Page 22 of Wishing for a Werewolf

“My cottage and the bookshop.”

“Do I get cookies each time I’m good atthe bookshop?”

“You drive a hard bargain, little missy.” I scoop her up and give her a kiss. “But I agree to your terms.”

She rubs her head against my chin and settles against my chest. It’s so sweet the way she goes from Deadpool levels of mischief to darling angel whenever I hold her.

We stay like that until the cookies finish, and when I take them out of the oven, I pop a couple onto a plate and stick it in the freezer.

After only a couple of minutes, they’re cool enough to give to Babybelle, who snuffles at them and wolfs them down in less than a second. “More!”

“Nope. You can’t have them all now or you’ll get a tummy ache.”

“I will not.”

Yeah, she’s probably right. Goats can eat anything and everything, but I don’t have time to make goat cookies every single day.

“You can have more later. I have to go to town and sell some soap.” The thought puts a skip in my step.

Rune’s waiting on his porch when I pull up in front of his house. He startles when Tank’s door lets out of protesting squeal and climbs into the passenger seat somewhat hesitantly.

“It’s like we saw in the pics from Operation Events Binder.” I hand a piece of paper to him. “I got a letter fromMrs. Greely today. I’ve been chosen to host the pumpkin carving competition. I have to reply by Friday, same as you.”

“That only gives us two more days to untangle our wishes.”

“Better hope those books of Skye’s come quickly. Hannah already texted to let me know she and Severin didn’t find anything in the palace library.”

“I tried to find Lukendevener this morning, but he didn’t answer the door. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“In the meantime, let’s go sell some soap.” I start the car, but Rune’s still sitting there, unprotected. “Please put on your seatbelt.”

When he shoots me a puzzled look, I dig my thumb under the shoulder strap of mine and pull it out a few inches before letting it snap back across my chest.

He pulls his belt across his body, then fumbles with the buckle.

“Let me help. These old things are tricky—you have to get the angle just right.” It’s another of Tank’s peculiarities. I reach over, my fingers tangling with his in a tingle of sensation as we work together until it gives a satisfying click.

He grunts what I assume is a thank you.

As soon as I start to reverse, his hands fly wide, plastering to the dashboard and passenger door like a person trying to steady themselves in a storm-tossed ship.

I fight down a laugh—I’m going less than five miles an hour! “You okay over there, big guy?”

“I’ve never been in one of your automobiles before.”

“Then I extra appreciate you coming with me today,” I say. “Go ahead and brace as much as you want to, becausewe’re going to be going a lot faster than that.”

We bounce down his rutted driveway, Tank’s lack of suspension making each bounce thump with bone-jarring impact.

The motion breaks Rune’s sentence into bite-sized pieces punctuated by clacking teeth. “Why. Would. Anyone. Choose. To. Travel. Like. This?”

I slide to a rolling halt at the end of the drive before pulling onto the main road, where the ride immediately evens out. “See, it’s not so bad.” Then I press down on the gas pedal, taking us all the way up to thirty miles per hour.

His knuckles whiten, and claws appear as he starts to shift, the tips denting the dash.

“Hey, no clawing up the car!” I blurt. “I know this is new and scary, but you’ll get used to it.”

“I fucking hope not,” he growls.