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The centerpiece of the space was an old oak roll-top secretary’s desk, the accordion-type cover pushed up, the desktop littered with papers and Post-It notes and books with Brad’s Toshiba laptop in the middle of it all. “So this is where the magic happens, huh?” Bias said, walking further into the room. “If by ‘magic’ you mean ‘blood, sweat, and tears’, then yes, this is where it all happens.” Wandering over to the desk, Bias picked up one of the books. “Life in Colonial America,” he read. “What are all these books for?” “Research for my Roanoke novel.” “Old school research. You know, you can find a lot of information on the internet these days?”

“I also know that Daniel is a werewolf. Do you know that Daniel is the Alpha of Blackridge? Could you smell him?” From the way she was gaping like a fish out of water, I could tell that she wasn’t just shocked about the fact that I knew, but also about the information that I had just given her about Daniel. Grandma started looking a little pale, and I helped her to sit down at the dining table. I poured us each a drink and joined her.

Christmas was the reading of the book. This Christmas, Don's book was a novel—Norwegian, which was not a coincidence, a novel by the same writer whose essays were in the Norway reading programme. The novel was called The Dark Year, and it was about a man who spent a winter alone in a cabin in the far north of Norway, experiencing the full darkness for the first time. Don had been saving it since September, when he had finished the essays. He had placed it on the shelf above his desk, the designated holding place for the Christmas book, and had not opened it once.

Rabbits scattered and disappeared into the hidden entrances to their warrens, but their small hunting party each had a kill, and they carried them back over the dunes, to the beach, to lay on their bellies in the sand whilst they crunched and munched their way through the sweet, still warm flesh. The fullness of his stomach almost lulled Reid to sleep, but Marcella shifted and nudged him with her foot. “Come on Reid, I want to make myself pretty for tonight.” Reid shifted with a moan, standing slowly. “Yeah, yeah,” he teased her. “Women.”

That the heat crawling up my neck is from the sun, not shame. But I can’t help but care. Despite the dread filling my stomach, the scene looks like something out of a storybook. The late evening sunlight pours in through the gaps in the trees, giving the clearing an ethereal glow that glints against the soft fur of shifted wolves. And as usual, I can only watch with envy from the edge. “Hey, Kane!” someone yells.

Happy Holidays Everyone. Stay Safe and Enjoy. Klaira The following chapters are a short novella entitled A Black River Pack Yule. It occurs after His Brother's Mate and before Hell Hounds. Because of rules changing it's impossible to find this novella on the GoodNovel app. So I am adding it here for your enjoyment.

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"Do you know any other stories about wolves that I might like?" "Oh, there are so many great ones!" she says, her eyes lighting up. "Have you ever read 'The Call of the Wild' or 'White Fang' by Jack London? They're both classics about the wilds of Alaska and the life of a wolf. Or 'Never Cry Wolf' by Farley Mowat - it's a nonfiction book about a biologist who studies wolves in the Canadian Arctic.” “Calm down!” I laughed. “You know a lot. What are you? A beta wolf?” I joked and Lauren laughed.