Page 2 of Reformed Wolf

Pressure had begun to build at the back of my skull as I forced a casual smile onto my face. “Uh, good? At the very least good enough, but if it’s still leaking after this, you have no one to blame but yourself for trusting me with it not just once, but twice.”

Shan reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small spiral-bound notepad, and I struggled to hide my wince. It was his to-do list. No matter how hard we worked, we never seemed to reach the end of that list. There was so damn much to do! And right when I thought we might be getting a handle on things, something broke or wore out or rotted through, and we were right back at the beginning all over again.

Sure enough, Shan started to say, “Next up, we need to—” but he was interrupted when Mal went whipping past him, hardly more than a thigh-high blur. Shan’s hand shot out, gripping the nude boy around the waist. “Not so fast, squirt. I know for a fact your daddy was going to give you a bath, so why aren’t you in the tub?”

“No bath! Noooooo!” Mal screamed at a pitch high enough that my wolf wanted to howl.

This was my chance. “You know what? I’m gonna bring the supplies to Vesta,” I said, already sidling past the temper tantrum unfolding on the ground where Malachi was now rolling around.

“Are you sure?” Shan asked, totally ignoring the meltdown.

My eyes flicked down to the thrashing child. “Oh, I’m sure.” He just laughed and waved me off.

Children tested boundaries, I knew that, but when I was already stretched to my limit, it was one whine more than I could handle. I needed just a few minutes of peace and quiet. And that was exactly what I found on the hike to Vesta’s cabin.

With each step I took in the woods, the tension that had been tightening into a knot in my chest began to loosen. I could breathe again, the air damp enough that I could taste my surroundings on my tongue. My wolf nudged me from inside. Hunt? he asked hopefully.

Maybe on the way home, I replied. I can’t imagine you want to run with this bag on your back.

He did not.

Vesta was our pack’s shaman, though she lived on her own in a tiny cabin. She was older than anyone could confirm, and there was some definite woo-woo mystical-aura shit going on, but to me, she felt like family. Sure, she doted on me a little like my mothers did, but it was more than that. There was this deeper connection I felt all the way down to my bones, like I’d known her all my life and not just these last few years since we’d settled into the area.

Her cabin finally came into view, its roof sagging and layered with moss, the walls sun-bleached gray. I practically skipped across the patch of wildflowers that counted as her front yard, eager to see her. “Knock, knock, Grandmother,” I called as I opened the door, using my honorific title for her. It took a moment for my eyes to get adjusted to the gloom.

“There are you! Just in time for tea,” she said from where she stood at her stained and pitted worktable, tipping the kettle into a second mug.

I had to duck not to hit my head on all the bundles of herbs and plants hanging from the rafters to dry. I narrowed my eyes at her. “How did you know to prepare two mugs? This isn’t my usual delivery day.”

She simply offered one of her mysterious smiles, turning her blind milky-white gaze my way. “A woman never reveals her secrets,” she said, her chuckle like gravel in her throat.

“Mm-hm,” I murmured, pulling my pack off my back. Yep, woo-woo, mystical shit alright, but I felt like my brain would probably explode if she confirmed it, so I never pressed. “I brought you some of that pancake mix you like, and Damon threw in a little bottle of his maple syrup to go with it. Also, a dozen eggs from the demon birds.”

“Annnnnd…” she drawled, holding her arthritic hands out expectedly.

I was tempted to play dumb for a little longer, but I couldn’t fool her. “Yes, and some of Tara’s cinnamon buns.” She couldn’t wait for me to take them out of my pack before she was tearing the box from my hands. I couldn’t help laughing at her enthusiasm. This woman’s sweet tooth was unparalleled.

“Thank you, dear,” she said around a full mouth. “Bring the tea, would you?” I picked up the mugs and followed her to the two chairs positioned in front of the stone fireplace, banked to a crackling warm glow. She groaned a little as she lowered herself into her rocking chair, and I sat across from her. I knew I couldn’t stay too long, since there was still so much left to do in camp, but I would prolong the visit as long as my conscience would allow.

She clucked her tongue. “Stop worrying about that to-do list of Shan’s. You have somewhere else to be,” she said as if she’d just read my mind.

I had practice at ignoring the shiver her abilities induced. “And where’s that?” I asked, sipping from my mug of tea. It tasted like peppermint, maybe some yarrow or nettle.

She licked the buttery cinnamon off her thumb, her smile mischievous and far too knowing. “Why, you’re going to Fairhome for the weekend, of course.”

“I am?” My eyebrows took a hike up my forehead. “Any reason in particular?” She shrugged, but I knew she wouldn’t send me to the city for no good reason. “How about a hint?”

She cackled. “I think you’ll go whether I give you a hint or not. Am I right?”

“You are,” I said honestly. “I’ve been a little stressed out this week—month—all right, four years,” I grudgingly admitted as she crossed her arms and speared me with a look. “A trip to the city is just what I need to let off a little steam.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” she teased.

I made zero effort to hide my promiscuous sex life. There was nothing wrong with a little fun between consenting adults, but I preferred to keep it outside of the pack. Feelings tended to get hurt when it was too close to home and you had to face the person the next day. Especially since I wasn’t in the mood to settle down just yet.

Suspicion nagged at me. Vesta didn’t make suggestions like this for no reason. “There’s something else, though, isn’t there,” I coaxed.

She leaned forward and took my hand in a surprisingly firm grip, her fingers still slightly sticky, though I would never pull away. Her clouded eyes seemed to pin on some distant point only she could see. “Fate is weaving her tapestry around you,” she intoned in an unearthly voice that had goosebumps crawling up my arms. “You will go to Fairhome. Your feet will take you where you need to go. Trust your wolf.” I wished I could see what she saw. “You will… you will meet…” She blinked rapidly and seemed to struggle to catch her breath.

---