His ears twitch again, but in a different way, a way I’ve come to recognize as pleasure.
Prescott clears his throat, “anyway, I’ve set up thermal imaging across the main trails. We can monitor without disturbing. And look—” he points to another screen showing what appears to be a clearing—“I’ve identified three potential sites for the educational center.”
The educational center was Percy’s idea.
“A place where children can learn about conservation and shifter heritage,” he’d explained, eyes bright with vision. “Where they can see that wolves aren’t the villains of fairy tales, and pigs aren’t just helpless victims.”
It had been that moment—seeing the genuine passion in his eyes for changing perceptions—that made me realize these brothers weren’t just going along with this to placate me or for PR.
They actually cared.
“The north clearing makes the most sense,” Hamilton says now, pointing to one of the sites. “Better access to roads, less disruption to wildlife corridors.”
“But the eastern site has that amazing view,” Percy argues. “Imagine watching the sunrise through those trees.”
“I like the western site,” I chime in. “It’s where my grandma used to bring me to practice howling when I was little.”
All three look at me with varying degrees of surprise. I don’t often share pack memories.
“Then western it is,” Hamilton decides, surprising me. When I raise an eyebrow, he shrugs. “Cultural significance should be preserved. That’s… important.”
Coming from Hamilton, that’s practically a love sonnet.
No more condos, parking lots, or golf courses. Wolfstone—aside from the observation platform, a small eco-friendlyeducation center, and Prescott’s preservation tech—will remain untouched.
The Lightning Oak and Echo Valley preserved. Wild and perfect, just as nature intended.
“How’s the funding coming along?” I ask, changing the subject before things get too mushy.
Hamilton straightens, shifting into business mode—a mode I once found insufferable, but now recognize as his comfort zone. “We’ve secured commitments from three major conservation organizations. The tax benefits of the land dedication offset much of our initial investment loss. And the positive publicity has increased investment in our other ventures by nearly twelve percent.”
“Translation: we’re doing fine,” Percy simplifies with a wink.
“Better than fine,” Prescott adds. “Our new eco-friendly tech subsidiary is already attracting major interest. Turns out, there’s a market for technology that works with nature instead of against it.”
“Who would have thought?” I say with mock wonder.
"You would have," Hamilton says unexpectedly. "You did. That's why we're here."
I stare at him, genuinely speechless.
Three months ago, Hamilton Porkwell would rather have gone to a luau as the guest of honor than admit I was right about anything.
"Well," I manage after a moment, "even stubborn wolves occasionally stumble onto good ideas."
“You’re exactly what we needed,” Percy says softly.
“Okay, enough with the sentimentality,” I protest, my ears flattening slightly in embarrassment. “I’m starving.”
“I’ll go get the picnic basket,” Prescott says, reappearing a few minutes later. “I grabbed some sandwiches and drinks from the fridge. Thought we could eat by the lake.”
“Perfect,” I say, my tail swishing behind me with anticipation. “Race you there?”
Without waiting for an answer, I take off running, hearing shouts of protest behind me. I could easily outpace them in full wolf form, but I stay just human enough—just wolf-eared and tailed enough—to give them a fighting chance.
To my surprise, it’s Hamilton who catches up first, his expensive shoes abandoned somewhere along the trail, pig ears standing straight up with exertion.
“Cheater,” he pants, grabbing for my waist.
