Page 31 of Bewitching the Wolf

I gulp.

Feels like my own sperm is backing up to my eyeballs. Maybe I should give in to the urge to jerk off, especially before the weekend. But that would be giving in to my wolf, and I fucking refuse to do that.

When I enter the meeting room, everyone is waiting.

I throw myself down on a chair and take in the assembled crew.

There’s Otis, of course, front and center. And next to him, his deputy Tony, a small bright-eyed raccoon shifter. And then there are the volunteer sheriffs, Kazmo, the lion shifter, and Brody, gods love the guy, the bear shifter who guards the Vault where all our artefacts are kept, including the portal cape. And Silas, our resident boffin raven shifter, who is curator of the Vault.

I used to be nothing to them but Peripheral 101. But since I turned, they’ve also become my friends. We play poker on Friday nights at Digger’s. We all hang out regularly. They have my back, and I have theirs.

Friends.

Something I never had in all those years as a miserable programmed peripheral.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, I recall that I had friends when I was a kid. Before Mom disappeared, when Clem and I were just normal kids going to a normal school up in Sparkle. But that was so long ago. My human life is no more than a dream to me now.

And then it hits me, really hits me, at a gut level.

I am not human anymore. I am a werewolf. My home is here.

And so is my heart.

Suddenly, surrounded by all these monsters, I’m feeling emotional, almost tearing up. The task ahead is humongous, but I know I want to save my people.

And I need to stop being a churlish ass, suck it up and get off the vapes, even if being in close proximity to Tippy for the weekend is going to drive me nuts.

I clear my throat.

“I’ve just been with Traggar, discussing my readiness to undertake the mission next week.”

There’s restless movement. The boys are chafing at the bit to get on with the job, and I am stalling it. Correction: me bickering with my wolf is stalling it.

And vaping the crap out of the beast isn’t going to help.

I look at my boots, feeling guilty. “Unfortunately, my hypnotherapy sessions with Traggar have not gone to plan—my human and wolf psyches are struggling to get along. And I haven’t been able to stop this habit.” I bring out my vape and hold it up.

“Seems vaping is affecting my wolf’s wellbeing. And thus my—our—ability to safely undertake the mission.”

There’s silence, expectant eyes on me. Otis knows what’s going on here, but he’s the only one. He gives me an encouraging nod, and I haul in a breath. “So, Traggar has arranged a detox this weekend. Overseen by—” I feel heat creeping up my neck, and pause to contain myself, “erm, Tippy.”

There’s a ripple around the room. Surely not laughter? I eyeball each of them.

Kazmo’s handsome features remain impassive, but his golden eyes twinkle.

Silas scratches his head and avoids eye contact.

Brody, bless the goofy bear shifter, who wears everything on his fucking sleeve, grins his head off. “Haw, that’ll be interesting.” He chuckles.

Otis gives him the stink eye. “Enough. This is serious business.”

Brody can’t wipe the smirk off his face. “Oh c’mon, sheriff, we all know they just want to jump each other’s⁠—”

Otis glares at him. “Enough!”

“Sorry, boss.” Brody composes his face, which is hard, because grinning is his default mode.

I slouch low in my chair, trying to look like I haven’t even heard, but my whole scalp is prickling with embarrassment.