Not exactly the most romantic thing I’d ever heard. And I knew Naomi would have something acerbic to say about his reasoning—which was why I hadn’t told her about my secret relationship with the mail steward’s son.
She wouldn’t understand. Despite St. Ailbe’s dismal population statistics of three she-wolves of claiming age to every eligible male, she’d been fighting off unwanted attention since her teens. As much as I admired her willingness to tell people off and always speak her mind, I suspected she’d developed her infamously acerbic personality to keep eager shifters from asking to court with her.
But in my entire twenty-three years on this earth, Reuben was the only male who’d ever looked at me twice.
So I didn’t mind our secrecy. Not really.
Affixing a happy smile on my face, I slipped into the quiet, shadowed barn, as instructed, two minutes later.
To find Reuben lying on his side with his head propped in one hand. He’d already pushed his leather suspenders down and unbuttoned his trousers. “Quick. Come lie down. We’ve only got a few minutes before my parents get back from the community meeting.”
He waved a hand of invitation over the bare patch of floor in front of him.
“You didn’t bring a blanket?” I asked, eyeing the dusty hardwood floor.
“Didn’t have enough time,” he answered, even though I’d spotted a quilt hanging to dry at his place when I saw him on the roof and offered to deliver the mail for him today.
My wolf made that strange sound it sometimes did inside of me.
Not quite what I’d call a canine growl. It was lower. Grumblier. Like some distant thunder rattling behind my ribs. Violent and angry. And my fingertips were tingling again, with a sensation that made me think of my nails suddenly turning into claws.
Though that was silly. Wolves couldn’t partially shift, and anyway, turning outside of a full moon was strictly against the rules of our Ordnung.
I tamped down all the weird sounds and sensations swirling inside of me.
This is fine, I told myself, gingerly lying down in the space Reuben had indicated. It wasn’t like a blanket made things that much better.
Relations, as my mother called the act that went against several Ordnung rules when performed before marriage, had been just as tedious and not-that-bang-up-fun as she’d promised.
She would kill me if she ever found out about what I was doing with Reuben to prove to him that I would be a good wife and to douse the Spring Fire that had lit up inside of me. Every year around this time, forbidden desires stole over me, driving me to touch myself in ways I planned to go to my grave without ever confessing.
Premarital relations with Reuben didn’t exactly quench those naughty feelings inside of me. But at least he was something, even if his particular brand of something was way too quick.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” Reuben promised, rolling to lie on top of me after I laid down.
“Actually, I was wondering if you could?—”
“Aua!” Reuben’s yelp of pain cut off my tentative request for him to go a little slower.
He reared back up and glared down at my apron, before pulling out the basswood stick I’d slipped into its large front pocket.
“What is this?” he demanded, turning his narrowed eyes on me.
“Oh, that’s, um…” My cheeks went hot. “Just a stick I picked up.”
“A stick?” He squinted at it the same way my mother looked at ants before ruthlessly exterminating them with her homemade bug spray. “For what? The only things around here to be scared of are us wolves.”
“It’s for whittling,” I admitted. “I saw it on your mail route and thought it’d be perfect for carving. I’m going to make a wolf pup with it—you know, for luck.”
“Luck?” He went still. “Luck like the voodoo they warned us about in church? Is this some kind of devil spell from Africa? Something your mother taught you?”
“What? No!” My stomach twisted, and I sat up on my forearms. “Of course not. My mother’s from Jamaica—not Africa. And she would never. She’s the most devout wolf in St. Ailbe. Why would you think that?”
Reuben eyed me suspiciously. Was he having second thoughts now? What would I do if he decided I wasn’t worth his courtship?
In a panic, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper.
“I brought you some zucchini bread,” I offered quickly. “I made it this morning with the last of our winter stores.”
