Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Rose
The snowball fight that follows is vicious and glorious.
Soren’s unnaturally good at it, considering his origins, probably using his incubus reflexes to dodge my attacks, but I get in a few good hits.
One splats right across his face, and the shocked look he gives me is worth the retaliation that follows.
He tackles me into a snowdrift, pinning me down as I shriek with laughter. Snow goes down the back of my coat, but I don’t even care.
“Give up?” Soren asks, looming over me.
“Never.” I grab a handful of snow and shove it down the front of his shirt.
He yelps, jumping back. “You little witch!”
I take advantage of his distraction to scramble away, running for the nearest tree. But Soren’s faster, cutting me off before I can reach it. He backs me against the trunk, one arm on either side of my head.
“Nowhere to run,” he says in that way always makes my belly flutter.
I’m breathing hard, my heart drumming in my chest. “Who says I want to run?”
He smiles. “Dangerous game, Rose.”
“I like dangerous.” I reach up, brushing snow from his shoulder. “Especially when it’s you.”
Soren leans in slowly, then his lips meet mine, warmer than they should be considering the snowballs he took to the face. The kiss is deep and thorough, his body pressing mine against the tree.
“You’re freezing,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Warm me up, then.”
He laughs. “Your wish is my command.”
His hands slide under my coat, finding the bare skin at my waist. I gasp at the contrast between his warm fingers and the cold air.
“Better?” he asks.
“Getting there.”
Soren kisses me again, deeper this time. When we break apart, I’m breathless and flushed. Soren looks at me with those impossibly black eyes, something unreadable in their depths.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He brushes snow from my hair. “Just thinking about how things have changed.”
“How so?”
He steps back, giving me space. “When I first met you, I saw sustenance.” He smiles ruefully. “Now I see you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s possibly the most honest thing Soren’s ever said to me.
“Don’t look so worried,” he says, misinterpreting my silence. “I still want to eat you alive. Just differently now.”
I laugh. “You’re terrible.”
“So I’ve been told.” He offers his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you turn into a witch-sicle.”
By the time evening arrives, I’m warm and clean from a long shower, dressed in a soft cashmere sweater dress, the most comfortable thing I could conjure and still look somewhat fancy. Hank is perched on my shoulder, watching my every move as I apply a little makeup.
“What do you think, Hank? Too much?” I ask, studying my reflection.
“Ribbit,” he responds, which I take as approval.
There’s a knock at my door.
“It’s open,” I call.
Lucien enters, dressed in a dark suit that fits him perfectly. He takes in my appearance with a slow, appreciative gaze. “You look lovely.”
I smooth down the front of my dress self-consciously. “Thanks, so do you.”
He smiles. “Are you ready?”
“For what, exactly? You’ve been very mysterious about this whole thing.”
“You’ll see.” He offers his arm. “Shall we?”
I place Hank on my pillow, where he settles in for a nap.
I’ve gotten very comfortable with having a frog around, and Hank turned out to not be very slimy, really.
Then I take Lucien’s arm. He leads me through the quiet halls of the academy until we reach a small, private dining room tucked away in the east wing.
When he opens the door, my mouth drops open.
The room is transformed. Garlands of pine and holly drape from the walls, interspersed with twinkling fairy lights.
Candles cover every surface, casting a warm, golden glow over everything.
A long table in the center is set with fine china and crystal glasses, with a spread of delicious looking food that smells incredible.
And there, waiting beside the table, are Soren and Drake, both dressed for the occasion.
“What is all this?” I ask, stepping into the room.
“Yule dinner,” Lucien says simply. “I thought you might like a proper celebration.”
“You did all this? For me?”
Lucien’s eyes soften. “Of course.”
I’m at a loss for words, looking around at the beautiful decorations, the elaborate spread, the three men who have become so important to me in such a short time.
“Thank you,” I finally manage.
Lucien guides me to the table with a strong hand on my back, pulling out my chair. Soren pours wine into my glass, while Drake takes the seat across from me, smiling and ruddy-cheeked. Unbelievable.
“To Rose,” Lucien says, raising his glass. “For bringing something unexpected into our lives.”
