License to Howl (Shifter Mates of Hollow Oak #3)

Chapter 1 Elara

ELARA

The windshield wipers fought a losing battle against the snow. Elara Jameston squinted through the white veil, her knuckles pale against the steering wheel. The GPS had given up twenty minutes ago, leaving only static and a blinking cursor that seemed to mock her determination.

"Come on," she muttered, leaning forward as if those extra inches would help her see past the blizzard. "There has to be something out here."

Her notebook sat open on the passenger seat, pages covered in scrawled notes and red ink circles.

Hollow Oak. The name had surfaced three times in six months—once in a forum post about missing hikers, once in a blog about unexplained phenomena in the Blue Ridge, and once in a half-drunk ramble from a park ranger who'd sworn the mountains moved when they wanted to.

Elara didn't believe in moving mountains. But she believed in patterns, and patterns meant stories, and stories meant the kind of career-making article that could pull her out of listicles and into legitimate investigative journalism.

The road curved sharply. She touched the brake, felt the tires slide, and her heart kicked against her ribs. The car fishtailed before catching traction again. She exhaled hard, fogging her glasses.

"Brilliant, Elara. Die in a ditch before you even find the town."

She wiped her lenses on her sweater and settled them back on her nose. The storm seemed to thicken, pressing against the windows like something alive. Something deliberate.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the snow parted.

Elara's breath caught. The road ahead cleared as if someone had drawn back a curtain, revealing a valley nestled between snow-heavy pines. Warm light flickered through the trees. Not electric. Softer. Like lanterns or firelight.

Her pulse quickened. She grabbed her notebook, flipping to the page where she'd sketched what little information existed. Hidden town. Protected. Locals don't talk about it. If you can find it, something doesn't want you there.

"Or something does," she whispered.

The road dipped down, winding through the pines toward the valley. A wooden sign emerged from the snow, hand-carved letters barely visible beneath the frost: Hollow Oak.

Elara's hands trembled as she reached for her phone. No signal. Of course not. She set it aside and drove forward, the car crunching over fresh snow that looked untouched despite the storm.

The town unfolded before her like something out of a storybook.

Cobblestone streets wound between buildings that seemed to lean into each other, their rooftops heavy with snow and chimneys trailing lazy smoke.

Lanterns hung from iron posts, casting pools of golden light that made the falling snow glow.

A crescent-shaped lake stretched to her left, its surface dark and still despite the wind.

"Holy hell," she breathed.

No power lines. No modern streetlights. Just wood and stone and something that felt older than the mountains themselves.

She spotted a café on the corner—The Griddle & Grind, according to the painted sign swinging in the wind. Warm light spilled from its windows, and she could make out silhouettes moving inside. People. Actual people in this impossible place.

Elara pulled to the side of the street and killed the engine.

For a moment, she just sat there, staring at the town that shouldn't exist. Her journalist's instinct screamed at her to start taking notes, to document everything, to figure out how a place like this stayed hidden in an age of satellites and Google Earth.

But something else whispered underneath that instinct. Something that felt almost like recognition, though she'd never been here in her life.

The Veil chose to let you through.

The thought came unbidden, and she shook it off. She'd spent years documenting the supernatural—cryptids, hauntings, the occasional fraud claiming psychic powers. She knew the world held things science couldn't explain yet. But the Veil? That sounded like fantasy novel nonsense.

Still. The storm had parted. The town had appeared. And her gut told her she'd just found the story of her career.

Elara grabbed her notebook and phone, shoved them into her messenger bag, and stepped out into the cold. Snow immediately found the gap between her collar and scarf, making her gasp. She pulled her coat tight and started toward the café, boots crunching through the pristine snow.

Halfway across the street, she felt it. The weight of eyes on her back. She turned, scanning the buildings, the dark spaces between lantern pools, the woods at the valley's edge.

Nothing moved. But the feeling didn't fade.

"You're being paranoid," she told herself. "It's just a town. A weird, hidden, impossible town, but still just a town."

She pushed open the café door, and warmth rushed out to meet her along with the smell of coffee and cinnamon. A bell chimed overhead. Conversations stuttered, then stopped. Every face in the room turned toward her.

Elara froze in the doorway, snow melting on her shoulders.

A woman behind the counter with blonde hair like wheat and eyes that seemed too knowing smiled at her. But it was the kind of smile that didn't quite reach those eyes. The kind that said, We see you, stranger, and we're deciding what to do about it.

"Well now," the woman said, her voice carrying a musical lilt. "Don't just stand there letting the cold in, honey. Come on in and sit yourself down."

Elara stepped inside, letting the door close behind her. The conversations resumed, but quieter now. Guarded.

She'd been in rooms like this before, small towns where outsiders weren't welcome, where everyone knew everyone else's business. But this felt different. Sharper. Like she'd walked into a wolves' den wearing a sign that said prey.

The blonde woman gestured to a table near the window. "Sit wherever you like. Coffee?"

"Please." Elara's voice came out steadier than she felt. She chose the table, set her bag down, and pulled out her notebook. Her pen hovered over a blank page.

I found it, she wrote. Now I just have to figure out what it's hiding.

Outside, the snow continued to fall. Somewhere in the darkness beyond the lantern light, something watched the stranger who'd slipped through the Veil.

Something that smelled like cold steel and winter nights.

Something that had just been given orders.