Chapter 1: The Promise and the Pack

No one really knows if Mason Hale got chewed out that day or not. Honestly, I always wondered—did he get the classic Hale lecture, or did he just skate by? Guess I’ll never know.

The funny thing is, in a small town like Silver Hollow, news travels faster than a cold front in December. But on that particular day, whatever happened behind closed doors stayed there—not a single word got out, not even from the gossipy folks at the diner, and that’s saying something. Sometimes, that’s just how it goes with the Hales.

Dad said he’d make it back by Christmas Eve, so he’d make it back by Christmas Eve. No doubt about it.

When my dad made a promise, it stuck like pine sap on your hands. Trust me, you couldn’t scrub it off if you tried. Even if the roads iced over or the old Chevy broke down halfway to Denver, he’d still find a way. That was just Dad: steady as the North Star, especially when it came to Christmas.

That morning, I got up early—not for any special reason. Just one of those mornings, I guess.

The house was quiet, the kind of hush you only get in winter. You know the one—when the world outside is muffled in snow and the furnace hums softly in the background. I stared at the ceiling for a minute, listening to the wind rattle the windowpanes. My nose was cold, my toes even colder. Finally, I rolled out of bed with a groan.

I was behind on a mountain of homework. Ugh, story of my life.

It wasn’t just a little pile, either—it was the kind of backlog that makes your stomach drop when you remember it. My backpack sat in the corner, stuffed with textbooks and half-finished worksheets. Honestly, it looked like it might burst. The guilt pecked at me like a woodpecker on an old fence post.

These past few days since coming back from patrol with the pack—yeah, our family’s got a real wolf thing going, and I mean that literally—I’d been slacking off, completely forgetting that Dad would check my assignments when he got home.

The patrol had been a blast—running through the woods, feeling the cold bite at my cheeks, the scent of pine and snow in the air. Homework had seemed a world away then. But now... with Dad’s return looming, reality hit hard.

He never rode me too hard, but he had zero patience for laziness.

Dad was fair, but he had that look—one eyebrow up, and you knew you were toast. He didn’t need to yell or ground me; his disappointment was enough to make you shape up. I respected that, even if it drove me nuts sometimes.

What could I do?

I lay there for another minute, trying to cut a deal with my own brain, but I knew I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t get moving, I’d be in for a long talk later. So I swung my legs out of bed, shivering as my feet hit the cold floor.

My desk was a mess—loose-leaf papers everywhere, a mug of cold cocoa from last night, and a pencil that had seen better days. Honestly, it was a disaster zone. I thumbed through my notes, trying to make sense of algebra problems and history dates that all blurred together.

The one good thing about Christmas Eve was that I could stay in bed reading, instead of shivering out in the den by myself.

There was something about curling up under a heavy quilt, the scent of cedar logs from the fireplace drifting in, that made even the dullest textbook a little more bearable. I could hear the faint sound of carols playing from the radio in the kitchen—the kind that just makes you want to never leave bed.

Jenna Taylor watched me half-heartedly study, saying nothing, just quietly working on her cross-stitch by the window.

She sat perched on the window seat, sunlight catching in her hair, her fingers moving with that calm, steady patience she always had. She always looked so peaceful, it almost made me want to try cross-stitch myself. The little hoop in her lap was filling up with tiny stitches, and every now and then she’d glance my way, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I’m done studying!” I grumbled, kicking my legs and tossing the textbook aside, burying my head under the covers. “It’s always this lesson or that lesson—” I swear, it never ends.

I let out a dramatic sigh, hoping for a little sympathy. My voice came out muffled from under the blankets, and I could hear Jenna’s quiet chuckle in response. She just laughed. Figures.

“What’s the point of all this studying, anyway?”

I peeked out just enough to see her reaction, hoping she’d agree and let me off the hook. But Jenna just kept stitching, her lips pressed together like she was hiding a smile. Typical Jenna.

Jenna tied off the last stitch and gave me a wry little smile. “Told you from the start—don’t fall behind.”

She set her needle down and stretched, her voice gentle but firm. “You know, Logan, you always wait until the last minute. One of these days it’s going to catch up with you.”

“That’s easy for you to say...” I sighed, and I couldn’t help sounding a little down. “But studying is nowhere near as fun as running through the woods or archery practice.”

