Page 12 of Howling Mad
She grimaces.“I’ve heard of wolves with weak immunities.I can’t stay and get sneezed on.I have a meeting later.”She strides off, muttering about “defective genes.”Shame and anger churn as I sneeze again, half-shifting.I’m glad she reserved the private area, but it’s still embarrassing.A staff member offers help, but I wave him off, standing with a napkin to my face.
I drop several bills on the table, unable to clearly see the denominations through tears mixing with the allergic reaction, but I know I leave enough.Probably too much, given my current state.
Stumbling outside, I lean against the wall.The sneezing soon subsides but leaves me drained.I review the food I ate and know I’m not allergic to any of it, so that leaves the most likely conjecture.I had an allergic reaction to my date.I groan aloud at the thought.Who does that?Veronica’s gone, and I feel like the outcast I swore I wasn’t.My wolf wants to shift, but I force it down.Public shifts are taboo, even though humans know about us.They just don’t want to see it.
I realize I have no tissues, and there are no cabs.Rain starts falling, soaking my suit.I walk, pride keeping me upright despite my squelching shoes.I ditch them, letting my wolf side feel the wet pavement.It’s oddly grounding, even if I’m a walking cliché of a sad, drenched guy.My phone shows a missed text from Dad about a pack gathering.I scowl, ignoring it.His pressure’s the last thing I need.
The drizzle turns into a downpour.Water flattens my hair and drips into my collar.I could duck into a café, but I keep walking, needing to clear my head.Veronica’s “defective” jab stings deeply.It’s not just her rejection but the fear I’ll never fit with wolves or humans.I limp along, half-laughing at how absurd I must look.
Nearing my building, the doorman eyes my soggy state.
“Rough night,” I mutter.
He nods silently and opens the door extra wide for me.
In the elevator, my reflection shows a plastered suit, messy hair, and puffy eyes.Definitely not the date vibe I was going for.I unlock my apartment, peel off my dripping jacket, and let it pool water on the tile.
Veronica’s “defective” comment loops in my head.I towel off, brew a calming tea blend, and slump on the couch.My throat’s still dry, but the sneezing’s stopped.It had to be Veronica and her unique pheromones or dander.What a cosmic prank, having a gray wolf be allergic to a timber wolf.I sip tea, staring at the dark TV screen, and my drooping reflection mocks me.
What bugs me most isn’t Veronica’s exit.It’s how I felt more understood in five minutes with Finley than an hour with her, and that’s trouble.Finley’s my matchmaker, a wolf who gets my fight against pack traditions.Maybe I’m just desperate for acceptance and latching on to her empathy.I can’t blur that line.
My phone buzzes with a text from my aunt Eleanor:Heard about the date.Don’t let your father’s nonsense get to you.Here if you need me.I grit my teeth.How’d word spread?Veronica?Dad’s rumor network?I set down the phone, not ready to reply.Instead, I debate texting Finley.No, it’s too soon.
Tomorrow, I’ll face her pity at the agency, confessing another flop.I picture her encouraging smile post-Veronica, or her brow wrinkling in concern.My cheeks heat as I realize I’m daydreaming about my matchmaker.“Knock it off,” I mutter.
I finish my tea, clean the puddle by the door, and head for a hot shower.Steam washes away the sneezing residue, but my red eyes in the fogged mirror scream failure.Veronica’s “defective genes” taunt me.It’s not my fault I’m allergic to her, but I recall her comment about weak immunity, which reflects how I sometimes feel in my whole life—weak.Ineffectual.I linger under the water, letting it pound my shoulders until it cools.
In sweatpants, I collapse into bed.My phone buzzes with a message from a coworker asking me to come in early for a client portfolio.I typeYesand then silence it.Sleep’s elusive as I imagine the date with Veronica ending in laughs and promises to see each other again instead of sneezes.Yet Finley’s face keeps slipping in.She’s not my date, so why’s she the one in my thoughts?
Chapter 5
Finley
Islumpatmydesk in the middle of Romance Expected’s back office, scanning the last date report from Michael’s fiasco with Veronica and blowing a lock of hair out of my eyes.The last few lines read “EXCUSED HERSELF WHEN WE DISCOVERED I’M ALLERGIC TO HER.DEEMED ME DEFECTIVE.DATE ENDED ABRUPTLY.”That’s it.No mention of how he must have felt being left mid-sneeze.I can practically hear him apologizing to some startled waiter while Veronica storms off, convinced he’s a “defective” wolf.
My stomach churns with secondhand embarrassment.Michael deserves better than that, which is why I’m determined to fix this, or at least do damage control.He’s had a string of calamitous dates, yet he hasn’t given up.That alone tells me he still wants to find a real match, not give in to the cynicism that’s probably screaming in his ear right now.
I eye the thick binder of prospective matches for him, marked with a neon green Post-it note that reads “Finley’s Final Frontier.”My sense of humor gets weirder by the day, apparently.Setting my coffee mug aside—today I did bring my beloved “I HOWL AT MY OWN JOKES” mug because I need all the moral support I can get—I shuffle through the pages.My gaze snags on a coyote shifter’s profile belonging to Diana Stone, a financial analyst at a rival firm in the city.She’s tall, well-traveled, college-educated, and glows with the same kind of corporate hustle that Michael embraces.On paper, it seems promising—or at least not doomed.
But I recall something in the notes about her being “direct,” which is code for “might grill you about your entire life.”I set aside the lingering worry that she’ll pester Michael about his trade secrets.If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that a modicum of caution can prevent disasters.If she’s truly that nosy, I can warn Michael in advance to keep the conversation neutral.It still feels like a gamble, but I’m short on perfect solutions, and ironically, coyote-wolf pairings sometimes work well.Opposite energies that spark, or so Red says.
The real problem is how my mind keeps drifting to a completely unprofessional hope that none of these matches pan out.That’s not right.I’m supposed to be helping him find love, not harboring some selfish flicker of jealousy, but I’m only human—well, wolf—and it stings to think that another woman might notice how his voice softens when he talks about finances he’s passionate about, or how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs.I’ve replayed those details so many times in my head it’s like a highlight reel of every conversation we’ve had.Ridiculous, especially since we’re colleagues, in a sense.He’s a client, and I’m supposed to remain professional.
I tap my pen on the desk, scowling at myself.If he finds happiness, that’s the entire point of my job.My own fluttery feelings need to get lost.I grumble under my breath, “You’ve read too many romance novels.”Decision made, I open my email and type a quick message to Michael:
Hi Michael,Hope you’re doing well.I have a new match in mind—Diana, a coyote shifter who works in finance.She’s suggested bowling as a fun, low-pressure date.Sound good?Let me know your availability.—Finley
I hover, checking for typos.My chest tightens with the knowledge that the second I hit “send,” I’m one step closer to handing him to someone else, but that’s the job.I jam the enter key, cringe, and then slump back in my seat, cursing the swirl of contradictory emotions.
A few minutes later, the phone on my desk rings.Perfect timing, as though the universe can’t let me wallow.I snatch up the receiver.“Romance Expected, Finley speaking.”
A polite voice: “Hi, it’s Lucy, the half-moose/half-deer shifter.Just confirming my date next week.Is it still on?”
I thumb through my planner, ignoring the mild comedic surge.“Yes, you’re set for next Thursday at seven at a nature preserve for a picnic.”
Lucy sighs in relief.“Thank you.That’s perfect.I get anxious around big crowds.”
We chat politely a moment before I hang up.My phone pings with an email notification from Michael, a lot quicker than I expected:
