The Frost Pack

Six Years Ago

"Alpha, go. Please. I'll handle things here."

Gunther's voice thundered through the narrow hallway as he braced his full weight against the door, his boots sliding slightly on the floor with each violent impact from the other side. The metal hinges screamed in protest, and the wood groaned as though it might splinter at any second.

Whatever was out there was no ordinary enemy.

It moved with rage and hunger, claws scraping, teeth snapping, its fury shaking the walls as if the building itself feared it. The air felt thick with danger, suffocating, charged with the kind of malice that promised death.

"Gunther, I can't leave you," Curtis shouted back, his voice cracking under the strain of panic and loyalty. "We fight together. We always have."

Gunther twisted his head just enough to look at him, sweat and blood streaking his face. Despite the terror pressing in on them, his eyes were steady—resolved in a way that made Curtis's chest ache.

"Save the children," Gunther yelled, shoving harder against the door as it buckled inward. "Please. Take them and go. Now!"

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them.

Curtis saw everything in that look—years of friendship, shared battles, laughter, and promises. Gratitude shone there. So did acceptance. And in that instant, Curtis knew the truth with brutal clarity.

He would never see his friend again.

The attack had come without warning. What was meant to be a simple family outing—Curtis bringing Vera and Stone along while Gunther joined them for a casual afternoon—had turned into a nightmare within minutes. Humans filled the grounds, oblivious and panicked, which meant there could be no shifting, no revealing what they truly were.

Gunther had fought like something unleashed, dragging Curtis and the children through corridors until they reached the small storage room at the back. He shoved them inside and slammed the door shut just as the attackers reached them.

And now, he was the last barrier.

Curtis hesitated, his fists clenched, his instincts screaming at him to stay—to fight—to die beside his friend if he had to.

Then Gunther screamed, raw and furious, "GO!"

Curtis obeyed.

He ran with the children clutched close, their frightened cries ringing in his ears as the door behind them finally shattered. He didn't look back. He couldn't.

Gunther Reign was dragged into death so the others could live.

The girls' mother had died after childbirth. Gunther had raised Tara and Taylor alone, pouring everything he had into them—his heart, his strength, his pride.

And now he was gone.

When Curtis returned home that night, his clothes soaked in blood that wasn't his, he made a vow that would shape the rest of his life. He would raise Gunther's daughters as his own. He would love them, protect them, and stand in the place of the man who had given his life for them.

Months later, tragedy struck again.

Emerald—his wife—succumbed to her illness, leaving Curtis with four children instead of two. Stone. Vera. Tara. Taylor. Different bloodlines, different histories—but one home.

They didn't grow up as strangers forced together by fate.

They grew as siblings.

Bound not by blood, but by love—and the promise of a dying man.

Gunther Reign died that night.

Leaving behind two daughters.

And a truth he never got the chance to fully explain.

Gunther had known.

About the girls. About the wolves that would come late. About the bond that required more than time—and far more than two hearts.

Now, Curtis carried that knowledge alone.

Present Day

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Tara's gentle voice pulled Curtis from the dark spiral of memory. He blinked and looked up as she stepped into the room, a mug of coffee cradled between her hands.

For a moment, the resemblance stole his breath.

She had Gunther's calm presence, his grounding energy, the same quiet strength that made people feel safe just by being near her. Even her voice carried that familiar steadiness.

Curtis smiled softly. "Come here, honey."

She walked over, handing him the mug before settling beside his chair. "You seemed far away."

"I was just thinking about Gunther," he admitted, wrapping his fingers around the warmth of the cup. "He'd be so proud of the women you and Taylor have become."

Tara leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. "Wherever Dad is, I know he's proud of you too—for loving us the way you do."

A quiet chuckle escaped Curtis as he pulled her closer. "Thank you. I love you girls more than anything."

"We love you too."

They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them heavy—but healing.

Eventually, Tara pulled back, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Enough with the serious mood," she said lightly. "Now… about the Crent Festival. Are we really going?"

"Absolutely," Curtis replied without hesitation.

Her brows knit together. "Are you sure? Taylor and I can stay behind. I don't want us to be an embarrassment—"

Curtis turned fully toward her. "You are not an embarrassment. And who knows," he added gently, "you might find what you were meant to guard… and who you were meant to guard it with."

She frowned. "That sounds… ominous."

"Destiny usually is," he said softly.

The conversation left her unsettled, but before she could ask more, Curtis was already rising from his chair, walking away like a man carrying secrets too heavy to share.

The day of the festival arrived beneath a blazing sun, excitement buzzing through the pack like electricity.

Several pack members joined them for the journey. Curtis's private jet carried them across the skies, followed by a convoy of luxury SUVs that transported them to the docks. From there, boats ferried them across the water toward Crent Island.

"Oh my goddess!" Taylor squealed, bouncing on her toes. "This is going to be mad fun!"

"We're so having mad fun," Vera echoed, laughing as they stepped onto the dock.

Tara paused, letting the salty breeze wrap around her. There was a pull in her chest she couldn't explain—unease mixed with anticipation—but seeing Taylor so alive, so happy, eased something inside her.

The island was massive and breathtaking. Towering trees stood like ancient sentinels along the shore, and the air shimmered faintly with magic. Packs from every corner of the world had gathered, their banners raised high, bonfires burning, laughter and music weaving together into something alive.

At the heart of it all stood the main festival grounds, encircled by towering stone statues worn smooth by time. This was where rituals would be held. Where bonds would be tested. Where fate often intervened.

Their accommodations were waiting—a sprawling, luxurious tent with polished wooden floors, silk-draped beds, glowing lanterns, and a balcony overlooking the island.

"This isn't a tent," Taylor gasped. "This is a palace!"

"I love it here already," she added, tossing her bag onto the bed and spinning in delight.

Vera grinned. "This ambiance is everything."

Within minutes, the two were changed and rushing out, laughter echoing behind them.

Tara lingered, adjusting her tank top in the mirror, unease curling in her stomach.

Stone stepped in quietly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

"You don't sound excited."

She shrugged.

He studied her for a moment. "You look good."

"Thanks."

"You should come out. It's beautiful. You might actually enjoy yourself."

After a beat, she nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

Outside, the island pulsed with life. Music played. Wolves laughed. Packs mingled freely, sharing drinks and stories.

For a brief moment, Tara breathed it all in—and her worries loosened their grip.

They joined Curtis, Vera, and Taylor near one of the central gathering points. The girls were laughing, sipping coconut drinks, carefree.

A man stood beside Curtis—unfamiliar.

"Tara," Curtis said, "this is Alpha Zane of the Nightshade Pack."

Before she could respond, a deep, resonant sound tore through the air.

A horn.

Long. Powerful. Echoing across the island.

Silence swept over the festival.

From the mist above the water, massive ships emerged—three of them—crafted from ancient wood. Bold letters marked the sails.

F.

The Frost Pack.

Men stood along the decks, dressed in leather and fur, braided hair whipping in the wind. They looked timeless. Dangerous. Like legends made flesh.

Tara's breath caught.

Something in her chest tightened painfully, burning as if her soul itself were screaming without sound.

"The Frost Pack," Curtis said quietly.

"We thought their arrival was just a rumor," Zane muttered.

"It wasn't," Curtis replied, his voice grim.

Tara glanced between them, unease flooding her veins.

Something was coming.

And she had no idea whether it would be beautiful—

Or devastating.