Christmas At Last

CHAPTER 3

The pack meeting hall looked like someone let a Christmas cult decorate it while blindfolded. Ribbons everywhere. Garland draped across the rafters. A giant fake tree stood in the corner, blinking aggressively like it wanted to fight me. I crossed my arms and stared at it, wondering how much trouble I would be in if I knocked it over.

Probably a lot. Maybe worth it.

Ronan walked two steps behind me, silent as always, but somehow still managing to radiate judgment. I could feel it without even looking at him. That special flavor of Ronan Thorne judgment that felt like a cold bucket of water down my spine.

The rest of the pack filled the hall quickly, chatting, laughing, greeting each other with holiday cheer. Someone shoved a tray of gingerbread cookies at me, and I growled softly until they backed away.

I hated this. All of it. Every scent. Every sound. Every fake smile. Being home again felt like wearing clothes that no longer fit.

My father stood at the front, speaking to the council members while pretending I was invisible. Good. The feeling was mutual.

A voice at my side suddenly shrieked, “Ayla. Wonderful. You made it.”

I turned just in time to see Mrs. Harrow, the head of the Christmas committee, beaming at me like I was her long-lost niece.

“I need you,” she said, grabbing my wrist with alarming enthusiasm. “Come with me. You can help plan the parade this year.”

“The what now,” I said, trying to yank my hand free.

“The parade,” she repeated. “You must have ideas. Creative input. Fresh energy.”

“I have an idea,” I said, deadpan. “Cancel it.”

The entire group went silent.

Someone dropped a pen.

One of the elders actually gasped.

Mrs. Harrow clutched her chest like I had stabbed her.

“You cannot cancel the parade,” she whispered, horrified. “It is Snowyvale tradition.”

“Exactly,” I said. “It is outdated and unnecessary.”

Ronan, of course, was standing in the corner watching everything like he was guarding a prisoner of war. His face was unreadable, but I knew him well enough to imagine the internal sigh he was definitely having.

Mrs. Harrow squeaked, “Alpha Kade, did you hear what your daughter said?”

My father did not look up from his conversation. “I heard her. Continue.”

“Continue,” I repeated. “Wow. Thanks for the support, Father.”

The committee surrounded me with clipboards and fake smiles so big they looked painful.

“Ayla, sweetie,” one woman said. “We really need youth perspective.”

“Here is my perspective,” I said. “Parades are terrible.”

Gasps again. Honestly, it was fun.

Mrs. Harrow tried to regain control. “Perhaps we can start with simple questions. Color schemes. Float design. Music selection. The parade theme is Winter Magic. Do you have thoughts on that?”

“Yes,” I said. “Burn it.”

A chorus of horrified whispers burst around me.

Ronan shifted against the wall, arms crossing over his chest, eyes locked on me with that silent, maddening intensity. He did not even try to hide that he was listening.

Mrs. Harrow took a deep breath that sounded like it hurt. “Maybe we should sit and discuss calmly.”

“Or,” I said, “you could let me leave.”

“No,” Ronan said from across the room.

I whipped my head toward him. “I did not ask you.”

“You were planning to sneak out,” he said.

“How would you know?”

“You always sneak out.”

I bristled. “Maybe you should stop telling me what I always do.”

“Then stop doing it,” he replied.

Mrs. Harrow blinked between us, confused. “Children, please. Focus.”

“I am not a child,” I snapped.

“That is debatable,” Ronan muttered under his breath.

I glared at him so hard my vision blurred. “Move from the door.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I will kick you if you do not.”

“You can try.”

Heat flashed up my spine. He was doing this on purpose. He wanted me angry. He wanted me off balance. Maybe he liked watching me get riled up. Maybe it made him feel something through that wall of emotionless stone he lived behind.

“You are infuriating,” I said.

“You have mentioned that.”

