Page 28 of Howling Mad (Romance Expected Dating Service #1)

Finley

Six months feels like both a lifetime and a heartbeat.

I adjust the flowers on our dining table, inhaling their sweet scent while the afternoon sun streams through the tall windows of our loft.

The space looks perfect, a careful blend of Michael’s minimalist taste and my cozier instincts.

Modern furniture mixes with plush throws and eclectic art pieces.

Wolf-friendly features blend seamlessly with human comforts, including the custom sleeping den in our bedroom that we commissioned from a shifter-specialized designer for the times we want to sleep in wolf-form.

From the kitchen, Michael hums as he checks the roast. He’s surprisingly good at cooking for someone who claimed to only know how to make three things when we met. His culinary repertoire has expanded impressively, though I’m still banned from touching anything more complicated than the salad.

“Need any help?” I call, straightening the last place setting.

He appears in the doorway, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. “Just keeping an eye on timing. The roast needs another twenty minutes, which should be perfect when everyone arrives.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” I move to him, adjusting his already-perfect collar. “Entertaining both our families together is a lot.”

He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “I’m more than okay with it. Besides, it’s a carefully curated guest list. No drama and no pack politics. Just the people who matter most.”

We’ve spent weeks planning this dinner, inviting only those who have supported our unconventional relationship.

My parents, who’ve gone from skeptical to absurdly enthusiastic.

Penelope, who will never let me forget she “told me so” from day one.

Red, who takes credit for our pairing at every possible opportunity, and Aunt Eleanor, the one member of Michael’s pack who never doubted us.

Michael’s father declined with a terse but civil note, sending instead a surprisingly thoughtful gift basket containing vintage wines and a set of traditional wolf blessing stones. It was his first acknowledgment of our mating that wasn’t wrapped in criticism. Progress, even if small.

“I almost forgot to tell you,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts. “I got an interesting call from Dexter yesterday.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Alpha Wilson? What did he want?”

“Turns out Claudia’s investment strategies weren’t so brilliant after all.

” A satisfied smile plays on his lips. “The pack has lost significant liquidity following her advice. For some reason, she couldn’t deliver what she promised.

Seems like she didn’t understand what she stole…

” He trails off with a satisfied smirk that looks good on him.

“Dexter wants me to consider taking over their portfolio management.”

“Really?” I lean against the counter, genuinely surprised. “After everything that happened?”

“Money talks louder than pride, apparently.” He shrugs. “My father called, too, and said the pack could use someone with relevant expertise moving forward.”

The doorbell rings before I can respond. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” I promise, squeezing his hand. “But whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

The apartment quickly fills with laughter and conversation.

My mother immediately commandeers the kitchen to inspect Michael’s meal and seems almost disappointed not to have anything to criticize while my father engages Michael in surprisingly amiable conversation about market trends.

Penelope arrives with her latest girlfriend, a falcon shifter with a razor-sharp wit, who keeps everyone laughing with stories of aerial mishaps.

I wonder how that works, with her shifter form being a natural predator for Penelope’s, but I assume they just don’t shift together, or it’s under control.

The animal spirit is close to the surface in our animal form, but we still maintain control.

Red makes the grandest entrance, naturally, wearing a dress constructed of what appears to be feathers and sequins in various shades of red. She carries an enormous framed photograph wrapped in crimson paper.

“For your wall,” she announces, thrusting it into Michael’s arms. “A proper commemoration of Romance Expected’s greatest success story.”

We unwrap it to find our matching photo, now displayed in an ornate gold frame at least twice the size of any other on Red’s wall of successful matches.

The photo itself is beautiful, captured after a midnight run in the park, with both of us slightly disheveled but radiantly happy.

What makes me laugh is the custom LED lighting installed around the frame, programmed to simulate moonlight that gradually brightens to a full glow every sixty seconds.

“It’s the howling moon effect,” she says proudly. “I had it custom-made. The display at the agency has its own spotlight and dedicated wall space. I’ve had three clients book consultations specifically after seeing your photo.”

Dinner goes smoothly, with perfect food and the conversation flowing easily between our merged circles. After the meal, my mother serves her infamous “wolf-strength” coffee, a brew so potent it makes Penelope vibrate slightly after just one sip.

“What is in this?” she whispers, her eyes wide. “I can literally feel my cells multiplying.”

“Family secret.” Mom winks. “Perfect for late-night pack runs.”

I watch Michael across the room, deep in conversation with Eleanor, his expression animated as he describes our latest camping trip to the northern forests. He catches my eye and smiles, making my heart flutter. I motion subtly toward our bedroom, and he nods, excusing himself from Eleanor.

Once in our bedroom, I close the door, suddenly nervous despite having rehearsed this moment a dozen times.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his brow gathering with concern.

“More than okay.” I take his hands, placing them gently on my still-flat stomach. “I was going to wait until after everyone left, but I can’t hold it in anymore. We’re having cubs.”

His eyes widen, flashing momentarily to wolf gold. “You’re—we’re—”

“Pregnant,” I confirm, happy tears welling up. “I found out yesterday. My wolf sensed it first. That’s why I’ve been so tired.”

Michael’s expression transforms with wonder. He drops to his knees, pressing his face against my abdomen, his hands trembling slightly as they cradle our future. “Cubs,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Our cubs.”

“I can already sense them…two of them,” I say, running my fingers through his hair. “They’ll be beautiful. A perfect blend of our unique lineages.”

He stands, gathering me into an embrace so tender it makes my heart ache. “I love you so much, Finley. All of you.”

We return to our guests, trying to act normally, though I suspect every wolf in the room can smell the change in our scents.

My mother keeps shooting me knowing glances while Eleanor studies me with thoughtful eyes.

We’ll tell them officially soon, but for tonight, this precious secret belongs just to us.

Later, after everyone has left and the apartment is quiet again, we curl together in our custom-built den, not in wolf form, but still enjoying the snug, dark space. Michael’s hand rests protectively over my stomach.

“What about Luna for a girl?” he suggests, breaking our comfortable silence. “Or Alexander for a boy?”

“Luna is pretty,” I concede. “But Alexander is so formal for a baby. What about Theo? Or Emma?”

“Maybe we should consider traditional wolf names,” he says. “Silver-Paw or Swift-Runner.”

I snort with laughter. “Our child would never forgive us. Can you imagine them filling out school forms? ‘Last name: Thornton-Morgan, First name: Hunts-By-Moonlight’?”

His laugh rumbles against my back. “Fair point, though Red has already texted that she expects the middle name to be Regina if it’s a girl.”

“Of course she has.” I roll my eyes fondly, not at all surprised she’s recognized the pregnancy and is already talking about it without an official announcement from us.

That’s Red, and I love her for it. “Speaking of Red… she told me earlier that she knew we were destiny from the moment she interviewed me.”

Michael’s arms tighten around me. “She does have a point. She saw the potential in us long before we were brave enough to see it ourselves.”

I turn to face him, tracing the beloved contours of his face. “The best matchmaker in the business.”

“Second best,” he corrects, kissing my forehead. “You matched me with exactly who I needed. Someone who sees all of me—wolf and human, finance nerd and pack son—and loves every part.”

As the moon rises higher, I nestle closer to my mate.

Our mating is different from what either of us expected but exactly what we both needed.

Some matches truly are written in the stars.

Or, in our case, in spilled coffee, toppled topiaries, and the heart of a matchmaker who saw our potential and nudged us together with all the subtlety of a rampaging red panda with a clipboard and a mission.

Thank you SO MUCH for reading HOWLING MAD!