Cozy Winter Nights Novels & Stories

The snow fell heavily that night, forming a white blanket that engulfed the entire city. Street lights glowed dimly behind the low-hanging cold fog. Winter had reached its peak, and the atmosphere felt heavy... as if something was waiting to break. In Damian’s office on the top floor of Cassel Tower, the air was filled with the aroma of black coffee and scattered documents. The cold winter wind crept in through the large windows, making the room feel even quieter and intense.

Christmas Eve ~***~ The night was lonely and silent, you could hear every sound from outside; the birds chirping, the cool night air blowing, making the trees dance. Reign laid on the couch, clicking on the television nonstop, she went in search to finish watching ‘the sleeping dictionary’.

"Blue is cold and calm, normally gives a feeling of lonely and sorrow; but white, white is tricky. They way you surrounded white with blue here, is a symbol of safety and peace, and the sweet you put in the white level is the perfect evidence." "Maybe I'm just fond of the night!" Kitty held up her arms in front of her chest, hinting the dark sky above their head. "Yeah, that's true. But you named it Winter Night. Winter is already cold. Why is your winter night in dark blue but with a soft spot that was sweet? This drink starts with sour but ends with a hint of faint pine sweet, it's not horror and pain, it's--" He suddenly stopped. "It's what?"

Feeling her lift her hips as her mouth opened with the same willingness to take him in. “Soon.” He promised. Sweeping up her cloak from next to them he wrapped it around her and lifted her by the waist. Still wrapped around him. Catching her dress with his free hand and holding it against her lower back as he tugged her hood low over her face so no one would see her. Though all are likely at rest this time of night. Typically, once Winter’s Haven was shut down for the night the drunkards would even take to their bedrolls. Too tired and intoxicated to do much more than that.

The distant sound of Christmas bells rang out with a bong. Immediately after, fireworks exploded across the sky outside the window, illuminating the pitch-black night with red, green, and gold colors. Faint cheers could be heard in the distance. Midnight came, and the door to the private room remained tightly shut. Nobody pushed the door open and came in, nor did anyone get down on their knees. The smile froze on Dad's face. He stared at the door as if trying to bore a hole through it with his gaze. One minute passed. Two minutes. Five minutes.

“What is?” Victoria gestured vaguely toward the Winters family. “You people.” “That narrows it down.” “The whole winter immunity thing,” she continued. “Meanwhile, Silas and I are over here pretending we’re not freezing to death while the rest of you apparently belong in snowstorms.” Silas, sitting near the cave entrance after shifting back, looked entirely unimpressed. “You complain when it’s warm too.” “That is unrelated.” Calix crossed his arms loosely. “You were complaining before we even left.”

Wendy let out a cold sneer, “The last two years, your mother would deliberately pour boiling hot water on my hand, but you just told me to put up with it. I only got four hours of sleep a night just to take care of her. And you think that's okay?” Her voice shook. “You’re even talking about love?” Someone upstairs opened a window. “What’s with all the yelling at this hour?!” Austin tugged at her sleeve. “Come on, let’s go.” Wendy shook off Miles’ hand. “I’m truly tired. Those two years have drained all my feelings for you.” She turned around and headed upstairs. “Don’t ever come back.” Miles stood there, watching the stairwell lights flick on floor by floor until the third floor went dark.

Snow in the mountains does not fall; it descends like a heavy, white shroud intended to bury the sins of the earth. By late December, the winds would howl through the jagged peaks, sounding like a thousand flutes played by mourning ghosts. My grandfather, a man with skin as tough as walnut bark and eyes that had seen empires rise and fall, ran a small provision shop halfway up the mountain. It was a lonely outpost of wood and stone, smelling perpetually of dried tobacco, kerosene, and ancient dust.

They sat in a circle around the stone bench, the gold flowers glowing around them, and they watched the sun set on the longest night. Winter sat at the center, her hands on the gold flowers, her eyes on the horizon. Kaelen and Ash sat on either side of her, and Solenne sat at the edge of the circle, the third volume open on her lap. "The longest night," Kaelen said. "The watcher is witnessing." Winter nodded. "The watcher is always witnessing. But tonight—tonight it is celebrating. The turning of the year. The promise of the returning light." Ash took Winter's hand. "The watcher has witnessed many solstices. But this year—this year it is witnessing with all of us."

Three months after the White Lady's departure Winter had settled over the territory, blanketing the forest in white. The pack house glowed with warm light, smoke curling from its chimneys. Inside, the wolves celebrated the solstice—a festival of lights, of family, of hope. Clara stood by the window, watching the snow fall. Alistair came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You've been quiet all evening," he said. "Just thinking." "About?"