CHAPTER 4 :The truth my family buried

   When a flame turns black, you stop asking logical questions.You stop caring that the lantern in your uncle’s hand looks like it was stolen from Dracula’s basement.

You stop arguing about whether or not your family is normal.

Because normal families don’t whisper ancient curses under their breath while something supernatural tries to break down their front door.

I stared at the black fire swirling behind the lantern glass.

“Uncle Rowan… what is that?”His jaw tightened. “A warning.”“To us or to them?”“Both.”

Okay, fantastic. I officially hated Christmas.

He strode to the window and yanked the curtains shut, as if a couple yards of fabric could stop glowing-eyed creeps in the snow.

“Stay away from the door,” he ordered.

“I’m not stupid—”“You’re curious,” he interrupted sharply, “and that’s worse.”

Annoyingly accurate.Another whisper drifted through the walls.

Little star…My bones locked up.

“Who is he?” I asked, voice thin. “The man with the gold eyes.”

Rowan didn’t answer at first. He walked to the fireplace, grabbed a poker, and jammed it into the burning logs like he was punishing them. Sparks flew up violently.

“He’s called the Winter King.”I blinked. “Like… a fairytale?”

Rowan shook his head. “Fairytales came from him.”That was not comforting.

“And why,” I said slowly, “is he whispering weird pet names at me?”

He turned toward me then, really looking at me, and his eyes were filled with something I had never seen on his face before.

Fear.

“Because he has chosen you.”Nope.Nope nope nope.

“I didn’t sign up for that.” “It’s not a choice.” “I definitely still didn’t sign up for that.”

Rowan scrubbed a hand over his face. “It was supposed to skip your generation.”

“‘It’ being…?” The door rattled. HARD.

I jumped so high my hand smacked the Christmas bell hanging above it, and it chimed mockingly.

Jingle jingle, you’re screwed.

Rowan checked the front lock again even though he had already bolted it twice. “Our bloodline,” he muttered. “We were marked centuries ago. Every few generations, one child in our family becomes… visible to him.”

“I’m twenty,” I snapped. “Not a ‘child.’”

“To him,” Rowan replied, “you’re still the youngest born of our branch.”

I opened my mouth. I closed it. Then I opened it again. “So what—you’ve all known about this? This… creepy snow-king stalker thing?”

He winced. “We were hoping it would die out.” “Yeah, well, surprise. It didn’t.”

The windows vibrated as the crowd of figures outside moved closer. I could hear their footsteps crunching in unison. Not normal. Not human.

Rowan lowered his voice to a whisper. “Once he notices you, he doesn’t stop.”

“That’s—great. Love that for me.”“He wants a bride.”

“What?” My heartbeat stuttered. “I’m sorry—WHAT?”

Rowan looked away like he was embarrassed on my behalf. “That’s what he calls it. A bride. A chosen one. Not a wife in the traditional sense—more like… a guardian. A mortal tether.”

“So because I’m unlucky enough to be born into this family, I’m now the magical snow demon’s fiancée?!”

A shadow slammed against the door. I jumped again.Rowan grabbed my shoulders. “Listen to me. He can’t come in unless you invite him.”

“I’m never inviting him!” “Good,” he said tightly. “Because once he’s inside, you won’t have the strength to refuse him.”

My stomach twisted. “What does that even mean?” “You’ve already felt it,” Rowan said softly. “The pull. The curiosity. The way you looked for him in the snow.”

I opened my mouth to deny it—then shut it again.Because he was right.

I had looked for him.That scared me more than anything outside the door.Footsteps again—slow, heavy, approaching.

A deep voice slid through the cracks like ice water down my spine.

“Little star,” he murmured.I backed into the fireplace accidentally, heat burning into my arm. I didn’t care.

“Don’t answer him,” Rowan said sharply. “I’m not stupid!”

“You’re human,” he corrected. “That’s worse.”

I glared at him. Then the Winter King spoke again.

“You called for me.”

"I DIDN’T,” I hissed through my teeth.“You thought of me.”

“That doesn’t count!” “It does.”

God, his voice was like velvet dipped in poison.Rowan grabbed my wrist. “We’re going to the cellar.” “Why?” “It’s the only room with iron lining.”

“That’s… comforting.” He dragged me across the living room, but we barely took two steps before—

All the lights in the house went out.The fire died,

The candles snuffed themselves,the Christmas tree flickered, buzzed, sparked—And went black.

I was swallowed by darkness so absolute it felt alive.A single glow illuminated the room.

Not warm.Not golden.Silver-blue and Cold.

Coming from the doorframe.

The Winter King spoke softly, like a lover greeting someone after years apart.

“I found you.”

My throat closed. My knees almost buckled.Rowan yanked me behind him. “Stay back!”

A low chuckle drifted through the door. “You know you cannot protect her forever.”“She’s not yours,” Rowan snarled. “She was born mine.”

The word born made something hot and electric shoot through my chest, like a memory clawing its way up but unable to surface.

The Winter King continued, voice gentle and terrifying.

“Little star… open the door.”“No!” “Just a touch.”

“NO.”“Just a look.”

Rowan squeezed my hand. “Don’t listen.”But something inside me—deep, ancient, unwanted—responded to his voice.

A tug. A longing I didn’t understand. A wrongness that felt right in a sick, primal way.

I hated it. “Rowan…” I whispered. “What if he gets in?”

“He won’t,” he said firmly. “Not tonight.”

The door handle twisted.Metal screeched.

The whole frame trembled.He was forcing it.Rowan shoved me toward the cellar door. “GO!”

I ran.The door behind me boomed like a battering ram hit it.

One more hit like that and it would splinter.I flung open the cellar door and rushed in. Rowan followed, slamming it behind us. He locked the iron latch—one of those old medieval-looking ones.

The basement was lit with faint, eerie red emergency bulbs that flickered weakly.

My chest heaved,my hands shook.But the worst part wasn’t the Winter King’s voice anymore.

It was Rowan’s.“Whatever you do,” he whispered, “don’t let him call your real name.”

I froze.“My… real name?”

Rowan looked at me with regret so heavy it pressed on my lungs.“The name we raised you with isn’t the one you were born with.”

My heart tripped over itself. “What?” Outside, the Winter King spoke again.

Closer.Too close. “Little star… say your name for me.” Rowan grabbed my shoulders. “We changed it to protect you.” My pulse was hammered.

“Then what—what IS my real name?”

Rowan swallowed.Outside, the Winter King whispered:

“Liora…”My blood turned to ice.

Liora? Rowan’s face collapsed in dread.

“That,” he choked, “is the name he marked.”The door upstairs cracked.Shattered,splintered apart. Snow and footsteps flooded the house above us.

Rowan stepped in front of me, gripping the iron latch as if his hands alone could keep the Winter King out.

He couldn’t.I knew it.He knew it. 

And worst of all? The Winter King knew it too.