Alora Frost North Mountain Novels & Stories

His presence felt like a living shield wrapped around her. Hours later, the cold deepened as they ventured far away from the East, darkness thickening across the terrain as the sun sank lower into the horizon. Through the jeep’s fogged window, she caught glimpses of him, his silver fur gleaming beneath the fading light and eyes glowing like embers. ‎ Always watching. ‎ Always guarding. *** By nightfall, they’d reached the outskirts of the North. The jagged mountainous terrains loomed ahead, carved from shadow and ice. Snow blanketed the ground in heavy layers, the freezing air biting and still. ‎

She called herself Marwen, a healer from the Western mountains. She examined Alora with the same care as the pack healer, even hummed a tune as she pressed her palm to Alora’s stomach. Finally, she straightened with a sympathetic smile. “No child. The Luna’s body is preparing for the ceremonial bite…and also getting to your bond.” she smiled as if the Alpha should understand what she meant. I did, and the alpha did too, so Morgan exhaled slowly, though I could tell he was not convinced. “And the dizziness? The nausea?”

And yet, here she was—wrapped up in it, with her own destiny as tangled as his. The path grew steeper as they continued to climb, the cold biting at their skin. In the distance, the faint glow of the Frostfang Peaks could be seen, their jagged summits rising like dark sentinels in the night. The air was thin, the chill of the mountain wind nipping at their faces, but Raynor couldn’t feel the cold—not as much as he felt the weight of the journey ahead. The forest was quiet now, too quiet. Raynor’s grip on his dagger tightened again. Something was wrong. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being followed.

"They will not strike unless we draw steel first. They are proud, but their chieftains are not suicidal enough to ambush the Supreme Alpha without cause." Elena kept her horse steady, her hyper-focused gaze locked onto the sheer cliff faces bordering the path. She wasn't watching for hidden archers; her mind was calculating the exact altitude and moisture levels required for the botanical anomalies she was seeking. According to the ancient texts, the Frostfire Fern only germinated in the deep, freezing fissures where the mountain stone fractured under tectonic stress, absorbing the raw, trace minerals of the deep earth while exposed to sub-zero winds.

The crystal orb sat in the center of the obsidian pedestal, projecting a sprawling, three-dimensional topographical survey of the untamed wilderness beyond the Northern Ridge—a vast, frozen land mass known in forgotten legends as the Frost-Bite Continent. The projection displayed jagged mountain chains three times the height of the Five Crowned Peaks, vast subterranean lava tubes that provided heat to ancient, hidden settlements, and thousands of roving, nomadic pack signals moving under the harsh, unyielding tundra. I stood at the edge of the table, wrapped in a floor-length silk robe of deep crimson. The Star-Metal Crown rested on a velvet cushion beside me, but the silver mark on my colla

The hiss of the burner joins the rattle of wind against the walls, but despite the storm, the heaters working it's magic and our little outpost is starting to feel warm and snug. I check the weather console. A crust of frozen pixels still smears across the lower half of the second digit where Bear smacked it earlier, but it seems to read --28°C outside. It should be dark by now, yet the snow clouds have swallowed the night and turned it into a pale fog of blue and grey. When I return my gaze, Nora is watching me with a bemused smile. "You know whiteouts can generate infrasound?" she says, clearly relishing my curiosity. "Some expedition journals even mention hearing phantom voices."