Page 37 of Way of the Wolf

Tired of the conversation, I waved a dismissive hand at him and headed toward the front door. If my mother wasn’t here, there was no reason for me to stand and endure this.

Marco moved to block me. “You shouldn’t bother her with whatever trivial crap brought you here.”

He was as big and strong as Augustus, and fear and uncertainty jolted me. But I kept walking, knowing he would be more of a bully if I showed him that fear. Feelings of anger and belligerence trickled through my veins as well, ancient instincts stirring with the desire to call the wolf out and challenge him to a fight. Once, I’d been a match for any of my cousins. Once, only an alpha male had been strong enough to defeat me.

But that wasn’t the case anymore. I had to be careful. I had to tamp down the wolf. Even if the potion’s effectiveness had waned enough for my lupine side to rise, I was older now. With startling certainty, I realized my muzzle would also be gray in wolf form.

Emilio pointed at the gift box. “That doesn’t look trivial. Aunt Umbra might want that. She should have any gifts that people bring, especially now.”

That comment made me pause, unease replacing my anger and fear. Was something wrong with Mom?

“Aunt Umbra should eat quality meat and organs.” Marco lifted a hand, as if he might knock the box to the ground. “Not salted and pulverized human garbage squeezed into log shapes.”

“Are you sure?” Emilio grabbed Marco’s arm to stop the blow,and he stepped closer to me—to the gift. “It smells good. Do my nostrils detect smoked salmon?”

Marco opened his mouth to further demonstrate his surliness, but light slashed into the night from the cabin. The front door had opened.

Mom stood on the threshold, tall and lean in a flannel shirt and hiking trousers. Her face was chiseled, her brown eyes intent, her long white hair pulled back into a braid. She looked as straight and proud as I remembered, but deep creases lined her face, and it lacked the color, the healthy vigor, of the past. Her once olive skin seemed as pale as the hair that had been lush and black when I’d left home.

“Return to your hunt, boys,” she said. “I’ll talk to my daughter.”

13

“Come, Luna.”Despite her paleness, Mom’s voice remained strong and authoritative, and she radiated magical power. Her eyes even seemed to gleam as they reflected the moonlight.

I opened the gift box and withdrew a salami log, handing it to Emilio as I passed. So far, he was the only male family member I’d encountered this week who didn’t hate me. At least not yet. I didn’t know how much of my story he was familiar with.

His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he grinned fiercely as he clutched the salami to his chest.

“Disgusting,” Marco said, but he stepped back. He nodded to my mother and made no further move to intercept me.

Emilio sniffed the end of the salami and grinned wider. “Delicious.”

Marco shook his head again.

“Maybe Aurora was right.” Emilio nodded to me. “Maybe you’re all right."

I recognized the name of one of my nieces, but she and her sister Jasmine had been toddlers when last I’d seen them. I wasn’tsure how Aurora could have vouched for me. Still, I would be happy to learn that theentirefamily didn’t hate me.

Salami in hand, Emilio trotted off into the woods. He sent suspicious glances over his shoulder at Marco as he went, as if believing the older man would come after him and steal away the snack.

“Emilio is your cousin Leopold’s youngest.” My mother watched as I climbed up to the cabin’s front porch, her eyes hard to read.

Was she pleased to see me? Or had she never wanted to see me again? When I’d left, she hadn’t understood my strong emotions, my unwillingness to accept that losing oneself to one’s werewolf instincts was perfectly normal, but she hadn’t been angry with me. That, however, had been before I found those potions.

“He seems like a decent guy.” I didn’t remark on Marco—or Augustus.

“He’s a puppy, but that’s what happens with the runts.”

I didn’t point out that Emilio had clearly grown out of that runtiness. He’d been big both as a man and a wolf.

Mom stepped back, lifting an arm to invite me into the cabin.

That was something, at least. She glanced at the opened gift box, a few summer sausages and packets of smoked salmon remaining.

Knowing werewolves as I did, I’d opted for the meat-and-fish-lovers package, no pesky sweets or cheeses contaminating the offerings. I did, however, lay two bars of dark chocolate, each spruced up with sea salt and honey-bourbon bacon, next to the box when I set it on her table. After all, Mom had been the one who’d once introduced me to chocolate. Milk was far too anemic and sweet, she’d assured me, but a wolf’s palette could be tempted by the bolder and richer flavors of a good dark.

“You wouldn’t know sinceyouweren’t a runt,” she added, glancing outside before closing the door firmly.

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