Christmas At Last

CHAPTER 4

I had been home less than twenty-four hours and already felt like a ghost walking through someone else’s life. Snowyvale was supposed to feel familiar. Safe. But every hallway echoed wrong. Every room smelled wrong. Every shadow carried memories I was not ready to face.

Especially this one.

I stopped outside my mother’s old bedroom door, staring at the faded wooden frame. My hand hovered above the knob. I had not stepped inside her room in years. I used to sneak in at night when I was younger, curl up on her old blanket, and pretend she would walk through the door humming. Pretend she would sit beside me and brush my hair and tell me everything would be fine.

Everything had stopped being fine a long time ago.

I pushed the door open.

The scent hit me instantly. Lavender. Vanilla. A tiny hint of warm cedar. The room had been cleaned, but the smell clung to every corner. It punched the air from my lungs. The bed was made exactly how she used to make it. Pillows fluffed. Quilt tucked tight. Her old mirror leaned against the far wall, still draped in the soft white scarf she loved.

Nothing had been moved. Nothing had been touched. It was like walking into a memory frozen in time.

My chest tightened until it hurt. I stepped inside, moving carefully like the floor might break under me. I ran my fingers over the edge of her dresser. The wood was cool beneath my fingertips. My mother’s jewelry box still sat on top of it, closed. I brushed a speck of dust away and swallowed hard.

It should not hurt like this. I should be stronger by now. It had been years. Why did it still feel like yesterday?

“You should not be in here.”

I jumped. Ronan’s voice came from the doorway, deep and steady, the way it always was. He leaned one shoulder against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, eyes shadowed.

“What are you doing,” I snapped. “Following me everywhere?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation.

I hated that he did not even pretend otherwise.

I looked away quickly, blinking hard. “I am fine.”

“You do not look fine.”

“I am fine,” I repeated, sharper.

Ronan stepped inside slowly, careful with every movement. “You smell like you are about to cry.”

I spun on him. “Do not say that.”

“It is true.”

“Do not say it anyway.”

He stared at me, calm and steady, which somehow irritated me more. “Ayla, you do not have to be strong in here. Not with this.”

I shook my head. “Do not pretend you understand.”

Silence stretched between us. Heavy. Suffocating. His eyes softened a fraction. “I do understand loss.”

Wrong thing to say.

Very wrong.

I turned away from him, heart pounding, and forced myself to breathe. “Do not bring that up.”

He hesitated. “I did not mean anything by it.”

“Your father dying is not the same as this,” I said. “You had him for twenty one years. I had her for ten.”

Ronan said nothing. He just stood there, letting the truth sink into the space between us.

I ran my hand along the quilt on the bed. My throat felt tight. “This room makes everything feel real again. I do not want it to feel real.”

He shifted closer, but stayed a respectful distance away. “Then you should step out.”

I nodded, quick and sharp. “Good idea.”

I brushed past him and paused in the doorway, my pulse loud in my ears. The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Do you ever regret that night?”

He froze. Completely.

I did not turn around. I stared down the hall instead, remembering the cold winter air, the snow falling around us, the way he had leaned in so slowly I thought my heart would punch out of my chest. The way our breaths mingled. The way I felt something deep in my bones. The way he pulled away at the last second.

“I mean,” I said, swallowing hard, “that almost kiss. The one where you pretended nothing happened.”

Ronan did not answer at first. Seconds stretched out painfully. Finally, he said, “Ayla. That night was complicated.”

“Complicated,” I repeated bitterly. “That is your excuse?”

His jaw tightened. “My father died two days later. Everything shattered.”

“So you ran from me because of that?”

He exhaled slowly. “I did not run from you.”

“Yes, you did.”

He winced, just slightly. “It was not the right time.”

“That is not an answer.”

He stepped forward. “I was trying to protect both of us.”

I laughed without humor. “By rejecting me? Great job.”

“Ayla, I never rejected you.”

“You avoided me for months. You stopped talking to me. You shut everyone out. Do not act like it did not happen.”

Ronan stared at me, eyes burning with something I could not name. “I was grieving.”

“So was I,” I whispered.

His expression faltered. Something in him cracked, just for a moment. He opened his mouth like he wanted to explain himself, but I shook my head.

“I do not want to hear it.”

“Ayla,” he murmured.

“No.” I backed away. “You do not get to talk to me about feelings when you buried yours in concrete.”

He looked like I had punched him. Good. He deserved to feel something.

I stormed out of the room, moving fast down the hall, fury burning through my veins. Memories swarmed me. My mother laughing. My father holding her. Snowy nights by the fire. All gone. All destroyed. My father now spent his mornings letting women sneak out of his room like ghosts.

Right on cue, another woman stepped out of his bedroom door at the end of the hall. A brunette this time. She froze mid-step when she saw me, clutching her jacket like a shield.

“Oh,” she whispered. “I am so sorry. I did not know you were back.”

“Get out of my house,” I said, voice shaking.

She nodded quickly and rushed down the stairs.

Rage exploded in my chest, hot and sharp. My wolf clawed right beneath my skin, pushing against my ribs, begging to break free. My vision blurred at the edges. My breath came out rough. My hands trembled.

“Ayla,” Ronan said from behind me. “You need to breathe.”

“Do not tell me to breathe.”

“You are close to shifting.”

“Good.”

“Ayla, stop.”

I turned on him, every emotion I had ever shoved down roaring to the surface. “He is disrespecting her memory. My mother died here. On Christmas. And he brings women into that room like she never existed. How am I supposed to be calm?”

Ronan stepped closer. “I know you are angry. But shifting in the house is not safe. You need to calm down.”

“I cannot calm down.”

“Ayla, look at me.”

“No.”

“Ayla.”

His voice hit something inside me. Something ancient. Something protective. Something steady. And I hated it. I hated that my wolf reacted instantly.

But I was past listening.

I spun and bolted down the stairs, ignoring Ronan’s voice calling after me. My wolf surged fully, tearing at the walls inside my chest. My hands shook violently. My senses sharpened. The cold air rushed against my skin the second I stepped outside.

Then I ran.

The moment my feet hit the snow, my wolf broke from my skin in a burst of power and light. My bones shifted. My muscles stretched. My vision sharpened. In moments, I stood on four legs, breath hot in the cold air.

My fur was silver streaked with white. My mother’s colors.

I took off into the woods, snow exploding under my paws, the wind slicing past me like freedom. Trees blurred as I ran faster and faster, letting the fury burn through me like fire. The world narrowed into speed and instinct and raw emotion.

No Christmas.

No packhouse.

No father.

Just the run.

Behind me, another presence surged through the trees. Heavy paws hit the ground in a steady, controlled rhythm. A deep growl rolled through the forest.

Ronan.

His wolf’s scent cut through the cold. Pine. Storms. Iron. He was larger than most wolves, built for fighting, for protecting. His black fur streaked beside me as he kept pace easily.

He did not try to stop me. He did not try to pull ahead. He simply followed, watching my path, circling slightly whenever I ran too close to the border line.

Guarding me.

Even when I did not want him to.

I snapped at him once, a warning. He answered with a low, steady rumble that somehow calmed my wolf instead of provoking her.

I ran harder.

He kept up. Always within reach. Always ready.

Even when I did not want him.

Even when I hated needing him.

Even when everything inside me felt broken.

Ronan stayed with me. Silent. Steady. Unmoving from his post. My unwanted guardian in the snow.

And I hated how safe his presence made my wolf feel.