I stared at the ceiling, picturing the trails winding through the pines, the feel of the bowstring under my fingers. Schoolwork just didn’t compare. Jenna knew it, too.

After complaining, I still had to finish my homework before Dad got home.

There was no escaping it. I picked the textbook back up, flipping to the next page with a groan, and tried to focus on the words swimming before my eyes.

It was just venting—I’d never really quit studying. Being the Hale heir, I couldn’t exactly slack off for real.

Still, I liked to put on a show. If anyone peeked in, they’d think I was a lost cause, but deep down I knew what was expected. The Hale name meant something in Silver Hollow. People talked. They always did. I wasn’t about to let it down.

Just as I was about to stick my head out, Jenna Taylor suddenly lifted the covers. I blinked, a little dazed—when did she come over? She moved like a ghost sometimes.

The scent of her shampoo—lavender and something sweet—washed over me as she leaned in, her face close enough to see the faint freckles on her nose. It always made my heart race. She grinned, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

She winked at me, coaxing me up. “Logan, want to wear your new clothes?” Her voice was playful, and the promise of something new got me wide awake, just like that.

New clothes?

That got my attention. I sat up so fast I nearly knocked the pillow off the bed. Guess I wasn’t that tired after all. “Yes!”

Jenna, doting as ever, pressed her cheek to mine for a second, handed me a pair of freshly knit socks, and headed for the spare room.

Her touch was warm, and she lingered just a second longer than she needed to, making my heart skip a beat. The socks felt soft and thick in my hands—fresh off the needles, probably finished just this morning.

New clothes, really?

I already had plenty of things Jenna made—she made them for everyone in the family. Still, new is new.

Even if my dresser drawers were full, nothing beat the excitement of fresh threads, especially when they were made by someone who cared. I could practically smell the clean wool and see the neat stitches.

Lying back on the bed, I held up the socks she’d made, turning them over and over, liking them more the longer I looked. She really outdid herself.

The yarn was a deep forest green, flecked with red, and the pattern was intricate—way fancier than anything you’d find at Walmart. I traced the little wolf with my finger, grinning like a kid.

I usually scoffed at flashy things, but the little wolf with a holly wreath around its neck embroidered on these socks was just too cute. I mean, come on—look at that wolf.

It was the kind of detail you’d never admit to liking out loud, but secretly, it made my day. The holly berries were stitched in bright red, and the wolf’s eyes sparkled with tiny silver threads.

The wolf was my birth sign—in our family, that’s a big deal, sort of like a totem or family crest—so I had to be a little forgiving.

Besides, it felt like Jenna had made them just for me, a secret nod to who I was. It meant more than anything you could buy.

Jenna was quick; she soon returned with a stack of clothes in her arms—breathless, a little flustered, but proud.

She balanced the pile carefully, her cheeks pink from the effort, and set them down at the foot of my bed. The colors popped against the plain quilt, all rich reds and blacks and soft flannel.

I sat up, put down the socks, and started going through the clothes she’d brought. Piece by piece, it felt like Christmas morning.

Each item was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a bit of twine, like a Christmas present. I unwrapped them one by one, feeling the weight of Jenna’s care in every stitch. She really thought of everything.

A flannel shirt, corduroy pants, a thick thermal, a little vest... Seriously, she’d made me everything.

It was a whole outfit, layered and warm, perfect for December in Colorado. I was set for the winter. I held up the vest, running my fingers over the soft lining, and couldn’t help but smile.

Red and black plaid, all exquisitely crafted. Classic.

The plaid was bold, the kind that stood out in a crowd, but it felt right—classic, a little rugged, just like home. Jenna’s sewing was flawless. She’d outdone herself.

My favorite was the padded vest—she’d sewn a patch of black corduroy onto the chest, again with the wolf and holly motif, and the embroidery was even crazier.

The embroidery was so detailed, it looked almost alive. I traced the design with my thumb, feeling a surge of pride. Nobody else in town had anything close.

Seeing how eager I looked, Jenna picked up the flannel shirt and looked at me with that soft gaze of hers. “Will you try these on for me, Logan?”

She held it out like she was presenting a crown, her eyes were all soft and shiny. I could tell this meant a lot to her, and suddenly I felt a little nervous, like I was about to walk on stage.

How could I say no?

I lifted my arms, letting Jenna help me change. She fussed over every button, and I just let her.

She buttoned the shirt with careful fingers, smoothing out the collar and making sure everything sat just right. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—I almost didn’t recognize myself. Jenna’s touch made me feel like I could take on the world.

“Does it fit, Logan?”

I nodded. Her stuff always fit, every time.

It was as if she knew my measurements better than I did. I never even had to ask. The shirt hugged my shoulders perfectly, the pants didn’t bunch up, and the vest was just snug enough to keep out the cold.

Finally, she adjusted my belt, looked me up and down, and let out a little proud sigh. “Logan, you look really handsome.”

Her voice was soft, almost reverent, like she was seeing me for the first time. I felt my cheeks flush, but I tried to play it cool.

“Do I?”

It’s not like I was shy about it.

I shot her a sideways grin, cocky as ever. If anyone in town was going to turn heads, it’d be me—at least, that’s what I liked to think.

I glanced down at myself. Not bad, still as good-looking as ever.

The new clothes made me stand a little taller, chest out. I tugged at the vest, feeling like a million bucks.

Jenna, all proud, couldn’t help bragging: “Of course! You’re the most dashing, most remarkable guy in all of Silver Hollow!”

She said it with such certainty that I almost believed her. Her eyes sparkled, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the kind of moment you wanted to bottle up and keep forever.

“Well...”

I tried to look all serious, but couldn’t help grinning. “That’s no lie!”

I puffed out my chest, winking at her. It was impossible not to tease, just a little.

She laughed with me. Her laugh always made everything better.

Her laughter was light and musical. It warmed me right up. For a second, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

So wonderful—how could there be someone so good in this world? Seriously, she was one of a kind.

I watched her, marveling at the way she made even the grayest day seem bright. She had this quiet magic, you know? The kind that just sneaks up on you.

Better yet, this wonderful person belonged to me, Logan Hale. She was my girl, and I was hers—plain and simple.

It was a truth I clung to, even when doubts crept in. No matter what, Jenna kept me steady.

How could I not be happy?

I finally breathed out, feeling lighter. The weight of homework and expectations faded, just for a moment.

My girl, the future matriarch of the Hale pack—yeah, we really are werewolves—could only be Jenna Taylor.

There was no question in my mind. She was the one I wanted by my side, through every winter and every storm.

I was sure she knew this—Grandma must have hinted at it, probably telling her plenty in secret. Grandma never could keep a secret.

Grandma was never one for subtlety. She’d probably dropped hints over cookies and cocoa, letting Jenna know exactly where she stood.

But with her being shy—and me being the future alpha—I’d have to be the one to take the lead. That’s how it works in our pack.

Jenna was never one to make the first move. That was my job—always had been, always would be. I squeezed her hand, feeling the promise of something bigger between us.

So I took Jenna’s hand and sat cross-legged on the bed. She followed my lead, sitting gently at the edge. She perched beside me, her hands folded in her lap, waiting for whatever came next.

The afternoon sun cast golden patterns on the quilt, and for a second, everything felt suspended in time.

“Don’t worry.” I squeezed her hand, my voice low. “Once the New Year passes, I’ll turn eighteen. I bet it won’t be long before Dad and the elders set up my coming-of-age ceremony.”

Turning eighteen was a big deal in Silver Hollow—everyone knew it. There’d be a party at the lodge, maybe a bonfire, and all the old traditions would come out. I was already imagining the speeches, the music, the way everyone would look at me a little differently.

“When the time comes, I’ll tell them I want you as my mate—how about that?”

I met her gaze so she’d know I was serious. In our town, choosing a mate was more than just dating—it was a promise, a joining of families and futures. And I wanted her, no question.

Grandpa’s mate was Grandma; Dad also had Mom as his mate. Me? It could only ever be Jenna.

It was tradition, passed down through generations. I’d grown up watching those bonds, the quiet strength they gave. I wanted that for myself, for us.

I asked, but I didn’t really think she’d refuse.

In my mind, it was a done deal. Jenna and I had always been a pair, like two halves of the same coin.

Jenna loved me too much—how could she bear to say no?

I couldn’t imagine a world where she’d walk away. It just didn’t fit, not with the way she looked at me, not with all the years we’d shared.

Just thinking about finally calling her my mate filled me with pure joy.

My heart pounded, excitement bubbling up. The thought of calling her mine, for real, was almost too much to handle.