Charmed Wolf

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

He’s beautiful. My wolf and I c****d our shared human head as we stared in the plate-glass window of Fluff Enough Bakery. The other potential Consorts I’d considered over the last six months had been powerful wolves with excellent heredity, but they’d lacked this male’s chiseled cheekbones and lanky vitality.

They’d also watched me with greedy eyes. Their wolves had been alert, ready to fight or f**k. Maybe fight and f**k in the same moment.

Not this male. He sat cross-legged on the bench seat of a half-booth, eyes closed and back straight. His hands rested on his knees, thumbs touching middle fingers. But even though he appeared to be meditating, his nostrils twitched ever so slightly when another diner rose to drop off a dirty plate at the counter. He was 100% alert.

And he matched the scanty description Willa had left for me. Biracial with some African component to his heritage. Six foot four inches of lean, muscular beauty. Close-cropped, jet-black hair.

So I opened the door, letting myself in. Watched out of the corner of my eye to see how he’d respond to my heady chocolate aroma.

This was the first test...and also one of the reasons I met potential Consorts in a human-run bakery. Usually, my signature scent was lost amid fumes from brownies, dark chocolate tarts, and homemade truffles. In the midst of all that created sweetness, even shifters didn’t tend to notice that I smelled like a pack princess—a cossetted alpha’s daughter—rather than a gritty pack leader. I wouldn’t have to take no-longer-wanted interviewees out back and break their arms before they’d take no for an answer.

Only, the venue didn’t work this time. The potential Consort’s eyes remained closed but his head turned toward me. He’d smelled something, although I couldn’t quite discern his reaction at our current distance.

“The regular?” Megan asked from behind the counter, reminding me that I’d made other advances in my interview technique since the arm-breaking fiasco.

I nodded. “Every bit of it.”

“Are you sure?” Megan leaned in closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. The volume wasn’t, of course, low enough to keep shifters in the dark. Megan was totally human and unaware that her shop currently hosted not one but two werewolves. “This one’s pretty.”

She waggled her eyebrows. The male’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

“Certain,” I growled.

And Megan shrugged, ringing up two meals and paying for them—plus a 100% tip—out of the credit card I’d left on file. The tip was sufficient to ensure we’d receive her undivided attention...and that she wouldn’t balk at the required cleanup.

Because we had a deal. The moment I crossed my fork and knife on my plate, Megan would dump something foul and liquid all over me. Here amid humans, the potential Consort would have no choice but to bow to social standards when I stormed out to change my clothing. Willa would deal with the unenviable task of letting failed applicants down over the phone the following day.

After thirty-five times through this process, I already knew how today’s “date” would end. Still, I straightened my spine and pasted on a human smile.

After all, I might as well try to enjoy the process. This was the closest I’d ever come to bonding with a mate.

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