Page 23 of Howling Mad (Romance Expected Dating Service #1)

My father’s cabin looks exactly as I remember with its rustic logs, wide porch, and stone steps.

Inside, the main room remains a blend of my father’s spartan tastes and vestiges of my mom’s more comfortable touches.

Father never got around to changing them after she died.

Family photos line the walls, including several of me in various stages of childhood, always a bit apart from the other pack pups and always looking slightly uncomfortable in ceremonial settings.

Eleanor guides us to my old bedroom, now prepared with fresh linens and a small vase of wildflowers on the nightstand.

Her touch, undoubtedly. “I’ll let you settle in,” she says.

“The welcome feast begins at sunset. Formal pack attire.” She gives me a meaningful look.

“Your father had yours brought out of storage.”

After she leaves, I open the closet to find exactly what I’ve been dreading—the traditional formal wear of a beta’s son.

Dark tailored pants, a crisp white shirt, and the ceremonial animal-skin, probably deer, vest embroidered with the pack’s symbols and my family’s markings.

I haven’t worn it in nearly a decade. At least I don’t have to don a fur cape like the alpha and beta.

“That’s quite something,” says Finley, examining the elaborate embroidery with barely a hint of dismay in her expression. “Very...wolfy.”

“It’s ridiculous.” I touch the fabric reluctantly. “These ceremonies are living fossils. All pageantry and no substance.”

She stands beside me. “It clearly means something to your family.”

“Tradition, status, and control.” I close the closet door more forcefully than necessary. “Everything I left behind.”

“But not everything about this place is bad.” She gestures to the room around us. The bookshelves are still filled with my childhood favorites, and the telescope I saved for months to buy is still positioned by the window. “This was your home.”

The observation hits something tender in me. “It was never really home after Mom died. It was just the place I lived until I could leave.”

She doesn’t push, instead moving to the window that overlooks the forest. “It’s beautiful land.”

“That part I miss,” I say, joining her. “Running these woods at night is exhilarating. I miss the streams and caves I explored as a pup. The territory itself is special. It’s too bad it comes with so many strings.”

We stand in silence, watching the sun sink lower toward the tree line. Eventually, she turns to me with determined cheer. “Let’s get you dressed in your fancy wolf vest. If we have to face the pack inquisition, we might as well look good doing it.”

It’s as irritating and itchy as I remember, but I’m wearing it a few minutes later. We leave my father’s cabin and head toward the packhouse.

The main lodge hums with activity as we enter. At least sixty wolves mill about the great hall, drinking and talking in tight clusters. Conversation falters as we appear, heads turning to assess the prodigal son and his unknown mate.

I guide Finley through the crowd, ignoring the whispers that follow us.

The traditional garb feels stiff and uncomfortable, like a costume I’ve outgrown.

Beside me, Finley looks stunning in the simple blue dress she chose, elegant without trying to mimic traditional wolf formal wear.

It’s a subtle statement that I appreciate immensely.

“Michael.” The deep voice cuts through the noise, commanding attention.

My father stands near the main fireplace, formidable in his beta regalia, including the ridiculous bear cape.

It’s slightly less glorious than the one Dexter wears, but they both look silly to me.

At his side, the alpha surveys the room with the casual authority of a man who has ruled unchallenged for decades.

“Father.” I incline my head respectfully, the gesture automatic after years of conditioning. “Alpha Wilson.”

“You’ve finally decided to honor us with your presence.” My father’s tone makes it clear he’s not impressed by my attendance and merely satisfied with my obedience. His gaze shifts to Finley, assessing her with cool calculation. “And this is?”

“Finley Morgan,” I say, placing my hand at the small of her back. “My mate.”

The word drops into the conversation like a stone into still water, sending ripples of reaction through the nearby pack members. My father’s jaw tightens imperceptibly. We haven’t had an official mating ceremony yet or really used the word between us, but she nods, not even blinking.

“Morgan,” Dexter repeats, stepping forward. “Harold’s daughter?”

“Yes, Alpha Wilson.” Finley meets his gaze steadily, neither challenging nor submitting. The perfect balance.

“A respected lineage.” Dexter nods approvingly. “Though I understand you’ve chosen quite the... unconventional path.”

“I work at a matchmaking agency for shifters,” she says, her voice clear and confident. “That’s how Michael and I met.”

My father’s expression darkens. “A matchmaker? How…convenient.”

Before I can respond, Eleanor appears at Dexter’s side, skillfully redirecting the conversation. “The ceremony is about to begin. Shall we take our places?”

As we move toward the ceremonial seating, arranged by pack rank, my father leans close to whisper in my ear. “We will discuss your mate later. For now, remember your position and act accordingly.”

Anger flares hot in my chest, but I force it down. This isn’t the time or place.

The welcome feast proceeds with rigid formality. Traditional dishes are served, and ceremonial toasts made. Throughout it all, I watch Finley navigate the unfamiliar rituals with remarkable grace, adapting quickly and asking quiet questions of Eleanor when uncertain.

The real trouble begins when the elders initiate the “mate worthiness test,” an outdated ritual, where potential mates demonstrate their vocal prowess by howling specific notes and patterns.

It’s archaic, embarrassing, and entirely unnecessary, which is why I’m horrified when Elder Mabel approaches our table with clear intent.

“The Morgan female should participate,” she announces loudly enough for nearby tables to hear. “If she’s to be considered as the beta’s son’s mate, she must prove her worthiness.”

I start to protest, but Finley places a restraining hand on my arm. “I’d be honored to participate, Elder,” she says with perfect politeness.

Mabel looks surprised, clearly having expected resistance. “Very well. Follow me.”

