Page 10 of The Wolf in My Tavern

“So you got the pump working, then?” Pete asks conversationally. He is also eating stew and is on his third pint of Pilkington.

“Aye,” I say gruffly. “It’ll need Will to look at it properly. I put a bit of grease on it. At least it’s moving for now.”

“Good work, lad,” my father says. He has always been forward with praise and notices when I do something he considers worthy of a comment. I never thought about it before, but when I consider what a terrible father Ada had, I appreciate him even more.

“If I’d known Tim was handing out free food and ale, I’d have offered to help,” Pete says, grinning.

As if on cue, Betsy arrives at our table with two fresh pints for me and my pa. “Compliments of the house,” she says with a smile.

“Thank you, Betsy,” my father says.

“My pleasure,” she replies, before winking at me. “And a special thanks to Callum for putting a blush on Ada’s face.”

I choke on the mouthful of beer I’ve just gulped. Pete chuckles and thumps me on the back.

Great! Now everybody fucking knows.

“Young love,” Pete says with a grin, making me feel an even bigger chump.

I had it bad for Ada before I tasted her lips. It’s worse than anything I felt for Doreen or the young lass who works at the bakers that I was smitten with before that.

As Betsy sashays off, the tavern door slams open, bringing a gust of frigid wind.

Two strangers walk in, big men, broad-shouldered—alphas for sure. We get few of their kind around here, especially in The Green Man, so I can’t help but notice, and more so given my recent involvement with the secret side of the rebellion. There is a grace to their movements that makes me think of soldiers like Jacob; only something is off. As I study them, I realize they carry no weapons.

My pa casually leans back in his chair to glance over at the two newcomers.

Tim heads over to speak with them as they stop at the bar. A conversation follows, one I can’t hear over the tavern’s din.

The two men take a table on the other side of the fire in my direct line of sight.

“I’ll call it a night then,” Pete says, rousing me from my thoughts. He downs the last gulp of his pint and rises from his seat, calling goodbye to Tim before heading out the door.

“Shifters,” my father says, and I realize he is talking about the newcomers.

I feel the prickling of unease. “You sure?”

“Aye, they have their bearing,” he adds.

My curiosity is piqued, not just about the shifters but how my father knows such things instinctively. When I was little, I found a sword carefully wrapped in cloth under his bed. I got in trouble for snooping, a dozen licks of the belt, and a stern lecture on looking where I shouldn’t.

He doesn’t talk about it often, just snippets here and there, but he wasn’t always a blacksmith. My late mother came from Hydornia, and they moved here before I was born. He’s more than just a blacksmith—the sword and the part he plays in the rebellion tell me as much.

“You’re getting older, Callum,” he says. “There are things I should tell you. You’re part of it now and have shown your nature and capability. Yet there is danger in that route, and I promised your mother I would shield you from it.” He sighs. “Even as I promised, we both knew it might prove impossible to keep. You cannot easily walk away when you’re part of something like I am.”

“I’m ready,” I say because I am. Only my attention is snagged from this important conversation when Ada approaches the shifters to take their order. As she stops to speak to them, I note the crimson blush that spreads over her cheeks and her shy smile.

My eyes narrow. Is she attracted to them, or did they say something inappropriate?

As she heads back to the bar, the big shifter with the dark hair turns to watch her ass!

“What the fuck is that bastard looking at?”

“A pretty lass,” my father offers bluntly.

Fucking great! Now, I am a source of pity, and all I have done is kiss the lass, which I cannot rightly remember whether she even agreed to. I don’t have any claim on her. She is free to smile at anyone… to kiss anyone she chooses.

“Do you know about Ada’s father?” I ask.

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