Page 53 of Howling Mad
Her smile is incandescent.“I thought you’d never ask.”
We kiss right there on stage, soaking wet under the sprinklers, to the cheers and wolf whistles of the crowd.Through the noise, I hear Red shouting something about, “the most dramatic success story ever” and “material for next year’s brochure.”
As we break apart, laughing, I catch sight of my father.For just a moment, his stern mask slips, revealing something that might almost be respect.Then it’s gone, replaced by his usual stoic dignity, somewhat undermined by his now-toddler-sized cape.
We make our way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and dodging well-meaning but soaked shifters trying to corner us for relationship advice.Outside, the night air is crisp, and the full moon rises over the city.
“I can’t believe you stood up to your father like that,” she says as we wait for our car.“Are you okay?”
I consider the question, surprised to find that I am.“Better than okay.I think I finally said what I’ve needed to say for years.”I take her hand, threading our fingers together.“I’ve been thinking about going low-contact with the pack for a while.After tonight...”
“I’ll support whatever you decide.”She squeezes my hand.“Though I have to admit, I’ll miss seeing your father in that shrinking cape.That was truly a highlight of my matchmaking career.”
The car arrives, and I give the driver directions to the nature preserve on the outskirts of the city where we first ran together under a full moon.On the drive, Finley shivers slightly in her wet dress.I wrap my jacket around her shoulders, pulling her close against my side.
“I meant what I said back there about making this official.”
She looks up at me, droplets of water still clinging to her eyelashes.“I know.Me, too.”
The preserve is quiet when we arrive.We check in with the night ranger, who assigns us a private running area with a bewildered look at our damp formal wear.Under the silver light of the full moon, we shed our soaked clothes, folding them neatly on a sheltered bench.There’s no embarrassment or hesitation.Just the quiet certainty of two wolves who have chosen each other.
The shift comes easily, our wolves eager to run together again under the moon.Finley’s smaller form gleams silver in the moonlight, her unusual coloring making her seem almost ethereal.My larger, darker wolf circles her once, scenting her, and memorizing her.
Then we run.
Through the forest, over streams, and across clearings bathed in moonlight, our wolves move in perfect harmony.This is the oldest and truest form of wolf mating.Running together under the full moon, choosing each other with every stride, every breath, and every shared moment of joy.This time, we both know and acknowledge this is to set the mating bond, making it even more profound than our last run here a few months ago.
Later, exhausted and exhilarated, we shift back to human form in a moonlit clearing.Finley’s eyes still hold a hint of wolf gold, and her smile is wilder and freer than I’ve ever seen it.“So,” she says, slightly breathlessly, “I guess we’re officially mates now.”
I pull her closer still, feeling her heartbeat against mine.“We’ve been mates since the moment you crashed through that cupid topiary, I think.We just needed time to realize it.”
Her laugh echoes through the clearing.“Red is going to be insufferable about this.She’ll probably commission a painting of us for the office wall.”
“As long as it doesn’t include my father’s shrinking cape, I can live with that.”I press my forehead to hers, suddenly serious.“I love you, Finley.Every unconventional, unexpected, and perfect inch of you.”
“I love you, too, Michael.”She kisses me softly.“Cape-shedding relatives and all.”
Under the full moon, with the forest as our witness, we seal our mating with whispered promises, shared warmth, and no ceremonial words or pack approval needed.Just two untraditional wolves, who found home in each other’s hearts.
Epilogue
Finley
Sixmonthsfeelslikeboth a lifetime and a heartbeat.I adjust the flowers on our dining table, inhaling their sweet scent while the afternoon sun streams through the tall windows of our loft.The space looks perfect, a careful blend of Michael’s minimalist taste and my cozier instincts.Modern furniture mixes with plush throws and eclectic art pieces.Wolf-friendly features blend seamlessly with human comforts, including the custom sleeping den in our bedroom that we commissioned from a shifter-specialized designer for the times we want to sleep in wolf-form.
From the kitchen, Michael hums as he checks the roast.He’s surprisingly good at cooking for someone who claimed to only know how to make three things when we met.His culinary repertoire has expanded impressively, though I’m still banned from touching anything more complicated than the salad.
“Need any help?”I call, straightening the last place setting.
He appears in the doorway, a dish towel slung over his shoulder.“Just keeping an eye on timing.The roast needs another twenty minutes, which should be perfect when everyone arrives.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”I move to him, adjusting his already-perfect collar.“Entertaining both our families together is a lot.”
He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm.“I’m more than okay with it.Besides, it’s a carefully curated guest list.No drama and no pack politics.Just the people who matter most.”
We’ve spent weeks planning this dinner, inviting only those who have supported our unconventional relationship.My parents, who’ve gone from skeptical to absurdly enthusiastic.Penelope, who will never let me forget she “told me so” from day one.Red, who takes credit for our pairing at every possible opportunity, and Aunt Eleanor, the one member of Michael’s pack who never doubted us.
Michael’s father declined with a terse but civil note, sending instead a surprisingly thoughtful gift basket containing vintage wines and a set of traditional wolf blessing stones.It was his first acknowledgment of our mating that wasn’t wrapped in criticism.Progress, even if small.
