Page 24 of Howling Mad (Romance Expected Dating Service #1)

Finley

I wake before dawn with Michael’s arm heavy across my waist and his breath warm against my neck.

The unfamiliar room gradually takes shape in the blue-gray light filtering through thin curtains.

I carefully extract myself from his embrace, padding silently to the window to look out at the misty forest surrounding the pack compound.

Sleep won’t return, so I take the opportunity to explore Michael’s childhood room properly.

Last night, exhausted from the welcome feast and focused on Michael’s distress about Claudia’s impending appearance, I hardly noticed the telling details.

Now, I see the story of his youth written in the objects he left behind.

Tucked away in a corner bookshelf, partially hidden behind ceremonial wolf figurines, I discover pristine math competition trophies.

First place in regional and state levels.

Beside them is a stack of economic theory books clearly meant for university students, not teenagers, their pages dog-eared with extensive margin notes in Michael’s precise handwriting.

Some passages are underlined multiple times, with questions that show a mind hungry for knowledge far beyond pack economics.

In contrast, displayed prominently on the walls—likely his father’s doing—are mere participation ribbons from pack hunting competitions and ceremonial wolf items that appear completely untouched.

A traditional wolf-tooth necklace hangs from a hook, dust coating its leather cord.

A ceremonial hunt map, framed and centered above the desk, shows no creases or markings that would indicate actual use.

The room tells the story of two lives—the one Michael built for himself, full of intellectual curiosity and achievement, and the one his father tried to force upon him, filled with wolf traditions that never fit.

I run my fingers along the spines of his books, finding a financial theory text with the name “M. Thornton” written inside in careful, youthful handwriting.

The page falls open to a chapter on market diversification, and the margins are filled with notes comparing human markets to pack trade networks.

Even then, he was trying to bridge his two worlds.

“Find anything incriminating?” Michael’s voice, husky with sleep, comes from the bed.

I turn to find him watching me, hair adorably tousled, and eyes still heavy-lidded. “Just evidence that you were a math genius even as a teenager. Shocking.”

“Tragic, isn’t it?” He stretches, the sheet slipping to reveal his bare chest. “My secret shame, exposed at last.”

I hold up a particularly dense-looking textbook. “You read Principles of Macroeconomic Theory for fun as a high school student?”

“Not for fun.” He sits up, running a hand through his hair. “For escape.”

The simple honesty of his answer makes my chest tighten. I return to bed, sitting beside him and taking his hand. “It worked. Didn’t it? You built a life where you get to use that brilliant mind.”

“At the cost of not belonging here.” He gestures to the room around us and the world beyond the door.

“Is that a cost or a benefit?” I ask, leaning my head against his shoulder.

His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Depends on the day. Today, with Claudia’s grand entrance planned? Definitely a benefit.”

The mention of her name brings reality crashing back in. Whatever peace we found in this room last night, today we face the carefully orchestrated scheme of his father and ex-girlfriend.

“What’s our strategy?” I straighten up, game face on.

“Strategy?”

“For the Claudia situation.” I rise, moving to the small bag I packed for the weekend. “Do we play it cool? Go on the offensive? Perform a dramatic exit mid-presentation?”

Michael watches me with a mixture of amusement and confusion. “You’re actually thinking tactically about this.”

“Of course, I am.” I pull out the outfit I carefully selected for today, which is a professional-looking dress in a deep forest green that flatters my coloring while still respecting pack formality.

“Your manipulative ex is about to present to your entire pack and probably isn’t here just to share some numbers. We need a plan.”

He rises from the bed, coming to stand behind me, and settling his hands on my shoulders. “You’re remarkable. Anyone else would be running for the hills, and you’re strategizing like a general.”

I turn to face him. “I’m a matchmaker, remember? Office politics and romantic sabotage are my bread and butter.”

“Romantic sabotage?” His eyebrows lift.

“You’d be surprised how often clients try to undermine each other’s matches.” I smooth my dress on its hanger. “Red once had to ban three puma shifters from the agency for sabotaging each other’s dates. Fur was flying everywhere. Literally.”

