Page 1 of Howling Mad
Chapter 1
Finley
Ijoltawaketothe shrill ringtone of my phone, my face pressed against a warm pillow that smells vaguely of cocoa butter.My first instinct is to fling the phone across the room so I can reclaim the bliss of sleep.But I’m already halfway conscious, and curiosity gets the better of me.The screen flashes “Mom,” so I clear my throat, force a pleasant tone, and answer.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”Her cheerful greeting slides into my ear with the precision of a well-aimed arrow.“I found the perfect date for you.He’s the son of a neighboring pack’s alpha, and you two will get along famously.”
I lurch upright.“Mom, I can’t.Today’s not a good day.”My mouth twists, and my pulse already flutters with dread.
She sounds so hopeful.“This is our twelfth match.He’s tall, comes from a respected family, and his mother says he has an excellent sense of humor.”
“If his mother says it, then it must be true,” I mutter to myself while kicking off the covers and shuffling into the kitchen, phone wedged between my shoulder and ear.My apartment is still unfamiliar with boxes piled in corners and a leaning stack of cookbooks threatening to topple.“I appreciate your efforts, but I’m not sure I can do it tonight.”The oven clock blinks, showing I overslept by half an hour.
Her voice dips into that coaxing tone that always tangles me in guilt.“He’s only in town for two days, and I promised his mother you’d at least meet him for coffee.”
My toes curl against the chilly floor while I peer at the spartan interior.“Coffee is complicated.My day’s packed.”
She releases a dramatic sigh.“You never have time.You know we only want your happiness.Moving to the city doesn’t change the fact that you need a mate, Finley.”
That last statement sets me on edge, but I bite back the urge to snap at her.“My interview is in a couple of hours.Please understand.”
There’s silence on her end followed by a thoughtful hum.“I told Harold you’d say that.We’re just concerned.This is your future.”
I flip the knob on the gas range while rummaging for a skillet.“I know.It’s also my choice.I promise I’ll call back, but let me figure it out.Okay?”
Her pause stretches.“You do that, but keep in mind, you only get so many chances before people start whispering that you’re standoffish.”
My hand flexes around the spatula.“Let them whisper.I’ll manage.”I keep my voice calm, the way I used to in the packhouse when they’d corral me into meet-and-greets with some alpha’s nephew.
She exhales.“I just don’t want you lonely.We worry.All right, I’ll let you go, but call me later.All right?”
I murmur a quick farewell and gently set the phone on the counter, my heart pounding.That’s the twelfth time in three months she’s tried to force another meeting with yet another alpha, just so I can face more stares, the pitying looks, and sly comments about my unusual wolf.Running from that was the entire reason I moved here.
An oily smell wafts up from the pan.My eyes widen in horror as I hastily shovel half-burned scrambled eggs onto a plate and then realize I have no time to cook something else.My stomach grumbles even as my mouth twists with distaste.These eggs look like charcoal-flaked lumps.
A beep from my phone reminds me of the interview time.My mind scrambles for details.It’s at a place called Romance Expected Dating Service, run by someone named Regina Carrington, and is hardly the type of position I ever imagined for myself.I originally had a stable HR job in the country, but that was back when I was still pretending I could settle near my pack without losing my mind.
Smoke coils from the skillet.I lunge for the knob and cringe as the blackened egg bits crust on the surface.Breakfast success ratio is zero.My frustration lingers, but the sweet smell of coffee beckons.I grab my favorite mug off the dish rack, the one with chipped letters reading “I HOWL AT MY OWN JOKES.”It’s the only novelty mug I own that still makes me smile.
The first sip has me sighing in relief, but that moment is short-lived.My phone buzzes with a text from Mom:He’s waiting to hear from you.
My grip on the handle shifts at the unwelcome reminder, and coffee sloshes over the side, splattering hot drops across the plain blouse I picked for my interview.Sticky warmth seeps into the cream-colored fabric, and the mug clangs against the counter when I set it down too fast.
That’s not even the worst part.A fat splash lands on the crisp résumé printed specifically for this job interview.The cheap paper curls into itself where the coffee hits, and I want to scream.Instead, I fling open a drawer, rummage for a napkin, and dab furiously, which only smears the ink in dark ribbons across the page.
A soft groan escapes me.“Please, not today.Please.”The mess looks irreparable.The black typeface for my name is half-melted, and it’s the only copy I have.My printer is still in a box.The actual device might be in the trunk of my car.
Minutes slip by as I debate ways to salvage the résumé.A hairdryer?A store around the corner with a printer kiosk?That’s precious time I might not have, so I decide to reprint it at a local shipping store on the way.Problem solved.Possibly.
I rinse the mug and then hustle into the bathroom.My reflection grimaces back, hair in a frizzy halo around my head.I spent my last paycheck on salon-grade conditioner, yet my waves have a mind of their own.A tired woman stares at me, and tension tugs between my shoulder blades.
The memory of Mom’s disappointed voice lingers in my ears.“I am not standoffish,” I whisper.“I’m just me.”My lips tremble.
That phone call might have been routine, but every time, it reopens the wound of not fitting in.My wolf side is present yet different, and I’m always measuring up to nothing in the eyes of those who want a proper pack.
I secure my hair in a low bun, rummaging for bobby pins that vanish before reappearing in the strangest places.One pin is bent, but I wedge it in anyway.An encouraging pep talk forms in my mind.You moved here to escape all that.You want a life that’s yours, free from forced matches.This interview might be weird, but it’s a chance to do something new.
The mirror offers no easy answers.I attempt a smile, and my eyes look a bit more amber when I’m nervous.My wolf peeks through in my reflection.Good to know she’s awake, too.
