Meet Me Underneath The Mistletoe Novels & Stories

“We need you at the clearing. Now.” My heart thumps unevenly, curiosity and trepidation twisting together. I follow him, silent, the early summer air crisp and alive against my skin. The clearing is already set up for the small, emergency ceremony—a circle of standing pack members, Asher at its center, his expression unreadable but intense. My mother stands slightly off to the side, her eyes quiet but proud.

I moved out of the meeting room. I had stepped out of the room. My hand reached for my phone. “I have something for you. Meet me at Camden's garden by exactly 4pm . Come alone.” He dropped it fast and clean.

Until a note finds me, slipped beneath my pillow, written in a familiar, spidery hand. “Meet me. Midnight. The greenhouse.” No name. But I recognize the ink. And I know exactly who is calling me. Thorne. A million questions run through my head, most of them not good, but I decide to go anyway. The greenhouse stands at the edge of the palace grounds, half-hidden by ivy and the thick scent of growing things. Moonlight filters through the glass panels, casting fractured silver across the stone path. I pushed the door open carefully, expecting silence, expecting solitude.

“Have you ever snuck out before?” He chuckled, glancing away. “To do what?” “To meet a witch tomorrow night at 10 p.m. at the grand oak tree in the woods,” I said, smiling at him. His brows lifted in curiosity. “Are the gates not closed?” “No.” “I-I don’t want any problems with James,” he said. Of course, he thought I was James’ girl. I had feared this might happen. I still needed James, so I didn’t want to deny anything just yet.

From: Arlen Kade “We need to talk. Public place. Your terms. I’m not asking questions. Yet.” No emojis. No signature. Just that. And suddenly I can feel it—that prickle in my spine that only comes when something’s shifting. Something foundational. Like the last Jenga piece before it all collapses. Kade reaching out isn’t random. It’s a warning. I stare at the message for a long time, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then I type: “No shadows. We meet where people can see us. 3pm. Glasshouse Café. You’re buying.” I hit send before I can think twice.

"Strategically." "That's a kinder word for it. I'll take it." "What's the hard part?" "Everything else." Something under it wasn't light at all, and for a second the easy rhythm between us went quiet, the kind of quiet that comes right before someone admits more than they meant to. I took a sip of the chocolate to cover it, too sweet, exactly the kind of indulgence I hadn't let myself have in months. "There's a Christmas market this weekend. Town square. Cider. A tree lighting. A man who plays the same three carols on a violin, badly, every single year without fail."

I heard the phone ring a few times before someone picked up. “Hello, this is Julietta.” “Julietta, it is me. I wanted to let you know that I changed my mind. I am in. Let’s meet in the forest between our territories at the grey oak at midnight in 2 days.” I then went out through the back door, changed into Spirit, and ran into the forest. The meeting point was far away so I almost took no breaks. The burning in my lungs and my sore paws actually felt good. It distracted me from the pain I felt inside for being responsible for so many deaths.

Relief floods through me when I realize we’ve gone unnoticed, the sea of faces oblivious to the clandestine exchange that has just taken place. With steadier hands under the table, I unfold the note, my eyes scanning the handwritten words - [Meet me in the library on the second floor. Now.] It’s definitely a tantalizing invitation, but tinged with danger. My gaze veers to the imposing structure that looms in the distance – the castle-like house that stands in the middle of the massive vineyard. With a nervous exhale, I tuck the note into my uniform’s pocket, steeling myself for what lies ahead.

It simply said: *"Meet me in the old greenhouse tonight. Alone." My heart raced as I read the note. The old greenhouse was rarely used, hidden away at the far end of the property. Whatever Alice had planned, it wasn't good. As the day wore on, I prepared myself for the meeting, steeling my nerves. This could be the moment I'd been waiting for—the chance to finally catch Alice in her web of lies. But deep down, a small voice whispered that I might be walking straight into a trap. When night fell, I made my way to the greenhouse, every step heavy with tension.

Because Kade had suddenly grabbed my cloak and reached into the pocket, withdrawing the small pouch of mistletoe berries that I had collected on my way to Crescent Hollow. He shoved the pouch into my face. “You showed up with mistletoe, no less. Unless you’re trying to kiss me under it, I’d hazard a guess that you’re trying to test my child’s parentage.” My throat bobbed. “It’s not what it looks like.”