Third-Person Limited - Kendra
By December, the town felt like it had swallowed a box of Christmas lights and never stopped glowing.
Back home, Christmas meant patchy decorations. One, maybe two houses on a street with lights up. A few plastic Santas. The occasional overachiever with a lit-up "Merry Christmas" sign that flickered when JPS decided to behave.
Here?
Every house on their block was doing the most.
Reindeer on roofs. Inflatable snowmen. Entire trees wrapped in twinkling lights. The girls' rental house sat in the middle of it all like the "before" picture in a makeover show.
"Absolutely not," Sofia announced, hands on her hips as she stared at their very bare front yard. "We are not being the sad house."
"It's cold," Jennie complained, tugging her hoodie tighter.
"It's festive," Sofia countered.
"It's capitalism," Erica muttered.
"It's our first Christmas away from home," Kendra said quietly. "We're doing it."
That shut them up.
They all felt it—that weird ache under the excitement.
First Christmas away from family. No parents arguing over who made the best ham. No cousins playing dominoes too loudly. No Jamaican radio blasting "Feliz Navidad" every hour.
They were here instead.
New town. New school. New… everything.
Kendra shoved her hands into her coat pockets and blew out a breath.
"Alright," she said. "Operation 'We Are Not Going to Be The Dead House' begins now."
"Do we even have lights?" Jeah asked.
"Yes," Kendra said. "We have exactly three strings we bought on sale at Walmart, two packs of cheap ornaments, and a dream."
"A sad dream," Jennie added.
"Shut up and help," Kendra said.
They dragged the boxes of decorations from the living room to the front porch. A few neighbors called greetings as they passed—an older human couple walking their dog, a wolf teen jogging by in a beanie, headphones on.
"Hey!" Sofia suddenly brightened. "What if we call in tall, strong, and furry?"
Kendra pretended not to know who she meant. "We're not bribing your crush to hang lights," she said.
Sofia rolled her eyes. "I meant Dominic," she said. "Unless there's something you want to confess about my love life."
Kendra's face heated in the cold air.
"Leave my love life out of this," she muttered. "But… yeah. Actually. That's not a bad idea."
"Wow," Erica said. "Write it down. Kendra admitted someone else had a good idea."
"Mark the date," Sofia said solemnly.
Kendra pulled out her phone.
Decorating Duty
Dominic answered on the second ring.
Decorating Duty
Dominic answered on the second ring.
"Hey," he said. "Everything okay?"
"Define okay," she replied. "We're not dying. We're just Christmas-deprived."
He chuckled. "That sounds fixable."
"Are you good with heights?" she asked.
"Yes," he said slowly. "Why?"
"Because I need a tall idiot to climb a ladder and help me hang lights," she said. "Before Sofia breaks her neck trying to DIY."
"I heard that!" Sofia yelled in the background.
"Please tell me she's not on the roof already," Dominic said.
"Not yet," Kendra said. "But she's thinking about it. Are you coming or what?"
"I'll be there in ten," he said. "I'm also bringing a helping hand or two."
"Who?" she echoed.
"You'll see," he said, and hung up.
He showed up twelve minutes later—she counted—with Robin and Antonio in tow, all three carrying extra bags.
"You brought a squad," Kendra said, leaning against the porch railing. "And shopping."
"Your three sad strings of lights were an insult," Robin said, lifting a bag. "We couldn't just let that stand."
"We raided the storage at my house," Dominic added. "Mom overbuys every year. We… may have 'borrowed' some."
"Define borrowed," Erica said.
"She told me not to let them go to waste," he said. "This is clearly a noble cause."
Kendra snorted.
"Well, gentlemen," she said, gesturing to the blank house. "Behold our shame. Make it less shameful."
The boys set to work with the girls like they'd been doing this together for years.
Dom and Antonio tackled the roofline—ladder, hooks, careful placement—moving with a surety Kendra envied. Wolves, she'd learned, were very hard to knock off balance.
Robin worked with Sofia and Jennie on the bushes and the porch posts, wrapping colored lights in spirals while arguing about which pattern looked better.
Inside, Kendra and Jeah hung cheap garlands along the stair rail and taped paper snowflakes Santa-cheap to the windows.
"You know," Jeah said, looping tinsel around the banister, "it's kind of nice. Doing this."
"Christmas decorating?" Kendra asked.
"Yeah," Jeah said. "New place. New people. Less cussing from my mom when the lights blow the fuse."
Kendra smiled.
"Back home," she said, "my street had like three houses that went all out. The rest had one sad string of blinking lights on the gate and that was it.
