Page 44 of Howling Mad
She stands beside me.“It clearly means something to your family.”
“Tradition, status, and control.”I close the closet door more forcefully than necessary.“Everything I left behind.”
“But not everything about this place is bad.”She gestures to the room around us.The bookshelves are still filled with my childhood favorites, and the telescope I saved for months to buy is still positioned by the window.“This was your home.”
The observation hits something tender in me.“It was never really home after Mom died.It was just the place I lived until I could leave.”
She doesn’t push, instead moving to the window that overlooks the forest.“It’s beautiful land.”
“That part I miss,” I say, joining her.“Running these woods at night is exhilarating.I miss the streams and caves I explored as a pup.The territory itself is special.It’s too bad it comes with so many strings.”
We stand in silence, watching the sun sink lower toward the tree line.Eventually, she turns to me with determined cheer.“Let’s get you dressed in your fancy wolf vest.If we have to face the pack inquisition, we might as well look good doing it.”
It’s as irritating and itchy as I remember, but I’m wearing it a few minutes later.We leave my father’s cabin and head toward the packhouse.
The main lodge hums with activity as we enter.At least sixty wolves mill about the great hall, drinking and talking in tight clusters.Conversation falters as we appear, heads turning to assess the prodigal son and his unknown mate.
I guide Finley through the crowd, ignoring the whispers that follow us.The traditional garb feels stiff and uncomfortable, like a costume I’ve outgrown.Beside me, Finley looks stunning in the simple blue dress she chose, elegant without trying to mimic traditional wolf formal wear.It’s a subtle statement that I appreciate immensely.
“Michael.”The deep voice cuts through the noise, commanding attention.
My father stands near the main fireplace, formidable in his beta regalia, including the ridiculous bear cape.It’s slightly less glorious than the one Dexter wears, but they both look silly to me.At his side, the alpha surveys the room with the casual authority of a man who has ruled unchallenged for decades.
“Father.”I incline my head respectfully, the gesture automatic after years of conditioning.“Alpha Wilson.”
“You’ve finally decided to honor us with your presence.”My father’s tone makes it clear he’s not impressed by my attendance and merely satisfied with my obedience.His gaze shifts to Finley, assessing her with cool calculation.“And this is?”
“Finley Morgan,” I say, placing my hand at the small of her back.“My mate.”
The word drops into the conversation like a stone into still water, sending ripples of reaction through the nearby pack members.My father’s jaw tightens imperceptibly.We haven’t had an official mating ceremony yet or really used the word between us, but she nods, not even blinking.
“Morgan,” Dexter repeats, stepping forward.“Harold’s daughter?”
“Yes, Alpha Wilson.”Finley meets his gaze steadily, neither challenging nor submitting.The perfect balance.
“A respected lineage.”Dexter nods approvingly.“Though I understand you’ve chosen quite the...unconventional path.”
“I work at a matchmaking agency for shifters,” she says, her voice clear and confident.“That’s how Michael and I met.”
My father’s expression darkens.“A matchmaker?How…convenient.”
Before I can respond, Eleanor appears at Dexter’s side, skillfully redirecting the conversation.“The ceremony is about to begin.Shall we take our places?”
As we move toward the ceremonial seating, arranged by pack rank, my father leans close to whisper in my ear.“We will discuss yourmatelater.For now, remember your position and act accordingly.”
Anger flares hot in my chest, but I force it down.This isn’t the time or place.
The welcome feast proceeds with rigid formality.Traditional dishes are served, and ceremonial toasts made.Throughout it all, I watch Finley navigate the unfamiliar rituals with remarkable grace, adapting quickly and asking quiet questions of Eleanor when uncertain.
The real trouble begins when the elders initiate the “mate worthiness test,” an outdated ritual, where potential mates demonstrate their vocal prowess by howling specific notes and patterns.It’s archaic, embarrassing, and entirely unnecessary, which is why I’m horrified when Elder Mabel approaches our table with clear intent.
“The Morgan female should participate,” she announces loudly enough for nearby tables to hear.“If she’s to be considered as the beta’s son’s mate, she must prove her worthiness.”
I start to protest, but Finley places a restraining hand on my arm.“I’d be honored to participate, Elder,” she says with perfect politeness.
Mabel looks surprised, clearly having expected resistance.“Very well.Follow me.”
As Finley rises to follow the elder to the ceremonial circle, I lean close to whisper urgently, “You don’t have to do this.It’s a stupid tradition.”