As Finley rises to follow the elder to the ceremonial circle, I lean close to whisper urgently, “You don’t have to do this. It’s a stupid tradition.”

She smiles, squeezing my hand. “I’ve got this. Trust me.”

The circle falls silent as Finley takes her place. Even my father leans forward slightly, his attention fixed on the woman who dares claim to be my mate.

Elder Mabel begins the sequence, her aging voice still impressively strong as she howls the traditional notes. When she finishes, she gestures for Finley to repeat the pattern.

Finley closes her eyes briefly and then lifts her face.

The sound that emerges is pure and powerful, hitting each complicated note with perfect precision.

The hall falls utterly silent as she completes the sequence flawlessly, adding a subtle harmony at the end that enhances rather than alters the traditional pattern.

When she finishes, even Elder Mabel looks impressed. “Well done, young wolf. Your voice honors your lineage.”

Surprised murmurs ripple through the gathering. I don’t bother hiding my pride as Finley returns to her seat, a slight flush on her cheeks the only sign of her nervousness.

“That was incredible,” I whisper as she sits beside me. “Where did you learn to howl like that?”

“Choir for twelve years,” she whispers back. “Plus, I spent my childhood trying to prove I belonged despite being different. I practiced pack ceremonies until I was perfect.”

Something in her admission strikes deeply in my chest. The recognition of shared experience, of never quite fitting the mold we were expected to fill, makes me reach out to squeeze her hand as we share a look of comprehension, recognizing each other’s painful pasts.

As dinner progresses, I notice Eleanor engaged in an intense conversation with my father across the room. Their body language speaks of disagreement, her gestures animated while he remains stone-faced and immovable. When she finally returns to our table, her expression is troubled.

“What was that about?” I ask quietly.

She sighs, folding her napkin with precise movements. “Politics. Your father has...plans for the pack’s financial future.”

Before I can press for details, Dexter rises, commanding the room’s attention with a single gesture.

“Tomorrow’s business discussions will feature a special guest. Claudia Hayburn has generously offered her financial expertise to help evaluate our investment strategies.”

The bottom drops out of my stomach. Claudia, my ex-girlfriend, the alpha’s daughter who dumped me when I chose finance over a traditional pack role despite her being in finance, too.

She claimed it was different because I was a male wolf and needed to act like one.

Another wolf who decided I wasn’t enough or was defective. It stings just thinking about her.

Beside me, Finley tenses, recognizing the name from our previous conversations. She takes my hand under the table, squeezing tightly. “Of course,” I mutter bitterly. “Now it all makes sense.”

Father wants me here to witness and bear the humiliation of them going outside the pack to choose a financial advisor, especially my ex.

Is he punishing me for not being what he wants or trying to force me to be aggressive enough to claim the role myself?

I have no interest in doing the latter, if that’s his plan.

This feels like a carefully orchestrated attempt to pull me back into pack business and possibly, back into a relationship my father considers more suitable.

The evening drags on interminably. By the time we’re finally able to excuse ourselves, exhaustion and tension have formed a tight knot between my shoulders. We walk back to the cabin in silence, both of us slumping slightly as though bearing invisible weights.

Inside my childhood bedroom, Finley kicks off her shoes with a relieved sigh. “That was an experience.”

“I am so sorry,” I say, pacing the small space. “I had no idea they’d put you through that howling ritual. Or that my father would arrange for my ex to show up tomorrow. This whole thing is obviously a setup.”

“Hey.” Finley catches my hand, halting my pacing. “Stop apologizing. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Did you? Because I’m not sure I did.” I run a hand through my hair, dislodging the careful styling. “My father is clearly trying to maneuver me back into pack business, using Claudia as bait. It’s manipulative and disrespectful to both of us.”

“And completely transparent.” She guides me to sit on the edge of the bed. “Look, your father can scheme all he wants. It doesn’t change anything between us.”

I look at her, taking in the quiet confidence she’s maintained throughout this difficult evening. “How are you so calm about all this?”

“Because I know who you are, Michael.” She kneels in front of me, taking both of my hands in hers. “Not the beta’s son in fancy ceremonial dress. Not the rebellious wolf who left the pack. Just you, the man who loves numbers and stargazing and makes perfect scrambled eggs.”

Something tight in my chest unravels at her words. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Probably not,” she agrees with a teasing smile, “but you’re stuck with me anyway.”

I pull her up to sit beside me on the bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I should warn you about tomorrow. Claudia is formidable, and there is some serious history there.”

“Tell me,” she says simply.

So I do. I tell her about growing up as the beta’s only son and the expectation that followed me everywhere.

About meeting Claudia in college, thinking I’d found someone who understood my ambitions before her eventual ultimatum to be a “real” wolf and choose the beta position or choose finance as well as the fallout when I chose wrong to her thinking.

Finley listens without interrupting, resting her head against my shoulder. When I finally fall silent, she says, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

The response is so unexpected that I pull back to look at her. “Why would you thank me for dragging you into this mess?”

“Because now I understand you better.” She traces the embroidery on my vest with gentle fingers. “This is part of you, even the parts you’ve tried to leave behind, and I want all of you, Michael. The stockbroker and the beta’s son. The wolf and the man.”

Her words unlock something I’ve kept carefully contained for years.

Is there really a possibility that I don’t have to choose between worlds and can be whole without rejecting pieces of myself?

“I love you,” I say suddenly, the words emerging without conscious thought but with absolute certainty.

“I know it’s soon, and we haven’t talked about… ”

She silences me with a kiss—soft, sweet, and perfect. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright with emotion. “I love you, too. Wolf vest and all.”

That gets a genuine laugh from me. Though the rest of the weekend still looms like an ugly storm, this moment is a rainbow.