I’m pretty sure my heart hasn’t stopped racing since the ice rink, and there’s no amount of coaxing that will bring it down. Between the kid damn near killing Holly, my antlers making their grand appearance, and the way Holly looked at me as she used my chest as her personal landing pad—yeah, I’m hanging by a tinsel thread.
If I hadn’t thrown up the glamour fast enough, half of Manhattan would’ve gotten a front-row seat to the real me. Velvet antlers and all. There would’ve been no way to explain that away. Just thinking about it again makes my palms sweat. I don’t even understandwhythey flashed or why the glamour dropped, but Aurielle has one wicked sense of humor.
And that’s the part that makes my stomach twist. If my glamour can slip here—surrounded by humans, in the middle of the most watched city in the world—then what else can go wrong? What happens if someone actuallysees? What happens if a picture gets out? Nick would lose his mind, the Council would drag me back to Sugarplum by my antlers, and the human world… well, they don’t tend to react calmly to magic.
And then there’s Holly—sweet, chaotic, dangerously distracting Holly—who is clinging to my hand as if it’s the most natural thing to do already. She has no idea how close she came to learning exactly what I am. Or how badly I want to keep her from seeing the parts of me that could ruin her world and mine with one wrong breath.
The way she gasped when she saw me, the sound that left her lips—half-panic, half-wonder—was enough to light the entire Northern Sky. But when she licked the whipped cream off her glove like it was a normal part of her day. Yeah, there was a certain part of me that perked up at that.
Now she’s walking beside me, swinging our joined hands between us, talking a mile a minute. She insisted we take a walk through Central Park even after I argued she was already too cold, to which she responded that I’ll keep her warm. After losing the argument, she dragged me through the park, claiming there’s nothing like winter in Central Park. She’s been rambling nonstop about all the things she loves about this holiday. It’s not the typical things like presents and shopping. No, hers are the way the lights twinkle across the wet pavement, the sound of carolers echoing between the buildings, and the joy of finding the perfect gift for someone. Her hand gestures wildly as she continues on and on about everything. Her curls bounce with every movement, her cheeks are red from the cold, and even her button nose is even darkening the longer we are out here. I’m noteven sure she realizes it, but she’s enchanting the entire world as she talks. I know I’m fully enchanted with her.
To me, Christmas has always been about logistics—schedules, routes, weather charts, magic quotas. The machinery of joy, not the feeling itself. We never get to see the “after” — what all the hard work looks like to those receiving it. The unfortunate part is Christmas has always been a business to those of us who are the reason the holiday exists. By the time the last gift arrives, everyone of us is ready to rest for a week at minimum. Our Christmas is always two days later and a much smaller affair. But listening to Holly talk about her family traditions? It sounds…beautiful. It soundsworth it.
Her version of Christmas isn’t about deadlines or deliveries. It’s about laughter in the kitchen as you bake holiday treats. Sticky fingers as you enjoy those yummy treats. Half-burnt cookies, singing off-key, and karaoke with a wooden spoon with a smear of flour across your cheek.
I can almost see it—her in one of my sweaters, curled up by the fire with fuzzy socks adorning each of her feet, a plate of cookies nestled between us as we sip our hot cocoa. There’s laughter glowing in her eyes as I press a kiss to her temple.
“Okay,” she says suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts as she spins around to face me. “On the count of three, name your favorite Christmas cookie.”
“What?” I laugh, startled.
“Come on! Everyone has one. It’s a character-defining trait. Could make or break our friendship right at the jump.” I practically snorted at that. Friendship? Is that what she thinks is happening? A budding friendship? She points at me dramatically. “One…two…three!”
“Thumbprint cookies,” we say in unison.
We both stop, blinking, before bubbles of laughter burst between us. Her laughter is bright and breathless. I feel like I pulled my laughter from a box buried deep inside myself.
“Really?” she says, eyes wide. “I’ve never met another person who appreciates the taste of these cookies quite like I do.”
“Guess you can now officially say you have.”
“I guess,” she says softly, lips curving up. “You’re right. Another item off my Christmas wishlist.”
I take a step closer to her, bringing my arms around her waist as I pull her flush against my chest. The lamp post above us casts a perfect spotlight down on us, the snowflakes swirl around us, closing us off to the outside world. Our breaths fog between us as they mingle together. With each blink of her dark lashes, I’m further pulled into her, almost losing myself completely in her gaze. I reach up, brushing that same unruly curl off her face as I swipe my thumb gently across her cheek.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“For what?”
“For reminding me of what Christmas is supposed to feel like.”
Her lips part, a soft gasp caught between us, and that’s all it takes. I lean in, pressing my mouth to hers—soft, slow, and careful. Her sweet, sugary taste moves along my lips as we kiss each other in the explorative way a first kiss is. My thumb presses under her jaw, pushing her head up more as I deepen the kiss. Every single primal part of me is firing off in consecutive order, and it’s taking all my willpower not to show it on the outside.
My tongue runs along the seam of her lips, begging for entrance, praying she grants it. She moans quietly as she opens up, and my knees grow weak. What I wouldn’t give to rut into her, claiming every sound and inch of her body. But I won’t do that tonight. I have questions, and there’s only one person I can call.
I can’t help but run my hand down her back, pressing my palm against her lower back as I bend her slightly backwards. The way her body fits against mine is too perfect, too right. She fills every gap in my life.
My dick hardens at the feeling of her pressed against me, the thoughts rushing through me, and of course the mewling sounds coming from Holly. I’ve got to pull back; I have to even if it’s the last thing I truly want.
Breaking our kiss and pulling her back to her feet, I take a small step back as we both pant. Her pupils were wide, and the desire in her eyes was like a burning ember. I don’t want her to think I don’t want her, or that she isn’t perfect.
“Wow,” she says, wiping her swollen red lower lip. “That was…”
“Necessary and, much to my delight, wonderful.”
Her cheeks flame even darker red as the blush spreads across them. Goddess, I can’t wait for my chance to see how far I can make the blush spread. To see just how deep I can make the red as I pull every single sound from her, one second, one brush of my fingers, and one lick of my tongue.
I snort, shaking my head from side-to-side. I have to stop, or I won’t make it to her door without stripping her down.
