With Everything I Am (35 page)

Then she eschewed dinner, preparing a feast of unhealthy snack foods which he approved of thoroughly. While Sonia did that, Callum checked the garage to ascertain if Regan had seen to his requests and, as ever, considering shopping was involved, his mother had accomplished her mission admirably. They carted the food upstairs and nibbled on it voraciously at first, trailing off as Sonia first put in
Elf,
another film he had not seen as he didn’t often waste time sitting around watching human movies then
Scrooged
which he had seen but only parts of it.

And finally, as the night grew late, Sonia slid in the movie she explained to him she watched last every year on Christmas Eve,
White Christmas
.

Elf
, Callum found, was roaringly funny.
Scrooged
was also funny and clever but he liked
White Christmas
best. It was humorous, it was sweet, it had a depth of emotion, not to mention the man called Bing could fucking sing and the lodge they were in through most of the movie reminded him of home.

Close to the end of the film, he felt her body tense and saw her hand snake from around him to fist as she brought it to her mouth. He lifted his head to see she was silently crying, having trouble holding back her sobs at a scene she’d watched dozens of times before but, obviously, it never failed to move her.

He found that moment, Sonia tucked into him on Christmas Eve silently weeping against his chest, somehow touching and right then he determined it was another new tradition and he’d have it every year. Without a word, he lifted a hand to cradle her face, his thumb trailing through her tears as he watched the General’s soldiers declaring their unceasing loyalty and he thought the end of
White Christmas
was the fucking best.

He used the remote to switch off the television when it was finished and Sonia immediately moved to exit the couch.

His arm tightened, keeping her where she was.

“Honey, where are you going?”
 

Her head tipped back to look at him.

“Well…” she started then for some reason looked beyond his ear to the arm of the couch his head was resting on. “After
White Christmas
, I clean up the mess and go to bed.”

Callum turned his head, his eyes hit the clock on the DVD player and he saw it was quarter to midnight.

Nearly Christmas.

And he decided on another new tradition.

His other arm circled her and he pulled her up his chest so they were eye-to-eye.

“Why do you watch
White Christmas
last every year?”

She took a fluttering breath, something she did often, something he liked because always it denoted she was feeling something deep and he liked the fact that his queen felt deeply.

Then she answered, “Because I watched it with my parents every year. They loved it.” She swallowed, seeming both nervous and uncertain and she gazed into his eyes as if trying to read him which was odd. She was a female human who, according to Ryon, communicated in code. He was wolf and therefore, with his mate at least, an open book. She must have found what she was seeking for she went on, “If I watch it, it means, before I go to bed on Christmas Eve, I’m remembering them. They’re fresh in my mind which is the only way I can ever really have them.”

Having lost Mac and Calvin, understanding her sense of bereavement and hoping to soothe her grief as she had done his, his hand went to her neck, his fingers slid in her hair and he pulled her face down to touch her lips to his.

She relaxed in his arms and he decided, with no small sense of triumph that he’d succeeded in his endeavor.

He slid her back down his body with his arm about her and tucked her cheek to his chest with his other hand.

Then he asked, “Would you like to know how my people spend Christmas?”

She didn’t answer at first, just pulled in a soft, surprised breath and he cursed himself again for his insensitivity because Ryon was right. She needed information about the culture she’d be living amongst for the rest of her days and she didn’t need to get it by being suddenly confronted with it in all of its, to her, peculiarity.

When she didn’t answer, he prompted, “Baby doll?”

She nodded her head against his chest.

His fingers tensed in her hair then relaxed and slid through it, and again, and again, petting her while he spoke.

“We start on first December with the parties. Everyone throws one. It’s like a war to have the best party so people will want to come to yours. There’s one to attend every day, sometimes you’ll attend two or even three. They aren’t like yours. They’re a little louder, a little wilder and my people don’t only have them at night, they like celebrating anytime. They have them during the day as well. Enormous luncheons with so much food, you need a nap afterward. Full-on breakfasts, which always lead eventually to trips to the pub and then, even later, stumbling home highly inebriated while singing Christmas songs.”

He heard a surprised giggle escape her throat, sounding strangled and he realized he’d never, not once in over three weeks, made her laugh.

Not once.

Fucking hell, but he’d been buried so deep with everything else, with his mate, he’d been a thoughtless bastard.

She tipped her head back and her eyes were alight when she asked, “
You
stumble home drunk singing
Christmas songs?
”

He grinned down at her, enchanted more than usual at his queen when her eyes were lit like that, and admitted, “It’s been known to happen.”

She pressed her lips together but he felt her body shake with laughter.

“My people like to sing,” he informed her easily. “They like it best when they’re shitfaced.”

She burst out laughing and dropped her forehead to his chest.

There were many things he’d experienced with Sonia in the last three weeks that Callum fucking loved.

But nothing was better than feeling Sonia’s body rocking with laughter, the sound of it rumbling into his chest, while she was in his arms.

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 to 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.