His Christmas Mate

Chapter 20

_Aria’s POV_

The next day Lucien and I had breakfast together.

The dining room smelled of coffee and warm bread. Sunlight came in through the tall windows and made the dust in the air look like soft gold. Lucien sat across from me with that calm smile he used when he wanted everything to seem alright. He watched me as I stirred my tea with my fork. My hands were still a little shaky but the food tasted better than it had the day before.

“You look like you’re thinking of a thousand wrong things,” Lucien said while teasing me. His voice was low and easy. “Tell me one and I’ll chase it away.”

I looked up and tried to smile. “I’m thinking about whether bread tastes different when you are an Alpha’s guest.”

He laughed and the sound warmed the air. “Not at all. It tastes the same. Unless the bread is jealous of the butter.”

I rolled my eyes. He reached across and nudged my foot with his under the table. The small touch made my chest jump in a way I could not explain. He saw it and his smile widened.

“You are nervous,” he said softly. “You do not need to be. Isolde will help us. Everything will be fine.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “You sleep well in a mansion with walls that do not whisper.”

“That was rude,” he teased back. “The walls are quite polite. They only whisper on demand.”

We both laughed and for a few minutes the room felt light. His teasing made the heavy knot in my stomach loosen. He knew how to make me blink away the worry for a moment. He watched me like he wanted to memorize my face when I was still.

Then Dylan came in. His stride was quick and formal. He bowed to Lucien first and then gave me a polite nod.

“The seer has arrived,” he said. “Isolde is waiting in the main hall.”

My heart beat fast again. This felt like the moment that would change everything.

Lucien stood smoothly. He tucked his napkin under his plate and offered me his arm with a small smile. “Shall we?” he asked.

I took his arm. My fingers brushed his sleeve. The contact felt warm and steady and it helped the nervousness to sit down a little. We walked through the halls together. People gave nods and small smiles as we passed. I felt watched but not unwelcome. Lucien led the way with calm steps and a look that made me feel safe because he seemed sure of the path.

Isolde sat in the main hall on a carved wooden chair. When I saw her, I was surprised. She was small and bent but her presence filled the room. Her hair was more grey than white and it fell in tangled ropes. She wore heavy and plain clothes in dark shades, not the fine robes I had imagined for a seer. Around her neck hung a chain with a small carved stone. Her hands looked worn and stiff as if life had made them strong over many long years.

She looked at me with eyes like old glass. They were very clear and seemed to look right through me.

“Oh,” she said and the word felt like a soft wind. “So she is the human girl.”

Her voice was not like Lucien’s. It had a rough edge and a small amusement. I felt a strange chill when she said it. It was not the cold kind; it was the type of chill that makes you suddenly very awake.

Lucien bowed and spoke to her with a careful respect. “Isolde, thank you for coming. I know that your time is valuable.”

She offered him a small smile that did not touch her eyes. Then she looked at me again as if she were reading the lines of a letter slowly. “I can see your scent,” she said simply. “And your fear.”

I felt my face grow hot. “I’m… trying to be brave,” I said.

Isolde’s thin lips moved into what might have been pity or interest. “Bravery is not a cloak,” she said. “It is a bone. You will need both bone and breath.”

Lucien explained to me that Isolde had been called because she could read old marks and old lines of power. He said she would guide the ritual at the Selene temple and prepare everything we needed. He kept his words simple and soft.

Isolde stood slowly and shuffled closer. Up close I could smell herbs and woodsmoke on her clothes. She reached a gnarled hand toward my cheek and did not touch me, only hovered a thumb above my skin for a second.

“You have a thread around you,” she said. “It binds you to things you do not know. The moon will test you.” Her voice was plain and certain. “We must call Selene. She is old but she hears.”

Lucien nodded and squeezed my hand just once. “The sooner, the better,” he said. “Tomorrow night is a full moon. We should do it then.”

Isolde’s eyes flicked to him for a bare moment and something like a shadow crossed her face. Then she said, “We will need your hair for preparation.”

I blinked. “My hair?”

She nodded. “A piece. To make the potion that opens the gate.”

I felt very small at that moment. I thought they would ask for a few short strands; something easy. Lucien leaned closer and said with a soft smile, “Just a bit. It will grow back.”

He sounded gentle and the words should have calmed me, but his tone also made me think he expected a little more. I hesitated. I felt very attached to my hair. It had been long and a part of who I was. To cut it felt like cutting a small memory away.

“Please,” Isolde said, in a voice softer than before but still steady. “Bring a length. The potion drinks truth and memory. It needs more than a thread.”

Her hands moved and she produced a pair of old scissors from her bag. They were heavy and clean. When she opened them, they made a small metallic sound that felt sharp in the quiet hall.

Lucien held my hand and smiled. He said, “It will be fine. We do this for your safety. For your life here.”

I sat down on the chair beside Isolde, feeling like a child about to be given a remedy. The scissors pressed lightly at the back of my head. Isolde took a long length first. I felt the weight lift from my shoulders and fall to the floor in a soft hiss. Then she took another long piece. My hair began to look short and different. My fingers found my neck where hair usually hid and the skin felt exposed.

A part of me wanted to scream. A part of me wanted to run. But Lucien’s grip on my hand was warm and steady and the room smelled of bread and smoke and something like danger.

Isolde folded the hair and slid it into a clear bag. She sealed it carefully and put it inside her bag like a small treasure. Then she said in the old quiet voice, “Prepare yourself. Tomorrow night will be heavy. You are a human and this will take a lot from you. Be strong.”

Lucien thanked her and walked her to the door. He bowed and walked slowly, keeping his voice soft and polite. I watched them go outside into the cold light. Isolde moved like a woman who had been counting many long things and Lucien walked so his coat did not brush hers too closely.

When the door closed a hollow feeling sat in my chest. The bag of my hair, small and sealed, felt like proof that I had given something important. I ran my fingers over the short length at my shoulders and tried to keep calm.

Lucien came back inside and turned to me. “All done,” he said. “Now rest. I will prepare the place and the offerings. Try to eat and sleep. Tomorrow night will change everything.”

I wanted to tell him I was uneasy. I wanted to ask why Isolde had looked at him like that for a second. I wanted to ask why the hair had been more than a few strands. But the words stuck in my throat like cold lumps.

Instead, I nodded and let him leave. The house felt large and full of rooms that kept secrets. I sat very still and listened to my own breath.

Tomorrow would bring the ritual and the full moon. I had given my hair. I had promised to be brave. I had made a choice and I would become one of them soon.

But still, a small cold spark of doubt lay under my ribs and it would not go out.