Page 31 of Howling Mad
Our server appears with water and menus, saving us from the moment.He’s clearly a shifter, too—I catch the faint scent of hawk—and he explains the evening’s specials with practiced elegance.“The chef recommends the venison for our wolf guests,” he says with a knowing smile.“Though the cedar-plank salmon is equally excellent.”
After he leaves, I lean forward.“You’ve been here before?”
Michael nods.“A few times for business dinners but never on a date.”
“I’m honored to be your first, then,” I say and then blush at the unintended double meaning.
The light pulses a deeper shade of pink.Michael’s gaze holds mine as something electric passes between us.
Over dinner—we both choose the venison, cooked rare—conversation flows as easily as the wine Michael selects.We talk about everything—books we love, places we want to travel, and childhood memories.He tells me about the first time he shifted, alone in the woods at twelve, terrified but exhilarated.I share stories about growing up as the odd wolf out, always preferring books to hunting.
“That’s why none of my relationships worked,” he confesses as we linger over dessert, a decadent chocolate creation the chef insisted we try.“I was always trying to be someone else.Either more wolf for the wolves or more human for everyone else.”
“I understand that completely.”I trace patterns in the condensation on my water glass.“It’s exhausting pretending to be what everyone expects.”
“With you...”He pauses, his eyes intense.“With you, I don’t feel like I’m pretending.”
The light between us pulses so brightly it’s almost blinding.
“I feel the same way,” I say softly.
The first crack of thunder startles us both.Outside the glass ceiling, clouds have gathered, obscuring the stars.Lightning flashes, and fat raindrops begin to splatter against the glass.
“I didn’t check the weather forecast,” he says, looking concerned.
Our server appears, apologetic.“The storm came in faster than expected.The meteorologists missed it completely.”
As if punctuating his words, a particularly violent thunderclap shakes the building, and half the lights in the restaurant flicker.
“Perhaps dessert to go?”Michael suggests.
We barely make it to the elevator when the power fails completely, and emergency lights kick on.“Perfect timing.”I laugh as we descend to the ground floor once the elevator starts moving again, probably fueled by auxiliary power.
When the doors open, rain is sheeting down outside the glass entrance.The valet, looking drenched and miserable, hurries over.“I’m so sorry, sir.There’s flooding on the access road.It might be a while before I can retrieve your car.”
Michael turns to me, his face illuminated by lightning.“Looks like we’re stuck.”
Another clap of thunder, and the emergency lights flicker ominously.
The hostess approaches with a sympathetic smile.“The manager has opened our private lounge for stranded guests.Please, follow me.”
She leads us to a cozy room with plush sofas and a fireplace where actual flames dance.Other couples and small groups huddle around, speaking in low voices.A server moves through the space, distributing candles and glasses of complimentary wine.
We settle onto a loveseat near the fire, and I’m acutely aware of how close we’re sitting, our thighs almost touching.“Some first date, huh?”I say, accepting a glass of rich red wine from a passing server.“Complete with natural disaster.”
He laughs.“I should have checked the forecast.Some meticulous planner I am.”
“I like that you didn’t.It’s nice seeing the spontaneous side of you.”
The server approaches again with a small plate.“Since you had to abandon your dessert, the chef insists you try his special dessert for new mates,” he says, setting down what appears to be chocolate-dipped strawberries dusted with gold.
“Oh, we’re not…” I begin, but Michael’s hand covers mine.
“Thank you,” he says simply, and the server nods knowingly before moving on.
“New mates?”I whisper, heat creeping into my cheeks.
His eyes reflect the firelight, molten silver with flecks of blue.“The pheromone lights didn’t lie, apparently.”
