Charmed Wolf

Chapter 2-2

THE THIRTY-SIXTH POTENTIAL Consort, though, continued to act differently than expected. His eyes didn’t open until I set the tray down on the table between us. Even then, there was no leering, no foul language. Just a restrained nod.

Time for his second test, then. Would he accept food a woman had picked out for him? To get a good gauge of the applicant’s personality, I’d gone full-on girly with the menu. Quiche, a skim latte, and a bright pink cupcake with piped yellow rosettes on top.

The potential Consort didn’t even glance at the food. Instead he spoke my name in a voice so deep and liquid I wanted to swim in it. Not Alpha but: “Tara Whelan.” His eyes smiled if not his lips.

Meanwhile, he rose, opening up both seating options—the bench he’d been meditating atop and the two normal chairs on the table’s other side. Sidling out of the way, he made space for me with the elegance of a wolf hunting. Each foot was placed so carefully it made no sound against the tiles.

“What a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he continued. “Please choose a seat.”

I frowned. I should have been the one speaking. Guiding the conversation. I couldn’t afford to let a Consort wannabe gain the upper hand.

So I pulled upon the arrogance of Alpha. “What does it matter where I sit? We have business to attend to.” Then I dropped my gaze to his file on my phone as an additional power play.

The gesture had only been meant to prove my wolf’s ability to rip out our enemy’s throat without watching him every second. But I found myself frowning as I skimmed over the scanty data.

Why had Willa arranged this meeting when the potential Consort had filled in so few of the application questions? He hadn’t bothered to submit a DNA sample. Hadn’t listed his ancestors. Hadn’t even put down a surname. Just his first name....

“Butch?” I looked from the phone to the stunning specimen of masculine beauty before me. “What kind of name is that?”

The applicant’s eyes were closed. As if he’d decided to take advantage of my pause to finish up his meditation. But long lashes fluttered back open as I addressed him. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Then he waited. For what? For me to choose a seat? Perhaps this was Butch’s return power play. Whatever. I sank into the closest chair, expecting Butch to slide back onto the bench on the other side of the table.

Instead, he pulled out the other standalone seat, folding his long body into it. Now he was so close that his presence warmed me like summer sunshine. My entire face heated. I knew from experience that my cheeks had turned a brilliant red.

And...Butch scooted his chair back a precious four inches. Murmured an apology. Picked up his latte, took the tiniest sip, then set it back down in its saucer with a gentle clink.

“I understand you’re looking for a mate.” His words were a quiet rumble, almost gentle. I found myself leaning forward, then caught myself and shook my head.

“No, Whelan Alphas don’t bond with mates,” I corrected. “We hire Consorts, a temporary, paid position. Please allow me to explain the logistics before you speak.” It was easier, I’d found, if I just spat it all out in one go.

Well, easier for me. Most male werewolves took offense halfway through and interrupted. If they did, the fork and knife crossed and the interview ended. Thinking ahead, I dropped my left hand to the butter knife. Then I returned my attention, to the phone in my right hand.

“I’ll just run through the entire checklist,” I told him, before proceeding to do so.

The once-a-generation job was simple, especially when the Alpha—me—was female. The Consort would be on call until I hit peak fertility. During the subsequent twenty-four hours, he’d do everything in his power to ensure conception, after which he’d receive his first stipend. If necessary, both job and p*****t would be repeated for up to six months.

“Then you’ll receive a smaller weekly retainer to make yourself available,” I informed him. I should have been gauging his reaction, but just saying the words made me slightly queasy so I kept my eyes on my phone as if I needed a cheat sheet. “First pregnancies have a 25% chance of miscarriage, so we might be forced to circle back around to the beginning. That will be determined at the discretion of both parties, using the same structure of recompense. At the time of birth, your job will be complete.”

I paused, expecting him to say something. But he didn’t. Shrugging, I continued on to the legal side of the equation. Butch would be expected to sign papers asserting his total lack of rights to the child. “They’ll hold up in human court,” I informed him. “But that’s unlikely to be necessary. If you attempt to use the child to gain a foothold into our pack, I will personally rip out your throat.”

His chair leg scraped against the floor. That had gotten a reaction.

Meanwhile, air currents promised Megan was passing close to check on the state of my silverware. Her human ears couldn’t overhear my murmured threat, but body language must have clued her in to the intensity of the conversation. No wonder she thought our meeting was going badly.

Only...she and I both thought wrong. When I looked up, I saw that I’d misread the chair scrape. Rather than preparing to leave, Butch had worked his way through the quiche while I was speaking. He hadn’t touched his latte after that first sip, but he now consumed the entire cupcake—rosettes and all—in two voracious bites.

When my pause lengthened into a third second, his mouth quirked. There was the tiniest dot of yellow frosting on his upper lip and I had the oddest inclination to reach out and touch it. “May I speak?” he murmured, gaze lowered.

I closed my eyes for half a second, disappointed. Butch’s wolf must be very weak to so easily accede when I insisted upon laying out the ground rules. I hadn’t put a hint of alpha compulsion behind the demand. He shouldn’t have obeyed.

Which made our interview easier, but also meant Butch was an instant reject. A weak father would mean a weak child. Even with my familial ace in the hole, the secret boost that promised Whelan Alphas were always able to bark down anyone within their territory, neither Heir nor Alpha could afford to start out weak.

I set down my phone and picked up my fork, preparing to stop wasting our time. But before I could cross the silverware, my wolf rose up through me. She’s smelled something. Or seen something. Whatever the reason, she was there, glaring through my eyes at someone I thought was weak but she thought was a threat to us.

And Butch’s wolf responded. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. Smell it. The energy, the wildness of fur seeping out of his human body....

His wolf wasn’t cowering the way I’d assumed it would in the face of my dominance. Nor did Butch’s beast fight then submit the way Willa’s had.

Instead, the intensity of his inner animal set chills running through my entire body. I was the one struggling, chiding my wolf when she would have retreated. I was the one who gritted my jaw and ignored the sweat beading at my hairline.

Never since my father died had I met a wolf so powerful. In six months, no one had given my wolf any reason to stretch her muscles, let alone cave before them.

And yet, here I was unwillingly lowering my eyes.