I was two seconds away from actually attempting violence when my phone buzzed loudly in my pocket. Saved by the ringtone of doom. Mrs. Harrow pointed toward the entrance. “No phones in the meeting hall. Take it outside.”

“Gladly,” I said, stepping toward the door.

Except Ronan did too.

I stopped short. “You do not need to follow me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you do not.”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever get tired of being wrong?”

“No.”

I huffed and shoved past him out into the cold, stepping into the snow while answering the call.

“Hello,” I said, still glaring at Ronan through the doorway.

A familiar voice laughed softly. “Hey, troublemaker.”

My stomach sank. “Evan?”

“Who else would call you during pack hours? You always skip pack meetings.”

“Maybe I am being responsible,” I said.

He snorted loudly. “Yeah, right. Tell me. Did you ruin Christmas yet?”

My eyes flicked to Ronan immediately. He stood just outside the hall, arms still crossed, eyes locked on me like I was a security threat. He could definitely hear Evan. Wolves had unfair hearing. Great. Just what I needed.

“I only just got home,” I told Evan. “Give me time. Ruining Christmas is an art.”

“I know,” he said. “I also know you. You probably threatened someone already, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “I highly doubt you know me that well.”

His voice dropped lower. “I know you better than you think.”

I froze. My grip tightened on the phone. I could feel Ronan watching every second of this conversation. From the corner of my eye, I saw his jaw flex. His shoulders went tight. He had that look. The one he got when someone touched a nerve he did not admit he had.

Jealousy.

Or something close enough it might as well have been.

I swallowed. “Why are you calling, Evan?”

“To check in,” he said. “And because I miss you. You were actually fun at school. Do you think I would let you disappear back to your gloomy little town without checking if it was eating you alive yet?”

I glanced at Ronan again. His eyes narrowed. He looked uncomfortable. Angry. Or both.

“I am fine,” I said quickly. “Snowyvale has not eaten me. Yet.”

“Liar,” Evan said. “You sound miserable. Want me to drive up? I can crash the Christmas festival with you. Imagine the chaos.”

“That is a terrible idea,” I said.

“So you like it,” he replied.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What do you want, Evan?”

“To hear your voice,” he said. “Is that allowed?”

A cold gust hit me. My wolf stirred uneasily. Something about this moment felt too exposed. Too vulnerable. Too watched.

Ronan stepped outside before I even realized he had moved.

He did not say a word. He did not touch me. He just stood close enough that I could feel his warmth through the air between us. Close enough that his scent, pine and frost, swept over me. Close enough that my heartbeat stuttered in my chest.

He heard every word Evan said.

I turned away from Ronan, lowering my voice. “I should go.”

“Already,” Evan asked. “You bored of me?”

“No,” I said. “But I am surrounded by wolves who think eavesdropping is a sport.”

“You mean Ronan,” Evan said without hesitation. “Is he hovering behind you right now?”

I stiffened. Ronan’s jaw ticked.

“Maybe. How do you know all of that?” I asked, my curiosity piquing.

“Tell him to relax. I am not the jealous type.”

I went still. Completely still.

Evan laughed softly. “Call me later, alright?”

“Fine,” I said, hanging up.

Snow fell quietly around us. My breath fogged the air. My heart thudded too loudly in my ears. Ronan stood so close I could feel his irritation like electricity.

I finally turned to him. “What was that look for?”

He shifted his stance. “What look?”

“You know what look,” I said. “You had a strange expression. Like you wanted to murder him or something. Why?”

He stared at me without blinking, face unreadable. “You should not be distracted. Not here. Not now.”

“That is not an answer,” I said.

He did not respond. Not at all. He just turned back toward the meeting hall as if the conversation never happened.

I watched him walk away, confusion twisting in my stomach.

What was that?

Why did it feel like more than just duty in his voice?

Why did I care?

I shoved the thought away and followed him inside.

One thing was clear.

Ronan Thorne had opinions.

And I was going to drag them out of him if it killed us both.