Finding Love with the Alpha King at Christmas

Chapter 6

Emma

I’d always bounced back fast.

In the group homes, entire dorms went down with the flu, and I’d be the annoying healthy kid passing tissues around. Cuts closed, bruises faded, fevers skipped me like I wasn’t worth the effort.

Apparently flipping in an SUV didn’t change that.

By the second day, the headache had faded to a dull echo. The worst bruises already blurred at the edges. Sitting up still hurt, but not like knives anymore.

“This rate of recovery is… unusual,” Doctor Kwan said, tapping her tablet. “Even for someone young and otherwise healthy.”

“Unusual how?” I asked. “Unusual I’m secretly dying, or unusual fun party trick?”

She huffed. “Unusual interesting. I’m a werewolf, but I trained in a human medical school. I know what human tissue usually does. You’re ahead of schedule.”

“Story of my life,” I muttered when she left. Another thing about me that didn’t fit anywhere.

And it was a special kind of depressing knowing that two weeks before Christmas, I was supposed to be with my boyfriend and his perfect family—and instead I was in a not-quite-human clinic, wearing a hospital gown and socks with rubber dots.

Well. Maybe not completely alone.

Every time I woke up, Lucian was there.

Sometimes asleep in the chair, long legs stretched out, face softer in sleep. Sometimes working on a laptop, fingers moving quietly. Sometimes just watching, studying me with that steady, assessing gaze.

Every time our eyes met, my breath tripped.

Objectively: the dark, brooding stranger claiming I was his Mate was hot. Subjectively: something deep inside me kept leaning toward him, like there was an invisible string between us that relaxed when he was near and pulled taut when he wasn’t.

I didn’t trust that feeling. But I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.

The second day, after Kwan cleared me for “minimal exertion,” he appeared with a wheelchair.

“Fresh air,” he said. “Doctor’s orders.”

He wheeled me out into the courtyard, blanket over my legs, the breath of winter hitting my face. Snow rested heavily on dark branches. Wards shimmered faintly at the edge of the trees. We did slow laps in silence, the crunch of tires and the distant sounds of the compound filling the gaps.

The third day, the chair disappeared.

“I can walk,” I told him as he offered an arm.

“You can limp,” he corrected. “Let me help.”

I took his arm, because my ribs still hated me, and let him guide me down the hallway and back. Every step tugged at stitches and bruises, but I stayed upright. His body was warm against my side. The stupid string inside me went a little looser.

On the fourth day, I could walk on my own if I moved slowly enough. I knew I didn’t really need his arm anymore, but for no good reason I still pretended I did, leaning on him a bit more than necessary.

It was tactical, I told myself. Definitely not because I liked the contact.

On the fifth morning, Doctor Kwan came in smiling.

“Concussion’s resolved,” she said. “No fractures, no internal damage, soft tissue healing well. If you were one of us, I’d have kicked you out yesterday. As it is… you can leave the infirmary.”

Relief slammed into a wall of dread.

Leave and go where?

My car was twisted metal in a ditch. My apartment was Brandon’s, and I wasn’t going back there. I didn’t have parents or a childhood bedroom waiting for me. My lungs tightened; my breaths started coming too shallow and too fast.

Before I could tip fully into panic, Lucian spoke.

“I’ve prepared a room for you,” he said from his usual chair. “In the palace.”

I blinked. “What?”

“A guest suite,” he clarified. “You can stay there as long as you need, until you decide what you want to do next.”

My reflex was to refuse. Move into the werewolf king’s castle? With the man who’d just told me I was his fated Mate? Absolutely not.

But the reality was brutal: no car, no safe apartment. I had nothing lined up except this offer.

“What other choice do you have?” a tired voice inside me asked.

“Um.” My fingers clenched in the blanket. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head as if we’d just agreed on a meeting time. “I’ll wait outside while you change.”

Only then did I register the gown and the fact that my old clothes had probably been cut off me and burned.

I spotted the chair in the corner.

On it, a neat pile of clothes: dark jeans, a soft gray sweater, thick socks, a deep green coat, underwear, and boots. I picked up the jeans. My size. Sweater—my size. Bra—also perfect.

Werewolves and their freakish senses. Right.

