Page 36 of Beware of Hodags

RACHEL

Shifter weddings are some of the happiest gatherings on earth. Imagine human weddings without the possibility that the couple will hate each other in five years. Because joyful lifelong bonds are guaranteed, we tend to marry quick.

Last Saturday, Adrian met Mirk.

After spending three days with her, he bit her. If Adrian was daunted about the prospect of either being bitten or becoming a freakishly large creature, she didn’t share that confidence with me. What she has told me since is how excited she is to finally, truly belong in the shifter world.

I never knew how lonely Adrian felt, being the only human in our immediate family.

Now she’s a spider shifter. And here we are, having a double wedding.

Everybody is in tuxes and shiny dresses. No one matches, but then we didn’t give enough lead time to expect coordination.

Which is pretty standard. Shifters are used to surprise weddings, so everybody has a nuptial-appropriate outfit they can haul out.

Adrian is wearing a black gothic lace wedding dress, and I decided to go daring and wear white.

We chose the Lycosid barn as our venue because, despite the recent trauma that Dylan, Shepard, and I suffered at this location, the barn is big enough to hold three extended family clans and that was a consideration.

It helps that in the daylight this place isn’t so bad—it turned real nice once the webs and web lines were snapped and rolled into a creepy ball of flat sticky ropes.

Plus this barn was available on short notice. There was another option, but I kiboshed it because…

Because Shepard’s parents offered to host our wedding at their dog park.

Yes. The hodag clan has a dog park. It’s called Shepard Park, and it’s located behind their house— which is on Prospect Street in Rhinelander, the original home of their ancestor, Eugene Shepard.

That part is pretty cool.

But hodags have a dog park behind their house!

“You keep saying that like my mom and dad are predators who use their dog park to hunt innocent bulldogs,” Shepard had said to me, “but they’re not. There are no bulldogs who come to our park.”

“I wonder why,” I’d said dryly.

“Beats me. And hey! We should tell Mirk to bring his bulldogs to play there. My parents would love to eat them—I mean, meet them,” he’d teased.

I’d sent him a mock glare.

“Should anyone present know of any reason that these couples should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the pastor officiating our wedding says.

He’s standing in front of us. Behind us, someone makes the mistake of clearing their throat—and immediately the sounds of folding chairs being scraped back fills the room.

I sigh. Everyone has a hair trigger today.

At events like these, everyone is usually happy the grooms and brides found each other.

And everyone is happy for us… yet it’s a tense affair.

The “speak now” verbiage in our ceremony was included for tradition’s sake but clearly that was a bad call. Now the hodags are stalking along the right side of the barn and the Lycosids are amassed to the left—and nooobody’s making nice.

The Bruisers are the neutral party, but the tension is making our dad growl and our mom keeps touching her hair and the back of her neck, like her hackles have raised and won’t go down.

Although that might simply be due to the Lycosid’s proximity.

Our pastor is also neutral… sort of. He happens to be the chainsaw carver from the Lumberjack festival. That musky smell that wafted off of him? It’s because he’s a moose shifter.

The beauty of moose shifters is their ability to be mellow one second and then rain down hell the next, which could come in handy if things go sideways. He smiles placidly enough and waits to proceed until it looks reasonably likely that our families aren’t about to maim each other.

Adrian clutches her bouquet. I’m saving mine as a surprise for later so I’ve got nothing to stop my hands from wringing themselves to death.

That is, until Shepard tugs his pocket square out and unfolds it with a smart snap. Gallantly, he offers it to me. I take it with a grateful smile and start to strangle it.

A puppy barks, breaking the standoff as everyone looks down. “Oh my gosh, look at you!” I exclaim, smiling as I crouch to pet the lily white English bulldog puppy that’s galumphed up the aisle to us.

He’s wearing a chiffon ribbon around his neck that’s almost as big as he is.

I look up at Mirk in surprise. “Is this my puppy?” Even as I ask, I already know the answer.

I know this puppy. I’ve made time to visit Topanga’s litter almost every day this week, and it’s because of this boy right here.

Kayla, Shepard’s little sister, is kneeling in a pretty dress in the middle of the aisle, and she waves gaily to us, obviously having been his transportation .

Mirk nods, sinking down to scoop the puppy into his arms. He holds him out to me. “A wedding gift.” He gives Shepard a stern look of warning. “Don’t eat him.”

“Don’t worry.” Shepard squeezes my hip. “I only eat this bulldog.”

Pulling back, I clap a hand over Shepard’s mouth.

