Page 27 of Howling Mad (Romance Expected Dating Service #1)

I’m saved by the dinner bell, escaping to find Finley already seated at our designated table. She looks flushed but happy, deep in conversation with a leopard shifter couple.

“There you are.” She reaches for my hand as I sit. “I was about to send a search party.”

“I was explaining to three retired wolves why their foolproof roulette system will, in fact, lead to financial ruin.” I loosen my bow tie slightly. “How was your chat with the alpha’s mate?”

“Surprisingly pleasant.” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “Also, I’m pretty sure your father has been stalking our table. He’s passed by three times, each time shedding more cape fur into people’s soup.”

I glance across the room to where my father now stands with Red, who appears to be demonstrating something with enthusiastic hand gestures while he maintains a frozen smile.

His ceremonial cape has indeed begun to look patchy, like a molting bear in springtime.

It doesn’t usually see so much usage in a year, let alone a night.

“Red will keep him occupied,” I assure her, though I’m not entirely convinced. “She’s the master of social manipulation.”

As if summoned by my words, Red appears at the microphone on the small stage at the front of the room. “Esteemed shifters and honored guests! The time has come for our Recognition Ceremony, where we celebrate the successful matches made through our humble agency.”

What follows is anything but humble as she introduces a parade of couples with increasingly elaborate backstories, each punctuated by Red’s theatrical commentary.

A lion and tiger match (“crossing the feline divide!”), twin bear shifters who found partners on the same day (“double the bears, double the love!”), and a remarkably dignified elderly tortoise shifter, who found companionship with a much younger fox (“proof that romance knows no age...or speed limitations!”).

Throughout it all, Red circulates business cards that play a tinny howling sound when tilted, causing random wolf calls to echo through the room at unexpected intervals.

Finally, she beckons us to the stage. “And now, our featured match of the evening. A romance that defied tradition, overcame allergic reactions, and proved that even the most challenging…or oblivious…wolves can find their perfect mate.”

We make our way to the stage, holding hands. Under the lights, she looks even more radiant in her red dress. My earlier nerves dissolve as she smiles up at me.

Red launches into a dramatically embellished version of our story, describing my allergic reactions in vivid detail (“his nose actually transformed mid-sneeze!”) and recounting Finley’s topiary crash with wild gesticulations (“cupid himself couldn’t have arranged a more perfect catastrophe!

”). It’s slightly more painful than undergoing an appendectomy without anesthesia.

Just as she’s building to her grand conclusion, a figure rises from the audience.

My father steps forward, cape shedding ominously behind him.

“If I may,” he interrupts, his authoritative voice cutting through Red’s narrative.

“As Michael’s father and beta of the Wilson pack, I feel compelled to offer some. ..context.”

A hush falls over the gathering. Red looks momentarily flustered, clearly unprepared for this impromptu addition to her carefully orchestrated program. “By all means,” she manages, stepping back slightly.

My father approaches the stage, every inch the imposing pack leader except for that natty cape.

“For those unfamiliar with wolf traditions, true mating is not just about personal preference or convenience. It’s about strengthening the pack and combining compatible traits to produce strong offspring. ”

The room temperature seems to drop several degrees. Beside me, Finley tenses, but her expression remains determinedly neutral.

“Looking at this...match,” he continues, gesturing between us, “one must question the foundation. A son who rejected his pack responsibilities for human finance, and a female with nontraditional physical characteristics.” His gaze sweeps Finley from head to toe, lingering pointedly on her curves.

“Wolves typically seek physically compatible mates, not runts and rebels finding each other out of desperation.”

Gasps ripple through the audience. Red’s mouth drops open in shock.

“One must wonder,” my father concludes, “how two wolves who settle can consider it a true mating.”

A deadly silence falls. Every gaze in the room turns to us, waiting for our response to this public humiliation.

Before either of us can speak, a commotion erupts near the dessert table. A startled waiter, backing away from the tension, knocks over a decorative candle onto an elaborate tablescape of dried flowers and fabric. Flames leap up immediately, triggering the venue’s sprinkler system.

Water cascades from the ceiling, drenching everyone.

Shrieks and curses fill the air as carefully styled hair collapses and expensive fabrics cling to bodies.

Through it all, my father stands motionlessly, his ceremonial cape beginning to shrink visibly in the water and pulling tightly across his shoulders like a child’s superhero costume.

In the chaos, Finley begins to laugh. Not hysterically, but with genuine amusement at the absurdity of it all.

