The wine flows freely, and with it, stories. Soren regales us with tales of Yules past, of celebrations in grand castles and humble villages, of traditions long forgotten by modern witches. Lucien, surprisingly, joins in, describing the formal Yule balls of his human life, with their rigid protocols and secret trysts in darkened corridors.
Drake’s contributions are quieter, more personal, with memories of his last Yule before death, the plum pudding they had at dinner, cutting their from the woods behind their house.
I soak it all in, these glimpses into their lives before me. It’s strange to think of them existing in different times, different worlds, all converging on this one night in my tiny dorm room.
Outside, the storm grows worse, and we’re isolated, cut off from the world by weather and circumstance. It should be frightening, but instead, it feels intimate, like we’re the only people left.
“Your turn,” Soren says, nudging my leg with his foot. “What did little Rose do for Yule before she became the most important witch in America?”
I laugh, the wine making me looser than I’d normally be. “Well, first of all, it was Christmas. Nothing fancy. Mom and I never stayed in one place long enough for traditions. But she always tried, you know?” I repeat my story about the paper snowflakes, the sapling, the gas station donuts and hot chocolates.
When I finish, there’s a moment of silence. Drake’s arm tightens around me, and Soren looks momentarily serious.
“Your mother sounds remarkable,” Drake says quietly.
“She was.” The word catches in my throat. Was. Not is. I still haven’t gotten used to that.
Soren presses his lips to my temple. “She’d be proud of you.”
“Would she, though? I’m sitting in a magical academy drinking stolen wine with a ghost, a vampire, and an incubus. Not exactly the life she imagined for me.”
“You’re surviving,” Soren says, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. “That’s all she wanted.”
The conversation shifts, turning to lighter topics. The wine bottle empties. Soren produces another from inside his coat. “Just in case,” he says with a wink, and we start on that one. The room grows warmer, and I find myself shedding my sweater, down to just a thin t-shirt underneath.
Drake notices, and his eyes follow my movement. His hand resting on my knee slides up just a fraction, a question in the touch. I answer by shifting closer to him, letting my head rest against his shoulder.
Soren watches us with heated interest. Lucien’s gaze is more controlled, but no less intense.
“It’s getting late,” Lucien says, though he makes no move to leave.
“Is it?” Soren stretches, catlike and deliberate. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Drake’s fingers trace idle patterns on my thigh. He doesn’t speak, but I feel what he’s asking in his touch. The choice is mine. It always has been.
I take a breath, then stand, crossing the small space to turn off the light. The room plunges into semi-darkness, illuminated only by the fairy lights I’ve strung around my bed frame.
“Stay,” I say simply. “All of you.”
No one moves for a heartbeat. Then, Drake is behind me, his hands gentle on my shoulders. “You sure about this?”
I nod, reaching up to touch his face. “More than sure.”
His kiss is softly reverent. His hands cradle my face like I’m something precious, breakable. But I don’t want gentle, not from him. Not tonight. I deepen the kiss, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. He makes a startled sound against my mouth, but doesn’t resist when I walk him backward toward the bed.
“Lie down,” I tell him, and there’s a command in my voice I’ve never used with him before.
His eyes are filled with desire, but he obeys, stretching out on my narrow bed, watching me with a mixture of hunger and surrender.
I climb over him, straddling his hips, taking his wrists and pinning them above his head. “Stay still,” I order, and the way his breath catches tells me he likes this as much as I do.
I kiss him again, harder this time, rolling my hips against him. He groans, arching up, but I push him back down. “I said stay still.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he manages, and the grin that spreads across his face is worth every moment of boldness.
I’m so caught up in Drake that I almost forget we’re not alone until I feel the bed dip behind me. Soren’s hands slide around my waist, his mouth finding my neck. “Mmm, look at you,” he murmurs against my skin. “So bossy. So sexy.”
I lean back into him, letting my head fall against his shoulder. His hands slip under my shirt, skimming up my ribs to cup my breasts. His touch isn’t gentle like Drake’s, it’s possessive, demanding, his fingers pinching my nipples just hard enough to make me gasp.
