Page 12 of Howling Mad (Romance Expected Dating Service #1)

Michael

I’m sprawled on a weathered bench in Waterfront Park, gazing at the full moon’s shimmering reflection in a shallow pond.

A willow’s branches sway gently, brushing the water like a half-remembered lullaby from childhood.

The park is nearly deserted tonight, save for an older couple strolling with their tiny dog and the occasional jogger’s rhythmic steps echoing in the distance.

I’ve come here for solitude, a sanctuary far from the sting of tonight’s disaster.

My shoulders ache, still knotted from the venom of Talia’s outburst. Her words, implying I’m spineless and not wolf enough, slice through me, reopening old scars.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard that critique, and I doubt it’ll be the last, but what lingers isn’t her cruelty.

It’s the image of Finley tumbling out from behind a cupid-shaped topiary, leaves tangled in her hair, and a plastic arrow snagged in her sweater.

Mortified as she was, she didn’t hesitate to fire Talia on the spot.

A quiet laugh escapes me, surprising myself.

I thought tonight had drained me of joy, but Finley’s chaotic heroism softens the edges of my wounded pride.

I glance at my phone, her text glowing on the screen.

She’s agreed to meet me here to talk, and though part of me worries she’ll back out, too embarrassed by her tumble, I crave her presence.

Talia’s rejection left me raw, but Finley’s defense—and her absurd crash—made me feel seen and cared for.

A chilly breeze ruffles my hair, the temperature dipping.

I pocket the phone, trusting she’ll come.

The moon hangs bright, nearly full and a perfect circle.

In my pack days, I’d be out howling or running rituals under its glow.

Here, I’m grateful for the distance from a life that never suited me.

Then I hear footsteps, cautious and uneven, like someone’s trying to slip by unnoticed.

My chest tightens with anticipation. I turn, and there’s Finley, her arms crossed in a light jacket, scanning the park as if expecting more topiaries to ambush her.

A stray twig juts from her hair, a souvenir of her fall.

Her cheeks flush under the lamplight’s dull glow, and warmth washes away the night’s bitterness.

I gesture for her to join me. She hesitates, her shoulders braced as if expecting anger. I let out a soft laugh, the sound startling the couple’s dog across the pond.

“You’re not angry?” she asks, her voice gentle, like she’s afraid to tip the night’s fragile balance.

I shake my head, grinning. “Angry at you crashing through a cherub? That’s too absurd to hold a grudge.”

She exhales, relief softening her stance. She spots the twig, yanks it free with a grimace, and tucks it into her pocket. “I thought you’d be furious I saw your date implode. Or that I made it worse.”

I shift, leaving space on the bench. “My pride’s bruised, sure, but you caring enough to take Talia down? That’s worth more than my ego.”

She rubs her elbow, her gaze on the ground. “I took disaster to a whole new level.”

I smirk, leaning back. “Professional observation gone rogue?”

She huffs, glancing away with a shy smile. “I told myself it was just business. Truth is, I was anxious.”

Her honesty settles between us, raw and unguarded. I resist the urge to touch her arm, meeting her gaze instead. “Anxious I’d fall for Talia, or that she’d hurt me?”

“Both, maybe,” she admits, hugging herself tighter. “Your last dates were nightmares. I just wanted this one to go right for you.”

I picture the cupid’s slow-motion collapse. “It was a spectacular kind of failure.”

She groans, covering her face. “That arrow’s going to haunt me forever.”

A comfortable silence falls, the park hushed except for rustling leaves and distant traffic. Moonlight catches faint silver in her hair, and I push away my father’s voice muttering about moonstruck nonsense. “Mind sitting?” I ask.

She nods, settling beside me, her posture still a bit tense. Her scent drifts over, accelerating my pulse, but I keep my voice steady. “Thanks for coming. I half-expected you to hide out.”

“I almost did,” she says, her smile wry. “But I owed you…something. Not just stammering at the restaurant.”

