Page 14

Ruby

I stride into the Porkwell penthouse with a swagger that completely belies my inner turmoil.

Three little pigs.

I’ve been fantasizing about three goddamn pigs. The universe has a sick sense of humor sometimes.

But no more.

No more being distracted by the way Hamilton’s voice drops when he’s making a point. By the playful spark in Prescott’s eyes, by the genuine passion in Percy’s face as he talks about his designs.

“Working with the land,”—as if Wolfstone needed the help of a pig.

My wolf is still restless. She doesn’t understand the complications, the politics. She just knows that Wolfstone is home. That it’s where my grandmother shifted for the first time, where my mother taught me to hunt, where our pack has gathered for centuries.

And she knows something else I’m trying desperately to ignore: those three brothers smell good. Really good; like, stop in your tracks and savour it, good.

And not the “good” you’d expect from a wolf’s assessment. I’m not talking about the appetizing aroma of bacon sizzling in a pan—though there’s a twisted irony there I’m refusing to examine. No, this is the ridiculous, biology-betraying, make-me-want-to-howl-at-inappropriate-moments kind of good.

Of all the males in all the species in all of Shiftown, I had to get the hots for pigs.

PIGS.

Not even one pig—which would be embarrassing enough—but THREE.

The Brothers Pork. The Swine Squad. The Hamazing Trio.

Maybe it’s just my heat.

Another lie.

I push those thoughts aside as I put on my game-face, although I’m not as confident as I’m pretending to be.

Part of me still can’t believe I’m doing this—inviting three Porkwell brothers into the heart of wolf territory. But if there’s even a chance that seeing Wolfstone through my eyes could change their minds, I have to try.

The land is worth the risk.

Worth the discomfort.

I’ve spent the night rehearsing my speech about fifteen different ways and buzzing with wolf energy. I’m still in yesterday’s clothes—jeans and a tee that smells faintly of last night’s anxiety sweat.

Not exactly power-dressing, but I don’t need designer labels to make a statement.

I pause, inhaling deeply. The mingled scents of the three brothers hit me.

My body betrays me with immediate, visceral reactions to their scents.

Percy’s earthy aroma makes my chest tighten with something dangerously close to yearning.

Hamilton’s dominant, powerful scent triggers a flush of heat that races from my neck to my core.

My body remembering exactly what happened in that stairwell.

And Prescott’s clean smell brings a strange comfort I’m not ready to examine.

I force my breathing to steady, my heartbeat to slow. This isn’t about attraction or the confusing tangle of feelings I have for these three brothers. This is about Wolfstone.

Focus, Ruby.

Prescott’s text from last night burns in my pocket: “Cleared schedules. All at the penthouse tomorrow morning. Now’s your chance.”

The tech-savvy pig might be my surprising ally in this mess, though I’m still suspicious about his motivations.

Never trust pig-bearing gifts and all that.

The sound of voices leads me through a hallway lined with architectural awards—all with Percy’s name engraved in gold—and into their sprawling living room. Three heads turn in unison as I appear.

“Good morning, gentlemales,” I announce, my voice ringing with false cheer. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

Hamilton, mid-sip of what smells like black coffee, nearly chokes. “What the—” he slams his mug down on the glass table. “How did you get up here?”

He then looks at Prescot, who’s suddenly very interested in his laptop.

I shrug, “Not important.”

Hamilton growls, standing up from his leather throne of a chair. His tailored suit hugs his body in ways that remind me too vividly of our stairwell encounter.

Not the time, Ruby.

Percy, lounging on the kitchen aisle, still wearing only boxers—looks more amused than alarmed. “Ruby. To what do we owe this unexpected house call?”

Prescott, perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, laptop open in front of him, gives me the smallest nod. His face betrays nothing, but his eyes hold a hint of conspiracy.

“I’m here to make an announcement,” I declare, planting myself in the center of their ridiculously plush area rug, hands on my hips. “We’re going on a field trip.”

Hamilton barks out a laugh. “We’re what now?”

