The car came to a stop, and I stepped out, smoothing the fabric of my dress. The Swan Lake pack estate loomed before me, a striking blend of tradition and power. The pack house was a mansion its wood and stone façade had ivory growing all over it and reflected a quiet grandeur, its manicured gardens speaking of careful, meticulous care.
I had barely taken in the sight when a woman approached me with a bright smile. She was about my age, with warm brown eyes and curly hair pinned neatly back. She wore a simple, clean apron over her dress, her energy lively and inviting.
“Welcome to Swan Lake, Luna,” she greeted me warmly, her voice carrying a lilting charm.
“Thank you,” I replied softly, offering a faint smile.
“I’m Susan Dawson, the housekeeper. Harold—my husband—is one of the pack bui