“If you’re apologizing for caring, don’t,” I say. “I’m grateful you tried, even if it ended in topiary carnage.”

She snorts, her laugh bright. “Topiary carnage. That’s the perfect name for it.”

We fall quiet, watching the moon’s reflection ripple in the pond, her brow gathered with unspoken thoughts. I clear my throat. “Thanks for defending me. Talia’s not the first to say I’m not wolf enough.”

She sets the twig on the bench, her voice firm. “She was out of line. You deserve better than that.”

Her kindness melts my tension. “It’s hard, juggling human finance and pack traditions.”

She nods, her eyes curious. “Straddling two worlds, right?”

“Exactly,” I say, opening up. “I thought I could ace it. Master’s degree and a city job, but wolves call me domesticated, and humans call me savage. It gets lonely.”

“I get it,” she says softly. “My pack pushed matches like I was livestock. The city was my escape, and Red’s agency gave me a purpose. Helping misfits like us find love.”

I chuckle. “Misfits. That fits me, too. Talia was never going to get it.”

Her nose scrunches. “Nope. She’s all pack ideals despite her sophisticated veneer. You need someone who sees all your layers.”

I nod. “You get me.”

She blushes, and we sit in shared understanding, the silence easy. The breeze turns colder, and she shivers in her thin jacket. I shrug off mine, offering it wordlessly. She slides it on, the sleeves swallowing her hands, and flashes a grateful smile. “Thanks. I didn’t plan for arctic vibes.”

My stomach flutters, and I look away to hide it, focusing on the pond. “Want to walk? Might warm us up.”

“Definitely,” she says, perking up.

We rise, strolling along a winding path, lamplight casting soft pools on the pavement. She scans for rogue topiaries, and I smother a grin at her jumpiness. “Full moon soon?” she asks, tilting her head skyward.

“Tomorrow, I think,” I say. “Talia’s drama drowned out the usual itch.”

She laughs. My phone buzzes, but I ignore it, tethered to this moment. She points across the street. “Ice cream? That shop’s still open.”

I raise an eyebrow. “It’s freezing out here.”

“My wolf’s quirky,” she says, shrugging. “They’ve got cardamom honey with chocolate chunks. That’s heavenly.”

I stop short. “That’s my favorite. Everyone thinks I’m insane for liking it.”

Her eyes widen. “No way. My mom says it tastes like potpourri.”

We burst out laughing, crossing to the shop. The staff’s friendly, letting us pick since they’re closing soon. We both order cardamom honey. The first bite—sweet, tangy, and with a bitter chocolate kick—makes me groan in delight.

Finley giggles, her eyes rolling as she tries hers. “My taste buds are throwing a party.”

We settle at a window table, streetlights glowing outside. “Same weird flavor?” I say. “That’s suspicious.”

“Maybe it’s why we’re misfits,” she says, waving her spoon. “Wolves with odd ice cream cravings.”

I chuckle, imagining Dad’s horror. “My father would insist real wolves eat raw venison.”

Her expression softens. “Is he tough on you?”

I sigh, the question unearthing old weight. “Always. He wants me to be his perfect heir. I tried, but it wasn’t me.”

She leans closer, empathetic. “That sounds exhausting.”

“He’s never satisfied,” I say, swirling my spoon. “Wrong job, no mate, and I’m always falling short. Claudia, an alpha’s daughter, was his ideal. She acted supportive but then dumped me when I skipped a traditional role.”

Finley’s eyes flash with anger. “That’s so unfair.”

“It broke me for a while,” I admit. “I felt defective. Red’s matches were my shot to prove I’m enough without pack ceremonies.”

She smirks. “Instead, you got spies, sneezes, and topiary disasters.”

I laugh, the bitterness fading. “Your picks screamed doomed . Like you were dropping hints.”

Her cheeks flush, and she toys with her napkin. “Sorry. My feelings got tangled, and I short-circuited.”

