Page 5 of Wishing for a Werewolf (Ferndale Falls Forever #2)

Rune

I lope through the evening forest, the heavy tree canopy darkening the last bit of the day’s light into early night.

But it offers little deterrent to my keen fae eyes as I vault a clump of ferns and dodge a wide rhododendron.

Fallen leaves crackle beneath my feet, and tiny pulses of magic shiver up from the ground with every footfall.

Having grown up in a magic-soaked realm of Faerie, I relish each touch.

Magic on Earth is still weak in comparison but grows a little every day.

Rabbit scents the air, and I’m tempted to shift to my wolf form and hunt as I have for my entire life.

Yet that’s the opposite of my reason for moving to Earth.

After being stuck in our animal forms for generations while the doors of Faerie were closed, my people are unfamiliar with our other shifted forms. As pack protector, I volunteered to create a place where my people can learn to fully embrace our fae and werewolf forms, and there’s no better place to do that than here, among humans.

Therefore, I will eat cooked food like a man tonight.

Instead of taking the direct route to town, I curve south and stop by the Wishing Well.

I circle the stone base, running my fingers along the edges of the wooden roof.

Leaning over the opening, I drop a penny and say, “I wish my shirt would turn orange.” My only answer is the splash of disturbed water below, the color of my shirt unchanged.

It’s as I thought—there’s no magic here.

Or at least there isn’t without Autumn’s presence.

What has she done to me? On the one hand, I’m glad I finally spoke to the enchanting woman, but I never wanted it to be because the fiery little witch bespelled me!

With a grunt, I take off running again, angling for town.

Even in my fae form, I can run for miles and miles like this, so I’m not even breathing hard by the time buildings come into view.

On the northern side of Ferndale Falls, downtown butts up against the forest, and I cut past the library to find myself at the end of Main Street.

The town green opens up before me, a rectangular garden surrounded by fanciful-colored shops. Streetlights and the bright windows of the stores light the sidewalks, where humans and fae amble side-by-side, smiling and calling greetings.

The shadow fae, ever the experts at illusions and glamour, cast a protection spell over the town.

Witches and humans welcoming of magic can see fae for what we truly are.

All others see nothing but normal humans when they look at us.

Even pictures and videos captured on their recording devices won’t show the truth.

I could shift into my werewolf form and stride down the street, and no one would notice.

If I turned full wolf, most people would see only a very large dog.

I’d have to be careful not to speak in my wolf form, though, which I find irritatingly limiting.

All the more reason to practice my bipedal forms.

So the wood nymph with willow-leaf hair doesn’t get a second glance, nor does the seven-foot orc striding along with green skin and tusks. Still, I wonder what normal humans see when a group of two-foot-tall gnomes tumbles down the street in a series of cartwheels and front flips.

The enticing smell of hot cheese and spiced meat pulls me toward Slice of Life. The pixies are right—pizza truly is one of the very best things humans created while cut off from Faerie.

I wave at Blue through the window, and the tiny pixie gestures me inside.

The electric overhead lights are turned low, and candles gleam from each table, making the landscape murals on the walls glow with all the warmth of a sunset.

Almost all of the tables are filled with shadow fae, with a few humans mixed in.

A mini-flock of pixies rings a circular platter to fly it across the room. As soon as they set the food on the table, they throw up their hands and give a joyful cry. “Pizza!” The rest of the restaurant echoes it back, followed by playful laughter, the entire ritual already enshrined in town lore.

“Rune!” a high voice calls out. Glowing with pixie light, Blue flies up to hover in front of my face. Six-inches tall, everything about her is true to her nickname, from her blue-birch-leaf clothes to her skin, hair, and large moth-like wings. “I have your order ready.”

“What did you make for me this time?” I have a standing order with her to try a different pizza each night.

Mischief sparkles in her tiny eyes. “You’ll see—and taste—soon enough.”

“Ah. It’s going to be one of the experimental ones.” Blue has decided to try out new recipes on me before adding them to the menu, since my shifter palette is very acute.

“Very experimental!” Her wings flutter as she gives a tinkling laugh. Then her little face grows serious, and she shakes a finger at me. “But it will be good, and you will like it! I refuse to besmirch the good name of pizza by making a bad one.”