"We'll make ours the brightest on the block," Jeah declared.
"Let's not get electrocuted," Kendra replied. "Then we'll be bright and dead."
When the outside lights finally went up, it was dark enough to test them.
Everyone gathered on the lawn, breath puffing in the cold.
"Moment of truth," Sofia said, rubbing her hands together. "Dom, hit it."
Dominic flipped the switch by the porch.
The house lit up.
Warm white lights traced the roofline, framing the house in a soft glow. The bushes twinkled with colored bursts. Little star-shaped lights hung from the porch, casting patterns on the steps. The cheap Walmart lights had been layered with the Garrison extras in a way that made everything look cohesive instead of chaotic.
It wasn't the most impressive house on the block.
But it held its own.
"Yo," Erica breathed. "We did that."
"We really did," Jennie said, a little proud.
Sofia gave a satisfied sigh. "We are no longer the sad house," she declared.
Kendra swallowed.
It hit her then—the mix of nostalgia and newness. Christmas without the Caribbean heat, without the smell of sorrel brewing all day, without her mother shouting at someone to "turn down that blasted music."
And yet.
Here she was, standing on a cold American lawn, surrounded by new friends, watching her temporary house glow.
She blinked hard.
Dominic stepped closer. "You, okay?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah," she said. "Just… first Christmas away from home, you know?"
He nodded.
"My mom cried the first time I spent Christmas at a pack retreat," he said. "Even though she was there. She said it felt like losing something and gaining something at the same time."
"That's exactly what it feels like," Kendra said.
They watched the lights for another minute.
"Speaking of Christmas," Dominic said, almost casually, "my mom wanted me to ask you something."
"Does it involve food?" she asked. "Because I'm listening."
He huffed. "Yes," he said. "And more. She wants you and the girls to come to Christmas dinner at our house."
Kendra's head snapped toward him. "What."
He raised both hands. "You can say no," he said quickly. "She just—" He hesitated. "She wants to meet you properly. And, you know. Not in a school office or on a gossip account."
"Your parents," she said slowly, "want a bunch of noisy girls and the loud human mate-of-their-son at Christmas dinner?"
He smiled. "That's one way to put it. But yes. My aunts, uncles, cousins, younger siblings. Just family. Nobody from the council, nobody official."
"Your Pack?" she asked.
"Mostly," he said. "Some human in-laws. You won't be the only human there."
She thought about it.
Being in a house full of wolves on their own turf.
Meeting his parents, for real.
Noise. Smells. Expectations.
Her instincts twitched between run and stay.
"Will there be food?" she asked again.
He laughed. "So much food," he said. "And if you want to bring something from your culture, my mom will probably cry with joy."
Kendra bit her lip, looked back at the glowing house, then at him.
"Alright," she said. "I'll ask the girls. But yeah. I'll come."
His shoulders relaxed visibly.
"Good," he said. "I'd have begged if you said no."
"You still might have to," she warned.
"I'm prepared," he replied.
Christmas at the Garrisons
Christmas afternoon at the Garrison house was… chaos.
Organized, warm chaos.
The house itself was bigger than Kendra had expected. Not a mansion, but definitely "Alpha's family" level: wide porch, big windows, an open-plan kitchen and living area that looked built to hold a lot of people.
It currently held a lot of people.
They walked in—Kendra, Erica, Jennie, Jeah, Alrreah—balancing dishes and gifts.
The smell hit first.
Roast meats. Spices. Baked bread. Something sweet caramelizing. The underlying clean-scent of wolf and winter air.
"Wow," Erica whispered. "We stepped into a food dimension."
"Focus," Jennie hissed. "We're meeting his family."
Dominic met them at the door, dressed in a dark sweater and jeans instead of his usual hoodie, hair slightly tamed like someone had attacked it with a comb.
"You made it," he said, relieved.
"Barely," Kendra said. "Sofia just about staged a protest that she wasn't invited."
"She's getting her own family dinner across the street," he replied. "My mom promised to send leftovers."
"That might save your life," Kendra said.
He grinned and took the pan from her hands.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Backed Chicken," she said. "Kind of. It was cooked on a grill instead of the oven, and I had to fight three people for thyme at the Caribbean store yesterday, but it's close enough." "We also brought, rice and peas, Oxtail and a loaded potato Salad."
His eyes warmed. "She's going to love you," he murmured.
She pretended not to hear.
His mom got to them first.
