Page 12 of A Wolf in the Garden

“Swing sets, small playgrounds, sandpits — that’s a really popular option with children; you can’t really go wrong with a sandpit — some have trampolines, even.”

“And they’re safe?”

“A sandpit is safe. A swing set is safe — they wouldn’t have them at public parks, otherwise. We can skip the trampolines, if you like.”

He nods, jaw clenched once more, and I bite my lip, considering what else to ask.Safety is an obvious concern of his. Inclusion probably is, too.

Van sounded unhappy with my question about his clientele, and I can take a guess as to why. Yesterday I came across a thread on social media within the local community group, one about Lost Moon and the‘lovely new wolf owner’. While many of the comments were really supportive, there were a few very vocal anti-wolf, anti-foreigner, anti-non-human people sharing their nasty rhetoric about why a non-human owning a winery here on Motuwai was wrong. Reading it had made my skin crawl and my stomach churn; it was beyond upsetting to read about those attitudes, made worse by knowing they were talking specifically about Van, their comments occasionally alluding to violence, and had sparked a fresh wave of anxiety in regards to my own secret non-human status. Even if Van hasn’t seen the thread yet, I have no doubt that he’s run into these opinions in person since the Unravelling.

It’s one of the reasons I keep hiding my own status like a coward.

I take a deep breath, and tilt my head right back to look Van in the eye. “Why don’t you tell me what your dreams for this space are? What is it that you absolutely see being included here?” We already discussed some ideas on Sunday, but I don’t want to miss anything that he might have his heart set on.

He frowns behind his glasses. “This needs to be a place for everybody. Children absolutely need to be included — this whole vineyard is going to be kid-friendly. It makes no business sense to exclude kids when you’re hosting weddings and other functions where families attend. And by everybody, I meaneveryone.”

“Is there anything in particular that would need to be accommodated for depending on the species of people? Take orcs, for example — if I only order tiny little French bistro style seats, Cam won’t have anywhere to sit. I mean,you’dbarely even fit on one. How tall are you these days?”

“I’m six foot eight.”

“Six-eight!”

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “You’re still as short as ever.”

“Yeah I know,” I grumble. “I haven’t grown any taller since I was fourteen. I mean, five foot four isn’tthatsmall.“

“It’s small,” he teases, flashing me a sharp grin. “You’re cute.”

I’m blushing again. I can feel it, the way I’m practically glowing like a lightbulb under the slightest hint of praise. I clear my throat, trying to get back on track. “I know I should probably already know all the different ways to modify amenities to accommodate non-humans, so I apologise for putting that on you as a client, but I’m still fairly new to working with different species in mind, which sounds awful, but I’ve —”

“Relax, Ellie. I know what you meant when you asked. I’m not offended, and I can’t expect a human that hasn’t ever set foot in the First Realm to know the ins and outs of every type of being. I can email you a list of things to consider.”

My gut twists at the wordhuman, the lie I’m living growing more bitter by the day. “Thank you,” I tell him, and then, because I’m curious, I ask, “Have you been to the First Realm much?”

The First Realm.Though all humans know the name of it, there’s still very little information on the realm where all the non-humans supposedly originated from. All I know is that some have chosen to live their whole lives here in this world, while others move freely between the two realms, and the rest never come to this plane.

“I’ve only been there a handful of times, but my mom was born and raised there.”

“Wow,really?I mean, I don’t know why I’m so surprised now, it’s not like she’s human. You said she’s a werewolf, right?”

“She’s a werewolf, not an ounce of human blood in her, as far as I’m aware.” He grins, his wolfish fangs catching my eye once more. I never thought teeth could be attractive, but seeing those elongated caninesdoes things to me, and I imagine them scraping along my skin.

“You’re taking all these revelations in your stride pretty well,” he says. “Going back to your question… my whole life is here, in this realm. My father grew up in this realm, and while his pack has ties back to the First Realm, all three hundred of them are on this side, too. Everything you ever heard about his company is true — he started it when he was young, got it off the ground. It’s just Mom that has the First Realm history. She’s a witch, actually.”

I know I’m staring open mouthed, but I can’t help it. “She’s awitch?” I think back to my memories of Bronte, Van’s mother, adding yetanotherlayer to what I thought I knew. “She’s a werewolfanda witch?”

“Sounds complicated, right?” He removes his sunglasses, and I’m hit with the full force of those golden eyes. I used to love the light brown of his eyes, back then, but he’s even more stunning now. They crinkle at the corners with wry amusement. “When it comes to magic, all species practise it. So you can get orcs that are wizards, werewolves that are witches, elves that are druids. Any and all combinations are possible.”

“Human witches?”

Amusement tugs at his mouth. “Yeah,” he says with a shrug. “It’s not as common, but it can happen. Although, if you dig back a few generations, you’ll usually find that those humans have some non-human blood, an orc ancestor or something.”

A shiver crawls down my spine.Some non-human blood. I should tell him; Icantrust him, I know that much, but I can’t find the words, the fears I have around that strange mushroom I found and my pointed ears glueing my mouth shut.

Van continues talking, circling back to the First Realm. “You have to be pretty skilled, magic-wise, to open a portal through to the First. My mom can do it, but I definitely can’t. That’s always put me off visiting — it’s easy enough to find someone on that side that will open up a portal for you to come back, but just the idea of possibly getting trapped on the wrong side gives me the creeps. Lacey lived in the First for a while, though. For a couple of years, after… after Jenny passed.”

There’s only the briefest catch in his voice, but I notice it and feel the twin ache in my own heart, thinking about Jenny’s sweet little face, only six years old when she died. Instinctively I reach out to him, rubbing his shoulder in comfort, my hand trailing down his arm. He twists his palm upwards, catching my hand in a gentle squeeze before dropping it. No words are exchanged, and yet I feel like we have just shared a conversation on our joint grief.I know. I understand. I’m here.

His skin is far warmer than it used to be, and the heat lingers on my palm. We both stand in silence, and here it’s so easy to forget all the reasons why I should not want a relationship with him. Part of me wants nothing more than to close the gap between our bodies, to put my hands on him once more, to rekindle the intimacy that was by far the most passionate that I’ve ever experienced. That same part of me wants to know what it’s like to kiss him now that he has those sharper canines, what it would feel like to have that searing heat of him naked against me, to be filled and knotted by him, sealed together and bound in a way only a wolf-man could achieve. The thought alone is enough to make me wet, and I can feel the slick damp in my panties. He’d slide home between my legs with ease right now, if I let him.

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