Left Hand Lydia Martin
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“I am black snow,” she’d remind him over watermelon lemonade and the drone of cicadas. “Nowosław, he was our hope for this new place; our new glory.”
She would pat his cheek, her brows pulled down over amber eyes that looked so much like his own. “But you, little Mieczysław, you were your parent’s desire to cut away the evil in this world; their holy sword. I would have named you better – Moroz after my father, and the first frost.”
“Remember, little frostbite, the land responds to us. It is our job to protect it and the animals and plants that live on it. Never show what you are. What we can be. Here, they do not know Almas. They would not understand our role.” She slid a withered hand over his shorn hair, a necessity as puberty made the Almas in him come to the forefront. “We are the last children of the Black God…the wild ones, and the forests and mountains, they belong to us.”
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Summary
New FBI agents and best friends Stiles and Scott are sent to infiltrate the Hales and the Argents respectively, two of the most notorious crime families in the state.
On his first day, Stiles realizes that the Hales aren't just criminals – they're also a pack of werewolves. That makes his mission just a little trickier, because his well-crafted cover identity goes out the window and he has to improvise a new one, based on his own life.
And things get only more complicated when Stiles finds out that Peter Hale, leader of the Hale crime family and apparently Alpha of the Hale Pack, is in a secret relationship with Chris Argent.
(Things fully go off the rails when Chris and Peter invite Stiles into their bed.)