"Kendra!" Mrs. Garrison said, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she hurried over. She was shorter than Dominic but had the same eyes, sharp and kind. "I'm so happy you came."
"Thank you for having us, Mrs. Garrison," Kendra said, trying not to sound nervous.
"Call me Lila," she said. "Please. Come in, come in. You girls must be freezing."
Introductions blurred after that.
Aunts. Uncles. Cousins of various ages darting between legs, some clearly wolves, some human. A very serious nine-year-old little sister named Ava who studied Kendra like she was a new type of animal.
"Is it true you fought Karina Frost and didn't die?" Ava asked bluntly at one point.
"Ava," Lila scolded, half-laughing.
"Yes," Kendra said solemnly. "But don't try it at home."
Ava grinned like Kendra had just told her a secret.
Kendra was invited into the kitchen almost immediately.
"You cook, right?" one of Dominic's aunts asked, a tall woman with streaks of silver in her dark hair.
"Sometimes," Kendra said. "I can follow a recipe and add a few of my own touches to match my taste."
That got a round of approval.
"Come," Lila said, handing her an apron. "Help me with the glaze."
For a little while, it felt… familiar.
Music playing softly in the background. Women moving around each other in practiced patterns. Taste this. Stir that. Move, girl, you're in front of the oven.
Kendra stirred, tasted, adjusted.
"You've got a good hand," Lila said, watching her add a pinch more salt, a bit more pepper.
"Food is the only thing I'm generous with," Kendra joked. "Everything else, I ration."
"You're generous with more than that," Lila said quietly.
Kendra pretended not to understand.
When she tried to stay, though, Lila shooed her out.
"Go," she said. "Be with the others. We've got this."
"But—"
"Do you really want to be trapped in here when they start playing games?" Lila asked. "Trust me, you want a good seat."
Kendra hesitated.
"Go," Lila repeated, smiling. "This is your Christmas too."
So, Kendra went.
The living room was a warm, noisy mess.
Kids on the floor with toys. Teen cousins on the couch, half on their phones, half watching a Christmas movie with mild mockery. Uncles at the dining table playing a low-stakes card game. Wolves and humans soaked into the furniture like they'd grown there.
Dominic was on the couch arm, listening to his younger brother recount an elaborate story about a snowball fight that had gone wrong.
When he saw Kendra, his face lit up in a way that still made her chest do weird things.
"All done being enslaved in the kitchen?" he asked.
"I got promoted to guest," she said. "Apparently I passed her backing."
"High praise," he said. "My mom doesn't say that to just anyone."
She tried not to gulp that down like it meant too much.
He slid down from the arm and took the space next to her on the couch, close but not suffocating.
His little sister Ava plopped herself on Kendra's other side like she'd claimed a spot.
"Dom," Ava said, "did you know Kendra's rice is better than yours?"
"You've never even tried my rice," Dominic protested.
"That's how I know," Ava said.
The room laughed.
Games started after dinner.
Charades, first—always dangerous with wolves who could act out "wolf chase" a little too realistically.
Then a fast-paced card game that Kendra caught onto quickly and proceeded to win two rounds of in a row.
"Beginner's luck," one of Dominic's cousins grumbled.
"Or maybe I'm just smarter than you," she replied sweetly.
"How is she not pack yet?" someone whispered, and everyone pretended not to hear it.
Later, Dominic's dad put on a playlist that mixed classic Christmas songs with a few upbeat tracks that got the younger kids dancing. Kendra found herself teaching Ava and a couple of little cousins a watered-down version of a dancehall moves, much to Lila's amused horror.
"She's corrupting them," Lila said, laughing.
"They're welcome," Kendra replied.
The whole time, she felt eyes on her.
Not uncomfortable ones.
Just… watching.
Measuring.
Weighing.
She met most of them head-on.
If they were going to look, they might as well know she saw them.
Presents came last, when everyone was full and half-drowsy.
Dominic's family didn't do a big formal tree-circle. They passed gifts around the room in a pleasantly chaotic way, kids tearing paper at lightning speed while adults opened boxes more slowly.
The girls had brought small gifts—spice blends from the Caribbean store, a pretty dish towel set, a bottle of wine Lila insisted was "too much" and then opened immediately.
Kendra wasn't expecting anything beyond maybe a mug or some candy.
So, when Lila handed her a small, neatly wrapped box with her name on it in elegant script, she went a little still.
"You didn't have to—" she started.
"Hush," Lila said. "Open it."
Inside was a soft scarf in a deep charcoal gray shot through with a faint blue thread when it caught the light.
Kendra ran her fingers over it.
