Christmas At Last

The moment the taxi crossed into Snowyvale territory, I knew I had made a terrible life choice. And by terrible, I meant catastrophic. The entire pack border looked like Christmas had exploded and no one bothered to clean it up. Strings of red and green lights wrapped around every tree trunk. Inflatable reindeer bobbed in the wind like drunk idiots. Someone had even put a Santa hat on one of the old marble wolf statues. A Santa hat. On a silent stone guardian that used to terrify pups. I pressed my forehead to the freezing window and groaned. “Why am I here?” I muttered. “Why did I agree to this? I should have stayed at school. I should have faked pneumonia. I should have faked death.” The driver ignored me. Smart man. The taxi rolled to a stop in front of the packhouse. I stared at it for a long moment, waiting for something to feel right. Waiting for something to feel like home. It didn’t. It felt too bright, too loud, too covered in cheap garland and plastic candy canes. Even the front porch was wrapped in twinkling lights. I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and dragged it through the snow. The wheels kept catching on icy patches, jerking my arm every two steps. I cursed at everything. The decorations. The snow. The cold. The packhouse. The universe. Mainly the universe. No one came out to greet me. Not even a grunt from a passing warrior. I got the hint. Perfect. Not even a fake welcome home for the Alpha’s daughter who had been gone for months. Inside the packhouse, warmth hit me immediately, carrying the scent of pine, cinnamon, and fresh cookies. I hated all of it. Christmas smells made my lungs ache. They reminded me of things I refused to think about. Memories I shoved so deep I hoped they would suffocate. I dragged my suitcase up the stairs. The place looked exactly the same and yet completely different. New furniture. New carpets. New photos on the wall. No photos of her. None of my mother. She had been erased, just like that. I stopped at the top of the stairs when a door creaked open at the end of the hall. A woman stepped out. Tall. Blonde. Wearing nothing but a robe that did not belong to her. My father’s robe. Her lipstick was smudged. Her hair was messy. She spotted me and froze for a second like a deer caught in headlights, then gave me a small awkward wave before scurrying down the stairs. I stood there, staring after her, my blood boiling so fast I felt heat rise under my skin. “Unbelievable,” I whispered. “I leave for a few months and he turns the packhouse into a motel.” My father’s bedroom door opened again. Alpha Kade stepped out, adjusting his shirt like that would somehow make the situation less disgusting. He saw me at the top of the stairs, and his expression shifted from surprise to annoyance. “Ayla,” he said flatly. “You’re early.” I blinked at him. “That is what you lead with. Not hi. Not welcome home. Now I am sorry you had to witness that disaster. Nope. I am early.” His jaw tightened. “This is not the tone you will use with me. We will talk later.” I held up a hand. “Hard pass. Talking to you ranks somewhere below getting stabbed.” He let out a long breath like he was already tired of me, which was honestly mutual at this point. “You were instructed to text Beta Ronan upon arrival.” I lifted my suitcase in one hand. “Why? So he can escort me like some kind of prisoner.” Before he could answer, he raised his voice slightly. “Ronan.” Heavy footsteps came from down the hall. I swore under my breath. Of course he was here. Of course he heard everything. Because life is cruel and the Moon Goddess hates me. Beta Ronan Thorne emerged from the shadows at the far end of the hallway, and my stomach did a weird, traitorous flip. He was taller than I remembered. Broader. Harder. His jaw was sharp enough to cut stone. His eyes were darker, more controlled, more unreadable than ever. He moved like a storm that had learned manners. Quiet. Lethal. Contained. He used to smile at me once. He used to tease me. He used to pull me into snowball fights and toss me into snowbanks until I screamed. That boy was gone. This man looked like he hadn’t smiled in months. “Beta,” my father said, voice shifting into Alpha mode. “You will escort Ayla during her stay. Everywhere. No exceptions.” Ronan nodded once. “Yes, Alpha.” His voice was low and rough, like gravel sliding over ice. He did not look at me, not even for a heartbeat. I hated that it bothered me. I hated that the memory of that almost kiss from last year hit me like a punch to the chest. The way he had leaned in. The way his breath had brushed my lips. The way he had pulled away at the last second, eyes full of something I still couldn’t name. I hated that too. My father clasped his hands behind his back. “Ayla, you will treat Ronan with respect. He is your Beta and your protector while you are here.” “Great,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Fantastic. Amazing. Can’t wait.” “Ayla,” he snapped. “Do not start.” I shrugged. “Then do not assign me a babysitter.” He took one step toward me, eyes narrowing. “You are not a child. You are a responsibility.” That word hit me like a slap. Responsibility. Not daughter. Not family. Responsibility. My throat tightened, but I refused to show it. I gave him a sharp, cold smile. “Thanks for the warm welcome.” I turned and stomped down the hall toward my old bedroom, suitcase thumping against each step. Ronan did not follow, which surprised me. Maybe the escort duty did not start until my father snapped his fingers. My room was exactly how I left it. Posters on the walls. Clothes half stuffed into drawers. A cracked window I never fixed. I closed the door behind me, tossed my suitcase in the corner, and sat on the edge of my bed. The silence pressed against me. Heavy. Familiar. Wrong. Nothing felt like home. Nothing felt safe. Nothing felt like it used to. And the worst part. The very worst part. I had no idea if I even wanted it to. I fell back on my bed and finally screamed into my pillow. A loud, frustrated, months-of-suppressed-rage scream. My throat burned. My eyes stung. Not with tears. I refused tears. I did not cry over things I could not fix. Downstairs, I heard footsteps. Ronan’s slow, steady pace. The kind of walk he had when he was bracing for a fight or preparing for an impossible order. He paused outside my door. He didn’t knock. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, his presence radiating through the wood like heat. I hated that I could feel him. I hated that my wolf reacted, stretching under my skin for the first time in years. I closed my eyes and exhaled hard. Snowyvale had pulled me back. Christmas had sunk its claws into the pack again. My father was the same as ever. And Ronan. Ronan was a problem I wasn’t ready to face. I rolled over and buried my face into the pillow again. “Perfect,” I whispered. “Just perfect.”