A Christmas to Bear (5 page)

“Yes.” The word slipped out on its own.

“Would you…could you…have a cup of cider with me?”

Aria slapped his arm hard, grinning. “You’re horrible,” she said.

“Answer me. Please. I beg you. Don’t make me wait.”

“Fine, Lucian. I will have a cup of cider with you.”

“You’ve just made me the happiest man alive.”

“And you’ve just made me livid. You’re lucky I don’t bite you.”

The two spent most of the night eating, drinking and laughing together. Lucian seemed at last to be relaxing, at least a little.

“It’s so great to have snow around,” Aria exclaimed as they walked. “That’s one thing I hate about my home in California. Christmas has never really felt like Christmas, you know? The grass shouldn’t be green at this time of the year.”

“I agree,” said Lucian. “It should be white as a polar bear’s…white bits.”

“I won’t ask about those for the moment. Tell me how you ended up here,” said Aria as they sat on two chairs carved of ice. The hot pastries that they were in the process of eating emitted a puff of steam which dissipated into the air around them.

“That’s easy. I was young and heard that there was an area in the mountains where shifters could go and stay away from civilization. It was a no–brainer.”

“But I mean, were you always antisocial?” Aria was thinking now of her own escape to Wolf Rock, leaving everyone she loved behind.

“No. As a kid I was friendly. I still am, sort of.” He smiled, but Aria detected a wince as well.

“So what changed?”

“It was my aggression. I just never learned to control it. Or to trust myself. Whether it was kissing a girl or fighting with a boy. I’ve never been able to adjust to my own strength.”

“Don’t you think you could learn?”

Lucian looked at her then. “I don’t know.” He reached over and took her hand in his. She felt his warmth even through her mitten. “Maybe if I had the right teacher.”

“Lucian,” she replied. “Before Trevor showed up, you were about to say something to me.”

“Was I? I don’t remember now.”

Aria sank into her chair. This man was so frustrating.

“Fine, then, I’ll say it,” she said. “I like you. But it’s not that. It’s not a question of ‘like.’ That first day we met, something happened to me.
In
me. I don’t know what it was. I don’t know how to explain it. You mean something to me. I don’t want to let go of you.”

“But you have to. So do I.” He stood now, looking down at her. “It’s getting late. I should walk you home.”

Aria felt a dagger in her heart. This man, who was supposed to be so undisciplined, was so good at simply stating that they were not to be together. It didn’t seem fair. How was it that emotions were eating her up and he seemed fine?

She rose and they walked in silence for a time, back down the trail towards town.

“I can’t stand this,” she said finally.

“What?”

“This. Whatever it is. You and me. I have feelings for you. I don’t know how; it’s all happened so fast.”

“You only think you do because I helped you.”

Aria stopped in her tracks. “How dare you say that?” She felt her eyes tear up and the already dark shape in front of her went blurry.

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“God, no, it’s not true. I’m not some fucking damsel in distress, Lucian. If you hadn’t shown up on the ski hill, I would have found my way down. If you hadn’t shown up on the street…”

“Then what, Aria? You would have fought off a shifter?”

“I sure as hell would have tried.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you. Don’t you see? I need to look after you.”

“Why?”

“Because I…”

“Because you
what?
What, Lucian? Say it.”

“I adore you. I don’t know how I can feel this way so fast about someone. I need you. And it scares the hell out of me, Aria.”

Now the tears flowed freely. Joy and sadness mingled in her heart; in the knowledge that she would probably leave and never see him again. That he seemed to want to expel her from his life in spite of all of it.

Lucian seemed to understand. He took her in his arms and pulled her gently to his chest. Aria remained quiet, letting only a few tears land on his coat before pulling away. They began to walk again and soon the lights of the main street were visible.

“I would stay here for you, you know,” she said after a silence.

“I know you would. But you can’t. You shouldn’t.”

“Lucian, I’m supposed to fly out on Christmas Day, back to California. If you decide that you want me to stay, you find me at the inn and tell me. The ball is in your court.”

Lucian remained quiet and Aria avoided looking at him for fear that doing so would make her cry again.

When they reached the front door of the inn, Lucian stopped.

