Page 34 of Bewitching the Wolf

My aunt continues chatting brightly. About Sammy, about the runes, about how she knows I have a part to play in saving the Labyrinth. “I sense that it’s all coming together, Tippy-Anna,” she says.

I murmur agreement and remind myself it’s not just about Jax and me. It doesn’t matter if I’m pissed at him or so horny for him that I can barely see straight.

This is bigger than us.

This is about saving the Labyrinth, and all the monsters who live here.

The thought strengthens my resolve as we enter the elevator and my aunt reaches out the car window and presses the buttons to take us to level three.

We judder and creak our way down slowly, but when the doors open and we drive into Wolftown, I find my nose is plastered to the passenger window.

Up until recently, no self-respecting vixen shifter would go near this place.

But now… now that it’s being endorsed by Aunt Felicia, and her visits to Sammy, I let myself be fascinated.

I peer eagerly out the window. So this is Wolftown. Wow! It draws me in. The lumen lights are remarkably bright, shining into large cavernous spaces. Fires burn and the smell of smoke from some ancient wood that has likely been petrified down here is fragrant. The wolf men are huge, muscular, some in army gear. The women are tall and strong, with babes on their arms and children running around their feet.

Sure, they are in human form right now. I wonder what it is like here when they shift. I don’t even know when they do. Many eons ago, weres responded to the full moon on Earth. None of that gets to Wolftown, and yet I know they do have their shifting ceremonies and, word has it, can also shift, like Jax did, when emotions are high or danger is present.

I can’t help comparing it all to Vixenville, where I grew up, with its neat little rows of cottages, their pastel painted doors and windows. Vixenville is predominantly female folks, who knit and crochet and sew for their livelihood. The fires we burn are always inside a burner, and cubs are never allowed to get too close. Everything is carefully controlled and monitored. Neat and tidy.

Only at our bi-annual festivals, when we drink special mead, do we allow the untamed side of our nature out for the day. At such times, we get to shift into our vixen form and taste the freedom of old.

But this is altogether different. More powerful. I feel like I’m being seduced by wolfen energy as we wend our way through the colorful streets. Soon we arrive in a cavernous area that is even more brightly lit and full of thick bushes and small trees, and areas that look like a green carpet.

“This is stunning,” I gasp.

“The Wilds, wolves call it,” my aunt explains. “It’s the park area where the Trojan pack take recreational time. Where they can run and play and… court one another. Isn’t it pretty?”

“That’s an understatement,” I breathe, trying not to focus on the word “court”.

We drive past a stream, and a play area with swings and a slide. Two wolfen women are sitting on a bench drinking milkshakes, chatting as their children play happily.

I hate to admit, I didn’t expect it to be so… family focused, so civilized.

Suddenly my aunt pulls up her buggy.

“Okay, we’re here.”

I gawk. There’s the sweetest—well, den, I guess you’d call it. It’s facing some of the parkland. The style is completely different from the buildings on level one. Criss-crossed petrified wood holds up mud bricks that, in classic Labyrinth fashion, are built into the rock walls. At the front is a garden, with a white picket fence. And so many flowers.

As I’m unpacking my potions and bags from the trunk, a shadow looms and I look up to see Traggar, his hands out to help me.

“Here, let me take your bags, Miss Honeywell.” He smiles warmly. “Hello Felicia.” His deep baritone is warm as my aunt joins us.

“Hello Traggar.” She bats her eyelashes.

Again, I detect that my aunt and Traggar have an attraction. I have a strong sense this goes back further than just the last week or so.

“Jax will be here shortly. In the meantime, let me welcome you to your den,” Traggar says. “It’s best if you put your potions in the fridge before he gets here and has a panic attack seeing them.” He laughs heartily. “Come, let me show you inside.” And he strides through the gate, my luggage swinging easily in his big hands as he leads us inside.

Standing in the entrance, I blink. It’s beautiful. But small. There’s a central living area, a dark red leather couch and rugs patterned in rich bright hues. There are stag horns on the wall. Some other abstract paintings perfectly mix with the colors of the couches. There’s a fire in the fireplace, bringing warmth to the space.

The den’s energy is like a cocoon. Like it could envelop two lovers and let them forget the outside world existed.

Lovers! What are you thinking?!

“Here is your room.” Traggar swings back a goat skin, revealing an entrance. “And over there is Jax’s.” Traggar points.