“A field trip. Tomorrow morning. Two days. Wolfstone. All three of you.”

“Absolutely not,” Hamilton says, his voice hard and flat.

“I wasn’t asking, Hamilton,” I say, meeting his glare with one of my own. “You three are planning to bulldoze and develop land you’ve never even properly seen, except for Percy. Land that’s been part of my pack’s territory for generations.”

“I’ve seen the land,” Hamilton replies, “Aerial surveys, topographical maps, environmental impact—”

“Not the same thing,” I cut him off. “You haven’t smelled the air after a rainstorm.

You haven’t heard the creeks that run through the eastern ridge.

You haven’t seen the caves where generations of wolf pups have been born.

” My voice cracks slightly on that last part, and I hate the vulnerability, but it’s the goddamn truth.

“Ms. Wolfhart,” Hamilton says, stepping closer, a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Porkwell Corp. doesn’t make multi-million dollar decisions based on—what was it?—smelling raindrops and looking at puppies.”

I step toward him until we’re just inches apart. The memory of his body pressed against mine in that stairwell flashes through my mind, and I push it away violently. “That’s exactly my point, Hamilton. You’re making decisions based on spreadsheets and profit margins, not reality.”

“Business is reality,” he says, his breath hot on my face. “And progress doesn’t stop for fairy tales, no matter how noble they sound.”

“If you genuinely believe that destroying ancient wolf habitats for luxury condos constitutes ‘progress,’ then you need this field trip more than I thought.”

Percy clears his throat, breaking the tension. “I’m actually not opposed to seeing the land up close again,” he says, earning a death glare from Hamilton. “Could be valuable for design inspiration, really getting a feel for the landscape.”

“Are you serious?” Hamilton turns on his brother. “We have deadlines, Percy. Board meetings. Investors waiting.”

Prescott finally speaks up, closing his laptop with a soft click. “Actually, I’ve already cleared our schedules for the next few days.”

Hamilton whips around so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t pull something. “You what?”

“Well, it seemed reasonable,” Prescott says with practiced nonchalance. “You’re always talking about due diligence, Hamilton. This is just ‘on-site’ due diligence.”

The vein throbbing in Hamilton’s forehead looks ready to burst.

I bite back a grin.

“When exactly did you clear our schedules?” Hamilton demands, stalking toward his younger brother.

Prescott shrugs. “This morning. Rescheduled the Bennett meeting to next week—they were happy to accommodate. Pushed the zoning committee call to Monday. He adjusts his glasses. “Nothing that couldn’t wait.”

“And you didn’t think to consult me?” Hamilton’s voice has gone dangerously quiet.

“I consulted the efficiency algorithms I’ve been developing,” Prescott replies. “They suggested a 43% increase in decision-making clarity following direct site exposure.”

I can’t help it—I snort. Prescott’s bullshitting him with tech jargon, and it’s glorious to watch.

Hamilton turns back to me, eyes narrowed. “This is coordinated. You two planned this.”

“Planned is a strong word,” I say, examining my nails casually. “Let’s call it… synchronized interests.”

Percy stands up, stretching. “I think it’s a great idea. How often do we get to take a couple of days away from the office? Plus, I’ve been wanting to sketch some of the natural formations out there.”

“It’s not a vacation, Percy,” Hamilton snaps.

“No,” I agree, my voice hardening. “It’s not. It’s your education. Because if you’re going to destroy something, you should at least understand what you’re destroying.”

“We’re not ‘destroying’ anything,” Hamilton says, making air quotes. “We’re developing. Creating. Building. That’s what Porkwell’s do.”

“And wolves protect their territory,” I counter. “That’s what we do. So either come see what you’re so eager to pave over, or admit you don’t actually care what you’re doing to an entire community.”

Hamilton goes quiet, his jaw working as he considers his options. I can almost see the calculations running behind his eyes—how this looks to his brothers, how refusing might be perceived as indifference or worse, weakness.

“Two days,” he finally says. “No more. And we’re not camping.”

