Page 33 of The Forbidden Wolf

I sat up and rubbed my crusty eyes. I hadn’t meant to watch Alma Mater Animalis when I threw myself down on the couch to cry it all out, but while searching for a way to comfort myself with The Princess Bride, I’d discovered that a hotel guest named Bash Bux had forgotten to sign out of the streaming service. As soon as I logged in, the AAA trailer began playing, and, well, now I knew how someone could fall in love with a cat.

Don’t even joke.

Relax. I’d only steal my sister’s future husband, not my best friend’s.

Deciding it was rude to keep Ruby waiting, I scooped up the remote and shut the TV off. I’d have to find out what happened in the crypt later. Of course, the whole crypt concept was patently ridiculous—we did all our own cremating at a privately owned morgue—but I could appreciate the inaccuracy from a storytelling perspective. And honestly, for everything the show got wildly wrong about us, it did get a few major things eerily right.

It knew we weren’t contagious, and it knew our transformations weren’t beholden to the moon. It knew we tried to keep our drama to ourselves and didn’t go around bothering humans. In fact, there wasn’t a single human character on the show for the fictional shifters to bother. I kind of wondered if that’s what had the humans who were bothered by the show so very bothered. Maybe deep down they just wanted our attention. The show did make us look considerably cooler than we actually were.

But smaller. A lot smaller. Like normal-sized animals. And thank the gods for that, or else the haters would really be pissing their pants over us. If they knew my wolf could scruff the protagonist’s wolf like a half-grown pup and carry her to a corner for a sorely deserved time out…

I scrambled off the couch and called, “Come in.”

A thatch of red hair hid behind the large cardboard box that greeted me. I quickly pried it from her arms with profuse apologies for making her wait so long, but she assured me it was fine. She would assure me anything I did was fine. That was Servantship 101.

“I’m quite capable of placing that wherever you need it,” Ruby said as I turned away from her with the moderately heavy box.

“Thank you, but so am I.”

She followed with outstretched arms. “Please, miss, I can really—”

“Ruby.” I stopped and swung the box out of her reach. “I will let you know when I need help with something, but I’m warning you right now, it probably won’t be very often. I prefer doing things for myself.”

Ruby nodded and pressed her lips together. “You slept in your dress.”

I dropped the box on the couch with a heavy sigh. Pointing out the obvious in a passive-aggressive tone of barely concealed judgment was Servantship 201.

“Guess I forgot to pack my jammies for my sister’s honeymoon,” I muttered, stepping back to study the duct-taped box and decide if I should call the bomb squad.

“I did let you know there were night things in the dresser,” Ruby said.

My head swiveled slowly toward her. “Those weren’t for sleeping.”

The servant’s freckled cheeks flamed as red as her hair. “Yes, of course. Well, I’m sure your sister has sent your, um, jammies over until such time as you need—”

“Ruby?” I smiled sweetly. “I’ve thought of something I need you to do for me.”

“Yes?” Her whole body seemed to elongate with anticipation for the task.

“I need you to remove those night things from my dresser and set them on fire.”

Ruby laughed and then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, miss.”

“You’re always allowed to laugh at my dumb jokes,” I said. “But seriously, please return anything meant for my sister to the Alpha Heir. I won’t be wearing it, and for the record? Neither would she.”

“Yes, miss.” Ruby ducked her head to hide another small smile. “Is there anything else I can assist you with? Perhaps drawing a bath?”

I rolled my head back with a groan. “Unless you need to bring the water in from the well and heat it over an open flame, I think I can handle that too. Just give me a second to open this and then you can put all that other crap in the box.”

Ruby stepped eagerly toward me. “I can open—”

“I’ve got it.” I held up one hand and showed her my protruding claws. I couldn’t extend them more than half an inch without totally shifting, but I only needed the tip of one to slice the duct tape on the sides and down the middle. The cardboard flaps popped open, revealing a tangled nest of jeans and T-shirts.

Uh-oh.

Dread settled like a lump of rotten food in my empty stomach. Swallowing hard, I pulled in my claws and gingerly lifted my Jaws shirts off the pile. Unlike my poor Millennium Falcon shirt, this one appeared to be unharmed, as were all of the other novelty shirts I withdrew.

“You have quite the… colorful fashion sense,” Ruby said cheerfully, but I didn’t miss the nervous wringing of her hands.

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