If there’s one thing—and one thing only—pixies take seriously, it’s pizza. I tip my head. “I’m sure I will.”

Her narrow-eyed stare assesses me for a couple more seconds before she nods and lets out a whistle of high-speed pixie speech.

A group of pixies bursts from the swinging kitchen doors, carrying a flat cardboard box. It drops into my outstretched hands with a puff of herb and garlic scented air.

My stomach gives an appreciative growl, and Blue chuckles. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

I nod and turn for the front door, hiding a wince at the thought of my dwindling bank account.

Being trapped in our wolf forms meant we lived a simple life in Faerie, and the cu sith haven’t dealt with money for several centuries.

In olden times, we used to work as guards for shadow fae royalty, and indeed Severin hired me to protect his betrothed for a short while.

But now that he’s settled in this quiet human town, my bodyguard services are no longer needed, and I must find a way for my people to make a living on Earth.

Cutting across the green, I head for my favorite evening hangout.

Honey-colored wood fills the interior of The Thirsty Tusk, making up the walls, floor, bar, and all of the furniture.

The inside looks almost exactly like one of the orc pubs in Faerie, which are formed out of the living wood of heart trees.

Even the electric light fixtures mimic the flicker of candles, adding another touch of warmth and comfort.

The combined smell of malty ale and sweet cider blends with the scents of all the various people filling the pub, both human and fae.

The only orcs are behind the bar, their tusked, green faces serious as they dole out drinks.

It’s not true that all orcs are grumpy—my friend Branikk is as joyous as anyone I know—but you wouldn’t guess it from looking at these two.

“Rune.” Thorvinn dips his chin in welcome and places a tankard of ale in front of one of the empty stools lining the bar.

I grunt a hello and sit, taking a long swig from the tankard before opening the pizza box.

“What do you have this evening?” the orc asks.

“Tell you in a minute.” Melted cheese covers thin circular disks of potato and a green sauce.

The first bite is delightfully herby and rich with garlic, offset by the yeasty bread of the crust. When I hum in appreciation, writing appears inside the box’s lid.

The pixies bespell the boxes so I never know the name of what I’m eating until after I prove I like it.

“It’s roasted-garlic potato and pesto pizza. ”

A blur of movement makes my hand snap out to lock around the wrist of the person attempting to steal a slice. I don’t even have to look to know who it is. “Hungry, cat? Get your own.”

“Why should I, hound, when it’s so much more fun to take yours?” Shadow says, laughter thrumming through his voice. The werepanther plops onto the barstool beside me and opens his own box, offering me a slice of pepperoni. “Besides which, I’m willing to share.”

I fight down a grin and grab a slice, shoving the purloined food into my mouth and chewing with relish. “You’re right—it does taste better when I’ve taken it from you.”

As tall as me, Shadow’s built leaner but is still far stronger than any human.

His light skin is offset by long hair that shades from deep black at the roots to silver at the tips.

He takes a piece of my pizza, his cat-sith grin so wide it looks like it will split his face in two, even in his fae form.

Our nightly ritual concluded, we begin to eat in earnest, soon joined by our third.

A rustle of leathery wings announces Lukendeverner’s arrival.

As large as a house in his dragon form, he settles onto the stool to my left as a weredragon.

He’s got the body of a man, with tan skin, long auburn hair, and several additions.

Two black horns spiral up from his head, and a red-scaled tail matches the wings draping his back.

Clawed hands clasp the tankard the orc slides to him, and Luke drains it in one go before knocking on the bar to order another.

“Having a liquid meal tonight?” Shadow teases.

“Hardly.” Luke snorts and flicks a dismissive finger toward our pizzas. “I hunted for meat, not this human… bread product.” He says the last like they’re dirty words.

“Just shows what you know.” Shadow takes a big bite of his pizza, smacking his lips with exaggerated relish. “Cheese is amazing. If you could access your fae form, you’d know exactly how good this ‘human bread product’ is.”

Luke’s lip curls in a snarl, showing off his fangs. He’s unable to shift all the way to a man, stuck in his weredragon form, and it’s obviously a sore spot.

Which is exactly why the panther keeps poking at him about it.

“Ease up.” I elbow Shadow hard enough to make breath whoosh out of his lungs.