She eventually gulped back her giggles, lifted her head and encouraged, “Go on.”
His hand dropped to her neck and his thumb caressed the underside of her jaw as he continued, “Christmas Eve is spent, with strict adherence to tradition, at one member of the extended family’s house. You arrive for breakfast and stay through to long past darkness falling.”
“Do you have a lot of extended family?” she asked.
He didn’t wish to scare her with the real numbers so he answered, “A fair few, more than attended your party last night.”
Her eyes grew huge and she breathed, “That’s a long time to have a bunch of people around, especially if you have to feed them.”
“At the end of the evening, before anyone goes home, it’s also tradition for the women to fight over who’ll get to host it the next year.” He grinned at her. “Sometimes it gets vicious.”
She smiled back, not knowing that what he said was literal.
She-wolves could transform and they did it often, mostly to run with their mates. There were those few with that bent (in other words, their fated lifemate and their taste in play partners ran to their own gender) who were warriors and good ones.
However, most other times, she-wolves stayed in human form.
Unless they were fighting drunkenly, thus much less in control of the transformation, over who would host Christmas Eve.
Blood was shed more often than not.
Callum decided not to share that with Sonia.
Instead, he said, “During the day, the women cook, chat and play cards at the kitchen table.”
She rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Of course they do.”
He lifted his head and touched his mouth to hers until he saw her eyes roll back then he sat back and continued, “The males have a rugby tournament or some sort of sport outdoors,” he grinned and informed her, “the more brutal, the better.”
“Not surprising,” she noted without rancor, “intense, as with everything else, even on Christmas Eve.”
His thumb slid over her lower lip because he wanted it to, not to stop her from talking but she did so and he started again. “We all get together for an evening feast, usually getting drunk again then we have group games that pretty much descend into pandemonium. The women fight it out as to who will host the next year and then everyone goes home.”
“Except for the all day cooking and vicious battle that ends the night, it sounds kind of fun,” she quipped, her lips tipped up at the ends.
“It is,” he replied truthfully. “Family is all-important. That’s why finding your mate it fundamental to our existence.” His voice dipped lower and his arm grew tighter. “It heralds the time when we can start our own.”
Her expression changed swiftly. Starting with shock then shifting to gentleness mixed with yearning, straight to alarmed and ending in what he was surprised to see was openly false curiosity.
“What do you do for Christmas?” she asked, changing the subject almost desperately and he wanted to understand what had been going on in that head of hers but he thought it prudent to let it go.
The mood, he sensed, was still light. He wanted that for himself but, getting the impression he’d given her a good day, mostly he wanted it for Sonia.
“You share the morning with your mate and your children, if you have them. You open your presents, you have breakfast.” He grinned wolfishly. “You make love while the children are playing.” She bit her lip and he went on, “Then the direct family gets together in the afternoons and we stay together into the evening, feasting, drinking, playing games. Nothing formal, everything relaxed. We have fireworks and a glass of warm, mulled wine at midnight then, if you aren’t already home, you go home.”
Her expression shifted back to gentle and he knew it was sincere as her body had molded to his.
“That sounds very fun,” she said softly before she made a comical disgusted face, “except mulled wine.”
“We’ll get you champagne,” he murmured, thinking of next Christmas and Sonia standing in his arms but amongst his brethren, wrapped tight in the furs he’d give her, drinking champagne with her face tipped to the stars and the multi-colored bursts of fireworks lighting her skin and hair.
Definitely something to look forward to.
“I’d prefer champagne,” she murmured back, gazing at him curiously but matching his tone as if attentive to his mood.
His eyes slid to the clock and he noted the time.
His arm brought her ever closer as his hand slid into her hair, tenderly fisting and twisting, he brought her lips to his.
There he muttered, “Merry Christmas, baby doll.”
And he gave her a kiss that communicated the promise that her lonely Christmases past were a memory and that her every Christmas of the future would start just… like… this.
Her eyes were dazed when his mouth broke from hers, her breathing unsteady and she glanced adorably unfocused toward the clock, taking in a deep breath.
When her eyes refocused, she sighed and looked back at him.
He waited, uncharacteristically patiently, as her green eyes searched his face then looked deep into his, again like she was trying to read him and she doubted what she saw.
Finally, she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Callum.”
He was disappointed she didn’t call him “wolf” or any other sweet nothing she could dream up.
Even so, his disappointment didn’t last long since it was time for bed and the next new tradition Callum was going to introduce.
It was one Sonia liked a great deal.
And, at the end of that, she not only called him “my wolf”.
She screamed it.
* * * * *
Callum woke when he felt Sonia move out of his arms.
His eyes opened as his ears heard her tortured whimper.
His body froze when he saw her.
“Jesus, honey, what the fuck?” he clipped, his hand reaching out to her body which was still under the covers but up on all fours, her head bent low, her breathing erratic.
She reared violently away from him the instant the tips of his fingers glanced her skin but even so he felt the tremendous heat. It felt like she was roasting.
