CHAPTER 15: HE HATES CHRISTMAS

EMBER’S POV

I want to say something smartass, but all I manage is a wet, ruined laugh.

“Think I broke myself.”

He nuzzles my temple, hands never leaving my body. “You were incredible.”

“Pretty sure I passed out.”

“You did. It was hot.”

I curl into him, still trembling, the taste of salt on my lips. He holds me close, lets me get my bearings before moving.

There’s no rush, no pressure. All there is is the heavy, warm safety of his arms and the low rumble of his heartbeat.

When I finally find my voice, it’s small. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just strokes my cheek, brushes a sweaty strand of hair from my forehead.

“You never have to thank me for making you feel good, Ember.” He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, but his eyes are too serious for the words. “I want you to feel good. Every time. No one ever taught you that, did they?”

I shake my head, embarrassed.

He kisses me, softer than I expect. “You’re going to learn.”

We lie there until my body stops shaking. At some point he gets up, brings back a glass of water and makes me drink half of it.

Then he scoops me up and carries me to the bathroom, setting me on the closed toilet while he runs the shower.

I watch him through the steam. The tattoos on his arms look darker wet, water dripping off his abs. Fucking hell, the man is every woman’s dirty fantasy. He catches me staring and grins, unrepentant.

“Like what you see?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, but I can’t look away.

He pulls me under the spray, washes me gently with big, careful hands. It should be awkward, but it’s not. He does it like he’s done it a million times, like it’s as normal as breathing.

When he kneels to shampoo my hair, I feel something in my chest twist painfully. He lathers me slow, massaging my scalp, and all the tension from the day—Gale, the press conference, the panic—fades into nothing.

Then he turns me around and pins me to the shower wall.

I think he’s going to fuck me again. Instead, he drops to his knees and eats me out right there, fingers inside me, tongue relentless until I come all over his face.

My legs give out but he holds me up, not letting me slide down the tile.

When I’m done, when I’m shaking and gasping, he stands and kisses me, letting me taste myself on his lips.

“Still thinking about him?” he asks, voice low.

I can barely breathe. “Who?”

He smiles, wolf-bright. “Exactly.”

We dry off and collapse back into bed. I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know, Knox is waking me with a kiss and a tray of food. The clock says 5:30—ninety minutes until the Summit dinner.

Room service has sent up fruit, eggs, a steak sandwich, and a tiny chocolate cake. I demolish the cake first.

Knox eats the sandwich, watching me with a lazy, predatory contentment.

When we've both slowed down and I'm fighting a food coma, Knox sets his plate aside and turns serious.

"Let's talk about tonight," he says.

My stomach tightens, but he shakes his head.

"You have nothing to be nervous about. You're just there as my date. No one expects speeches or small talk. Just smile, eat, and look stunning."

"Who's going to be there?" I ask.

He considers. "Every major alpha in North America. Their mates, sometimes their heirs, definitely their bodyguards. A few diplomats from the human government—boring, but necessary. Pack Council reps. Security everywhere. And the media, of course. They want pictures of me looking stable and in control."

"So, no pressure then."

His lips quirk. "You handled the press conference. This is just dinner and dancing."

"Dancing?" I squeak.

"It's a formal event, Ember. There will be dancing." He studies me. "Can you dance?"

"I can manage not to step on your feet."

"Good enough." He leans back. "The theme this year is Arctic Royalty. Which means everything will be nauseatingly Christmas-themed."

Something in his tone makes me look up. There's an edge there, sharp and bitter.

"You don't like Christmas?" I ask carefully.

"I hate Christmas." His voice is flat. "The performative cheer, the forced sentiment, the tacky decorations everywhere. It's all fake. People pretending to be better versions of themselves for a few weeks before going back to being terrible."

I blink, stunned by the venom in his words. "That's... severe."

"It's honest." He picks up his whiskey, swirling it. "If I had my way as Lycan King, wolves would be forbidden from celebrating Christmas entirely. But the Council insists on this Summit every year, and duty requires I show up and smile through it."

There's something deeper there, something dark lurking beneath the sarcasm. A pain he's not naming.

"Is there more to it?" I ask softly. "Something that happened?"

His eyes flash gold for a split second. "No. I just think it's a stupid holiday for stupid people who need an excuse to feel things."

The wall slams down so fast I actually flinch. He's lying, but I don't push. Not after he gave me the same courtesy in the elevator.

"I love Christmas," I say instead, voice quiet.

He looks at me like I've just confessed to believing in Santa.

"Really."

"Really." I wrap my hands around my water glass. "It was the only time of year Gale was actually nice to me. We'd go to pack events and he'd hold my hand, bring me drinks, act like a doting husband. I knew it was performative—we were always in the public eye—but I was so starved for affection that I licked it up anyway."

Knox's expression softens slightly. "That's depressing."

"Maybe." I shrug. "But those few weeks every year, I got to pretend I had a real marriage. That someone actually cared about me. So yeah, I love Christmas. Even if it was all fake."

He's quiet for a moment, studying me. Then he drains his whiskey and sets the glass down with a sharp clink.

"Well, tonight you get the full Christmas experience. Ice sculptures, fake snow, probably some asshole dressed as an elf. The whole nauseating package."

"You're really selling it."

"I'm warning you." But there's something almost fond in his tone now. "The only thing getting me through tonight is knowing I get to peel that dress off you afterward and spend the rest of the night in bed."

Heat floods my cheeks. "Is that all you think about?"

"When it comes to you? Yes." He stands, offering his hand. "Come on. Simone's team will be here soon to get you ready. The dinner starts at eight and we can't be late."

I let him pull me up, still sore and exhausted from earlier. "What do I need to know? Besides smiling and looking pretty?"

His expression turns serious again. "Gale will be there. He has Summit privileges through his pack, so they can't bar him from official events."

My stomach drops. "Oh."

"He'll probably try to corner you when I'm not around. If he approaches you, don't engage. Don't speak to him. Don't even look at him. Just find me or security immediately."

I nod, throat tight.

"And then there's Rayana."

"Your ex."

"Unfortunately." He grimaces. "She'll be there too. Beautiful, sophisticated, connected to every important family. She's going to see you as competition."

"Because you're dating me now."

"Because she thinks I still belong to her." His jaw tightens. "She'll either try to befriend you to manipulate you, or she'll destroy you socially to drive you away. Either way, be polite but guarded."

I process this. "She sounds lovely."

"She's a viper in designer heels." He cups my face, making me meet his eyes. "But you don't need to worry. You're with me. No one touches what's mine."

The possessiveness should annoy me. Instead it makes me feel safe.

"Why don't you just tell her to fuck off?" I ask.