Page 3 of Howling Holidays

Page List Listen Audio

Font:   

The Christmas tree farm stands nearby, its rows of evergreens offering a glimmer of hope. Desperation wells up within me as I realize that I need assistance, and I need it urgently. My reluctance to be in Everwood has given way to a desperate need for shelter and warmth.

As I trudge through the deepening snow toward the entrance of the tree farm, my thoughts return to my grandmother and her stories. In this moment of vulnerability, those fairytales seem more than just folklore—they are a lifeline, a connection to a town that now holds me captive in its wintry embrace.

What I don’t know, as I battle the storm and struggle to reach the tree farm, is that the threads of fate are weaving a new chapter into my life. In the heart of the blizzard, as Everwood prepares to reveal its secrets, my destiny is about to take a dramatic turn.

Chapter three

Logan

Thehowlingwindripsthrough the trees, bending their branches and stirring up eddies of snow as I make my way up the winding path to the cabin. Night falls early this time of year, the days growing shorter as winter tightens its icy grip around Everwood. I flick on my high beams, illuminating the narrow path cutting through these woods I know as well as my own soul.

My clan has roamed these lands for generations, since long before the town of Everwood rose beyond the tree line. The humans saw only quaint clapboard houses, twinkling holiday lights, and local shops touting hot chocolate and fresh-cut trees. But we know the secrets that lurk in the ancient pines. My pack and I bear the burden of the curse passed down through centuries of shifters doomed to walk between worlds.

I flex my fingers against the worn leather steering wheel, feeling the latent power in my hands. Power to protect those under my care. Being alpha means putting the pack's needs before my own, even if it damns you to a life of solitude. I understand that sacrifice now, though it has taken tragedy to teach me.

The snow picks up as I follow the road's bend, my family's cabin coming into view. Plumes of woodsmoke rise from the chimney, indicating that my grandma has already started on dinner. My chest tightens. Of all the duties I have as Everwood's alpha, looking after my grandma is the only one that brings light to my shadowed existence.

She stands waiting in the doorway as I park, heritage sweater wrapped tight against the cold. The years have done nothing to dim the brightness in her eyes or the ready warmth of her smile.

"Logan!" Her voice still holds the melodic quality I recall from childhood. "I was starting to worry. This storm's blowing in faster than those weather folks expected."

I hug her gently, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent. "I'm sorry. I wanted to check on the pack at the farm before coming home from town."

She pats my cheek fondly. "Always looking out for everyone else. You get more like your father every day."

I tense involuntarily. Even over a decade later, the mention of my father's violent death at the jaws of a feral wolf dredges up memories best left undisturbed. Sensing my discomfort, Grandma links her arm through mine and leads me inside.

The cozy cabin has been my only constant through a childhood marked by tragedy. The worn armchairs and stone hearth radiate comfort, but what I cherish most are the memories etched into every corner. My father teaching me to whittle by the fire, my mother's lilting voice as she called us in for dinner. For those precious few years, we were simply a normal family. Not cursed shifters or mystical pack leaders - just Mom, Dad, and me.

Fate had other plans.

Grandma busies herself at the stove while I stoke the fire, my thoughts drifting back to the past. My father, James, had groomed me from birth to someday take over as alpha, though I never expected the burden to fall so heavily and so soon. I was only a teen when the rogue wolf came, crazed and bloodthirsty, putting the entire town at risk. Much like the wolf I saw earlier today in the forest. My father died protecting Everwood, leaving me orphaned and unprepared to fill his formidable shoes.

Not a day goes by that I don't wish for one more moment with the mentors I've lost. Those early years had been filled with so much joy and love, a time when my parents were alive and by my side. Though Grandma offers as much wisdom as she can, some lessons can only be learned through trial and error, and sometimes loss. Still, I am thankful to have her with me. Since the loss of my parents, my memories turned to those of the comfort of Grandma’s arms when I cried myself to sleep those first nights without my parents, her baking cookies while I do homework at the table, and telling me stories while we sit by the fire. Without her, I wouldn't be who I am today.

The mantle holds framed photos chronicling our family's generations of service to the pack. My gaze lingers on my parents' wedding portrait - my mother radiant in ivory lace, my father dashing and proud in his tuxedo. It’s the only photo I have of all of us together, my toddler self nestled happily in their arms. We look so complete, so unaware that our time together would be cut short.

I have few memories left of my mother, Isabella, though she was equally remarkable. She was a kind and strong-willed woman who had played a pivotal role within the wolf shifter clan and the town of Everwood. She had acted as a mediator between our kind and the human townsfolk, preserving the delicate balance that kept both communities coexisting. Her disappearance when I was seven left a permanent hollowness inside me. She devoted herself tirelessly to our tribe's lore, spending hours researching the ancient texts that held clues about the curse's origin and meaning. The night she vanished, she'd left in secret to find an ancient artifact she’d read about, her note promising she’d return before dawn.

Only her woven bracelet remained, found by a search party near the caverns marking the northern borders of our ancestral territory. No other trace of her came to light, despite my father's tireless efforts to uncover answers in the years that followed. He aged decades in those bleak times. Losing his mate broke something deep within him, a pain I could only guess was similar to my own.

I carry her bracelet with me always, the only keepsake from the mother stolen so cruelly by the whims of our fate. We never discovered who took her or why, though rumors ran rampant through the pack. Some suspect the curse itself expunges those who pry too deeply into its secrets. Others blamed the rogue wolf, consumed by bloodlust who rejected the old ways. But nothing fit all the clues, leaving only a cold trail of unanswered questions.

My father became obsessed with solving the mystery, spending less and less time overseeing the pack. That neglect allowed the rogue shifter to grow unchecked, culminating in the savage attack that took his life. I had lost both parents, orphaned and unprepared for the responsibilities that would now be my own.

Grandma's weathered hand on my shoulder pulls me back to the present. "Dwelling on the past only weighs down the soul. Your mother and father watch over you still."

I cover her hand with mine, allowing the comfort of her touch to ground me. She’s right, of course. I can’t change what happened, only forge ahead one day at a time and guide Everwood's pack as honorably as those before me. I turn away before the grief can show on my face, peering out the foggy window into the approaching storm. The wind howls, seeking out the cracks and crevices of this cabin that has weathered so much. But Gram and I will weather this together, too.

Over bowls of rich venison stew, Grandma catches me up on the week's events. A mated pair was expecting a child come spring, the first shifter birth this year. One of our youths had shifted for the first time, his wolf strong and eager. I make a mental note to begin training him for patrol duties once he transitions fully into his power. Despite tragedy, life marches steadily onward.

"I know it's still hard, losing them how you did," she says gently. "But they loved you with everything they had. Never forget that."

I nod, unable to find my voice. The snowfall batters the cabin, mirroring the storm of emotions inside me. Gram reaches across the table for my hand again. "Why don't you come sit with me awhile? I'll make us some tea and cocoa."

The winds picked up as we eat, making the cabin creak and groan. I insist on doing dishes while Grandma prepares our warm drinks, needing to busy my restless hands. The promise of an icy blizzard leaves my wolf unsettled. We yearned to run, to feel the kiss of snowflakes in our fur. But I can’t leave Grandma alone, not with snowstorm approaching so fast.

She presses a steaming mug into my hands as we settle by the hearth. My cocoa has marshmallows, while she sips a tea infusion of herbs from the greenhouse she faithfully tends. We sip in easy silence, the fire's crackle warding off the winter chill.