Page 6 of The Artsy Girl’s Guide to Mating with a Werewolf (Mate Hunted #2)

five

GRAHAM

Stella’s wolf stood watch while I set up her business equipment carefully. The printing and shipping stuff went in one of my spare bedrooms. The painting stuff went in the other. I didn’t need the space, so she might as well get some use out of it.

Assuming she stuck around after she shifted back.

Her wolf seemed to have warmed up to me and mine, but that didn’t mean anything as far as the woman went. I still didn’t know what she’d been through to make her reject her last mate, and there was no way to ask her.

After a few days of hanging out at the house and running wild in the forest, her wolf finally agreed to going to work with me.

She stayed at my side while I chatted with and coached other werewolves through their shifts.

Though she grumbled about it occasionally, I noticed frequently that she was watching and listening closely.

Hopefully, she and her human were taking the lesson to heart. Their shift had been pretty fast for your average werewolf, but it had looked hellishly painful.

A few days turned into a few weeks. Snow dusted the forest a couple times, but melted quickly.

Christmas came and went. I had to bring Furball to my uncle’s house to prove that Stella was legitimately stuck in wolf form.

Hopefully, Moon Ridge’s connections to the university would come through and let her keep her job.

I was starting to wonder if Furball would ever be comfortable enough to bite me, honestly. My own wolf’s hunt had been pretty short, only around a week.

I had no choice but to trust the process. Even if it had already fucked me over once.

Regardless of the past, I had to hope Stella and I could make something real and solid. Or at least agree to be friends for our wolves’ sakes.

Because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let Furball go.

I hadn’t even had a conversation with the woman within her yet, but I was already attached. As dangerous as that was, there was no way around it.

But the longer it took, the more I started to think that if fate fucked me over twice, I might not make it through again.