I dressed slowly, savoring the feeling of real clothes against my skin. Everything fit like it had been made for me. It probably had. The thought was both unsettling and weirdly comforting.

When I stepped into the hallway, Lucian straightened.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

I nodded, then added, “And… thanks. For the clothes.”

“They suit you,” he said simply. Something warm flickered in his eyes and was gone.

Outside the infirmary, a sleek silver SUV waited, engine quietly idling, dusted with frost. It made my old one look like a toy. He opened the passenger door, steadying me as I climbed in. My ribs twinged; I tried not to wince.

The drive was short—ten, maybe fifteen minutes—but long enough for heat to seep into my bones. Outside, the compound unrolled: pines heavy with snow, low stone buildings with wreaths on their doors, strings of lights between lampposts. Bundled figures paused to watch us pass, some lifting a hand in greeting.

Then the palace came into view, and everything inside me went quiet.

Towers and wings of dark stone rose out of the snow, windows glowing golden. Icicles hung from carved balconies like glass daggers. Garlands framed massive front steps and a pair of huge wooden doors.

“Wow,” I breathed.

He parked near a side entrance instead of the main stairs. The moment we stepped inside, warmth wrapped around me—and Christmas hit from every direction.

Evergreen garlands climbed stone walls. Ribbons and twinkle lights traced stair rails. Bowls of ornaments sat on tables. Candles flickered, smelling faintly of pine and cinnamon. Somewhere nearby, someone hummed a carol under their breath.

“So,” Lucian said quietly, “this is my home.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said, and I meant it.

“Thank you.” A beat. “If you like, I can show you around after you settle.”

Being toured through a real-life palace by a werewolf king had not been on my life plan. But this place was basically Christmas on steroids, and there was a part of me—small, stubborn, foster-kid part—that had dreamed of something like this forever.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d like that.”

We climbed.

Apparently elevators weren’t a thing wolves thought about. By the sixth floor, my legs shook and my lungs burned. I stopped, one hand on the rail.

He glanced over, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “Werewolves have incredible stamina,” he said. “No one thought to install elevators. No humans were meant to live here.”

“Never?” I asked, still catching my breath.

“You’re the first.”

Something about that landed heavy and strange.

On the seventh floor, he stopped at a carved wooden door.

“My rooms are down there,” he said, nodding toward the end of the hall. “If you need anything, you can come find me.”

He opened the door.

The guest room looked like a fairy tale threw up in the best way. High ceiling, canopy bed draped in soft white, a fire already crackling in the stone fireplace. A sitting area with a sofa and armchairs, lots of pillows in winter colors. A smaller Christmas tree stood by the window, lights reflecting in the glass.

I turned in a slow circle. “This is… a guest room?”

“One of them,” he said. “There are more clothes in the wardrobe. If something doesn’t fit, we’ll fix it.”

Of course they would.

“Do you still want that tour?” he asked. “If you’re tired, we can wait.”

“I’m tired,” I admitted. “But if I stay in here alone, I’m going to climb the walls. Let’s go.”

He offered his arm again. I took it.

We walked.

Staff paused whenever we passed. Some bowed their heads. Some said, “Alpha.” He answered each greeting with a nod or a murmur, no arrogance, just this quiet certainty that this was his place and these were his people. The decorations didn’t stop. Holly tucked into frames. Little candles on tables. Strands of stars hanging in windows.

When we stepped into the main living room, I actually stopped.

The tree there was enormous, easily three times my height, branches heavy with ornaments and ribbon. The huge stone fireplace glowed, flames licking up toward a carved mantel. People lounged in chairs, talking, laughing; others moved through with mugs of something steaming.

“It’s really beautiful in here,” I said.

“Thank you,” Lucian replied. “We love Christmas. It’s one of the few human holidays we can celebrate together, and be ourselves.”

I thought of my little fake tree in our old apartment, the bags of ornaments sitting in a wrecked car, Brandon rolling his eyes and calling it childish.

I looked up at the massive tree, at the wolves who had made space for beauty in the middle of winter and duty.

Maybe I didn’t know what “home” was yet.

But standing there in a werewolf palace glowing with Christmas lights, I had a feeling I was finally somewhere I might be allowed to find out.