"Thank you," she said, voice rougher than she meant.
"It reminded me of you," Lila said. "Strong and subtle. And it'll go with that coat you wore in."
"Now open mine," Ava demanded, shoving a lumpy package at her.
Kendra did, revealing a handmade bracelet made of braided string and plastic beads in blue and gray.
"It's a friendship bracelet," Ava said. "But like, upgraded."
"I love it," Kendra said honestly.
There were a few more surprises—a pair of fuzzy socks from one cousin, a silly mug from another—and then Dominic was in front of her, holding out a small box that was not wrapped in family paper.
"Here," he said quietly.
Her heart did that annoying flip-flop again.
"What is this?" she asked.
"A bomb," he said. "Open it carefully."
She rolled her eyes and lifted the lid.
Inside, resting on a bit of dark fabric, was a necklace.
The chain was a simple, sturdy silver.
The pendant was what caught her breath: a small, teardrop-shaped stone in deep, midnight blue, set in a clean silver bezel. When it caught the light, it flashed softer streaks of gray-blue, like storm clouds over the ocean.
On the back, when she turned it over, was a tiny engraving: 09 and a little stylized broken bone symbol.
"Is this…" she swallowed. "Sapphire?"
"September birthstone," he said. "I asked your mom when your birthday was. She thinks I'm planning a surprise party. Don't tell her I ruined it early."
"You called my mother?" she blurted.
"Yes," he said. "She grilled me for fifteen minutes about my intentions and then told me what cake you like."
Kendra's throat felt tight.
"You made this?" she asked, fingers careful on the metal.
"With help," he said. "My aunt does jewelry. I did the engraving. Don't look too closely at the numbers; they're crooked."
"They're perfect," she said.
"The bone is for your wrists," he added. "You broke them but didn't… you know. Break."
"That's cheesy," she said.
"It is," he agreed.
She loved it.
"Can I put it on you?" he asked.
She hesitated.
The room was loud enough that most people weren't paying close attention, but a few nearby relatives were definitely watching.
She could feel the weight of their curiosity.
But this—this was them.
Bindings and labels and politics aside, this was a boy who called her mother and carved a tiny bone into a piece of jewelry because he'd watched her heal.
"Yeah," she said. "Okay."
She turned, lifted her hair.
His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he fastened the clasp.
She shivered.
"Too cold?" he murmured.
"Shut up," she said softly.
When she turned back, the pendant rested just above her collarbone, cool against her skin.
Dark blue. A little gray when it moved.
Hers.
"You look…" He stopped himself, cleared his throat. "It suits you."
"Your turn," she said quickly, before her face set on fire. "Hold out your hand."
He did.
She dropped a slightly heavier box into it.
He opened it, raised brows.
Inside was a silver chain with a flat, oval pendant. On one side, there was an engraved outline of her face—curly hair, tilted chin, familiar scowl softened into something almost-smile. On the other side, a more, uh… generous carving of her bust, stylized but unmistakable.
He blinked.
Then I barked out a laugh.
"Is this—" he choked, holding it up. "Is this your face and boobs?"
"Bust," she corrected primly. "It's art. You're welcome."
Some of the nearby relatives leaned over.
Robin, from a few feet away, almost fell off the couch laughing. "Bro," he wheezed. "She gave you a boob locket."
"It's a tasteful boob locket," Kendra said. "So that if you're ever being stupid, you can look down and remember whose patience you're testing."
Dominic was still laughing, but there was something warm in his eyes behind the embarrassment.
"You had this made?" he asked.
"I designed it," she said. "The guy at the mall kiosk did the engraving. He was a little too excited about the bust part, but I threatened to fight him, so he behaved."
Dominic ran his thumb over the engraved lines.
"I love it," he said.
"You better," she said. "I was this close to getting you a regular dog tag, but where's the fun in that?"
"Can I…?" He gestured to his neck.
"Go ahead," she said.
He unclasped the chain and slipped it on, the pendant disappearing under his sweater.
Robin made a wolf-whistle sound. "Whipped," he coughed into his fist.
"Jealous," Dominic shot back.
Kendra just leaned back into the couch, brushing the sapphire at her throat.
A human girl in a wolf's house, wearing a stone that matched the night and a bond she still wasn't sure how to name.
The room was noisy.
Smells and laughter and family voices layered on each other.
For the first time since she'd left Jamaica, the ache of missing home was still there—but quieter.
Because maybe, just maybe, she was starting to build something here too.
Different.
Messy.
Unexpected.
But hers.