Page 2 of Howling Holidays

The holiday season is always special in Everwood. The townsfolk revel in their traditions, from caroling and ice-skating to the annual tree-lighting ceremony at the town square. It is a time of joy and unity, where the magic of the season seems to bring people closer together. Everyone except for the shifters, of course. While the town celebrates their joyous seasonal traditions, the shifters mostly participate on the sidelines while being met with wary glances and whispers. As alpha, I feel it’s my duty to unite the shifters and the townsfolk so that we can finally live in harmony. I’ve yet to figure out how to do that exactly, but happily providing Christmas trees to the town is one way we can be a source of cheer for them.

The morning passes in a blur of farm chores and overseeing operations. The tree farm is our lifeline, a cover for our existence, and it has been in my family for generations. I can't help but feel the weight of that legacy, the weight of being the alpha, the guardian of our hidden truths. During the warmer months, the tree farm operates as a plant nursery so that our pack members have a steady income, which means there’s always work to be done. The pack is appreciative for the stability, and being around my pack makes it feel more like a second home rather than work.

As the day wanes and falls behind the forest trees, Ethan and I stroll through the Everwood town square, mingling with the townsfolk on our way to pick up supplies for the tree farm. Everwood thrives on community, where everyone knows each other's name, even if they still don’t accept our pack as their own. The town is alive with the spirit of the season. Festive lights adorn the eaves of frosted storefronts, and bright green wreaths that smell of pine hang on the doors and lampposts. Children frolic in the snow, carolers sing festive tunes, and the scent of cinnamon and spice waft through the air coming from Henry’s bakery. The holiday spirit is infectious, almost making it easy to get lost in the enchanting festivities, to forget the mystery that lurks beneath the surface.

But I can't forget. The town's rich folklore, stories of wolf shifters and the ancient curse, are a constant reminder. The curse is a closely guarded secret, known only to a select few in the town, and it’s my duty to protect it, to ensure the wolf shifters remain hidden from the world. Though it’s a difficult task, it’s the only choice as anyone who ever dared to challenge the curse was met with grave danger. As I watch the townsfolk revel in their traditions, I wonder about the connection between the curse and my kind. It’s a puzzle that has eluded us for generations, a mystery I’ve been determined to unravel.

The night descends as the snow falls, and the town transforms into a spectacle of colorful twinkling Christmas lights and laughter. It’s a picturesque scene, one that might be idyllic if not for the secrets that cloak our existence. And as I gaze out at the snowy streets of Everwood, I feel the weight of my responsibilities press upon me, knowing that the fate of my kind rests solely in my hands.

As the holiday season is in full swing, bringing with it the promise of love and enchantment, I sometimes wonder if there was more to life than duty and secrets. Perhaps, somewhere out there, there was someone who could see past the troubled alpha and into the heart of the man, not the beast.

Little did I know, the answer to that question was about to step into my world, bringing with her a love that would alter the course of everything. A fated mate who would see past the brooding, damaged alpha and into the depths of the man beneath.

Chapter two

Emily

Thesnowswirlsaroundme, dancing in the headlights as I drive through the darkened forests on my way to Everwood. I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles white against the cold. This isn't the town I remember.

The last time I was here, I was just a child with my grandmother, Amelia. We walked hand-in-hand down main street, the lamps glowing warmly in the summer twilight. She would point to the old buildings and spin tales of the characters who lived there, infusing the town with a magical, whimsical quality.

I glance in the rearview mirror, almost expecting to see her sitting in the backseat, ready to begin another story. But the seat is empty, cold and vacant like the hollow in my heart. She's gone now, the myths and magic of Everwood buried with her.

My life in Boston has always been a whirlwind of deadlines, city lights, and the constant hum of urban life. As a career-driven journalist, fueled by ambition and my love for the city I call home, I feel very much like an outsider driving to Everwood. My sharp intellect and relentless pursuit of stories and knowledge are my trademarks, but beneath that strong exterior lay a sense of vulnerability—a longing for connection.

