Veering off the path, Hart leads us down a less trodden route. The trees thin, their shadows stretching long and crooked like they’ve been pulled by invisible hands. The air smells less like moist moss and mushrooms and more like roasted meat and wood smoke.
“Do you smell that?” I murmur.
“Sausage,” Hart answers at the same time as Malachi.
My heart swells, and I sigh. “Finally, the realm answers my call.”
We crest a small rise, and the tavern comes into view. It crouches in the clearing as if it’s hiding from the rest of the forest. Crooked beams and sagging roof tiles paint it as a strange mixture of quaint and a little scary. The sign above the door swings on rusted chains, depicting a badly painted wolf wearing an apron. It grins at us, brandishing a menacing rolling pin in one paw and a red cape draped over its arm like a dishcloth.
I worry about the girl it stole it from.
THE BBW
Still Big. Formerly Bad. Always Welcome.
Now Serving Delicious Vegetarian Breakfast.
I squint. “A reformed wolf? Stranger things have occurred, I’m sure.”
Malachi chuckles. “You are the stranger things.”
Hart dismounts first, scanning the surroundings with a scowl. “Stay close.”
Nash lifts me into Malachi’s arms as if I weigh nothing. His hands linger at my waist as his gaze traces the shape of my mouth. His tongue peeks out to wet his lower lip, and a shiver runs over my body.
Inside thoughts. Very inside thoughts.
The tavern door creaks open as we approach, releasing a warm wave of noise and light. Laughter. Clinking mugs. A fiddle playing something cheerful.
I step inside and blink. It’s exceptional in that it’s normal. Wooden tables. A roaring fire. A bar polished to a shine. Patrons of all sorts—dwarves, a talking goat in a waistcoat, and a pair of witches arm-wrestling in the corner. And behind the bar stands an enormous gray wolf in a flour-dusted apron.
He pauses mid-pour and sniffs the air. Huge gray eyes lift to me. “No way,” he growls. “No freaking way. Of all the taverns in all the land, she walks into mine.”
Umm… I glance around, hoping for an explanation of the expletive or an indication if this is a positive or negative issue. I don’t think I pissed any wolves off, at least not in this life anyway. Oh, do I get a clean slate? On account of my rebirth?
“I can’t believe it,” the wolf growls, bringing me back to the moment.
“Hello. We’re looking for lodgings for the night,” I explain with a nervous glance at the patrons who appear fascinated by our group. “If you have the space.”
He squints and waves a huge paw in the air. “Daphne Stone, don’t you remember me?”
I squint at him as memories of the villain village return. “No freaking way.” This is the wolf who was having an unconventional love affair with Granny. “How have you been? Where’s Granny?” I ask.
He curls his lip, displaying his fangs. “I found her lifting her skirts for the piper. The things he was doing with that musical instrument should not be repeated.”
I cough into my fist to conceal my laughter. “I’m so sorry. She doesn’t deserve you.”
He shrugs. “It all worked out. She was holding me back. So, how have you been?”
“Dead, then resurrected murderous chaos maiden, and now hungry and tired.”
He nods once. “We have a strict no-murder policy, but I can help with the rest. Take the table by the kitchen, but avoid the one by the fire. Less flammable on account of the chaos.”
Malachi snorts.
We settle at a heavy wooden table, two away from the hearth. It’s still warm enough for the heat to kiss my icy fingers, and I sigh in contentment.
The wolf approaches, wiping his paws on a cloth. Up close, I notice a scar over one eye and a small brass badge pinned to his apron that reads:
