Page 6

Ruby

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Percy murmurs, eyes still closed, one arm draped possessively across my waist. “I can practically hear the self-recrimination.”

I poke his side. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m mentally drafting a scathing letter for next week’s Gazette about predator discrimination in urban planning.”

He cracks one eye open, his mouth curving into that infuriating half-smile. “At two in the morning? After three orgasms? I’m offended.”

“Four,” I correct with a smirk. “That thing you did in the shower definitely counted.”

“Ah, yes.” His smile widens to showcase those tusks I’ve become intimately acquainted with. “The thing with the—”

“Yes, that.” I cut him off, heat rising to my cheeks despite everything we’ve done. “Very… innovative use of bathroom fixtures.”

He laughs, the sound rumbling pleasantly against my side where our bodies touch. “High praise from Ruby Wolfhart, wolf rights advocate and apparent shower sex connoisseur.”

“I contain multitudes.” I stretch languidly, enjoying how his eyes track the movement. “Don’t stereotype me, Porkwell.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His hand traces lazy patterns through my hair. “You’ve shattered every preconception I had about wolves tonight.”

“Likewise, about pigs.” I roll onto my side to face him properly. “Though I maintain your family’s business practices are morally bankrupt.”

“Fair.” He doesn’t even argue, which surprises me. “Hamilton’s vision for the company is… problematic.”

“Problematic?” I arch an eyebrow. “That’s like calling a forest fire a ‘friendly breeze.’”

Percy sighs, his expression growing serious. “My grandfather built homes. Simple ones, sustainable ones. My father expanded, but maintained some principles. Hamilton just sees profit margins and legacy.”

I study his face in the dim light. “And what do you see?”

“Balance.” His eyes meet mine. “I see the potential for development that respects what came before. Buildings that complement landscapes instead of obliterating them. Communities where different species coexist instead of…” He gestures vaguely between us. “Whatever the opposite of this is.”

“Mutual hostility and public character assassination?” I suggest helpfully.

“Exactly,” he chuckles, then sobers. “The Wolfstone plans I showed you aren’t approved by the board yet. Hamilton will fight them.”

I prop myself up on one elbow. “So why bother re-designing?”

“Because they’re better.” Percy’s voice holds conviction. “Better for the land, better for the community, better for long-term sustainability. And because a very passionate wolf with stunning amber eyes and beautiful red hair wrote an article that made me question certain assumptions.”

Something warm unfurls in my chest at his words. “You read my article and decided to redesign an entire development project?”

“I read your article, got really angry, hiked out to Wolfstone to prove you wrong, and ended up sitting by the water until dawn watching a wolf family teaching pups to fish.” His expression softens at the memory.

“They were so… joyful. Free, in a way you never see with wolves in the city. I went back to the office and started redesigning that same day.”

I’m momentarily speechless. The image of Percy—privileged, powerful Percy Porkwell—sitting alone by the creek, watching my people in their natural element, challenges everything I thought I knew about him.

“That might have been my cousin’s family,” I say quietly. “Mara and her mate had five pups this season.”

Percy’s eyes widen. “They’re beautiful. The pups have this way of pouncing that’s—”

“Like they’re spring-loaded?” I finish, smiling despite myself. “Wolf pups do that until they’re about a year old. It’s how they practice hunting.”

“What else?” Percy asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. “I saw one of the adults—the father, I think—howling while the others hunted. He stayed on this rocky outcrop the whole time.”

“That’s the watcher,” I explain, surprised by his observation. “In traditional packs, we always leave one wolf to guard the territory and signal if there’s danger. My great-uncle was our pack’s watcher for twenty years. It’s considered an honour—the most trusted position.”

“But don’t they miss the hunt?” Percy’s brow furrows. “Seems lonely.”

“It’s not about the individual, it’s about the pack,” I say, realizing how different this mindset must be from the individualistic pig culture.

