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Only one t
hing was missing.
It was December seventeenth, and it had yet to snow.
Usually by my birthday—the sixth of December—the streets were piled high with dirty stacks of the white stuff. It would fall in big, fat flakes so wide and fluffy they looked fake until they hit your cheeks and eyelashes, where they melted. Sidewalks would be peppered with dancing drifts that darted to and fro underfoot at the whim of the wind.
But this year there was nothing. The air was cold enough for it, stinging exposed skin and showing off puffs of breath as people hurried from store to store, but something kept the sky clear and the ground bare.
Back at my apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, I wrestled an armload of bags through the front entrance, dumping them in the tiny hallway outside my door. The small space was overpowered by the smell of cinnamon, and for a moment my heart jumped. Part of my soul-bond meant I could taste my partners, and Lucas’s taste was that of cinnamon. But I wasn’t tasting anything; it was only the smell.
My front door was unlocked, and when I opened it my jaw dropped.
My little apartment could have put a department-store window to shame. The small television next to my fireplace had been relocated to make room for an honest-to-God live Christmas tree. The tree was wrapped in broad red ribbon, and multicolored LED lights burned brightly from the boughs. Shiny round ornaments in bold hues were nestled next to kitschy reindeer and snowman decorations. Over the fireplace was a runner of holly, and two brand-new stockings hung from the mantle. My little stereo was playing “Deck the Halls” and my, oh my, were the halls decked.
The smell of cinnamon and sugar wafting out of the kitchen mingled with the scent of pine to create a festive perfume Glade would kill to have in a scented candle. Someone in the kitchen was humming along to the carol. I dragged my parcels inside and closed the door quietly, but there was no level of stealth good enough to escape a werewolf’s hearing.
Desmond came to stand in the kitchen doorway, smiling at me like a lunatic.
“What do you think?” he asked, wiping his hands on a snowman-themed dishtowel.
“The North Pole has exploded in my apartment. ” I placed my hands on my hips, trying to look indignant, but it was pretty hard to fake being mad when there was so much happy crap plastered everywhere. I dropped the charade of annoyance and crossed the room to give him a kiss.
His skin smelled like cookie dough, but his kiss tasted like lime.
Thanks to my new winter boots with their four-inch heels, I was able to kiss him without either of us having to contort too much. I was a mere five-foot-four to his six-foot-two. Let it never be said shoes can’t bring lovers together.
I looked into his violet-gray eyes and brushed his dark brown hair off his forehead. Even in the middle of winter, Desmond looked like he had a tan. I, on the other hand, looked as pale as Snow White. One of the many joys of being half-vampire was I never got to set foot in the sunlight. One of the joys of being half-werewolf was getting to smooch a handsome wolf lieutenant in my kitchen. I planted a kiss on his nose before returning to the front door to take off my boots.
“When did you have time to do all this? I haven’t been gone that long. ”
“Dom came over for a bit, but he had a date tonight and couldn’t stay. ”
“Your brother met someone? Who’s the lucky girl?”
Desmond smiled, but it didn’t linger too long. “You’ll have to ask him. ”
I hung my coat in the hall closet and put the knee-high boots on the floor next to a sagging rack of high heels. When I straightened, Desmond was behind me, looping his strong, muscular arms around my waist. He nestled close, finding the exposed band of my neck below my messy blonde ponytail and breathing hotly against it. A pleasant shudder ricocheted through my body, sending up goose bumps all over my skin.
Even after six months living together, we still couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and I for one hoped that never changed. Whenever Desmond touched me I thought I might burst, and with him now licking the column of my neck and capturing my earlobe between his teeth, it would be an explosion of epic proportions.
His hands moved upwards from my waist and under my sweater until my breasts were cupped in his wide palms. I let out a breathy sigh, grinding my hips backwards against him before my gaze fell on the presents littered over the ground. His knee was between my legs when I smacked the hands beneath my shirt and pushed him away.
“You naughty werewolf,” I scolded.
“I could be very naughty,” he promised, scooting closer and attempting to reclaim my breasts. I smacked him playfully again.
“Not now. I need to hide this stuff before you ruin everything. ”
Desmond stooped, his lips grazing the curve of my jaw, his warm breath exhaling in my ear. I stopped protesting when he captured my mouth and tilted my head back for a deep, probing kiss. He tasted the inside of my mouth and sighed, his tongue dragging over the sensitive roof. When he withdrew, he sucked my bottom lip, nipping on the delicate skin before kissing my lips gently and laughing at my star-struck face.
In the kitchen the timer buzzed.
“Back to my cookies,” he announced with far too much cheer in his voice.
When he left, I looked up and saw a bundle of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling. Who was I to argue with Christmas tradition?
With my packages stashed in the bottom of our bedroom closet, I returned to the kitchen to watch my man be domestic. The kitchen was too small for me to share the space with him and still be out of the way, so I stayed in the doorway. Desmond moved around the tiny space like he’d been born there. He removed one tray of cookies from the oven and replaced it with another in one fell swoop.
