Page 22 of Howling Mad (Romance Expected Dating Service #1)

Michael

The email from my father sits in my inbox like a ticking bomb. I’ve read it five times, hoping the words might somehow rearrange themselves into something less ominous, but they remain stubbornly unchanged:

Michael,

Your presence is required at the semiannual pack gathering next weekend. This is not a request.

Heath Thornton, Beta

Not “Dad.” Not even “Father.” Just his title, a reminder of the hierarchy from which I’ve spent years distancing myself.

I rub my temples, trying to stave off the headache brewing behind my eyes.

The semiannual pack gatherings are a tradition I usually dodge with carefully crafted excuses about client emergencies or market fluctuations.

My father has never explicitly demanded my attendance before.

Something’s changed, and I have a sinking feeling it involves my newly formed relationship with Finley.

My phone buzzes with her incoming text: Just survived lunch with Red, who insists on calling us her “oblivious duo success story” to all clients. How’s your day?

The normality of the message, so at odds with the dread pooling in my stomach, makes me smile despite everything.

Three weeks since our full moon run, and already, the texture of my life has altered completely.

My apartment bears evidence of her presence in the form of a forgotten scarf draped over my couch, her preferred coffee in my kitchen, along with two new “I HOWL AT MY OWN JOKES” mugs I ordered online for both of us, and a wolf-shaped sticky note reminding me to “eat something that isn’t spreadsheets” stuck to my laptop.

I type back: Less exciting than yours. Can you come over tonight? Need to talk about something.

Her response is immediate: Sounds ominous. Should I bring wine or whiskey?

Both. Possibly in the same glass.

I set down the phone and turn back to my computer, attempting to focus on the quarterly projections. The numbers blur together as my mind stubbornly returns to the problem at hand of how to tell Finley I need to drag her into the wolves’ den. Literally.

By the time my doorbell rings that evening, I’ve paced enough circles in my living room to wear a path in the carpet. I open the door to find Finley balancing a bottle of wine, a smaller bottle of whiskey, and what appears to be a takeout bag emitting the heavenly scent of curry.

“I brought reinforcements,” she says, pushing past me into the apartment. “Food, alcohol, and me. Whatever the problem is, we’ll tackle it.”

I watch her move comfortably around my kitchen, pulling out plates and glasses like she’s always belonged here. The tight knot in my chest loosens slightly.

“So,” she says, uncorking the wine with practiced efficiency, “what’s this ominous conversation we need to have? Are you secretly a vampire? Allergic to me? Harboring a pathological fear of commitment?” She pauses dramatically. “A tiger trapped in a wolf’s body?”

I laugh despite myself. “Nothing quite that scandalous.” I pull out my phone, showing her my father’s email. “Family politics.”

She reads quickly, her expression shifting from playful to concerned. “Well, that’s...forceful.”

“That’s my father.” I accept the glass of wine she offers, taking a fortifying sip. “He’s never demanded my presence before, so something’s happening.”

“And you think it involves us?” She serves curry onto plates, her movements suddenly less certain.

“It’s too coincidental. Our run was barely three weeks ago, and suddenly I’m required at a gathering I’ve successfully avoided for years?” I shake my head. “Wolf gossip travels fast, especially when it involves the beta’s son.”

She settles onto a barstool, her fork hovering over her food. “So what does this mean?”

I take a deep breath, facing the question I’ve been dreading. “It means I have to go next weekend, and I’d like you to come with me.”

Her fork freezes halfway to her mouth. “You want me to meet your entire pack? After three weeks?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask.” I lean against the counter. “It would mean spending the weekend at the pack compound, sleeping there, enduring formal dinners, traditional ceremonies, and my father’s disapproving glares.”

“Sounds delightful.” She sets down her fork. “Why do you want me there? Wouldn’t it be easier to face them alone?”

“Easier? Maybe.” I move to stand in front of her, taking her hands in mine. “I’m done hiding parts of my life from each other. My pack needs to see I’ve chosen someone who accepts me completely, and you deserve to understand where I come from, even the complicated parts.”

She studies me for a long moment, her amber eyes thoughtful. “This is really important to you. Isn’t it?”