I brush her hand, cautious. She doesn’t pull away. “I’m glad. I’d rather skip small talk and just be with you.”

Her eyes widen. “We’re so far from professional right now.”

I nod, my throat tight. “We can sort it out or keep going to see where it leads.”

She glances away, exhaling shakily. “Red, the pack and your dad. It’s complicated.”

“I know,” I say softly, “But I want to try.”

“Same,” she says, her voice small but resolute.

Relief washes over me. We finish our ice cream as the shop owner signals it’s closing time.

Outside, we walk, arms brushing, with each touch sparking warmth.

Near an alley, raucous laughter interrupts us, and my senses sharpen.

Three bear shifters loom over a smaller figure.

I sniff, identifying her as a fox shifter, cornered and scared.

Finley stiffens. “She’s pinned?”

“Looks like it,” I say, my pulse racing. “We can’t walk away.”

“Agreed,” she says, stepping forward.

We approach, and I clear my throat loudly. The bears turn, startled. The fox, young and trembling, cowers by a dumpster, her eyes flickering with hope. The lead bear, in a torn jacket, sneers. “Keep moving, pups. This doesn’t concern you.”

I plant my feet. “She’s scared. Let her go.”

He laughs, glancing at his friends. Finley steps beside me, her voice steady. “She asked you to leave her alone. Didn’t she?”

Another bear scoffs. “What are you, her babysitter?”

Finley’s lip curls. “Back off, or we’ll call the cops to see if this is just a friendly chat.”

The air crackles with tension. The lead bear sizes us up, his gaze narrowing. “You looking for trouble?”

“We’re looking for you to leave her alone,” I say, unwavering.

He lunges, half-shifting, his limbs bulking unnaturally.

I block his swing, pain jolting through my arm.

Finley dives in, landing a sharp jab to his side.

Another bear reaches for her, but she spins free, surprisingly agile.

The fox stays crouched, terrified, as the brawl erupts.

A claw rakes my side, burning fiercely, and I growl, shoving back a bear.

Finley wraps an arm around the leader’s neck, clinging as he thrashes.

My chest swells with pride. She’s fearless.

The third bear pauses, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as we fight back. A car’s headlights sweep the alley, startling them. The leader, panting heavily, reconsiders his odds. “This isn’t worth it,” he mutters, stepping back.

His friends hurl curses, with one spitting on the ground, but they retreat into the darkness. I exhale, scanning to ensure they’re gone.

The fox lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she says, her voice quivering. “They cornered me over my wallet.”

Finley kneels beside her, her voice soothing. “You’re safe now.”

“I’m Bea,” she says, trembling. “Just moved here. I lost my phone and my bus pass. They offered help but then turned on me.”

I offer a hand, helping her up. “We’ll get you a ride.”

Finley calls a rideshare, her tone calm and efficient. We guide Bea to a brighter corner, waiting under a lamppost. She clutches her purse, still shaken. “You didn’t have to risk yourselves,” she says, her eyes glistening.

The car pulls up, and Bea climbs in, thanking us profusely.

We watch her go and then turn toward Finley’s apartment.

My side throbs, but her arm brushing mine distracts me.

I’ll shift to heal it once I’m home. At her building, she faces me, the stoop’s chipped paint catching the light. “Thanks for helping Bea.”

“You were right there, too,” I say, smiling.

“Team effort,” she says, her grin soft.

I notice a bruise forming on her arm. “You okay? That bear shook you hard.”

She rubs it, shrugging. “I’ll live. Ego’s fine, at least.”

Her eyes catch my torn shirt, blood seeping. “You’re hurt.”

“Just a scratch,” I say, though it stings.

She steps closer, worried. “You sure?”

“Definitely,” I say.

She slips inside, hesitating before shutting her door. “Good night, Michael.”

“Night,” I say, lingering as the door closes. Hope surges through me, and I’m buzzing with possibility.