Page 9

Ruby

I burst through the glass doors of Porkwell Offices like I’m leading a one-wolf invasion.

Which, technically, I am.

My claws click against the polished marble floor—metaphorically speaking, since I’m unfortunately in human form and wearing my battle boots instead.

The receptionist’s eyes widen as I march past her desk, my fangs practically bared.

Okay, so my actual human teeth aren’t that impressive, but the snarl on my face must be doing the job because she doesn’t even try to stop me.

“Miss! You can’t just—” she calls after me, but I’m already halfway to the elevator, jabbing the up button with enough force to potentially break it.

“Watch me,” I mutter, stepping inside when the doors slide open with an annoyingly cheerful ding. I punch the button for the top floor. Executive suite. Where pigs in suits plot to destroy my pack’s ancestral lands while sipping twelve-dollar coffee.

The elevator whooshes upward, and I use the thirty seconds to gather my thoughts.

The plans I found in Percy’s apartment, the overheard conversation with Hamilton, the ridiculous post-sex promises that were probably just Percy’s way of getting me to stop barking about environmental impact studies.

Well, they’re about to face the full fury of Ruby Wolfhart, conservation warrior and defender of Wolfstone.

And, yes, the same Ruby Wolfhart who slept with one of them less than forty-eight hours ago.

The elevator doors slide open to another reception area, this one sleeker, with abstract art of geometric shapes a toddler could create. The receptionist here—different from downstairs, blonde and polished within an inch of her life—stands immediately.

“Excuse me, do you have an appointment with—”

“Ruby Wolfhart. Tell them I’m here for the meeting.”

“I don’t see a Ruby Wolfhart in the calendar.” She squints at her computer screen, perfectly manicured nails clicking against the keyboard.

“It’s an emergency meeting. About Wolfstone.” I lean forward, dropping my voice. “You might want to tell them I’m here before I decide to make a scene. I’m known for being quite… vocal.”

Her eyes dart to the phone, then back to me. “One moment, please.”

While she makes the call, I notice the three distinct office spaces branching off from this central area. Each door has a name: Hamilton Porkwell, CEO. Prescott Porkwell, CTO. Percy Porkwell, CMO and Chief Architect. Of course they each need their own executive suites.

The receptionist hangs up. “Mr. Hamilton says they’re in a meeting and cannot be disturbed right now. He suggests scheduling something for next week.”

I snort. “Perfect. Then they’re all in one place.”

Before she can stop me, I stride toward the large glass-walled conference room at the end of the hall. Through the transparent walls, I can see all three brothers huddled around a table covered with blueprints and a scale model that I immediately recognize as Wolfstone.

My hackles rise.

I push open the door with enough force that it hits the wall with a satisfying bang. Three pork-faced heads swivel toward me in perfect synchronicity. It would be comical if I weren’t so furious.

“Gentlemales,” I say, crossing my arms. “Let’s talk about Wolfstone, shall we?”

Hamilton is the first to recover, his heavy brow furrowing as he straightens to his full height. In his black suit and power tie, he looks every bit the corporate predator.

“Ms. Wolfhart,” he says, voice cold. “This is a private meeting. I believe my assistant informed you that we’re not available.”

“Funny thing about wolves,” I reply, stepping closer to the table. “We’re terrible at taking orders from pigs.”

Percy—standing to Hamilton’s right—looks caught between embarrassment and genuine pleasure at seeing me.

His dress shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, and his expression softens when our eyes meet. For a split second, I remember the feeling of his hands on my skin, and I hate my body for the involuntary flush that follows.

“Ruby,” he says, my name sounding different in his mouth than it did when he was whispering it against my neck. “I didn’t expect to see you until Friday’s community forum.”

“I bet you didn’t.”

The third brother, Prescott—known to most as Scott—stands with a subtle bounce in his step. Unlike his siblings, his delight at the interruption is evident. His thick-rimmed glasses and slightly rumpled t-shirt lend him the dishevelled tech-genius vibe that’s charmingly him.

“Ruby, it’s great to see you again,” he says warmly, moving around the table with a friendly smile. “I’ve heard you’re still keeping my brothers on their toes with your wolf conservation work.”

His enthusiasm is contagious, and I can’t help but smile back as I shake his hand. “It’s good to see you too, Scott. How’s the tech world treating you these days?”

