christmas romances?
My mouth works before my brain catches up.
“Okay. Sure, Ryatt. I know you’re obsessed with the holiday, but that’s a bit much.” I gesture vaguely at him. “What does being a shifter even mean? Like those books where the guy turns into a wolf? Like that? Because I was hoping for serious answers, not—whatever this is.”
But he isn’t smiling. Not joking. Not even blinking.
And a cold little ribbon of fear slides through my stomach.
He doesn’t say a word more. Or laugh like I thought he would after making his joke. No, instead my eyes round in fascination as something shimmers in front of him. It’s almost distorting his features.
But what I see next—what is revealed behind that shimmer—is something I never thought I’d see. Velvet antlers appear on his head at least five feet high from the base to tip. They are so realistic that I almost believe they are real.
As my eyes move down, I watch as his facial features sharpen, giving him an even more intense appearance.
It's as if someone turned the sex appeal dial on his appearance up to hundred.
Not human. Not entirely. But somehow still him.
For a long beat, the only sound is the crackling of the fire.
I blink once, twice. Yet—it’s still there.
Then, because my brain is frozen on the load screen, I say the only thing that made it through. “Whoa, now that’s one serious antler headpiece. Is it heavy? Does your neck strain when they are up there?”
His mouth twitches, desperate to smile but he doesn’t. “Berry…”
“I’m sorry, seriously.” I roll my lips between my teeth. I wave my head towards the very real looking antlers. “Okay, so do you grow them seasonally? Is there a special soap for washing them? Does someone need to sharpen them?”
“Holly,” his voice is low, there’s an edge to it like a warning.
That’s when it hits me. There’s a flicker of something ancient in his eyes. The shimmer still glowing faintly around the edges. There’s a hum in the air.
“They’re—real.” I swallow hard, tilting my head as if it will somehow make it better.
He nods. “They are.”