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Mara laughed. “Strictly as an academic, I’m sure.”
“Strictly.”
The women dissolved into laughter, clinking their glasses together. For the second time that day, Fern thought that making friends in Edinburgh wouldn’t be a bad idea. She couldn’t always understand social situations, but it seemed like she and Mara might be well on their way. This position was going to be a wilder ride than she had thought, and having an ally would make it easier.
“Go on,” Mara elbowed Emmett, “introduce yourself properly.” She turned to Fern with a wink. “You’ll love this.”
Emmett groaned, giving Mara a deadpan expression. This was obviously a reoccurring argument between the two.
“I’m wulver,” he grunted. Before Fern could react, Mara pushed him again.
“Your full introduction.”
Emmett’s voice dropped so low, Fern almost didn’t catch it. “Emmett O’Neill. General and Tanist of the Blythe Clan.” Emmett didn’t look at Fern or wait for her response. He downed the rest of his beer and stood up, excusing himself from the booth.
Fern opened her mouth and snapped it shut, nearly breaking her neck watching him leave for the bar. A million more questions popped into her head. Mara reached over and put her hand over Fern’s, getting her attention.
“He’s a bit more sensitive about his identity, but I try to coax him through it.” Mara whispered. “I know I can fuck up anyone who gets finicky about who I am, and Emmett could too, but he doesn’t like confrontation.”
Fern held her hands up, her expression contorting in confusion. “Emmett? The massive werewolf who just introduced himself as a general? He doesn’t like confrontation?”
“Fern, the man walks around with biscuits in his pocket,” Mara deadpanned. “They used to call him the ‘Lord of the Massacre.’ Trust me, he’s aces in a fight, but these days, he doesn’t start them.”
“Let me guess,” Fern chuckled, “he only finishes them?”
“Yes.” Mara’s voice grew serious. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Emmett sat back down in the booth next to her. Fern almost jumped in surprise. He moved silently for a man so large.
Emmett drained half of his glass in a sip and looked at Fern with a blank expression.
“Now is your chance to ask questions.” He didn’t say it unkindly, but Fern could tell he was uncomfortable. The researcher in her was shaking at the situation, but she limited herself to one clarifying ask.
“I thought wulver looked…” She struggled with her words, not wanting to sound offensive. “More like wolves? The legends say that they’re practically anthropomorphic.”
Fern held back her questions about his leadership history although she hoped Mara would fill in the gaps later. Emmett only nodded, as if this was something he had expected.
“The short answer to your question is, ‘It depends.’”
Fern waited for a second to see if he would elaborate. Mara seemed to take pity on her curiosity and tossed her arm around Emmett’s shoulder.
“Come on, old friend. It’s been ages since we’ve gotten to talk about this.” She gave him a squeeze, her voice becoming a whisper. “I know you miss them. We all do. This is our chance to make it right. Do you want me to tell her?”
For reasons unknown to Fern, that influenced Emmett. His face brightened ever so slightly, and he sat up straighter to look at her when he answered.
“Wulver can take a variety of forms—man, wolf, or a bit of a hybrid. The latter is the one you’ve heard most often. Those are wolves that walk on two legs and keep a wolfish head.” Fern could tell that Emmett shifted into lecturer mode, angling his body towards her as he rapidly continued. “That’s the form most popular in the legends because it’s unique.”
Fern leaned forward, unable to keep herself from following up. “Can you shift at will? Are their sensitivities regarding the lunar cycles?”
“Oh, yes,” Emmett cut off Fern as their excitement took over, two researchers pouring over information together. “Most wulver can shift at will. We’re more powerful according to the lunar cycles, but not so much to inhibit a shift.”
“Fascinating,” Fern whistled. “What do you mean most can shift at will?”
“Again, it depends.” Emmett ran a hand through his short beard. “There are some offspring that aren’t full-blooded wulver.”
“Like if a human mated with a werewolf?” Fern was going to explode. “Has that ever happened?”
“Not in a couple of centuries,” Emmett’s voice grew tighter, “but it used to. It wasn’t common, but some wulver spent most of their time as men. They fell in love like anyone else.” His tone became defensive.
“Of course,” Fern agreed quickly, wanting to dissipate any angst that Emmett had about talking with her. She started digging around in her purse, pulling out the small notebook and pen that she always carried around.