“Busy as ever,” he replies, a hint of modesty in his tone.

“I’m handling the tech side—sustainable energy systems, smart home integration, zero-carbon footprint tracking.

You know, the ‘boring’ stuff no one notices until the eco-toilet stops working.

” He gestures toward his brothers with a playful eye roll.

Hamilton clears his throat loudly. “If you’re quite finished, Scott, perhaps Ms. Wolfhart could explain why she’s barging into a private meeting?”

I refocus on why I came here, eyes narrowing as I step toward the model on the table. It’s elaborate—showing the entire valley, the creek meandering through it, the hills where my pack runs during full moons, all rendered in perfect miniature.

“I’m here because I found these.” I pull out my phone, scrolling to photos I took of Percy’s plans.

“Security measures specifically designed to keep wolves out of their own territory? Anti-prey fencing with shock capabilities and silver? Motion sensors that emit high-frequency sounds only canids can hear?” I look at each brother in turn.

“It’s not just development. It’s targeted biological warfare against my species and other predator shifters. ”

Hamilton doesn’t even blink. “It’s standard security for a luxury development. We have a duty to protect our residents.”

“From what? Wolves who have lived there peacefully for generations? Wolves who only want to preserve their ancestral lands?” My voice rises with each question.

“From any potential threat,” Hamilton says smoothly. “Our buyers expect certain… assurances.”

Percy steps forward, gesturing to the model. “Ruby, look, I’ve actually made significant changes since we… since our discussion. I’ve expanded the green corridor here and preserved this entire section for wildlife passage.”

I glance at the model where he’s pointing. It’s a marginal improvement, sure, but it’s like saying “I’ll only cut off four of your fingers instead of all five, aren’t I generous?”

“The sacred howling rock is right in the middle of your golf course, Percy.”

He winces. “I’ve actually designed the course around it. It becomes a feature, see? We’re marketing it as embracing the natural landscape and honouring the area’s heritage.”

“By building putting greens around a spiritual site?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “That’s not honouring anything. That’s commodifying it.”

Prescott—Scott—clears his throat. “For what it’s worth, I’ve designed some pretty cool tech that might help. Automated systems that go quiet during full moons, wildlife corridors with heat-signature recognition to avoid potential hazards…”

I whirl on him. “So you’re helping them, too? I thought you weren’t involved in the development side.”

“I’m not.” He shrugs. “I just provide solutions when they ask for them. Makes the whole project more environmentally friendly.”

“There’s nothing environmentally friendly about destroying natural habitat,” I snap.

“We’re preserving over 40% of the land,” Percy counters.

“The 40% that’s too steep to build on anyway,” I fire back.

“What about the old-growth cedar groves along the eastern ridge? Those trees are over 300 years old and provide critical nesting habitat for the endangered spotted owl. Your plans run a road right through them. And the wetland system at the base of the valley? It filters groundwater for the entire watershed. Your golf course will require chemical treatments that’ll destroy the natural filtration and leach into the creek—which, by the way, is one of the last natural breeding grounds for the silver-backed trout. ”

I gesture emphatically at their model. “This isn’t just about wolves. It’s about an entire ecosystem that took centuries to establish and will be gone forever in a matter of months if your bulldozers have their way.”

Hamilton steps forward, his massive frame looming. “Ms. Wolfhart, let’s cut to the chase. Wolfstone is happening. The land has been purchased, permits secured, and construction begins next month. Your little protests and community forums are charming, but ultimately futile.”

The dismissive tone in his voice makes something primitive stir inside me. I take a step closer, invading his personal space.

“Nothing is happening until the environmental impact assessment is complete,” I growl. “And your current plans will never pass, mister.”

“The assessment is a formality,” Hamilton smirks. “One we have well in hand.”

“Are you implying that you’ve rigged the assessment?” I ask, voice dangerously quiet.

“I’m stating that we understand how the system works better than you do.” His eyes—dark brown, unlike Percy’s lighter hazel—hold mine without flinching. “This is business, Ms. Wolfhart. Not a nature documentary.”

“Our lands are not for sale!”

“They have already been sold.” Hamilton’s smile is smug, victorious. “Several times over, in fact. Once to the original developers fifty years ago, then to the county when they defaulted, and now to us. Your pack’s emotional attachment to the land, while touching, doesn’t change property law.”