“Sonia,” his voice was sharper with his concern, “what the fuck?”
She didn’t lift her head when she panted her extreme understatement, “Cal, something’s wrong.”
She moved then emitted an almost animal whine and froze.
He slid as close to her as he dared and her breaths became gasps. She sounded like she was fighting for air.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” he announced.
“No!” she cried then gasped, “The syringe, did you fill the syringe?”
“Yes.”
“Full, Cal. Did you use it all?”
“Of course I fucking did.”
Her head twisted slowly and she looked at him, her eyes hazy but her voice was terrified when she whispered, “This is what it felt like when I didn’t take the injection. This is the burn. This is me boiling out of my skin,” she gasped then whimpered, terror stark in her tone like she didn’t know whether to scream or wail. “Cal, this has never happened while I’ve been taking the medication. Something’s wrong.”
Dread settled in his gut with the weight of an anvil and he declared again, “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“They won’t know how to treat me!” she cried. “The ER people won’t have even heard of this,” she moaned. “I’ve always been scared this would happen.” Then she released that animalistic whine again and Callum felt it score through his system.
“Your doctor,” he said suddenly.
She lifted her head and asked vaguely, “What?”
“Baby doll, your doctor will know what to do. Do you have his number?”
“In my phone, in my –”
She didn’t finish for Callum was out of bed and bounding down the stairs, literally. He planted a palm into the railing and leaped over the side coming t
o rest agilely on his feet on the landing. He did the same again from there and landed at the foot of the stairs.
He found her phone in her bag, the number in the phone and he rang it while he took the stairs, three at a time, going back up.
While Sonia, who’d thrown off the covers, looked to be fighting the battle of her life in the bed, Callum went through the rigmarole of phoning the on-call doctor who was not, regrettably, Sonia’s physician. This man took too long (in other words, more than ten seconds) to promise to contact Sonia’s doctor and they would be in touch urgently. The only positive thing that came from this was the fact that the on-call doctor seemed familiar with the lethal importance of Sonia’s illness and didn’t sound like he was fucking around.
Unable to touch her even to soothe her, Callum went to the bathroom and threw a towel in the tub, drenching it with cold water and not bothering to ring it out. He carried it to the bedroom and carefully threw it over her back.
“Yes,” she whimpered her relief, falling down to child’s pose under the large, wet towel, her arms stretched out in front of her.
Her phone rang and Callum snatched it from the receiver.
“Dr. Mortenson?” he clipped into the mouthpiece.
“You’re Sonia Arlington’s husband?” a man replied.
“Yes,” Callum ground out. “Is this Dr. Mortenson?”
“Yes, son. My colleague said she’s having a turn?”
A turn? He called this a fucking turn?
“She’s boiling to the touch and says she’s coming out of her skin.”
“Did she teach you how to administer an injection?”
“Yes,” Callum bit off curtly.
“Then give her an injection.”
“I did that five hours ago.”
“Do it again,” he replied calmly. “I’ll stay on the line.”
Callum wasted no time. When he returned to their bedroom, she’d thrown off the towel and was on all fours again, keening low as she battled the pain.
“It’s okay, baby doll, just hold tight for me,” he cooed and sunk the needle into the flesh of her buttock as swiftly as he could.
She cried out, arching her back, her neck, her hair flying over her shoulders. Then she shifted, rounding her back, her head falling between her arms, her moan going low, distinct, guttural and absolutely terrifying to hear.
He snatched the phone to his ear. Frustrated beyond anything he’d ever experienced at his impotence in the face of his mate’s agony, Callum clipped, “She’s worse.”
“I’m counting down, son, stay with me, one minute, thirty-five seconds,” and then he counted down in Callum’s ear, every five seconds, as Sonia dropped to the bed and started writhing.
“Doctor –” Callum’s voice was vibrating with fury.
“You can probably touch her now,” the doctor said quietly then went on. “Forty-five seconds…”
Callum dropped the phone and cautiously approached his mate who had stopped twisting. Reaching out slowly, he touched her skin which was clammy with sweat but no longer scalding to the touch.
He slid his fingers across her skin to touch her with his full hand and she didn’t cry out so he carefully gathered her into his arms and sat with her in the bed, his back to the headboard, Sonia cradled against him.
“I’m okay,” she whispered into his neck and at once his hand snaked out and snatched the phone.
“I’ll want to know why this happened,” Callum said into the phone.
“She’s better now?” Dr. Mortenson queried in response.
“I said, I’ll want to know why this happened,” Callum repeated.
Dr. Mortenson sighed. “Bodies are magnificent and terrible things, son. It could be Sonia’s built up a tolerance to the drug; she’s been using it for years. But there are changes in life and in your body all the time. She may be releasing more, or less, hormones. She may have suffered a shock that caused a physical response in her system which triggered a change in the efficacy of the drug. Even if she’s living under significantly higher amounts of stress and anxiety or depression, say the loss of a loved one, the body has physical manifestations to all of those and all of them will interact with the medication. I’ll want to do blood work and she’ll need two daily injections, morning and evening, until I’m happy with what I see.”
