Page 38 of Howling Mad
“Not helping.”I hop on one foot, struggling into a pair of jeans.“What do I do?”
“I have an idea.Why don’t I join you all for breakfast?I’d like to meet them.”
I freeze, one leg in my jeans.“You want to meet my parents?Voluntarily?Are you having some kind of psychotic break?”
“Probably.”His voice warms with affection.“I figure they’ll want to meet the wolf their daughter will be running with under tonight’s full moon.Might as well get the intimidation routine over with.”
“Throwing yourself to the wolves already?”The joke slips out, but I’m touched by his willingness to face traditional wolf parents on zero notice.
“I’m pretty good with wolves, being one, remember?Text me the address of wherever you’re having breakfast.I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”
After I hang up, I buzz my parents in, bracing for impact.They burst into my apartment like a whirlwind of flannel and opinions.My father immediately begins inspecting the structural integrity of my living space while my mother deposits several shopping bags on my kitchen counter.
“The security in this building is atrocious,” Dad says, tapping a window frame.“I could have jimmied this open with a credit card.”
“Harold, not everyone lives with the constant threat of territory disputes.”Mom unpacks what appears to be enough food to feed an entire pack.“The city is different.”
I hug them both, genuinely happy to see them despite the terrible timing and our recent clashes over them trying to force me to take a beta or alpha mate.“This is a surprise.”
“That’s the point of surprises, pup.”Dad ruffles my hair like I’m still twelve.“Your mother was worried you weren’t eating properly.”
“So you brought half a cow?”I peer into one of the bags, finding vacuum-sealed venison steaks.
“Wolves need protein.”Mom bustles around my kitchen with the efficiency of someone who has fed hungry pack members for decades.“Besides, we wanted to see this dating agency of yours.Make sure it’s legitimate.”
I take a deep breath.“Actually, I thought we could go out for breakfast.I, um, invited someone to join us.”
Mom stops mid-motion, a package of bacon suspended in air.“Someone?As in...adatesomeone?”
“As in someone I’ve been seeing, yes.”I busy myself with finding clean mugs while avoiding their intense stares.However, I’m hoping to get them out the door, and serving coffee will just prolong this.
“A wolf?”Dad’s question comes out more like a demand.
“Yes, Dad, a wolf.”I roll my eyes.“His name is Michael Thornton.”
The reaction is instantaneous.Mom nearly drops the bacon.
“Thornton?As in Heath Thornton’s son?The beta from the Wilson pack?”
Of course they know his family.Wolf pack politics are worse than aristocratic lineage tracking.
“Yes, that’s him.He’ll meet us at the café around the corner in…” I check my phone.“Twenty minutes.”
What follows is a flurry of activity as Mom runs to the bathroom to “freshen up” and Dad attempts to look more intimidating by straightening his already perfectly straight flannel shirt.I send Michael a quick text with the café address and a warning:They know who your family is.Prepare accordingly.
His response is immediate:This should be interesting.Don’t worry.I’ve faced scarier wolves in finance meetings.
Twenty-five minutes later, we’re seated at my favorite café.Dad has positioned himself facing the door, a classic wolf strategy for monitoring potential threats.Mom is straightening the silverware for the fourth time, and I’m contemplating whether I could fit under the table when the bell above the door chimes.
Michael walks in looking handsome in dark jeans and a blue button-down that makes his eyes even more striking.He spots us immediately, and his posture shifts subtly.His shoulders roll back, his chin goes up, and his stride is confident but not aggressive.It’s a perfect display of respectful strength directed at my father, who I notice sits up straighter in response.
“Mr.and Mrs.Morgan.”Michael extends his hand to my father first, exactly the right protocol.“It’s an honor to meet you.I’m Michael Thornton.”
Dad engages in the traditional wolf handshake—a bit too firm and a second too long—assessing Michael’s strength and resolve.Michael meets his gaze steadily, neither challenging nor submitting.Perfect balance.
“So, you’re the stockbroker wolf.”Dad releases Michael’s hand but continues his visual assessment.“Heath’s boy.”
“Yes, sir.I prefer financial analyst.”Michael smiles and then turns to my mother with gentler courtesy.“Mrs.Morgan, thank you for allowing me to join your family breakfast.”