I laugh. “Oh, Hamilton. Of course not. We’re staying at my grandmother’s cottage.”

“Absolutely not.”

“There are no five-star hotels in the middle of Wolfstone Preserve,” I point out. “But don’t worry—I’ve got everything arranged.”

I spent half the night stocking food that would satisfy both wolf appetites and pig palates with lightweight packs with extra water (pigs dehydrate faster than wolves in the woods), and trail maps marked with rest stops every mile or so.

Hamilton would rather die than admit weakness, but I know the difference between city fit and forest fit.

These pampered pigs would need breaks, whether they wanted them or not.

I warned the rest of the pack to stay clear of our route, though, Alpha Thorncrest wasn’t happy about “those bacon bits trespassing on sacred ground.” I’d had to promise this was necessary for them to understand what they were destroying.

“Just be prepared for a five-mile trek before we get there. You just need to bring yourselves and maybe a change of clothes. Though I’d recommend something other than Armani.” I gesture to his perfectly tailored suit.

“This is Brioni, not Armani,” Hamilton corrects automatically, then looks annoyed at himself for engaging.

Percy claps his hands together. “Sounds fun! It’ll be just like college. Remember that trip to Lake Oakwood, Ham?”

Hamilton growls.

“I’ve never been hiking,” Prescott says quietly, looking both intrigued and mildly terrified.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “Bring extra bug spray and wear comfortable hiking boots.”

“Wait,” Hamilton says, holding up a hand.

“I want to be crystal clear about what this little… excursion… is supposed to accomplish. Are you under the impression that if we see some pretty trees and your wolf relatives frolicking in meadows, we’re going to abandon a development project worth millions? ”

I meet his gaze steadily. “I’m under the impression that if you see what you’re about to destroy, you might reconsider how you’re destroying it.”

“Developing,” he corrects.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I shrug.

“Look, I’m not na?ve. I know development happens.

But there are ways to build that will respect the land and the creatures who already live there.

If you’re as brilliant of a businessman as everyone says, surely you can figure out how to make money without obliterating an ecosystem. ”

Something shifts in Hamilton’s expression—just for a second, but I catch it. A flicker of… what? Respect? Curiosity? Whatever it is, it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Fine,” he says brusquely. “Two days. We’ll see your precious wilderness. But this changes nothing about our plans.”

“We’ll see,” I say, unable to keep the smugness from my voice. “Meet me at the north trailhead tomorrow at 5 AM. Dress comfortably, and maybe try to leave the attitude in the city.”

“I’ll bring the attitude for free,” Hamilton says with a tight smile.

Percy groans. “Please tell me 5 AM is a joke. No one should be conscious at that hour.”

“Early bird gets the worm,” I say with mock cheerfulness. “Or in this case, early wolf gets the… pig.”

Hamilton’s eyes narrow at the implied threat, though I meant it in jest.

Mostly.

“I’ll prepare the equipment requirements,” Prescott says, already typing something into his phone.

“Don’t bother,” I tell him. “Just bring yourselves and clothes you won’t mind getting dirty.”

“I don’t own clothes that I don’t mind getting dirty,” Hamilton mutters.

“Then buy some,” I suggest sweetly. “I hear they sell them at the Porkwell Mall.”

Percy laughs, earning another glare from Hamilton.

“One last thing,” I say, walking backward toward the exit. “No phones.” Before the inevitable protests can start, I continue, “You can bring them for emergencies, but there’s no reception out there, anyway. This is about experiencing the land, not checking your email.”

I reach the foyer, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. “5 AM. North trailhead. Don’t be late.”

I step into the elevator before any of them can raise more objections.

As the doors slide closed, I catch one last glimpse of the three brothers: Percy looking mildly amused, Prescott already typing furiously on his phone (probably researching hiking sites), and Hamilton standing with his arms crossed, looking like he’s plotting my slow and painful demise.

Perfect.

Operation “Make Three Not-So-Little Pigs See the Forest,” is officially underway.