Page 21 of The Wolf in My Tavern

He takes the heated bar out of the forge and places it on his anvil, turning it this way and that before deciding on an angle and reaching for his hammer. “They are looking for someone… the shifters,” he adds when I look on, confused. He turns to his work and begins pounding on the metal in earnest.

I asked him what this had to do with my mother, and he brought up the shifters. Why do I feel like he’s evading my question?

“Pack members that were taken by the Blighten,” he continues as he turns the forming sword over before pounding it a couple more times. “They have been looking for a year, or so Drake said.”

My brows pinch together, and I rescind a little of my ill charity toward them, shoving my cooling work back into the fiery coals. “That is a long time to search for someone,” I say.

“It is,” my father agrees. “They are important to them, or to the pack, or maybe both. I do not wish anybody to be a prisoner of orcs for a moment, never mind a year. I would offer them any information that might help them in their quest. Told them to ask for Anders. He will aid them if he can.”

I nod, feeling churlish for my earlier mood of ill charity toward the shifters.

“The world is a vast place,” my father says, shoving his forming sword beside mine, which is now glowing nicely. “And there are layers within it of good and bad—black and white—and between them are a myriad of shades of gray. The Blighten are not all bad, despite what we might presume. And humans are far from all good. Nor are all poor people who live in the slums of Bleakness wicked and criminal. Your lass, Ada, is a testament to that.”

I feel my chest swell as he acknowledges Ada as mine; although I want to press him about my mother, I sense now is not the time.

“Shifters do not often trouble themselves with the affairs of men,” my father continues. “But change is coming, and we must move with it. They will move on, sooner or later.”

His words ought to soothe me. He is telling me that I do not need to feel threatened by the shifter sniffing around Ada, for he has his own business, and Bleakness is not his forever home.

“They have been here for many weeks already,” I point out.

“Aye, lad. And they might be here for many more.”

I feel foolish—a belligerent whelp—yet I know what I saw. The way Gray looks at Ada is the look of a man who harbors desires.

I pull the iron from the forge, take my hammer, and pound it into shape.

As I do, I am imagining a certain shifter’s face.

Chapter Nine

Gray

Bleakness by name, bleak by nature. The cobblestone streets of this godless city are layered with snow, and a biting wind nips at the weak spots in my heavy cloak as I head back to our place of residence.

We have taken accommodation at The Green Man. I tell myself it is a sensible location, central to the city, with ties to the rebellion. We can keep abreast of news here without drawing attention. The prices are reasonable, and the fire is always well stocked, although the food leaves a lot to be desired unless you like eating stew.

Truth be told, I’m sick of eating stew. It is the only thing on the menu I can stomach anymore. I tried the potted pork pie, but my wolf has a deep aversion to pigs, and I regretted my lapse in judgment the moment the plate arrived. Then there is the chicken casserole. I don’t mind chicken, but I prefer it not smothered in sauce and vegetables. I sometimes go for the chicken when I desperately need some variety.

We could take our dinner somewhere else. It would provide some relief from the endless fucking stew, yet we continue to eat here rather than at any of a dozen other taverns because of the wench who serves behind the bar.

Last Friday, when I returned, she wasn’t around, and I nearly went on a fucking rampage; that’s how bad this is. I even went so far as to ask Betsy where the lass was, and I was not very subtle about it.

Out the back, showing Callum a broken pump, I was told… which put me in a temper because I knew the pump had been fixed weeks ago by someone by the name of Will. I couldn’t think straight until Ada emerged a considerable time later, and then the lass seemed hell-bent upon avoiding my part of the tavern and never came anywhere near me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, convinced myself something might have happened with that prick.

If he dared to put his hands on her, I will rearrange his fucking face.

I question my decision to stay in this particular tavern. I need to pull back before my wolf encourages me to do something stupid. But I’ve got it bad, and as the cheery lights of the tavern come into view as I round the corner of the bleak, Bleakness street, I accept that neither the allure of rare venison nor the threat of a horde of angry orcs could persuade me to eat elsewhere.

It has been a busy day, and I have not seen Drake since this morning as we each followed up on leads, but as I push open the door and my eyes shift to the bar and see her, I experience immediate relief.

Ada. Safe behind the bar, pink-cheeked and pretty in that saucy fucking dress and those boots, small tits displayed to perfection.

I want to devour her.

Beneath my skin, my wolf begins to prance and preen.

I drag my gaze away, fists tightening at my sides, and weave through the crowded room for my reserved table in the corner.

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