Fucking hell, now he had to give her two of those bloody injections?
And worse, Sonia had to take them?
“When can she come in for the tests?” he demanded to know.
“Anytime you want. Go to St. Vincent’s Hospital, give them my name. I’ll send the orders. They’ll draw up the blood. Is she peaceful now?”
Callum looked down at Sonia who had wrapped her arm around his body, her other hand was cocked between them resting on his chest, her cheek on her hand. Her eyes, though, were on him. They were troubled but not fevered and delirious.
“She’s peaceful.”
“Smart girl, teaching you to give her injection. Well done, son. We’ll meet soon, I hope. Merry Christmas.”
Then the bastard hung up on him.
Callum used all of his control not to throw the phone across the room. Instead he touched the button for off and slid it into its receiver.
Then he slid his fingers through Sonia’s hair, took in a deep breath to regain his composure and asked, “You okay, my little one?”
“Um… outside of being scared out of my mind?” she queried dryly. “Yes.”
He had no response to that so didn’t make one.
“What did Dr. Mortenson say?” she enquired.
“He wants tests,” Callum replied, deciding to share the happy news that she needed two injections per day later.
She nodded.
“He also said it was a smart that you taught me how to give an injection,” he teased with mock arrogance, wishing to lift the mood and soothe away the troubled look in his queen’s eyes. Giving her a wary squeeze of his arms, he went on, “It’s lucky you were so keen to do that, baby doll.”
“Shut up, Cal,” she muttered in mock annoyance, not able to hide her relief.
But he froze.
She’d called him Cal and she’d done it more than once.
Something about that made him want to howl with victory as if he’d won an epic battle.
Instead, he gave her another careful squeeze.
Her head tilted down and she snuggled closer.
Then she shared, “All my life, that’s been my greatest fear. All my life, I feared that would happen. When I didn’t take the injection as a teen, I had to crawl to the bathroom. It seemed to take forever, it probably did. I had to stop and breathe, over and over, to get control of my limbs again. It hurt so much.”
Callum so disliked her words he wished she’d stop talking but he kept this wish to himself.
“I’d always been so scared.” Her voice hitched as if she was fighting tears and he wanted to tip her face to his and comfort her but he let her go, sensing she needed to get this out but sensing more it was something he was going to want to hear.
He wasn’t wrong.
“You want to know what I feared the most?” she whispered brokenly.
“What, baby doll?” he asked quietly.
“That it would happen when I was alone,” she turned, lifted up and tucked her face into his neck while her other arm curled around him and she pressed to him tight. “I’m so happy I wasn’t alone.” She tilted her head back until her lips were at his jaw and she whispered, “You knew what to do. Thank you, my handsome wolf, for taking care of me.”
He felt like howling his victory at that moment too.
Again, he didn’t.
Instead, he tipped his head down and he kissed her, softly and tenderly, tasting the tears on her lips.
He broke the kiss but didn’t break the connection of their lips when he muttered, “Always, my little one.”
She closed her eyes tight and nodded.
He picked her up and walked to her gue
st bedroom, throwing back the covers, placing her in bed, joining her there, turning her to his body and pulling the covers over them.
“Um…” she muttered. “What are you doing?”
“The bed’s drenched, the towel –”
“Oh,” she mumbled before he finished.
“Sleep, baby doll, and when you wake up, it’ll be Christmas.”
She nodded, her head sliding on his chest.
He waited until her breath evened out which took some time and he wasn’t surprised. She’d been through an ordeal. Waking from sleep in the throes of it, she wouldn’t be eager to go back regardless of the fact that she drifted off quickly every night since the claiming.
For Callum, who only needed five hours of sleep a night normally, he sacrificed a few to lay alert for another episode.
And as he did so, he allowed his mind to process the fact that she called him “Cal”.
And he replayed, again and again, her voice whispering, “my handsome wolf”.
And when he finally allowed himself to join Sonia in sleep, regardless of their recent drama, he did it with a smile.
* * * * *
Callum’s fingers brushed Sonia’s hair away from her neck.
Then he leaned to her ear and said, “Wake up, honey. It’s Christmas.”
Her eyes fluttered but stayed closed. Then he watched her sniff and they opened.
She came up on an arm, her fingers clutching the covers to her breasts and stared at the coffee mug in his hand.
She looked at him sitting beside her on the bed and breathed, her voice husky with sleep and surprise, “You made coffee?
He grinned at her and replied, “I was a bachelor for many years, Sonia. I know how to make coffee,” and he handed her the mug.
Her eyes grew wide but she sat up in bed, tucking the covers around to conceal her body, and took it.
He put his hands in the bed on either side of her hips and lowered his face so it was close to hers. “Now, my queen, say ‘Merry Christmas’ to your king.”
She blinked then whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
He touched his lips to hers and whispered back, “Merry Christmas.”
Then he pulled away, leaned down and picked up the lavishly wrapped box he’d brought into the room.