Page 4 of Bewitching the Wolf

I glance down at her nails—amend that—claws. They lengthen and flex on the counter, sparkling silver. I’d like to reach out and touch her hand, ask her to forgive me for keeping my wolf status a secret, but I’m pretty sure I’d get scratched.

“A flax beer, thanks,” I drawl.

“Midi or schooner?”

“Schooner.”

She huffs again and pivots away.

When she comes back, the golden liquid is bubbling over the side of the glass. “You know wolves don’t respond well to flax, don’t you?” She stares at me, unblinking, unsmiling.

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Yep, gives them terrible flatulence.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

“Just keep your distance from me, is all.”

“I haven’t had the chance to do anything else of late,” I grumble. Then, plucking up my courage, I ask gruffly, “Could we, erm, meet up after you finish work?”

Her mouth opens as if she might say yes, then her brows snap down over her beautiful eyes. “Too busy to waste my time with losers,” she mutters. It’s low, under her breath, but my wolf’s powerful hearing picks it up.

Don’t let her treat you like that, it sneers.

This time a flash of anger makes me comply with my wolf. I curl my lip. “Loser, eh? I think many would disagree with that right now.”

She gives a little grunt, turns away, then turns back.

“Well, liars are losers in my book. And so are wolves.”

“I thought you were wiser than that. Why are you holding on to a stupid ancient grudge?” I mutter.

She leans on the bar so we’re eye to eye and my heart hitches as her long lashes flutter over her golden irises. “It’s because I’m wise that I do,” she purrs, baring her teeth in a parody of a smile. I’m about to respond when a griffin calls out, “Tippy, two energizer shots please,” and she straightens, tosses her head and sashays off to the other end of the bar, leaving me with my foaming beer and the sudden prospect of farting if I drink it.

I take two sips.

Something growls deep in my stomach. Not sure if it’s my wolf or my intestines, I put the glass down. Things have changed a lot in my body since I shifted. Certain foods don’t appeal, and I sometimes get the urge to drop down on all fours and run everywhere instead of walking. My vision, my hearing, and my sense of smell are heightened to the point where it can almost be unbearable. Worse, I keep checking for a tail I don’t have, because I can feel the fucker, right there at the base of my spine.

Right now, that tail wants to swish in frustration. I look across at Tippy, her cute little tits straining at the buttons of her shirt. The tantalizing way her tail swishes through the slit in the back of her skirt is enough to drive me crazy.

My wolf grunts. Don’t know what you see in her.

“Didn’t ask your opinion,” I mutter under my breath.

I take another mouthful of beer. Conceal a burp.

Not cool.

I push the glass away. Time to go—unless I want to humiliate myself further.

I contemplate calling out a casual farewell as I leave, gifting Tippy the lopsided grin that always used to make her eyes light up.

But she’s not looking at me. Instead, she’s laughing at something that goofy centaur just said.

I brace my shoulders, stick my hands in my pockets and saunter out, trying to look like I don’t give a fuck.

Except I do. I’m pissed to the max. With Tippy, and with my fucking argumentative wolf. And with my pathetic human psyche. Why can’t I bring myself to say to her, “Can we talk this through? Get back to being friends like we used to be?”