Three months had passed since the grand opening of The Hearth, and the Blackwood Forest was now deep in the unforgiving grip of winter.
Outside the heavy timber walls of the restaurant, a pristine, thick blanket of white snow covered the ancient pine trees. The massive lake had frozen over, turning into a shimmering, solid sheet of ice that reflected the moonlight. The wind howled through the branches, dropping the temperature well below freezing.
But inside the commercial kitchen of The Hearth, it felt like the surface of the sun.
It was a Friday night. In the werewolf world, Friday night meant that absolutely no one cooked at home. Every single pack member, from the oldest elder to the youngest pup, was crammed into the dining room. The massive stone fireplace was roaring, casting
