The next part of my latest project, to be shown exclusively on Patreon here: https://www.patreon.com/bigstories

The Wolves of Kirkney is a new novel I'm currently writing, which will be published by Blackwarren Books, which I work for as a contracted Editor. It is due to be published by the end of 2023, but if you enjoy hot werewolves, murder mysteries, Victorian nobility, snarky vampires, and fantasy action, then I'd love it if you kept your eyes out for this one. The rough draft's first chapter is available for viewing on Patreon for our $5 and $10 patrons, and I'll be uploading new chapters each month. Thank you for giving this a look over, and I hope you'll enjoy this particular story I have to share!

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The two left the room arm-in-arm, with Edith quickly flanking Charlotte. "Back straight, dear, eyes forward- remember this is your moment of triumph. You're one of us now, and equal to everyone else assembled here- man, woman, or beast."

Charlotte dared a smile. "Thank you, mother."

Duncan was soon flanked by Angus, Madeleine and Oliver in tow. He only grunted gruffly as a means of greeting to his son, but Oliver did manage to mouth "good luck" to Duncan, while Madeleine offered a friendly smile. The sounds of light music, clinking of glass, and chatter grew louder to Charlotte as the family neared the entry hall, as well as dozens of distinct scents that assaulted her nostrils and nearly overwhelmed her. The eldest member of the family, Lady Olivia, joined them at the front entrance, looking each of them over like a general reviewing the troops. When she was satisfied, she nodded once and took her place at Edith's left. Angus straightened his coat and then signaled for the footman to open the door.

As the Galbraith family made their entrance, they cut a regal figure. Angus, the picture of a grizzled patriarch, wore the Galbraith clan's tartan, broad, bright red stripes over black and white, like blood splattered across a starry sky. Duncan and Oliver, likewise, wore the tartan as kilts, Duncan tall and strong, Oliver shooting up like a weed. The ladies wore brooches with thistles and monkshood flowers, the scent bitter to Charlotte, though it was preferable on her dress than being brewed in a teapot. Olivia the old, stately matriarch, Edith, strong-willed and matronly, Madeleine a spirited beauty, and then Charlotte- whom all eyes fell upon, all belonging to hungry wolves. She wondered, trying to discern if she was one of their own or prey.