“To Rose,” the others repeat, and my cheeks get hot.
The food is delicious. We have roast duck with crispy skin, potatoes that are golden and crisp, winter vegetables, and fresh bread still warm. Lucien tells us that these dishes were the traditional Yule foods of his childhood.
“The pudding was always my favorite,” he says. “My mother would hide a coin in it. Whoever found it would have good fortune in the coming year.”
After dinner, we move to a seating area near the fireplace. Lucien stokes the fire while Soren arranges a tray of chocolates and more wine. Drake sits beside me on a plush sofa, his arm around my shoulders.
“This is nice,” I say, looking around at the three of them.
We talk for hours, the conversation flowing easily.
Soren tells outrageous stories from centuries past, some of which I’m sure are exaggerated.
Lucien occasionally corrects historical inaccuracies, leading to good-natured arguments.
Drake is quieter, but he looks happier than I’ve ever seen him, the ever-present traces of melancholy gone.
I’m warm with wine and happiness, feeling more at home than I have in a very long time, when suddenly the mark on my arm burns ferociously. I nearly drop my glass at the unexpected feeling.
“Rose?” Drake notices my reaction. “Are you well?”
I rub at the mark, feeling it throb again. “Yep, absolutely. Just a few too many chocolates, I think. I’m just going to step out for some air real quick.” I immediately feel guilty about the lie.
Lucien frowns. “It’s freezing outside.”
“I won’t be long.” I stand, setting my wine glass aside. “I just need to clear my head a bit..”
Soren gives me a look. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
I don’t pretend not to understand. “I’ll be back soon.”
Drake stands. “I’ll come with you.”
I touch his arm. “I need to do this alone.”
He doesn’t look happy, but he nods. “Be careful.”
I grab my coat on the way out, pulling it tight around me as I step into the cold night. The mark throbs again, and knowing where to go, I cross the quad, pass the main building, and find myself in a small, secluded garden, surrounded by an iron fence, the gate wide open.
Ash is waiting, standing perfectly still in the center of the space. Snow dusts his dark hair and shoulders, as if he’s been here for some time. He turns as I approach.
“You came,” he says, sounding almost surprised.
“You called.” I stop a few feet away from him, suddenly uncertain.
“Yes.” He looks down for a moment, then back at me. “I didn’t know if you would answer.”
I cross my arms. “What do you want?”
“Our last conversation.” He frowns. “I was harsh.”
“You were an asshole,” I correct.
We stand in awkward silence for a moment. The garden is beautiful in the moonlight, with snow covering stone benches and the dormant flowerbeds.
“Why did you call me here, Ash?” I ask again.
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out something small. “I wanted to give you this.”
He holds out his hand, and in it lies a silver locket, old and tarnished but still beautiful. Engraved on its surface is an elegant letter ‘S’.
“What is this?” I ask, not reaching for it.
“It belonged to Abigail Smith. Your ancestor.” His voice is carefully neutral. “Sebastian—the man she betrayed, my ancestor—kept it.”
I stare at the locket, my heart pounding. “Why would he do that?”
“Why does anyone keep reminders of those who hurt them?” Ash’s eyes meet mine. “Because some connections transcend even the greatest pain.”
I slowly reach out, taking the locket from his palm. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“It belongs to your bloodline.” He pauses. “And I thought you might want something of your family’s past. Something tangible.”
I open the locket carefully. Inside is a tiny painted portrait of a woman with my eyes and a lock of dark hair.
“Abigail,” I whisper. I’d forgotten how much she’d looked like my mother.
Ash nods. “Sebastian couldn’t destroy it, even when he wanted to. Even when he hated her for what she’d done.”
I close the locket, curling my fingers around it. “Thank you.”
Ash steps back, his expression closing off again. “Happy Yule, Rose,” he says curtly, then turns and walks away, disappearing into the dark before I can respond.
The snow falls softly around me as I stand alone in the center of the garden, the locket clutched in my hand. It’s such an unexpected gesture, so unlike the Ash I have come to know.
I slip the chain over my head, feeling the locket settle, a reminder of where I come from, of connections that run deeper than I ever knew, then make my way back to the warmth and light of the three men waiting for me.