Mirk gives him a deeply unimpressed glare. “That’s my sister -in-law.”

With a wince, Shepard slides me a sideways look—and hangs his head. “Sorry,” he says from behind my hand.

I drop my hand from him and accept our new puppy. “Ooof.” I grin. “You’re a furry little tank. Aww, Mirk! Thank you! Thank you so much!” I squeeze the roly-poly puppy to my chest and smooch him on his velvety forehead. Shepard leans down and smooches him too but for too long.

Arms full, I manage to smack Shepard with the back of my hand. “Behave!”

Giving me a wink to let me know he’s razzing me, Shepard straightens.

Lucky for him, the Bruisers have a sense of humor. They laugh. But Mirk sends a sour look my mate’s way.

None of the other Lycosids laugh either.

The hodags do though. Uproariously. A little too uproariously.

Our puppy tries to gnaw my chin. “Oh my goodness, we have to name you,” I baby talk to him.

“How about we name him Pretzel?” Shepard suggests, wearing a too-innocent face no one here buys.

Adrian has to restrain Mirk.

“Ohhhh!” I gush to Shepard. “You’re being horrible, but that’s actually perfect,” I exclaim, snuggling our puppy.

“What’s with the ribbon?” Shepard asks.

“It makes him even cuter,” I inform him.

“He’s trying to eat it,” Shepard points out .

Mirk reaches out and unties the bow, pulling it from Pretzel’s neck (and his teeth—he snaps at it as it’s drawn from him). Mirk holds the looped ribbon up, showing us the four silicone rings dangling from it. “The ribbon wasn’t just for show,” he says. “Your puppy is our ringbearer.”

“Awwwww,” everyone with a heart coos.

That’s nearly every person in the barn, yet I can’t help but notice that many of Shepard’s relatives are staring at Pretzel like he’s lunch. Now I’m the one rubbing the back of my neck, trying to keep my hackles from rising.

Kayla kindly collects him and sits not with Shepard’s side of the family but mine, taking a seat next to my mom so my mom and dad can pet Pretzel.

“Here,” Mirk says stiffly to Shepard, and he dips the ribbon, collecting the first pair of rings and handing them to my mate.

The rings are replaceable silicone bands because we’re all shifters here now and it’s not safe to wear metal or ceramic.

For formal outings and certainly for weddings, most couples use higher-end rings but due to the possibility of everyone busting out their shifter side today if we have to, opting for breakaway rings was a good choice.

The pastor walks us each through exchanging our vows. Then Shepard is taking my hand and slipping my ring over my finger. Mirk is doing the same for Adrian. I grin like a fool as I fit Shepard’s on him, and then it’s time to kiss.

Shepard’s hands cradle my face and his mouth covers mine.

And despite our families’ inherent dislike and mistrust of each other, everybody cheers and starts clapping.

Pretzel barks, and when Shepard and I separate, I throw a breathless grin in his and my parents’ direction.

Shepard takes my arm and we move with Mirk and Adrian to the other side of the Lycosid barn where the tables and food are. (Including a table devoted entirely to squeaky cheese thanks to Mirk, who was so proud to learn he’d created the squeaky cheese gobbling monster now living inside me.)

Two cakes sit at the cake table. One is a hodag shape.

The other is a horror show with a giant tarantula crafted to look like Desdemona.

Only bigger. Cake Desdemona is monstrously sized to ensure that she can feed lots of people.

(The hodag is substantial too, but there’s something about seeing a spider cake of this magnitude that makes it hard to focus on anything else.)

Adrian made them both. I don’t know when she got time to sleep. Harvest is requiring all Lycosid hands on deck and she’s thrown herself into Mirk’s operation with enthusiasm. She still insisted on making our cakes though.

Shepard’s hand covers mine so that we’re both holding the cake knife’s handle as we cut into the hodag cake’s base. As we start to liberate our slice, I send a flirty look over my shoulder at Shepard—and murmurs of surprise break out among the guests, making me startle and turn back to the cake.

The inside of it is checkered in green.

“You made a plaid cake? On the inside?” I exclaim in wonder, my wide eyes panning to my talented sister—who is more talented than I even knew. Shepard and I carefully set our slice on a plate and we hold it up for everyone to see.

Adrian is grinning hugely. “Took me so many practice cakes to get that right.”

“Eating all the mistake cakes was a hardship I’d sign up for again,” Mirk says, and she beams up at him. They kiss and cut a ‘substrate’ piece from the base that supports their spider—then they kiss again.