The clatter of Sunday dinner cleanup at the Storm and V’s Lake house sounded like an army dismantling a metal bridge.
Platters that had held two standing rib roasts, five pounds of buttered red potatoes, and enough yeast rolls to provision a siege were being shuttled toward the sink. Down the hallway, the thundering rumble of sneakers shook the floorboards as the pack Littles… led at a sprint by three-year-old Kyle, banished themselves down to the basement play area to wage war on foam blocks.
In the kitchen, the scent of dark roast coffee began to battle the lingering aroma of garlic and rosemary. Gina stood near the island, humming softly under her breath, rocking tiny Kayla Rose against her shoulder while Steve rinsed bottles at the side basin. Knight and Rhett were stacking Fiestaware with the grim precision of men defusing ordnance, while Mike and the Andrews clan wiped counters and boxed up leftovers.
Luna Veronica, heavily, magnificently pregnant and perched on a heavy wooden barstool with one hand resting over her high belly, took a slow, deep breath.
She looked around the room, cleared her throat, and said,
“I have an idea.”
The kitchen died.
Cutlery froze mid air. Rhett stopped with a stack of eight colorful plates balanced on one broad forearm, his eyes darting to Knight. Knight’s sponge paused on the rim of a stainless steel skillet. Steve and Mike went rigid like two deer caught in the headlights of a semi truck. The only sound in the entire kitchen was the gentle gurgling of the coffee pot and baby Kayla Rose letting out a tiny, milk drunk sigh against Gina’s neck.
A silent, tense circle formed. Every eye in the room shifted.
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Every set of eyes locked dead onto Alpha Storm.
Take the hit, Alpha. You ask her.
Storm stood by the drip maker with a thick Fiesta mug in hand, his dark hair tucked loosely behind his ears. He looked around the kitchen at his fiercest warriors, every single one of them visibly holding their breath and coward staring him down.
Storm rubbed the bridge of his nose. He blew out a slow, long breath, set his mug down with a soft clack, and turned to his mate.
“Alright, Moon Shadow,” he said, his voice laced with pure, affectionate resignation.
“What is it?”
A chorus of quiet exhalations swept the room.
Veronica didn’t miss a beat. She adjusted her posture, eyes sparkling with that stubborn, maternal glow.
“The new library is finally finished. The shelves are stocked, the floors are sealed, and the smell of fresh cedar is divine. And the Littles have been cooped up because of the rain all week. I want to give them a Harvest Fest in the Library.”
Rhett tilted his head, suspicious. “A Harvest Fest. In the library. With books?”
“With books, Rhett. Don’t look so terrified, paper doesn’t bite,” V shot back. “We’re giving them a real autumn night. Finger foods, crafts, songs, stories, and games. And before any of you start grumbling about the cleanup, half of you are already drafted into kitchen prep.”
She looked pointedly at Rhett and Knight. Neither man dared to argue.
Thus by Friday evening, the newly built Moon Shadow Pack library had been completely transformed.
Warm amber lanterns glowed along the heavy oak beams, casting long, cozy shadows over the fresh cedar shelves. Down the center of the rotunda, long folding tables had been brought in and lined with pint-sized wooden chairs, perfectly scaled for the Littles.
The food spread along the buffet counter was already a massive hit. The cubs squealed over the mummy dogs… plump all beef franks wrapped in spiraled ribbons of golden crescent dough with tiny little mustard eyes peering out from the crust. Right beside them were mini pizzas topped with melted white mozzarella cut out like floating ghosts, and graveyard cupcakes with crumbled Oreo dirt, candy bar headstones, and bright gummy worms squirming straight up out of the dark chocolate frosting.
At the low craft tables, the cubs were seated elbow to elbow, completely engrossed. Trays of smooth, bright orange foam pumpkins were laid out along with stacks of glittery foam stickers and buckets of markers. Kyle was busy pressing a jagged toothy mouth onto his pumpkin with the intense, furrowed brow concentration of his father, while a few of the younger toddlers proudly showed off foam jack-o’-lanterns with six eyes and crooked green noses.
“Look, Luna momma!” Kyle yelled, holding up his creation. “Mine’s fierce like an enforcer!”