His smile fades, replaced by something more serious. “Finley, you don’t have to fight this battle for me. I can handle Claudia and my father.”

“I know you can,” I say, placing my hand on his chest and feeling his steady heartbeat beneath my palm. “But you don’t have to handle them alone. Not anymore.”

The look he gives me makes my knees weak, like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Must have been something terrible in a past life.” I rise on tiptoes to kiss him quickly. “Now, let’s get ready. I want to arrive early enough to secure good seats for the show.”

The morning passes too quickly. After a tense breakfast, where Michael’s father is conspicuously absent, we make our way to the main lodge for the business meeting. Eleanor joins us on the path, looking elegant in traditional attire but with distinctly troubled eyes.

“Be prepared,” she murmurs, walking close enough that only we can hear. “Heath has been unusually involved in the financial presentations this year. He’s never shown interest before.”

“Because he’s using Claudia to make a point,” Michael says grimly.

“A point?” I ask.

“That I abandoned my responsibility to the pack, but I can be replaced,” he says. “I suspect he wants me to fight to reclaim my place and figures this will jar me into doing so.” He snorts.

As we enter the great hall, now rearranged with tables facing a presentation area, I spot several older wolves huddled in conversation, occasionally glancing our way. Michael’s hand tightens around mine in a silent request to ignore them.

We choose seats near the front but off to one side, making us visible without being directly in the line of fire.

Eleanor sits beside me, murmuring brief explanations of who’s who in the pack hierarchy.

I listen with half an ear, my attention focused on mapping escape routes and identifying potential allies should things turn ugly.

Eleanor seems to be the only ally, dang it.

The room grows quieter as Alpha Dexter enters with Michael’s father. At least today, they’ve eschewed the ridiculous bear pelt capes. His gaze sweeps the room, lingering briefly on Michael with an expression I can’t quite decipher before moving on. It makes me shudder slightly.

Then she arrives, and I swear I can hear dramatic music swelling in the background.

Claudia Hayburn enters the hall like she’s walking a runway, not attending a pack business meeting.

Her dress probably costs a fortune, and the sleek black material is perfectly tailored to her statuesque figure.

A fur coat—ironic, given that she can grow her own but chooses to support killing other animals by buying one—drapes artfully over one shoulder.

Her smile reveals teeth so white they could signal aircraft, and she air-kisses everyone within reach while somehow managing to look down her nose at them simultaneously.

Most outrageous are her gold-plated wolf claw nail extensions that click menacingly against the leather portfolio she carries. The sound sends an involuntary shiver down my spine, like claws on a chalkboard.

“Is she for real?” I whisper to Michael, unable to contain myself.

His expression is a remarkable study in controlled neutrality. “Unfortunately, though she is a bit more ostentatious than she used to be.”

Claudia takes her place at the front of the room, setting her portfolio on the presentation table with a flourish. When Alpha Dexter introduces her as “a financial prodigy from our sister pack,” she manages to look both humbly appreciative and smugly confirmed in her superiority.

The presentation begins with the alpha droning on about the pack’s declining investment portfolio.

The numbers aren’t good. They’re getting decreased returns, have taken risky positions, and are utilizing outdated strategies.

As he speaks, I feel Michael tense beside me, his posture growing more rigid with each slide.

I wonder if they’re using some of his previous advice, but I can’t imagine this pack ever really allowing Michael to show that side of himself enough to help with their finances.

He’s probably just irritated they’ve let it get to this point without asking him for help.

Finally, Dexter yields the floor. “And now, Claudia Hayburn has generously offered to share some innovative strategies for revitalizing our pack’s financial position.”

She seizes the floor with practiced ease, her voice carrying that particular timbre of someone who believes they deserve everyone’s attention. “Thank you, Alpha Wilson. It’s an honor to be invited to share my insights with such an esteemed pack.”

She launches into her presentation, and within minutes, I find myself doing double-takes between the slides and Michael.

His face has gone completely rigid, jaw clenched, and a muscle tics in his cheek.

The scent of his anger—like ozone before a lightning strike—grows stronger with each passing minute.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, keeping my voice low enough that only he can hear.