Winter Book Covers Novels & Stories

Chapter 113: The winter had settled deep into the village, wrapping its cold fingers around every cabin, every fire, every wolf who walked the frozen paths between the buildings. The days were short, the sun barely clearing the treeline before sinking back into the grey horizon, and the nights stretched on, endless and dark, filled with the howl of wind and the crackle of burning wood. The village had learned to live with the cold, the wolves moving slowly, their bodies conserving energy, their voices muted, the laughter of the children subdued but still present.

Wyatt says. “Thanks.” I say, still sorting the gifts. When I have four huge piles of presents, I put the wrapping paper with each one. Lucy got Frozen wrapping paper, Val got Disney Princess paper, Van got superhero wrapping paper and Ricky got Mario. I'm deciding on who to start with when Wyatt comes up behind me. “Need some help?” “Um, sure.” He sits down and he grabs Van's pile. He begins to silently wrap presents and I do the same. “Are your gifts wrapped?”

Vandamonth Imperial Palace A loud howl echoed from the deep forest, a wolf pack moving in one pace. The snow fell heavily, covering the ground and tree leaves. Children residing in the village covered themselves up, their breath cold. At night they would comfort themselves in their mother's bosom, listening to stories, sitting by the pot of boiling soup, where they received warmth. There were few birds in the air, some preparing themselves for the winter; as day passed, the snow became heavier, raining on Vandamonth nonstop.

Grabbing the book he turned around handed it to me. “Please read this and learn about me and my pack.” Taking the book from him, I almost dropped it from where it was so heavy. Damn how old are werewolves to have a book this big? I look at the cover and there is a family crest with a wolf in the middle. The book cover is beautiful and the pages look ragged on the edges. “Fine but for just one night tomorrow we start our summer vacation and I need to turn in my resignation. Plus I have to get all the grades turned in since I’ve missed today and tomorrow is the last day.”

The flare paints the sky a violent, angry red and the storm replies like a beast offended. Snow lunges at us in sheets and knives and the world narrows to wind and white. I put my face into the storm and all the noise narrows to one impossible sound: his voice in the air, and Aunt Ruby’s curse that follows it. He does not move like a human. The Winter King stands perfectly still,silver hair flaring, coat snapping like a flag no matter how the wind fights him. He watches me the way people watch a painting they plan to steal.

There’s no way I can heat it, and if it’s this cold in August already, what’s it gonna be like by December? With a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I go to my favourite room, the library, and start to go through the next shelf of books. In the back, hidden by a gnarly grimoire written in Spanish, I find a handwritten diary. On the cover, the witch wrote the title: * Witches and Werewolves. * Interesting.

Poking her head through, she found the kid strewn over his bed with his blanket crossed diagonally over his body. She let out a giggle, entering into his room fully and sat at the edge of his bed. There were a number of books on his bed which ranged from his finished assignments to picture story books all opened with his tiny frame over them. So Bloom gently lifted him up and quietly pulled out the books from beneath him. The little auburn haired only stirred a bit but his eyes didn’t come open.

The Kingdom was covered in a thick blanket of snow as the season of winter tightened its icy grip. Children bundled up in thick coats and wool hats, sledding down the frosty hills with gleeful shouts. For the werewolf packs, it marked the time of hibernation and rest.

The flicker of the fire danced on the wall, and in the safety of his arms, I allowed myself to close my eyes. Not with fear. But with peace. And the growing knowledge that, no matter how uncertain the world outside became—inside this moment, I was exactly where I belonged. ----- The snow fell heavier that night beyond the walls. It blanketed the world in silence, covering the hills, the valleys, the rivers now frozen beneath glassy ice. But not even the snow could bury what lived in the far North. Not even winter could quiet the White Walker Pack. Their land was both breathtaking and brutal—towering glaciers, thick pine forests that stretched into the clouds, valleys carved by centuries of i

It was a clean cold, sharp and scentless. December in Switzerland. A pale, pearl-gray sky, the stark black skeletons of trees lining the roads. Tbe majestic, snow-dusted shoulders of the Alps looming in the distance like watchful giants. Wren was dressed for it in a long coat of charcoal wool, a thick scarf wrapped high around her neck, and leather boots with a grip meant for icy pavements. Wren could see her breath forming small clouds in the cold air with each exhalation, and she actually appreciated the bite of the temperature against her face even as she was grateful for the layers of warm clothing protecting the rest of her body.