Chapter
One
When Louis told me we’d be celebrating an early Christmas in his family’s mountain cabin, I imagined a cozy little place in the woods. Quaint log walls, all of us gathered on a rug around the fireplace, mugs of hot cocoa, etcetera.
I should’ve known better. A family richer than God would never spend the holidays in a place like that. Still, when we round the bend and our destination comes into view, I swallow a gasp. The “cabin” is a steel-and-glass fortress, all sharp angles and boxy modernity, stark and intense against the winter landscape. Especially imposing with the sun sinking behind the horizon behind it.
My nerves wind tighter. I’ve been anxious about this weekend for months. Meeting my fiancé’s family for the first time was bound to be nerve-wracking. Even more so when his family is incredibly affluent and mysterious. People say there’s something sinister about the Kohler family’s obscene wealth. Something supernatural, even. The rumors range from mob connections to ritualistic human sacrifice.
Of course I don’t believe any of that. But wealth on that level is its own kind of magic, one I understand enough to fear. And seeing this “cabin” is yet another reminder that I’m an outsider. When I was a kid, I was lucky to get new socks for Christmas. Or an even rarer treat: having both of my parents home for the holiday, instead of away at work. The Kohlers might as well live in another world. I guess I should’ve known they were different when Louis told me they celebrated the holidays on December 5th, weeks early for Christmas.
“Wow,” I say after a moment passes. “It’s…”
“What?” Louis’s lips quirk, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hideous?”
I hesitate, studying his profile. The pale angles of his face look harsh in the watery winter sunlight, and there’s an intensity in his blue eyes as they focus on the road ahead. His jaw is set in a rigid line, and his fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white.
Then he glances at me and smiles, and the tension breaks.
“It’s okay,” he says, laughing. “I know. The place is ugly as sin.”
“I mean, I wasn’t gonna say it. But you said it was acabin, not anapocalypse bunker.”
“It’s not a bunker. It’s aboveground.”
“Yeah, okay, semantics. Why does itlooklike that?”
“My grandfather built it when he immigrated here about eighty years ago. We’ve updated it since then, but we try to uphold his vision.”
I wrinkle my nose. “And what vision is that?”
He says it like he’s reciting something sacred. “We protect our own.”
Unease tightens the knot in my stomach. But I try to brush it off, make a joke of it.
“And will your family be protecting you from little old me? Is that what has you so worried?” I reach over to run my fingers through his fair hair.
His wry smile is back. “Something like that.”
“Hm…” I trail my fingers down the side of his neck, trace over the outline of one bicep through his knit sweater. “Do you think you need protection, Louis?”
“From you?” He huffs a laugh. “No, I don’t think so.”
“No?” I lean further toward him, smiling, to run my hand over his chest, walk my fingers down his torso. “You sure?”
“Diana…”
“Yes?” I breathe oh-so-innocently, fingertips reaching his belt buckle.
“We’ll be there in like ten minutes.”
“Is that a challenge?” I undo the buckle, reach for the button of his jeans.
“Diana,” he snaps, his voice harsh. I recoil. “Not the time.”
I slowly sink back in my seat. “I was just teasing,” I mutter, as the heat in my lower belly turns into the unpleasant burn of embarrassment. “Sorry.”
Louis’s jaw is set again, any hint of earlier playfulness gone. “Not the time,” he repeats.