“Well, here we are,” he said. He studied her face, which was hard to take. It was as though he was looking for the wounds he’d inflicted in spite of his insistence that he could never hurt her.

“Here we are,” she replied.

“You inspire me, Aria.” Lucian’s eyes looked deep into her own, which were more moist than she would have liked. “You make me want to be better in every single way. For that alone you mean the world to me. But you need to return to your home and your family, and forget the broken man you’re leaving here.”

Aria opened her mouth to protest and shut it again. Finally she said simply, “Good night, Lucian,” and turned away, walking into the building and letting the door shut behind her.

“Good night, sweet thing.”

The night was difficult. Aria told herself again and again that Lucian had done the right thing, but failed repeatedly to convince herself that all was for the best. How could it be?

Smile.

She couldn’t be with a reclusive shifter. Even if she liked him. Even if she
loved
him. Even if he was the kindest, best man in the world.

Sleep never really came; instead an internal debate raged and she wondered if it would ever end, if she’d ever be able to walk away and forget this place and the shifter. Somehow, regardless of how heartless her ex had been, she’d managed to push him out of her mind with relative ease. But Lucian was different. It was his goodness and his assortment of flaws that made her gravitate towards him. She was no damsel in distress. She was strong, and wanted to rescue
him.

The next day she remained in her room, calling down for breakfast to be delivered. Around one p.m. the thought hit that she was being pathetic, waiting to see if he’d call or show.

“No,” she said out loud, resolute in the afternoon light. “I have to learn to live without him. I did it for twenty–four years. May as well start again now.”

Finally she rose to pack up her things for the flight which was to depart the following afternoon. She’d spend today exploring the town, doing some last–minute shopping.

Her heart wasn’t in it as she wandered, and as late afternoon hit she found herself back at the coffee shop, leaning against the counter, where she saw the same young woman as she had on her previous visit.

“Did you go to the carnival?” the barrista asked, her voice eager.

“I did, yeah.”

“Oh, good. I hope it was fun. And Lucian? You were asking about him. I’m glad to see you’re alive, if you actually ventured up to his place.”

“Oh, I’m alive, at least on the outside.”

The woman seemed to sense that she should shut up at that point and she handed Aria her hot chocolate before adding, “Hey, listen. Shifters are difficult. I should know. I’m one of them. But you know, when they fall they fall hard, in a way that people don’t always understand. And sometimes they don’t understand it themselves. Anyhow, good luck to you, whatever happens.”

Aria walked away and sat at a counter by the window. If it was possible for a shifter to fall harder than she had, she pitied them. There was nothing as joyous and nothing as painful as love.

After the hot chocolate had found its way into her empty stomach, she left to return to the inn. She knew perfectly well why she was doing so: to see if there was news of a certain polar bear. Nothing, it seemed, could be accomplished while she didn’t know if he’d been in touch. If he was thinking of her. If he cared just a little.

But when she reached the front desk, there were no messages. It seemed that in this one regard, Lucian remained the essence of discipline. Infuriating, crazy–making discipline.

“Strong, solitary, independent woman who doesn’t need a man.” Aria reminded herself of this as she threw herself onto her bed.

It seemed that the previous night’s lack of sleep caught up with her then. When she awoke it was five a.m. She had several hours before she was to take the shuttle to the airport.

That was enough time.

She lay on the bed until the sky began to glow pink; the first traces of dawn. And with the rising sun illuminating the day, she threw on her clothes, wrapped herself in her coat and scarf and left the inn. She knew the way now, and within an hour she was approaching the glacier. Though she’d told him that the ball was in his court, she told herself, she’d simply lied. She had a say in this, didn’t she? How could she return home without at least saying good–bye? At the very least, it would be impolite.

More internal arguments raged as she stepped out of the woods and beheld the glacier before her. She hiked towards the house at the base, determined that she was doing the right thing.

At first she couldn’t see it; shadows cast from the low sun over the mountains seemed to conceal its whereabouts. But as she approached she realized that it wasn’t a trick of the sun at all.

The house was gone.

Aria found herself running now, hard, slick ice under her feet. What was going on?

