FICTION | FAE | WEREWOLVES | ROMANCE
Merry Christmas, Cara Bleu
The Cara Bleu Chronicles
The following story contains scenes of graphic violence and strong language. Reader discretion is advised.
I’ve always hated the whole Yule season. All that Peace on Earth and Goodwill Toward Men shit. It sounds good, but it never happens.
I’d hunkered down in my little hideout in the middle of the Bayou. Though I missed the snow and chill of the old world during that time of year, I knew no one would bother me out here.
Once Ragnar and I had finished cleaning up from our little tussle with Morgan, I took the cross and hid it away once again. Though I’d promised I’d let him know when I got back, I didn’t. I just couldn’t bring myself to walk into that place again. Watching Teig get his throat torn out affected me more than I thought it would and seeing what Morgan had turned into scared the hell out of me. I was lost.
Upon my return, I locked myself away. I curled up with the Book of Elders and began reading all I could about my family and our history. In the process, days turned into weeks and weeks to months. I’d lost all track of time.
As I sat reading another chapter about one of my ancestors, the alarms at the front gate went off. Who would dare come…
