Page 19 of If The Shoe Fits (A Howlin’ Good Fairytale Retelling #2)

chapter eighteen

“ T his is stupid!” Cyndi screeches, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. “Of course, it doesn’t fit me! Pop, I told you how wicked she is! We should leave this stupid town. It was so much better before we came here!”

Her beautiful, crystal-covered gown swishes dramatically as her hands fly to her face. Tears spill over, and her face crumples under the weight of emotions she can no longer hide.

“Cyndi,” I say, stepping forward despite every instinct screaming at me to stay out of this.

She is still just a teenager, and the way she is so obviously upset, well, I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

My voice is soft but steady as I ask, “If I have ever hurt you, I am sorry for it. But why do you hate me so much?”

Her sobs hitch for a moment, and she peeks at me through her fingers, her expression a mixture of guilt and defiance. Before she can respond, Wulfy steps in, his voice calm but firm.

“No, this is not you, Madora,” he says, wrapping his arms around his daughter and pulling her close despite her resistance. “You have done nothing.”

The crowd shifts uneasily, a few students and chaperones beginning to lose interest and wander away, but most remain rooted to the spot.

The tension in the room is almost suffocating.

“When Cyndi and I came here at the end of last year,” Wulfy continues, his voice steady but low enough that only those nearest can hear, “I knew the second I saw you that you were my fated mate. Of course, I explained my intent to tell you to Cyndi.”

The world seems to tilt under my feet as his words sink in. My heart pounds like a drum, and I can barely catch my breath.

“Y-you knew?” I stammer, disbelief lacing my voice. “You knew last year ?”

“Yes,” he admits, his golden eyes meeting mine with unwavering sincerity.

“I knew immediately. But I misjudged how my daughter might take the news.”

His gaze flicks to Cyndi, and his tone hardens slightly. “As it turns out, she’s been using her magic on me . And likely on others here. Baking spells into treats, brewing casts into her tea,” he growls, and the entire room seems to quake.

His words trail off as he gives his daughter a small, gentle shake, and wipes his hand over his face.

“I-I just didn’t want things to change,” Cyndi sniffles, straightening her posture even as tears streak her cheeks.

There’s a flicker of something in her expression— shame, regret, maybe even bravery —and for the first time tonight, I feel a flicker of pride for the girl.

“Change can be scary,” I murmur, stepping closer. “I understand that.”

Cyndi glances at me, her lips trembling as if she wants to argue, but something in my tone must resonate with her because she nods.

“That it can,” Wulfy agrees, his voice softening. “But we deal with change ourselves, not with magic. Change is happening, Cyndi. And if Madora agrees, there will be some big changes in our household. But not just there.”

Cyndi blinks, her tear-streaked face tilting up toward him. “What do you mean?”

“If she will have me, I am planning to ask Madora to be my mate, and my wife , understand? Also, your schedule is going to change, daughter,” Wulfy says firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“My schedule?” Cyndi echoes, her voice rising in alarm.

“Oh, yes,” he says, his eyes narrowing slightly in that way only a parent can manage. “No more cheering or any extracurriculars until you finish— and pass —Madora’s class.”

“B-but—” Cyndi stammers, her lower lip wobbling.

“Don’t worry, Cyndi,” a voice calls out from the crowd, and we all turn to see Bethany stepping forward, her dress of autumn colors flowing softly around her. “I can help you.”

Cyndi blinks in surprise as Bethany moves closer, her expression full of quiet determination.

“I can help, too,” says Daniel, Bethany’s brother, stepping up beside her.

“And me,” adds Matthew Jones, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by a surprising confidence.

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I watch the group come together.

The tension in the room eases as the four teenagers exchange awkward smiles and nods. There’s something unexpectedly heartwarming about the sight, and I find myself wondering what kind of teenage romantic drama might emerge from this little group.

Cyndi’s lips tremble, but this time it’s not from anger or tears.

She takes a shaky breath, nodding as a small, tentative smile breaks through her haughty facade.

