Page 25 of Bewitching the Wolf

Which, by deduction, means there is likely a wolf inside.

Holy shitbags.

Aunt Felicia beams at me as she throws open the door. She’s wearing a turquoise turban over her red hair, with two slits in the top for her ears. Long golden hoops are looped all along the cartilage of her ears, in high wixen fashion. And currently her ears are twitching with excitement, making all the little hoops shake in unison.

“Ah, Tippy, here you are, at last.”

Aunt Felicia is a stickler for time. I refrain from telling her how hard it was to get here at all this morning.

When she leads me through to the back of the apothecary, I put my helmet down on a chair in the hallway of her cottage and smooth down my hair and ears. Then I turn to her, frowning. “I recognized Otis’s jeep outside. Is he here?”

“Yes, Otis is here,” she breezes.

“Auntie, is that other jeep a wolf vehicle?” I ask, my voice rising with each word.

She puts a shellacked claw to her lips. “Yes, it is. There’s no need to sound so horrified.”

“You’ve invited a wolf into your home?” I hiss-whisper.

A little streak of pink rides my aunt’s cheeks. “It is unusual, I admit. But not unheard of.”

“Since when?”

“Since whenever.” Her tone gets even more breezy. My head is pounding now, and not just from my hangover. Wolves hardly ever come to level one, and certainly never to visit a wixen.

“Traggar, head of the Trojan pack, needs our help. And in return he is prepared to make us an unprecedented offer,” she says.

“W-what kind of offer?”

“I’ll let him explain.” My aunt takes my arm and sashays toward her parlor, dragging me along behind her.

When we enter the room, Otis rises. “How are you feeling this morning, Tippy?” He’s sounding serious, but his eyebrows give the tiniest waggle.

“Never better,” I lie, and flash him a bright smile that makes my head hurt even more.

Beside him, a tall, handsome, grey-haired male stands to greet me. His icy blue eyes are commanding, his beard is bushy and flecked with gray. His hair is thick and braided down his back.

“This is Traggar, leader and mage of the Trojan pack,” Aunt Felicia says.

Mage.

That word sends a strange little tingle along my spine.

The wolfman steps forward, towering above me. He smiles, displaying perfect white teeth and long incisors, and holds out a huge hand. Clearly I’m supposed to shake it, so I do.

An energy, steady and powerful, runs up my arm.

It bypasses my prejudices.

This wolfman is not just charismatic, he is good, I realize.

Which is confounding. After all this time of holding onto our grudges, it feels like the long history of wolf–wixen rivalry is evaporating right in front of me.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Honeywell.”

My aunt motions and we all sit down. I find myself relaxing a little as she pours tea out of her ornate teapot and passes around the delicate teacups. Providing cups of herbal tea is the way we vixen shifters break the ice. And it works now, as we all partake and thank her. Traggar balances his cup and saucer on one tree-trunk thigh; Otis does the same. There’s something almost endearing about these massive guys awkwardly navigating fine bone china, and I have to smother a smile.

And then Otis says, “We’re here to discuss Jax.”