Frost Wolf

FROST WOLF SONS OF LOKI BOOK 1 KRYSTAL FROST Frost Wolf by Krystal Frost Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved ISBN: 9798391365709 The Characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. To all my wolf loving girls who where already over 25 when Twilight was published and believed that Charlie is all that they can hope for. The guy is a Wolf, I just warn you cause maybe the cover and the title weren’t warning enough.. He turns into a big bad wolf who can eat her like nobody’s business! If you think that girls in their 40s deserve to be eaten by a wolf, please keep going, if not, I appreciate that you stopped by, see you never. I am sick of the stereotypes saying that only the virgo can by eaten by the wolf. We older gals deserve to ride on the wolf in the sunset, never settle for Charlie, cause if you know, you know! Ps :Little Red Riding Hood is actually a love story CONTENTS 1. Yana 2. Yana 3. Yana 4. Yana 5. Yana 6. Yana 7. Yana 8. Yana 9. Soren 10. Yana 11. Soren 12. Yana 13. Yana 14. Yana 15. Soren 16. Yana 17. Soren 18. Soren 19. Soren 20. Yana 21. Yana 22. Soren 23. Yana 24. Soren 25. Soren 26. Yana Afterword TRIGGER WARNING Please read this before you start the adventure. This book contains violent scenes and some graphic depiction of torture. Cheating is a theme but not between the main characters. Lying and broken trust in a relationship. Family and abandonment issues. Dead family members, grief. Near death experiences. Fertility issues of the female MC. Blood, gore guts. Graphic sex scenes between two adults. Second chance romance for a divorced woman. Divorce. Life in general (no joke, I get triggered by that shit on a daily basis, and people breathing, like, go home and breathe!) 1 YANA I was tired. Even my tiredness was tired. I walked into the kitchen, which still looked exactly the way it did when my Granny was alive, turned on the stove, and decided that a late-night snack was exactly what I needed. Mac and cheese, Granny style. Opening the fridge, I took out some cheap cheese that probably should not even be called cheese. It was more plastic than cheese, but it made me think of better days. Yawning and stretching, I watched the Mac and cheese cooking, slowly getting to that perfect gooey consistency I loved. My mouth watered. It smelled delicious. I did the same thing I always did—I took a bite, knowing the food was incredibly hot and would burn my tongue. The yelp of pain, followed by frantic inhaling through the mouth, made me forget how tired I felt. Just as I started my macaroni dance in the kitchen, a loud sound filled the house. The wind moaned like a bitch in heat. A storm raged outside, shaking the windows of the old house and singing a sad song against the metal roof. It had started when I left the hospital at the end of my shift and was still going strong. Lightning bolts turned the pitch-black night into a show worthy of Vegas. All my life, I found storms both scary and fascinating. Soft steps sounded on the old linoleum floor of the kitchen, a floor I planned to replace soon. “Are you hungry, you rascal?” I asked the fluff that rubbed itself against my bare legs. I turned off the burner under the Mac and cheese and pulled the pot to one side, waiting for it to get to a temperature that would allow me to wolf it down. Before that, I had to feed Spike. Spike was a stray cat that my Granny loved. I inherited him with the house. The cat rubbed itself against my feet. He was a beautiful black cat with white spots and the gentlest green eyes with golden flecks. “Are you hungry, Spike?” I asked as I rubbed his chest and the area under his left ear where he loved to be scratched. Purr was the only reply. Petting the cat with one hand, I opened the cabinet where I kept wet cat food for his visits. He prowled around the neighborhood during the day and would return at night, enter through the bathroom window, and find his way to me no matter where I was. “Would you like to stay with me forever?” I asked as I rubbed my head against his. Then I opened the can of wet cat food and placed it into a small bowl on the kitchen counter. I received a soft purr in response. “I hate knowing you’re alone out there. What if a dog catches you, or you get hit by a truck?” The cat decided I was no longer of interest and started eating the food I put out. Hunger got to me, too, and I wolfed down the Mac and cheese directly out of the pot while standing in front of the stove. One thing was sure—I would not be making a Pinterest board about my house. One glance showed why. Most items dated back to the 70s. The old, checkered linoleum on the floor was clean but still looked bad, no matter how much I scrubbed it. The brown kitchen cabinets that still had the flowers on them that Granny told me my mom had painted and that she didn’t have the strength to paint over. Even the wooden covers on the walls. It all said 70s ugly, not seventies chic. Sadly, my budget didn’t allow for much. If I want to do something about my house, I’ll