Howl at Christmas

Chapter Ten: Shadows at the Door

Clara barely slept.

Lucas insisted he would keep watch, but even after he quietly stepped outside—closing the door with that careful, almost soundless way of his—her heartbeat refused to settle. She lay on the couch with a blanket pulled to her chin, staring into the dim, flickering firelight. Every small pop of the logs made her tense. Every creak in the wood sounded like footsteps. Every gust of wind felt like a warning.

She knew she should rest. But how could she sleep when something had circled the cabin? When Lucas spoke about boundaries and packs and enemies like they were as real as the snow outside?

As much as she wanted to pretend she could handle this alone, a small part of her—one she wasn’t ready to admit existed—kept listening for Lucas’s footsteps. For the grounding weight of his presence.

Hours passed.

Finally, Clara pushed the blanket off and walked to the window, peeking through the curtain. Her breath hitched.

Lucas stood in the snow a few feet away from the porch, rigid and unmoving like a stone pillar. The moonlight washed over him, highlighting the sharp cut of his shoulders and the hard line of his jaw. His eyes—weirdly bright even in the dark—scanned the forest like he was reading something she couldn’t.

He didn’t shiver. Didn’t shift his weight. He could’ve been carved from frost and shadows.

Something twisted in her chest—a mix of fear and awe.

He wasn’t normal. She knew that now. Even if he refused to give her the full truth, she could see it in the way he moved, the way he listened, the way he reacted to the world. Clara wasn’t clueless.

And still… she didn’t feel unsafe with him.

She felt safer because he was there.

That realization made her step back from the window, heart tightening.

She wasn’t supposed to get tangled like this. Not with some mysterious, brooding man who barely spoke. Not when the world outside the cabin felt like it was holding its breath. But she couldn’t stop noticing things—how careful he was with her even when he was furious, how he always positioned himself between her and any sound outside, how his voice softened when she was upset even if he didn’t want it to.

Tiny sparks. Unwanted but real.

Clara rubbed her hands over her face. “I need coffee,” she muttered.

She brewed a pot, the familiar routine grounding her. When it finished, she poured a steaming cup and carried it to the door. After a moment of hesitation, she cracked it open.

A blast of cold rolled in.

Lucas didn’t turn, but his head tilted slightly—he’d heard her the moment the hinge whispered.

“You should be sleeping,” he said.

“I could say the same about you,” Clara replied, stepping out with the mug between her palms.

He glanced at the cup, then at her. “It’s freezing.”

“It’s coffee, Lucas.”

“You don’t have a coat.”

She rolled her eyes and took one step closer. “I’m not staying out long.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he shifted his stance—not moving toward her, but subtly angling his body so she was behind him, sheltered from the wind.

She pretended not to notice the protective instinct. He pretended not to notice her standing close enough to see the faint glow in his eyes.

Clara held out the mug. “Here.”

He stared at it like she’d offered him a weapon instead of caffeine. After a moment, he reached out—very slowly—and took the cup from her. Their fingers brushed.

Just a light touch.

Barely anything.

But Clara felt it all the way up her arm.

Lucas looked away quickly, like the contact startled him too. He took a sip, the steam rising between them.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

The snow. The trees. The night.

Only the two of them standing in the glow of the cabin light, pretending that the world wasn’t shifting beneath their feet.

Clara spoke first, keeping her voice low. “Lucas… that thing that howled earlier—do you think it’ll come back?”

He inhaled slowly through his nose. “It might.”

“Should we leave?”

“No.”

She blinked. “That was very fast.”

“This cabin is safer than being exposed on the road. And I know these woods.” He hesitated. “You don’t.”

She bristled. “I’m not useless.”

“I never said you were.” He glanced at her. “But I can protect you better here.”

The words made her chest tighten for reasons she didn’t want to unpack.

She leaned against the porch railing beside him, staring at the forest. “Why would something follow you?”

Lucas’s jaw clenched, muscles tightening just slightly.

“It’s complicated.”

“Everything with you is complicated,” Clara said softly.

He didn’t deny it.

Before she could push more, Lucas stiffened—completely, instantly, like a predator catching a scent. His nostrils flared. His eyes sharpened.

Clara froze.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He handed the mug back to her. “Inside.”