“He’s terrifying, Braveheart,” Veronica praised from her wingback chair, smiling happily at the pack’s cubs having sweet, innocent fun. “Uncle Rhett could take notes.”
From across the room, Rhett paused mid bite of a ghost pizza, narrowing his eyes affectionately at the pair.
“Alright, my Littles!” Veronica called, clapping her hands. “Pumpkins on the drying trays and circle up on the big rug! It’s story time!”
The cubs scrambled out of their little chairs, piling onto the massive braided rug in the center of the room. Three of the pack’s tweens stepped up eagerly, taking their spots on either side of Veronica’s chair to lead the chorus.
“Hands up, let’s see five fingers!”
Veronica instructed, holding up her own hand and wiggling her fingers.
A dozen small hands shot into the air, fingers wiggling.
“Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate!”
Veronica chanted, swaying gently to the rhythm. The tweens chimed in with bright, animated voices, modeling the gestures…
“The first one said… ‘My, it’s getting late!’”
Veronica’s sing song voice lifting softer and louder to keep the cub’s attention.
The tweens tapped an invisible wristwatch, and the cubs immediately mimicked them, giggling.
“The second one said… ‘There are witches in the air!’”
Veronica wiggled her fingers spooky-style overhead as the cubs made high pitched witch cackles.
“The third one said… ‘Oh, I don’t care!’”
The cubs yelled the line with a defiant shrug and a cross of their little arms.
“The fourth one said… ‘Let’s roll, let’s run!’”
Every cub pumped their elbows, jogging their feet against the rug.
“The fifth one said… ‘Isn’t Halloween fun!’”
Veronica took a dramatic, theatrical gasp, widening her eyes…
“Then oooooooooo…” The entire room blew a long, spooky gust of wind together…
CLAP!
Every cub clapped their hands with a loud pop.
“...and OUT went the lights!” Veronica whispered fiercely.
“And the five little Jack-o’-lanterns rolled outta sight!”
The cubs dissolved into a squealing pile of laughter, rolling over each other on the plush wool while the watching parents chuckled from the perimeter.
“Now,” Veronica said, her voice dropping into a mischievous tone once the giggles died down. “Before we choose our books... there is one very old, very serious pack tradition we have to test out.”
She nodded toward the far corner of the room, where a large galvanized steel tub had been placed over thick canvas drop cloths, filled to the brim with chilled water and floating red Honeycrisp and green Granny Smith apples.
The cubs stared at it with wide, curious eyes.
“Who thinks they can catch an apple with just their teeth? No hands allowed,” Veronica challenged.
Amara scampered over to the edge with Kyle and Maya, looked at the bobbing apples, and dipped her chin in before jerking back with a squeak. “It’s cold, Luna momma! And they float away!”
“That’s because it takes pure, disciplined pack technique,” Veronica declared, her lips curving into a wicked smile. Her gaze slid across the room, locking right onto her mate, who was leaning casually against a support pillar with a cup of cider in his hand. “Alpha Stormy will show us proper technique.”
Storm’s head snapped up.
Around him, Steve, Mike, and Rhett broke into instant, traitorous grins.
Storm looked at the galvanized tub. He looked at the dozen cubs turning their big, expectant eyes on him. Then he looked at Veronica, whose chin was tilted up in pure, shameless teasing challenge.
With the regal dignity of a king walking to an unexpected execution, Alpha Storm handed his cider cup to Mike and rolled up the sleeves of his dark henley.
He walked over to the tub, dropped to both knees on the canvas tarp, and tucked his dark hair behind his ears. He shot Veronica one lingering look… pure amusement hiding behind a stern brow, and dipped his face down toward the water.
The cubs crowded the edge of the tarp, holding their breath.
Storm nudged a Honeycrisp once, letting it drift toward the edge of the tub. The moment it hit the metal rim and had nowhere else to go, he plunged his face into the chilly water with lightning-fast wolf reflexes, snapped his jaws shut, and rose in one smooth, explosive motion.
Water sprayed in every direction. But clamped dead between his teeth was a prize winning red apple.
The room erupted. The cubs cheered and jumped up and down, Kyle clapping so hard his hands turned pink. Storm pulled the apple from his mouth, shook his head like a retriever, and gave Veronica a dripping, lopsided smirk.