“You’re really important to me.” The words come out with more intensity than I intended, but I don’t regret them. “I want to do this right. No more compartmentalizing.”

She squeezes my hands and smiles. “I guess we’re going to a pack gathering. Should I bring my formal howling attire, or is it more of a casual mauling event?”

Relief washes through me, followed quickly by concern. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Probably not,” she says cheerfully, returning to her curry, “but that’s half the fun, right?”

I resist the urge to tell her there will be nothing fun about the forthcoming ordeal. I don’t want her to change her mind about coming, as selfish as that might be.

The drive to pack territory the following weekend takes nearly three hours because I keep subconsciously dropping my speed.

I spend most of that time briefing Finley on the complex politics she’s about to encounter.

The closer we get to the territory border, the tighter my grip becomes on the steering wheel, and the lighter I press down on the gas pedal.

“Okay, so your father is the beta, which means he’s second-in-command,” Finley recites, counting off on her fingers. “Dexter Wilson is the alpha, and he’s been in power for twenty-five years. Your aunt Eleanor is the pack historian, and she’s your only real ally. Did I miss anything?”

“Just that you’ll be walking into a hornets’ nest of tradition, judgment, and passive-aggressive political maneuvering disguised as pack bonding.

” I navigate the winding forest road from memory, each curve bringing us closer to my past. “My father has certain expectations about my future that don’t include a career in finance or a mate who works at a modern dating agency. ”

“You mean he doesn’t dream of his son mating with a matchmaker? I’m shocked.” She places her hand on my thigh. “I’ve faced judgmental wolves my entire life. I’ll survive a weekend with your pack.”

I cover her hand with mine, wishing I shared her confidence. “Just...stay close to me or Aunt Eleanor. The others can be...traditional.”

“Traditional.” She nods knowingly. “Wolf-speak for ‘thinks wolves who aren’t leadership should be submissive.’”

“Something like that.”

We pass through the pack boundary, marked by discreet territorial symbols that most humans would overlook. Immediately, the atmosphere shifts. The forest hums with an energy that speaks to our wolves. No matter how long I’ve been away, my body remembers this place at a cellular level.

The main compound comes into view. Cars are already parked in the clearing, indicating most pack members have arrived.

I park at the edge where I parked last time, taking a final moment of privacy.

“Last chance to back out,” I tell Finley.

“We could fake a work emergency. Food poisoning. Spontaneous combustion.”

She leans across the console and kisses me briefly but fiercely. “We’ve got this.”

“Right.” She sounds so confident that I take strength from that. We’re barely out of the car when a tall, silver-haired woman emerges from the closest cabin, her face lighting up at the sight of us.

“Michael?” Aunt Eleanor strides toward us, her arms outstretched. “You actually came.”

I embrace her, breathing in the familiar scent of sage and old books. “Not like I had a choice this time. I had the sense refusing would lead to banishment.”

She pulls back, studying my face with knowing eyes. “Indeed. Your father has been particularly...motivated about this gathering.” Her gaze shifts to Finley, brightening with interest. “And this must be Finley. I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope?” Finley extends her hand, which Eleanor bypasses entirely in favor of a warm hug.

“All from Michael, so naturally, all glowing.” She links her arm through Finley’s. “Come, let me show you where you’ll be staying. Michael’s old room has been hastily converted for guests, which in pack terms means someone threw a fresh blanket over the bed and called it done.”

I groan, realizing I won’t even get my own cabin for this stay. Definitely Father’s meddling, I’m sure, since I usually take one of the smaller cabins on the very rare occasions when I have an overnight stay.

As Eleanor leads us toward the lodge, I scan the compound. Pack members mill about, preparing for the evening’s welcome feast. Many turn to stare as we pass, their expressions ranging from curious to openly disapproving. I position myself protectively beside Finley, tensing.

“Your father is in the main lodge with Dexter,” says Eleanor quietly. “They’ve been in meetings all day. Something about investment restructuring.”

A chill runs through me. My father has never shown the slightest interest in the pack’s financial matters before. Another piece of the puzzle falls into place, and the picture forming isn’t pretty.