Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 57

**Blake**

Mum is the one who breaks the spell. “Alright,” she says. “Time to meet the pack.” Theo grins immediately and strides over to slap Charlie on the back of the shoulder. “Come on, man. Heaps of people to meet.” Charlie huffs out a laugh and lets Theo drag him toward the back door. Dad and John follow after them, already talking quietly, probably about watch rotations or where to position people around the edges of the yard. I barely notice because I’m too busy watching Charlotte. The second the room starts moving, she shifts too, but it isn’t away. It’s toward me. Only half a hobbled step, barely anything. But it’s enough for her shoulder to edge closer to mine. My chest puffs out so fast it almost hurts. She’s nervous, I know she would be. The whole pack is waiting outside, and she can probably still feel them at the edge of her mind, all those new voices and scents and expectations, and even with all of that, her body chooses mine to step closer to. Mine. I clear my throat before I start looking as smug as I feel. “You’re not walking all the way out there without these,” I say. She blinks up at me as I move to the hall cupboard and grab the crutches Mum brought home years ago when Theo tore his ACL. I bring them back and crouch in front of her, adjusting them until they sit at the right height beneath her arms. “You won’t need them for long,” I tell her, glancing at her leg. “But they’ll help.” She smiles softly. “Okay.”

I hold one crutch steady while she gets her hands around it, then the other. She tests them slowly, and the second she wobbles, I step in close enough to catch her if I need to. “There you go. You’ve got this,” I smirk at her. When we head for the door, and every few steps her arm brushes mine, and every time it happens, something in me lights up like a bloody festival. Mum wasn’t exaggerating; the backyard is full. Marquees stretch across the grass in long pale rows, sheltering folding tables already covered in platters and bowls and stacks of plates. Someone has the barbecue going near the fence, smoke rolling up into the evening air thick with the smell of onions, sausage and steak. A couple of the older women are at one table, chopping salad and talking over each other, while a group of younger pack members drag more chairs into place. One of my uncles is crouched near the firepit, coaxing flame through the wood, and kids tear through the yard in little streaks of noise.

Lanterns hang from the poles of the marquees, and fairy lights run along the fence line. The whole yard glows gold against the blue fall of evening. One by one, people turn and greet Charlie, mainly because Theo is already hauling him into the thick of it, introducing him to whoever is closest, but then the line of sight shifts. Heads turn, and conversations dip as Charlotte steps out onto the back deck beside me. Her light blonde hair brushed smoothly over her shoulders, cream jumper catching the warm backyard light, cheeks pink from nerves and the cool air, green eyes wide as the whole pack looks at her.

“There she is.”

“That’s the white wolf.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Look at her.”

My chest goes out even further. It’s probably pathetic, but I don’t care. My pack likes my mate. I can see the exact second the attention gets to her, as her fingers tighten around the crutch and her shoulders tense. Then she shuffles closer to me, and a stupid, ridiculous grin tries to break over my face. “Easy,” I murmur, keeping my voice low enough that only she hears. “They’re just curious.” She glances at me. “Just?” I laugh under my breath. “Alright. Curious and impressed.” I guide her down the deck steps slowly, keeping one hand near the small of her back in case she loses her balance. She leans into me more than she seems to realise, taking some of her weight through her shoulder and hip whenever the crutches catch awkwardly in the snowy grass. Every small touch gives me that warm, giddy feeling in my chest. This is madness. I want it forever. We make it two steps into the yard before people start approaching.

The first is old Mrs Donnelly from three houses down, who pinches my cheek when I haven’t shaved and has called me handsome since I was six. “Well,” she says, looking Charlotte over with wide, delighted eyes. “Would you look at you, love.” Charlotte freezes for half a second. “This is Mrs Donnelly,” I tell her. “She knows everybody’s business before they do.” Mrs Donnelly gasps in mock offence. “That is slander.” “It’s absolutely true.” Charlotte giggles, and Mrs Donnelly softens immediately. “Welcome, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte says. I introduce her to the Baxters, then to Callum and his wife Renee, then to a cluster of teenage girls who look at Charlotte like she’s walked out of a storybook. One little kid with jam on his face stares up at her and blurts, “Your hair is pretty,” before sprinting off again. Charlotte blinks after him. “He’s right,” I whisper in her ear, and she turns pink so fast. At one point, I step half a pace away to shake someone’s hand, and Charlotte moves with me instantly, closing the gap again. Her shoulder brushes my arm, and her scent wraps around me, warm and sweet and mine. I swear I feel taller.

Dad claps his hands, and the sound cuts across the yard. People turn toward him as he steps into the open space near the firepit. Mum joins him on one side. I guide Charlotte closer to the front, and when we stop, I let my hand settle gently on her shoulder. Dad scans the yard, waiting until everyone has quieted fully. “Tonight,” he says, “we welcome two new members into the Wellington Pack.” A murmur of approval rolls through the crowd. Dad gestures first to Charlie. “Charlie Pierce.” Then his hand opens toward Charlotte. “And Charlotte Pierce.” Every eye in the place shifts to her again. I let my thumb brush once, lightly, through the knit of her jumper where my hand rests on her shoulder. Dad’s gaze moves over the pack. “Many of you already know why this is such a big deal. Some of you know only pieces. So hear me clearly now.” The yard goes still enough that I can hear the barbecue hiss. “Charlotte is a white wolf,” Dad says. “A rare gift. One our kind has not seen in generations. She comes into this pack under our protection, and that protection now extends from every one of us.” A low rumble of agreement answers him from all sides. Dad’s voice hardens just a fraction. “Any threat against Charlotte or Charlie is a threat against Wellington.” Dad raises his glass and smiles. “So tonight, we welcome them properly. We feed them properly, and we make sure they know this is home.”