Everwood, a town frozen in time, is a world away from the city that is my sanctuary. I had grown up hearing my grandmother's enchanting stories about this place, tales that painted a picture of a charming, snowy town with cobblestone streets where everyone is friendly and knows each other by name. The scent of pine from the Christmas tree farm that’s planted at the outskirts was a sensory memory I longed to experience once again. She always hinted there was more to this place than met the eye, regaling me with folktales of werewolves, witches, and ancient curses. Her fairytales had always piqued my curiosity, and they were the kind of stories that fueled my journalistic instincts. I had dismissed her tales as folklore, but now that I’m returning, they hold an eerie allure. I never knew what to believe. They were just stories to entertain a little girl.

Or were they?

My grandmother had been a storyteller with her enchanting tales, and one of the only family members I had left. Our relationship had always been distant since I grew up, strained by the demands of my career and the bustling stories I chased. But now, I am on my way to Everwood two weeks before Christmas with a mournful purpose—to attend her funeral and, in some small way, to reconnect with my roots. A pang of regret pierces my chest. This isn’t how I wanted to spend my holidays. I wish I had asked her more before it was too late. There are so many questions left unanswered, so many mysteries left unsolved about her past here.

I have to know the truth.

Despite the solemnity of my journey, reluctance lingers like a shadow. The memories of my grandmother's stories tug at my heartstrings, filling me with nostalgia and apprehension. Everwood has been a place of wonder in those stories, but now, as I approach, it feels like a foreign land and I am the outsider.

As the miles pass, the landscape transforms, and the snowy scenery becomes more pronounced. The snow seems to fall harder the closer I get to this mysterious town. The skies darken, and the snowflakes fall with an intensity that seemed almost deliberate. Dread fills my body at the realization of what is happening. A snowstorm is approaching.

The tires lose traction suddenly, spinning out on a patch of black ice. My hands jerk the wheel, trying to regain control, but it's too late. The car veers off the road, the front bumper sinking into a deep snowbank.

"No, no, no!" I slam my palm against the steering wheel in frustration. This cannot be happening.

I shove open the door and step out, my boots crunching on the icy crust. Snowflakes sting my cheeks, the wind biting through my wool coat. I trudge around to assess the damage. The front wheels are buried up to the axle in the drift, the back wheels spinning uselessly. There's no way I can dig myself out of this one.

With a huff, I lean my shoulder into the trunk, pushing with all my might. But the car doesn't budge, firmly wedged in place. I'm well and truly stuck.

"Come on!" I yell, kicking the bumper. The bleak, empty landscape swallows my voice. There's not a single house or car in sight, nothing but snowy hills and barren trees.

I'm alone. Stranded. A familiar helplessness washes over me, the same one I felt as a little girl when my dad died and my mom was consumed by her grief. I've always relied only on myself. But now, I have no choice but to wait and hope someone comes along to help me.

With a frustrated sigh, I crawl back into the car and yank the lever into park, then pull up the parking brake. So much for making it to Everwood tonight. There would be no cozy inn bed, no bath to wash off the long day of travel. Just me and the empty highway cutting through these woods. I peer anxiously through the swirling snow, but can only make out little beyond the reach of my headlights and the tree farm. There are no streetlights here, no roadside businesses or houses. The isolation presses in around me, broken only by the howl of the rising wind.

Surely someone will come by soon, I reason with myself. A town as quaint and picturesque as Everwood likely draws more tourists in search of a country Christmas. But minutes tick by with no sign of another human being. Not a single set of headlights pierces the darkness behind or ahead of me.

With the snow picking up intensity, I begin to worry that I’ll be stuck here for hours, possibly overnight. I tap my chin thoughtfully, weighing my very limited options. I can stay put and hope help arrives before I freeze or run out of gas for the heater. Neither seems appealing. My best bet is to start walking and look for some kind of shelter. Surely, I’ll run into something if I follow the road far enough.

I try to remain composed, but panic gnaws at the edges of my nerves. I zip my down coat up to my chin, wind my plush scarf snugly around my neck and shoulders and pull on my gloves and wool hat. Bundled for warmth, I tuck my phone into my pocket, and grab a flashlight from the glovebox. With trembling hands, I push open the car door. A brutal blast of icy air greets me as I step out into the snow. My boots sink into the thick white powder, each step a struggle against the relentless storm. I survey the desolate landscape again, my breath forming frosty clouds in the frigid air.

The wind nearly takes my breath away. Snowflakes bite viciously at every speck of exposed skin as I tuck my chin down and begin trudging forward. I keep the flashlight beam low to illuminate the ground just ahead of my boots. No need to drain the battery lighting up the entire deserted landscape.

---