A Grey Wolves Howliday (The Grey Wolves #14) by Quinn Loftis

“Is that your subtle way of telling me to get my butt downstairs?” Fane chuckled.

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t subtle.” She gave him a final squeeze and then took his hand, pulling him toward the door. He couldn’t help but take in the beautiful dress she wore. Emerald green that set off her stunning eyes and made her auburn hair look even redder than usual. As always, she took his breath away.

“It’s just a dress, babe,” she said, having picked up on his thoughts.

“It’s not the dress that makes you stunning, Luna. It’s you who makes the dress something worth admiring.”

“Smooth. Keep talking like that and you’ll get your Christmas present early.” She glanced over her shoulder at him and winked.

The knot that had been forming in his stomach loosened, and soon he was downstairs, shaking hands and hugging pack members. For a moment, simply breathing no longer felt like a monumental task.

“Alpha.” Andrei, a pack member that lived away from the mansion, greeted Fane and bowed his head toward him and then to Jaquelyn. “Thank you for having us.”

“No thanks necessary,” Fane replied. “This home is yours as much as it is anyone’s in this pack.”

Jacquelyn hugged Andrei and then everyone else who came through the door throughout the evening. She moved with the ease and grace of an alpha female who had been in charge of a pack her entire life instead of a few short weeks.

A commotion grabbed everyone’s attention as Jen’s voice came from the direction of the kitchen. “Thia, if you eat one more wolf head, so help me, I will tan your hide!”

“Hell yeah!” was Thia’s response. Everyone around them froze, and then laughter rolled through the entire mansion.

Jacquelyn shook her head. “If anything, it will not be a boring evening.”

“Something would be seriously wrong if it was,” Fane pointed out.

“True.” They headed toward the sound of Jen’s shouts and the babbling voices of young children.

When they entered the kitchen, Fane stopped in his tracks. The entire room was covered in flour.

“Jen, I thought the cookies were going to be done last night,” Jacquelyn said. Fane was glad he had not been the one to point out that little factoid because the stink eye Jen gave his mate was brutal.

“Uh, I’m going to make sure everyone has … uh, a drink or … whatever they might need,” Fane said as he retreated from the room.





“Chicken,” Jacquelyn called after him. She was sure this would no doubt come to be known as the great Christmas Cookie Disaster in the annals of Grey Wolves’ history. Wadim would probably have a shirt made up to commemorate it.

Jacque glanced over at Slate. He was standing on some sort of stool that had rails all around him so he couldn’t fall but made him tall enough to participate in the baking. Why would anyone allow a twelve-month-old to help make cookies?

“They were supposed to be done last night.” Jen attempted, unsuccessfully, to wipe flour from her sweater. “But after I made all fifty pounds of dough…” It wasn’t actually fifty pounds, but Jacque would not point that out because she didn’t want that very solid rolling pin thrown at her head. “I realized it had to be refrigerated before I could start rolling it out. So, it had to sit in the fridge before the kids could use the cookie cutters.”

“And you didn’t ask for any fae help because of the whole traditions thing?” Jacque kept her voice gentle, not wanting to provoke the beast that was Jennifer Anghelescu.

“I wanted to make them from scratch. The kids need to experience the fun of eating raw dough, watching the cookies puff up in the oven, and then making a massive mess of icing.” Jen glanced around the kitchen, which looked as if a snowstorm had just blown through.

“Well, it looks like you’ve made plenty.” Jacque pointed to the rows and rows of baked cookies laid out on parchment paper. She counted them and realized there were eleven dozen cookies. That’s an odd number. But then again, this was Jen.

“What exactly are they supposed to be?” Jacque realized they weren’t Christmas trees, or stockings, or snowmen, or anything else remotely holiday related.

“They were wolves.” Jen growled as she sent Thia, who was also standing on a stool similar to Slate’s, a sharp glare. Titus stood on a regular stepstool, painting the cookies nearest to him with icing while humming “Silent Night.”

“Slate began eating the heads off of them the minute I started laying them on the counter. They were hot. Did that stop the little Fane-in-training? Nope. Did he eat any other part besides the head? Nope. Which I’ve got to say, Red,” she said, giving Jacque the side eye, “is a little disturbing. Then Thia saw what Slate was doing and thought it was a fantastic idea. She said ‘momma, head,’ and took a bite. Then she spit it in her hand and held it over her head and yelled.”

Jacque couldn’t help it. She tried not to laugh, but there was no stopping it. “Like mother like daughter. Perhaps you’ll remember that the next time you go running around waiving a bloody vampire head in the air.”

Jen sighed. “I’ve created a monster.”

Movement from her right caused Jacque to turn and glance at Titus. He’d picked up a wolf that hadn’t been iced and still had its head intact. Without missing a beat of the song he was humming, the boy took a bite, chomping off the wolf’s head. “And why is that one doing it?” Jacque asked.