“When the hunt returns, the watcher gets the second choice of meat, right after the nursing mothers. And during the Moonhowl ceremony, the watcher leads the first call.”

Percy looks thoughtful. “I like that there’s recognition for sacrifice. In my family, sacrifice is expected but rarely acknowledged.”

We share a moment of surprising connection, and I realize we’re having a genuine conversation about wolf culture without the usual political tension or species awkwardness of a public forum.

The usual posturing has given way to an open and honest conversation, and I find Percy is not really who I thought he was.

I’m starting to trust that he’s being genuine—and it’s throwing me off more than I care to admit.

“So what happens now?” I ask, addressing the question we’ve both been avoiding. “With Wolfstone? With… this?” I gesture between our naked bodies.

Percy takes my hand in his, examining our intertwined digits thoughtfully. “Professionally? I’ll present my alternative plans to the board next week. They’ll hate them. I’ll fight for them, anyway.”

“And if you lose?”

His eyes meet mine, steady and determined. “Then I resign as chief architect and blow the whistle on some questionable environmental practices Hamilton would prefer to stay buried.”

I stare at him, shocked. “You’d tank your family business? Your inheritance?”

“I’d force it to be better.” He shrugs. “Besides, Prescott’s tech division is the real money-maker now, anyway. Construction is practically Hamilton’s vanity project at this point. He would never allow me to leave. He’d agree just to keep me on board.”

A few hours ago, I wanted to eviscerate this male. Now… I’m in bed with him, plotting to overturn the Wolfstone project. I’ve definitely lost my marbles.

“And…” I hesitate, surprised by how much I care about the answer, “What about this? Maybe we just… pretend it never happened?”

Percy’s expression softens. “That depends. How do you feel about secret rendezvous and scandalous inter-species dating?”

“Dating?” I repeat, the idea oddly thrilling. “Bold of you to assume this wasn’t just a heat-induced lapse in judgment.”

He moves closer, his nose nuzzling my neck, making my pulse quicken. “Your heat explains the sex, Ruby. But not why you chose me, not why you are still here.”

He’s right, damn him.

There are plenty of eligible wolves I could have sought out to satisfy my biological urges. Hell, even other prey species would make more sense than a Porkwell.

“Maybe I just wanted intel on my enemy,” I deflect.

“Or maybe…” His voice is low and serious. “That underneath all the species politics and the family legacies, there’s something real here. Something worth exploring.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes my chest tight. It would be easier if this were just physical—a forbidden fling, a heat-driven mistake. Instead, I’m lying here having genuine feelings for a pig who understands wolf pup behavior and redesigns construction projects because of my articles.

“My pack would disown me,” I murmur.

The truth is more complicated. My Alpha would see any connection to Porkwell as betrayal, especially after her daughter lost her den in the Riverside development.

The elders would question my loyalty, my judgment.

And Grayson, who’s been trying to court me for the past year, would use it as proof that I’m “contaminated by city thinking.”

“My brother would have an actual heart attack.” Percy counters. “Though that might be a net positive for wolf-kind.”

I laugh despite myself. “We’re insane for even discussing this.”

“Completely.” He grins. “Though I have always found sanity to be overrated.”

His phone pings from the nightstand, and we both jump. Percy reaches for it, glancing at the screen.

“Prescott,” he explains. “His conference ended early. He’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”

Reality intrudes on our bubble. I should feel relieved—an easy out, a return to normalcy. Instead, disappointment washes over me.

“I should go,” I say reluctantly, making no move to leave the warm comfort of his bed.

“Or,” Percy counters, setting the phone aside, “You could stay until morning. Have breakfast with me. Help me prepare for the board meeting. We could go through your research and strengthen my proposal.”

“Professional collaboration. At your dining table. Naked.” I narrow my eyes suspiciously.

“Clothing optional, but recommended for pancake preparation.” His smile is infectious. “Safety first.”