“Okay,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

The four of them turn and walk off together, the beginnings of what I hope will be a solid friendship forming in their wake.

Sans magical tea and cupcakes, of course.

“Hopefully, that’s exactly what they all need,” I whisper, watching them disappear into the crowd.

Wulfy’s warm hand finds mine, and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmurs, his golden eyes glowing faintly as he looks at me.

I glance up at him, my heart still pounding, and offer a wry smile.

“Let’s see if you still think that after you’re stuck grading Cyndi’s homework with me.”

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

“Deal.”

“Does this mean we get two principals if Professor Dora marries Principal Tremayne?” one student blurts.

“No! She’ll be our Step-Principal,” another corrects and by now Wulfy and I are laughing out loud.

“Oh gross, they’re kissing!”

And we were. But it was far from gross.

“Alright, alright. Nothing to see here. If you’re not trying on the slippers, go enjoy the ball!” Agatha shouts and starts directing traffic away from where Wulfy and I are embracing.

We haven’t moved yet an inch.

We just stand there and kiss in front of the entire town, it seems like.

Then he lifts his head, gold eyes blazing, and I know he’s about to ask me something.

“Well?”

He arches one ridiculously sexy eyebrow, and I know what he is thinking.

Still, I pause.

Being the professor of Moral and Ethics at the Academy, I feel the need to reflect on my own behaviors more often than not.

Being truthful and treating others with respect are my two main biggies. So, pushing my own fears aside.

I go for broke.

“Ever since you walked through the doors of this Academy, I have felt something for you, Wulfy.”

“Yeah?” He grins, stepping closer and I nod.

“Yeah,” I reply.

“Does this mean you accept my claim? You’ll be my mate?”

“Well, I suppose I can—yes, oh, yes,” I say, not even pretending to think it over.

He pulls me tight and wraps his arms around me, twirling me around until I start to get dizzy.

“Let’s go home, my Dora! I can’t wait another second for you to wear my bite.”

He kisses my lips, soft at first, then deep and consuming, stealing the breath right out of my lungs.

But before I can fully lose myself in him—in the warmth of his mouth, the delicious scrape of his scruff against my skin—he pulls back, ending it far too soon for my liking.

I whimper at the loss, my lips tingling, and my heart pounding like it’s trying to escape my chest.

“Home. Now,” he growls, his deep voice sending a shiver straight through me.

I feel him pulse against my belly, and my brain short-circuits.

Every coherent thought evaporates into the ether, leaving only one clear, undeniable fact.

I want him. Desperately.

“I can do that,” I manage to reply, my voice breathy and just a little wobbly.

And then, because I apparently have no shame, I wiggle my nose.

What can I say? I teach moral use of magic for a living.

I’m practically the poster child for ethical spellcasting.

But sometimes? Just sometimes?

A little personal gain doesn’t hurt.

As I call on my powers, the familiar hum of magic sparking to life around me, I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction.

Wulfy’s eyes darken, his gaze locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

The ballroom fades away in a swirl of blue light, the hum of conversation and laughter replaced by the quiet intimacy of a bedroom.

His—soon to be our—bedroom.

It’s warm and inviting, the soft glow of candlelight casting long shadows across the dark wood furniture. The bed— large, sturdy, and entirely too tempting —sits in the center of the room, draped in deep, forest-green linens that look far too inviting.

Wulfy wastes no time. The second our feet touch the ground, his arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against his chest.

His lips crash into mine, all heat and urgency, and my knees nearly buckle from the sheer intensity of it.

His growl rumbles through me, low and possessive, as his hands grip my waist like he’s afraid I might disappear.

“You’re trouble, Sweet Witch,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough and deliciously dark.

I grin, threading my fingers through his hair and tugging just enough to make him growl again. “And you love it.”

“I love you, Madora. My mate,” he says, his response is immediate.

Wulfy’s lips claiming mine in a kiss that leaves no room for argument. And as his hands roam, his touch igniting every nerve ending in my body, I can’t help but think that sometimes—just sometimes—being wicked is absolutely worth it.