Water plastering her hair to her face, makeup streaming, and dress clinging to the curves my father just criticized, she looks directly at him.

“You know what?” She raises her voice to be heard over the commotion.

“You’re right about one thing. This didn’t start as a traditional match.

It began as an unconventional choice, a matchmaker and her client breaking all the rules. ”

She turns to me, her eyes bright with certainty. “But it’s become the most authentic connection I’ve ever experienced. I don’t care what anyone thinks is proper or traditional . This is real.”

Her simple honesty cuts through the chaos. I step forward, taking her hand and facing my father directly.

“I spent my entire life trying to meet your expectations,” I say, my voice steady. “Trying to be the son you wanted instead of the wolf I am, but with Finley, I don’t have to try. I can just be.”

My father’s expression flickers with something unreadable as his cape continues to shrink comically, now resembling a child’s backpack.

“You can question our match all you want,” I continue. “You can disapprove of our choices, but you can’t change the fact that she’s my mate in every way that matters.”

Without waiting for his response, I turn to Finley, cupping her face in my hands. “What do you say we get out of here and make this official? There’s a full moon tonight.”

Her smile is incandescent. “I thought you’d never ask.”

We kiss right there on stage, soaking wet under the sprinklers, to the cheers and wolf whistles of the crowd. Through the noise, I hear Red shouting something about, “the most dramatic success story ever” and “material for next year’s brochure.”

As we break apart, laughing, I catch sight of my father. For just a moment, his stern mask slips, revealing something that might almost be respect. Then it’s gone, replaced by his usual stoic dignity, somewhat undermined by his now-toddler-sized cape.

We make our way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and dodging well-meaning but soaked shifters trying to corner us for relationship advice. Outside, the night air is crisp, and the full moon rises over the city.

“I can’t believe you stood up to your father like that,” she says as we wait for our car. “Are you okay?”

I consider the question, surprised to find that I am. “Better than okay. I think I finally said what I’ve needed to say for years.” I take her hand, threading our fingers together. “I’ve been thinking about going low-contact with the pack for a while. After tonight...”

“I’ll support whatever you decide.” She squeezes my hand. “Though I have to admit, I’ll miss seeing your father in that shrinking cape. That was truly a highlight of my matchmaking career.”

The car arrives, and I give the driver directions to the nature preserve on the outskirts of the city where we first ran together under a full moon. On the drive, Finley shivers slightly in her wet dress. I wrap my jacket around her shoulders, pulling her close against my side.

“I meant what I said back there about making this official.”

She looks up at me, droplets of water still clinging to her eyelashes. “I know. Me, too.”

The preserve is quiet when we arrive. We check in with the night ranger, who assigns us a private running area with a bewildered look at our damp formal wear.

Under the silver light of the full moon, we shed our soaked clothes, folding them neatly on a sheltered bench.

There’s no embarrassment or hesitation. Just the quiet certainty of two wolves who have chosen each other.

The shift comes easily, our wolves eager to run together again under the moon. Finley’s smaller form gleams silver in the moonlight, her unusual coloring making her seem almost ethereal. My larger, darker wolf circles her once, scenting her, and memorizing her.

Then we run.

Through the forest, over streams, and across clearings bathed in moonlight, our wolves move in perfect harmony.

This is the oldest and truest form of wolf mating.

Running together under the full moon, choosing each other with every stride, every breath, and every shared moment of joy.

This time, we both know and acknowledge this is to set the mating bond, making it even more profound than our last run here a few months ago.

Later, exhausted and exhilarated, we shift back to human form in a moonlit clearing. Finley’s eyes still hold a hint of wolf gold, and her smile is wilder and freer than I’ve ever seen it. “So,” she says, slightly breathlessly, “I guess we’re officially mates now.”

I pull her closer still, feeling her heartbeat against mine. “We’ve been mates since the moment you crashed through that cupid topiary, I think. We just needed time to realize it.”

Her laugh echoes through the clearing. “Red is going to be insufferable about this. She’ll probably commission a painting of us for the office wall.”

“As long as it doesn’t include my father’s shrinking cape, I can live with that.” I press my forehead to hers, suddenly serious. “I love you, Finley. Every unconventional, unexpected, and perfect inch of you.”

“I love you, too, Michael.” She kisses me softly. “Cape-shedding relatives and all.”

Under the full moon, with the forest as our witness, we seal our mating with whispered promises, shared warmth, and no ceremonial words or pack approval needed. Just two untraditional wolves, who found home in each other ’ s hearts.