They say if you listen close, you can hear the pinewood breathe.
Deep in a Louisiana parish that doesn't exist on any map, there's a bar that's been standing since 1912. The whiskey's strong. The music's louder. And more than a few of the regulars turn to fur when the moon gets full.
Lucian "Luce" Blackthorn didn't ask for any of this - not the bar, not the brass ring, not the century of blood and history that came with them the night his father died and left it all in his hands. But six years in, he's learned the one rule that matters most: at Lou Pines, every grudge gets left at the door.
This is a story about the wolves who howl at the moon - and the humans who bleed just as easily, love just as hard, and need a safe place to land just as badly.
The door's always open. The drinks are always strong.
Just don't ask what's in the woods.