Rhyland looks like he's questioning every life choice that led to this moment. "I'm starting to think staking you would've been easier."
"Too late, no take-backsies, you magnificent bastard! This bad boy and I are now eternally bound. Like you and Hot Pants over there, except with less bow-chicka-wow-wow and more awesome. Now, who wants to help me recreate the Battle of New York? I call dibs on being Iron Man—Erik can be the Hulk. He's got the emotional constipation down pat!"
With a shimmer of demonic energy, Brax transforms into a perfect copy of Chris Hemsworth's Thor, complete with rippling muscles and flowing golden locks. "I say thee YAY! Let us commence this glorious battle, Man of Iron!"
"Hey, fuck-face," Lucian snaps, though his helmet stays firmly in place. "Last I checked, Comic-Con isn't until March—just because you can shape-shift doesn't mean you get to horn in on my Marvel moment. This is MY emotional Christmas breakthrough, you demon-shaped dick waffle. Thor doesn't say 'yay' like some basic bitch at Starbucks."
Brax grins, swinging an imaginary Mjolnir. "Another!"
"Sweet Jesus, you're killing me. This is worse than that time Erik tried to smile—actually, no, nothing's worse than that. Quick, do Cap instead. At least then, I can mock your star-spangled ass properly. And Erik can be the Winter Soldier; he's already got the whole 'I-haven't-pooped-in-seventy-years' face."
I can't help but snicker as Lucian and Brax's Marvel showdown steals the spotlight. Trust these two to turn Christmas morning into their personal Comic-Con.
The entertainment screeches to a halt when Erik—our resident champion of stoicism—produces an elegantly wrapped package for Bryn. The paper shimmers silver because heaven forbid Erik do anything without perfect precision.
"Look who's embracing the Christmas spirit," I whisper to Rhyland, nudging him with my elbow. "Never thought I'd see the day."
But my teasing fades as Bryn unwraps a stunning music box. It's crafted from ancient silver and crystal, with intricate Nordic designs that seem to move in the firelight. When she opens it, a melody fills the room—haunting and beautiful, like wind through mountain peaks. Inside, two figures dance, their forms crafted with impossible detail—a warrior and his love, eternally spinning to their private symphony.
"It's the song from our first dance," Erik says quietly. "I memorized every note that night and transcribed the sheet music myself. I found a master craftsman in Portland who specializes in custom music boxes. " His fingertips hover reverently over the box, almost afraid to touch it. "Spent two weeks working with him to capture the exact cadence—the way it echoed through the Cloud Palace halls when you first let me hold you."
I've never heard Erik's voice carry such emotion before. The man who calculates battle strategies with cold precision, revealing the soul of a composer hidden beneath that warrior exterior.
I set my coffee mug down, emotion catching in my throat as the music box's melody fills our living room. The same haunting tune played that night at the Cloud Palace ball when Erik finally let his guard down and asked Bryn to dance. I remember watching them from Rhyland's arms, seeing the usually stoic vampire transform as he held her.
Of course, my brooding brother-in-law would use music to express what his reserved nature rarely allows him to say. The melody wraps around us all, a reminder that beneath that icy exterior beats the heart of a musician who spent centuries collecting songs and stories.
I think back to our time in Aquaria, the memory as vivid as if it happened yesterday. Erik standing in that shimmering Siren's cave, his silver eyes scanning those ancient musical notations with perfect understanding. While the rest of us stood baffled, he not only recognized the complex melody but reproduced it flawlessly with his voice, unlocking secrets none of us could access. That quiet, unexpected talent saved us when we needed it most.
Watching him now with Bryn, I see that same depth—the layers beneath his hard exterior that most never see. His gift isn't just strategy or combat; it's his ability to observe, collect, and preserve what matters. He's archived centuries of knowledge, music, and art in that brilliant mind of his, and now he's using it to immortalize something precious for the woman he loves.
The way Bryn's eyes shine with tears, the tender way Erik watches her—it's enough to make my heart melt.
"Wow." I murmur, swallowingthe lump, "Someone's definitely getting their stocking stuffed tonight."
"I heard that," Erik mutters without breaking eye contact with Bryn.
"That's what happens when you have vampire hearing, Mr. Stoic." I wink at Bryn, who's trying—and failing—to hide the tears in her eyes as the music box plays their song.
"Well, shit," Lucian declares, clutching his Iron Man helmet to his chest. "Look at you, Silver-Studded Sulker, making us all catch feelings. What's next—you gonna start a poetry slam? Write some emo lyrics? Quick, someone get me a gift before Erik's romantic side gives me fucking hives!"
I nearly choke on my coffee, watching Erik's eye twitch while Bryn tries to hide her smile behind the music box.
I lean forward in anticipation as Lucian hands Seraphina a perfectly wrapped box—which is suspicious enough, considering this is the same vampire who usually throws gifts in Halloween-themed gift bags because "Christmas paper is too mainstream."
"Before you open it, Cupcake," Lucian announces, bouncing like a kid who's had too much sugar, "just remember that if Erik can be a romantic little bitch, then I can too."
Sera unwraps the gift carefully (because, of course, she does—angels apparently never rip paper), revealing a custom-made snow globe. But not just any snow globe. Inside, there's a perfect miniature replica of that fateful moment in Aquaria—complete with tiny Lucian getting blasted by tiny Sera's light grenade. The 'snow' is golden sparkles, and when she shakes it, they swirl around a banner that reads 'You had me at 'take that, bloodsucker!''
"Because you literally knocked some sense into me," Lucian grins, looking mighty pleased with himself. "Get it? Because you actually blasted me. With holy light. Which was both the most enlightening and most painful moment of my undead life. Nothing says true love like celestial violence!"
I snort. Leave it to Lucian to turn getting holy-smacked by an angel into both a pun and a collectible. But watching Sera's eyes well up as she shakes the globe again, I must admit—the idiot nailed it. Somehow, he made it both ridiculous and touching, just like their entire relationship.
"And look," he adds excitedly, "if you turn it upside down, tiny-me gets blasted all over again! I even had them add the exact shade of 'oh shit' on my face when I realized a hot angel just kicked my ass. Now that's what I call attention to detail!"
"Lucian!" Sera gasps, but she's laughing through her tears.
I curl deeper into Rhyland's side, letting the warmth of his body chase away the morning chill. My fuzzy reindeer pajamas might not be the sexiest thing I own, but they're perfect for a cozy Christmas morning with our crazy family.