The house was just a pile of frozen rubble. Its remnants were unidentifiable, except to her discerning eye; she recognized chunks of the thick ice that had served as walls, scattered about like gravel. But it was as though someone with a jackhammer had had a field day with it, or perhaps an angry polar bear. So Lucian had left. But where had he gone?

Aria looked around for traces of him; anything. But there were no footprints; fresh snow covered any trail that he might have taken.

“So he wanted to be free of me so badly that he did this,” she thought, wretchedness overtaking her.

The hike downhill constituted a thousand wipes of her face with damp wool mittens. Now, at least, she knew. She could have closure. He didn’t want her and never had.

She collected herself before arriving at the inn. In an hour or so the shuttle would come pick her up and she would head home. In her mind this place had been a dream, and she would attempt to satisfy herself with that. It was the only way to leave it behind.

The shuttle ride and even the flight were blurs; Aria spent the entire time avoiding eye contact with strangers and wishing that she could speed up time.

When at last she touched down in California she grabbed the first taxi she saw. The sky was clear, the weather warm. At least that was something. But now she was looking at Christmas with her family, having lost two men in the space of weeks.

I wonder what a flight to Bali costs,
she thought.
There are no shifters there, I’ll bet.

The cab ride lasted far too long because of the requisite rush hour traffic that always managed to hit weary travelers. But after an eternity of suffering in the back seat, at last the driver turned onto her street.

“It’s up on the right,” she said. “The one with the fire hydrant in front.”

“And the snow?” the man asked.

“No, there’s no…wait, what?”

The driver pointed ahead. “Snow,” he said.

Aria looked. Her entire lawn and roof were coated in what looked like a blanket of fresh snow. The cab driver pulled up and she got out, baffled as he handed over her luggage. As she stepped forwards she stuck a toe under the white fluff, which turned out to be something like cotton batting draped over her property.

“I’ve seen them do this on movie sets,” said the driver. “Someone filming here?”

“Not that I know of,” said Aria.

“Well, it was probably your family members, then.”

“Yeah, must’ve been.”

She handed over the payment and tip before wheeling her luggage up the walkway to her front door. After extracting the key from her purse and fighting briefly with her lock, she flung the door open.

Inside, things appeared undisturbed and a pile of mail sat on the floor. She walked through the house, looking for signs that anyone had been there. Her sister had a key, but clearly hadn’t been by.

“Aria.”

The voice came from behind her. She leapt, but not out of fear so much as a heart which instantly filled itself with intense excitement. Lucian. She stood still and closed her eyes, afraid that she was dreaming this, too.

“You said you never got snow,” he said, moving closer. “So I brought you some.”

Hands moved slowly around her front and she felt his body press into her back.

“Are you still going to insist on your ridiculous ‘no sex’ rule?” he whispered into her ear.

“No.” She turned to face him. “Wait a minute,” she said. “What happened to your house? I’m mad at you.” She barely meant it, though.

“For breaking my house? That thing needed renovation work anyhow. It was leaky.”

“I don’t think melting ice counts as ‘leaky,’” she laughed.

“Oh, is that what it was? Oh, well, too late.”

“Don’t make me slap you, Lucian. Tell me.”

“I decided that you were right. Tristan was right. It’s time to forget my past and move forward. It’s time to stop pushing people away.” He put his hands on her waist again and pulled her to him. “And pull them in. At least, one person.” With that he kissed her tenderly.

Aria’s hands went to his neck and she kissed him back, a cascade of emotion flowing through her. Everything that she’d ever wanted was happening in this instant. Well,
almost
everything.

Determined to see all of her fantasies fulfilled at last, she reached for his hand, which he offered gladly.

“No doubt you’ve given yourself the tour,” she said, drawing him towards the staircase. “But you haven’t really experienced my place properly.”

“Oh?” Lucian allowed himself to be dragged up the stairs, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling.

“No. No man truly knows a house until a woman has had her way with him inside it.”

“I’m inclined to agree. And I’d very much like to get to know your house better.”

In her bedroom Aria turned to him again, standing back to admire the man who had somehow made his way a great distance to her home, like the hero of some perfect dream. He was as gorgeous in this house as he’d been in the woods on that first afternoon. There was only one difference: he was clothed. And that was a great crime.