“Lucas—”

“Now.”

His voice was low, deep, and so commandingly calm that her legs moved before her brain caught up. She stepped inside the cabin, heart racing. Lucas followed, shutting the door quietly but firmly.

He didn’t go to the window.

He didn’t grab a weapon.

He just stood there for a moment, listening.

Clara held her breath.

Then she heard it too.

A soft scrape.

Snow shifting under weight.

Right outside the cabin.

Lucas’s voice cut the air. “Stay behind me.”

She obeyed without argument.

He moved closer to the door, shoulders rolling back, posture widening—not human, not normal, something more instinctive. More primal.

Clara felt heat radiating from him, like his body was preparing for something her mind didn’t understand.

The scrape came again.

Then a low growl.

Clara’s lungs stalled.

Lucas glanced back at her—eyes glowing faintly gold. Not a trick of the light. Not imagination.

Something inside him wasn’t hidden anymore.

“It won’t get in,” he said quietly. “Not while I’m here.”

Before she could respond, something slammed into the front steps—hard enough to shake snow from the roof. Clara yelped, stumbling back, but Lucas didn’t flinch.

The growl deepened into a snarl. Wood creaked. Claws—actual claws—raked down the porch rail.

A wild, terrifying sound tore through the night.

Clara pressed a hand to her mouth.

Lucas turned his head slightly. “Clara. Look at me.”

She forced her eyes away from the door.

His voice softened just a fraction. “You’re safe.”

Something crashed against the door again.

Lucas inhaled, calm and steady, like he was counting down from a number only he knew. His hands curled into fists.

“Stay here,” he said.

And then he did something she wasn’t prepared for.

He opened the door.

The cold hit first, then the sound—brutal, sharp, animalistic. Clara grabbed the wall, fear choking her throat.

Lucas stepped onto the porch.

His shoulders squared. His back straightened. His head turned with precision that wasn’t human reflex. His body hummed with danger, every muscle tight, ready.

Clara peeked around the edge of the doorframe.

And froze.

A massive wolf—bigger than any wild wolf should be—stood at the edge of the trees, its fur black as midnight. Its eyes glowed red in the darkness, locked on Lucas like it recognized him.

It snarled.

Lucas growled back.

Not human. Not fake.

A real, deep, rumbling growl.

The kind only an apex predator could make.

The wolf lunged.

Clara screamed—

Lucas moved faster than her eyes could follow.

One moment he was on the porch.

The next he was in the snow, slamming into the creature with a force that echoed through the forest. The two bodies collided in a whirlwind of snarls, snow, claws, and strength.

Clara stumbled backward, unable to move, unable to look away.

Because what she saw wasn’t possible.

Lucas wasn’t shifting—not fully.

But his body changed, rippling with impossible energy. His arms braced like they had more strength than any man possessed. His growls were not human at all. His eyes burned gold as he shoved the monstrous wolf back, defending the cabin with a ferocity that sent snow exploding around them.

“Lucas!” Clara cried.

He didn’t look at her.

Didn’t speak.

He fought like something ancient, dangerous, and wild. Like something that belonged to the forest and the moon and the rules she didn’t understand.

The black wolf snapped its jaws, ripping into Lucas’s sleeve. He shoved it off, throwing it several feet across the snow with a strength that would’ve been impossible for any human.

The creature recovered, growled once more—

Then fled into the trees, swallowed by the darkness it came from.

Lucas stood there panting, steam rising off him in the freezing air. His sleeve was torn, blood staining the snow.

Clara rushed outside. “Lucas! Are you—”

He turned sharply, eyes still glowing.

“Don’t come closer.”

She froze. “You’re hurt—”

“Clara,” he growled—not angrily, but desperately, like he was holding something back. “Please. Stay where you are.”

She didn’t move.

For a long moment, they stared at each other across the snow. His chest heaved. His fists trembled. The wildness inside him flickered like a flame fighting for control.

Then, slowly… carefully… the glow faded from his eyes.

His breath steadied.

His posture softened.

He was Lucas again.

But not the same one.

Not anymore.

Clara stepped closer. “Lucas… what are you?”

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, the truth sat heavy in his gaze.

“I think,” he whispered, “you already know.”