I shouldn’t say yes. I have countless reasons to put distance between myself and Percy Porkwell. But if there’s a chance I can add my ideas to the project and make it better…

“Do you have blueberries?” I ask instead. “For the pancakes.”

His smile widens. “I’ll have groceries delivered at nine. With blueberries. And that fair-trade coffee you mentioned liking in your interview with Shiftown Public Radio last month.”

“You listened to that?” I’m genuinely surprised.

“I make it a point to study my opponents thoroughly.” His fingers trace the curve of my hip appreciatively. “Though I clearly missed some key details.”

I should be creeped out.

Instead, I’m charmed.

What is happening to me?

Who even am I, lying in bed with a Porkwell, discussing dating and development plans like I’m not the same wolf who led a protest outside his office just last week?

“I suppose I could stay,” I concede, as if doing him a favor. “For research purposes.”

“Of course.” He nods solemnly, though his eyes dance with amusement. “Purely professional.”

“Exactly.” I settle back against his pillows. “And I’ll need your personal cell number. For Wolfstone updates.”

“Already programmed it into your phone. Under ‘Devious Bacon.’”

I gasp in mock outrage. “You went through my phone?”

“It was unlocked.” He doesn’t look remotely sorry.

I should be mad. Instead, I curl against his side, my head finding the surprisingly perfect spot on his shoulder. “We’re going to complicate each other’s lives terribly, you know.”

“Worth it,” he murmurs into my hair. “Some complications are worth having.”

The intimacy is alarming yet thrilling, and I’m unsure how we got here or what happens next. Passionate, frenetic, exhausting—I expected that. But this quiet, tender aftermath? This is entirely new territory.

“I should warn you,” I say, as much to myself as Percy, “I’m terrible at relationships. Especially ones that involve secrecy, controversial politics, and inter-species scandal.”

He makes a low, contented sound, the vibrations sinking into my bones. “Good thing I’m excellent at all those things.”

I bite back a smile. “And so modest, too.”

“You know,” he says, his voice growing sleepy but still full of quiet conviction, “I’ve never met anyone who challenges me the way you do, Ruby. I didn’t expect to… like it so much.”

“Don’t like it too much,” I warn. “I reserve the right to go back to hating you in the morning.”

“Noted.”

Then his breathing deepens, and I realize that this reckless, infuriating male has actually fallen asleep. I’m glad one of us is at peace with the situation. I stare at the ceiling, wide awake.

My mind won’t shut up—replaying every little detail, every touch, every moan.

What the hell was I thinking?

I slip out from under his arm as carefully as I can manage. He shifts slightly but doesn’t wake. It’s tempting to curl back into his warmth and worry about everything later, but that’s how I ended up here in the first place.

I grab my clothes and head to his office. Scribbling my note on a Post-it, I stick it on the model.

“If you remove all the buildings and man-made structures, you might be getting closer to what I had in mind.”

— R

Then, just as I’m about to leave, I see Hamilton’s room. He’s left the door open and I know it’s his by the austere, immaculate decor, and the precise nature to which everything is organized.

I have a terrible idea. A fabulous, terrible idea.

I wander into his room and shift the stapler on his desk an inch to the left, then I remove a single book from his shelf and lay it sideways on top of the row, and finally I climb into his massive king size bed and roll around like a lunatic.

He thinks I smell like a kennel—then let him sleep in it. Arrogant bastard.

With a smirk, I let myself out of the penthouse apartment.

The crisp morning air fills my lungs as I hit the street.

I keep my pace brisk, ignoring the tiny pang of regret about those thousand-thread-count sheets and pancakes… definitely the pancakes and not Percy Porkwell.

I take a deep breath.

Worst case, I’ve got intel for my anti-Porkwell campaigns. Best case, there’s hope for Wolfstone and whatever strange, impossible thing is happening between Percy and me.

I smile to myself, imagining Hamilton’s face when he finds my scent in his pristine space. Serves him right.

Maybe I haven’t lost all my marbles after all.