Knight stepped up immediately, tossing a dry cotton towel over Storm’s head with a quiet chuckle.
As Storm scrubbed his damp face and took a hearty, crunching bite out of his apple, Knight leaned in close and whispered under his breath, “You knew she was gonna pick you, huh?”
Storm lowered the towel, his eyes glittering with a wolfish grin as he chewed, and gave a slow, self satisfied nod.
Knight snorted softly, shaking his head. “I knew it. I knew you took that barrel into your workshop last week to practice!”
Storm just winked and took another bite of his prize.
“Alright, my brave wolves,” Veronica called, guiding the focus back to the long oak table by the reading nook.
“Every Little gets to choose one spooky book to take home for their very own. So if it’s not your turn to get an apple, come and choose whatever book you would like to have, my loves.”
The Seven Sisters had helped Veronica curate two huge wicker baskets full of picture books… tales of friendly monsters, silly skeletons, and trick-or-treat adventures. The cubs swarmed the table, marveling over colorful covers and glossy pages.
Except for one.
Tommy, a quiet, seven-year-old pack cub with a shock of messy brown hair and solemn brown eyes, didn’t head for the baskets. He slipped past the low tables and padded down the center aisle of the main stacks, his fingers trailing along the tall wooden shelves.
His eyes stopped high up, landing on a thick, cloth bound volume bound in dark forest green with gold-foil lettering: Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, adorned with a haunting engraving of the Headless Horseman galloping through a misty cemetery.
Tommy reached on his tiptoes, stretched his fingers, and managed to tug the heavy spine loose. He caught it against his chest with a soft thud.
One of the older guards standing near the stacks caught sight of the cover and winced. “Whoa there, Tommy. That one’s from the older stacks, bud. It’s got a lot of big words and no pictures, and it’s pretty scary. Let’s go find you a fun one from the baskets, okay?” The guard reached out gently to take it.
Tommy’s small hands tightened on the cover. His shoulders hunched defensively, clutching the heavy book tight against his ribs.
“Hold on,” Veronica’s voice rang out.
The room softened as the Luna eased herself up from her armchair, walking over with that slow, deliberate, protective glide that belonged solely to their Luna. She rested a gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder, then glanced down at the gothic cover.
She looked at the guard. “Did he reach for it?”
“Well, yeah, Luna, but it’s a bit advanced for him…”
“No,” Veronica said softly, but with the full, unquestionable weight of pack law behind her words. “If that’s the story calling to him, that is the book he takes home.”
Tommy looked up at her, his eyes wide and hopeful.
Veronica leaned down as far as her bump would let her, meeting the cub’s gaze. “You love a good scare, Tommy?”
Tommy nodded solemnly. “I want to know about the horseman.”
“Then it’s yours,” Veronica smiled, smoothing a stray lock of hair from the boy’s forehead. “Take it home. If there are words you don’t know, you ask your folks, or you bring it back here and Storm and I will read it with you. A child never gets turned away from a book they want to read.”
The guard rubbed the back of his neck, smiling ruefully. “The library’s gonna be down a classic, Luna.”
“The library will buy another copy tomorrow,” Veronica replied without a second thought.
Tommy beamed, tucking the massive book under his arm like a warrior bearing a shield, and practically floated back to his parents to show off his prize.
Storm walked up beside her, his hair still damp, wrapping a warm, steady arm around Veronica’s waist to take some of the weight off her back. He looked down at the room full of sticky fingered cubs, laughing packmates, and the quiet magic settling into the corners of their new library.
“You’re something else, Luna,” Storm murmured, pressing a kiss into the side of her hair.
Veronica rested her head against his shoulder, letting out a contented sigh as one of their unborn children gave a solid kick against her ribs. She looked across the room at the guards, the Betas, and the families mingling in the glow of the lanterns.
“Just wait,” Veronica whispered, raising her voice just enough to carry across the quiet lull of the room. “Now that this is done... I have some ideas for the first annual Moon Shadow Snow Ball.”
A collective chorus of groans echoed through the library. Rhett threw his head back with a dramatic sigh, Knight rubbed his temples, and Steve laughed outright as half the pack exchanged exasperated, fond eye rolls beneath their grins.