Chapter 30 – I Accidentally Joined a Wolf Shifter Group Chat

“No.”

Grandma Ruth handed me the bowl anyway. “I remember when you could eat half a pie.”

That sounded unlikely for both the real Loany and me, but I accepted the caramel corn.

“Traveling changed my eating habits.”

Grandma nodded as though that explained metabolism and every other inconsistency in my existence. “Yes, traveling does that to a person.” She patted my shoulder and moved on to see whether Grandpa Alfonse had enough blankets.

I wondered if Grandma Ruth could be on to me, even though I’d spent the month leading up to the reunion preparing with the discipline of someone planning to infiltrate a secure supernatural compound. Which, technically, I had.

The first problem had been scent.

Until I’d learned werewolves existed, I had never devoted significant thought to how I smelled beyond ordinary body odor concerns and whether my shampoo, soap, and deodorant were too strong.

Now I thought about scent constantly.

After wading through dozens of conspiracy forums claiming basketball players were reptilians and alien-hybrid site pop-ups, I finally stumbled onto a forum that seemed shockingly… legitimate. Or at least legitimate enough for a desperate woman at two in the morning. Taking a massive leap of faith, I had ordered pheromone blockers from a website with a black background, silver lettering, and no customer-service phone number. The product claimed to suppress shifter markers for twelve hours and came with instructions warning users not to apply it near the eyes, mouth, open wounds, or compromised areas – whatever the hell that meant.

I had used it anyway.

I didn’t possess shifter pheromones to block, which could become suspicious if anyone noticed. Smelling like blocker seemed safer than smelling like a human. At least the product gave them an explanation for what was missing.

To cover the remaining gap, the past week I had purchased a vial of female wolf-shifter essence on Etsy from a woman claiming to be a witch. The seller likely had no idea actual shifters existed – from what I’d gleaned in my conversations with Patty and Hudson, shifter secrecy laws would have had her shop shut down in minutes if she did. She was just tapping into the wild-feminine, werewolf-romance aesthetic, hawking attraction oils, moon-charged jewelry, protective powders, and candles that supposedly removed curses from coworkers. But on the off chance her homemade blend of botanical oils happened to mimic real pheromones, I took the gamble.

The essence arrived in a tiny amber bottle with a handwritten note that read: Use sparingly. Power knows power.

It smelled faintly of pine, soil, and something musky enough to make me worry I had paid twenty-eight dollars for diluted animal urine.

I dabbed it behind my knees because that seemed less likely to destroy my social life than applying it on my neck. Then I covered almost everything with the pheromone blocker.

The resulting scent profile, as far as my human nose could tell, was expensive soap layered over a garden center.

Hudson hadn’t reacted with alarm when he approached me, which counted as success.

I had caught Aunt Karen watching me several times, but she also watched the condiment tables in case someone mishandled mayonnaise, so I was trying not to be too paranoid about it.

Just in case I hadn’t figured out the correct scent profile for a shifter, I had a wolf tooth in my back pocket. Amazon claimed it was genuine. The listing also offered packs of twelve for crafting, which undermined its mystique. I had bought it because, well, why the hell not? I was obsessed with the idea of scent around the shifters, and having an actual wolf tooth might help me smell more like one. Then again, it might also make me look like a fucking weirdo if someone discovered it.

Only time would tell.

I had tried to research transformation biology, pack etiquette, enhanced metabolism, territorial behavior, healing rates, scent marking, and whether wolves could detect lies by heart rate. The internet provided hundreds of answers and very little information.

I had also begun exercising. Nothing drastic, though. I wasn’t running marathons or deadlifting furniture. I walked faster, added short jogging intervals, and followed beginner cardio videos in my living room while a cheerful instructor promised I was stronger than I thought.

My daily check-ins with Hudson helped. Reminding him to eat forced me to confront my own nutritional fraud, especially after he began returning the favor. I now ate breakfast often enough that I could call it a habit. I carried protein bars in my purse and had even eaten an entire sandwich before driving here.

My body didn’t know what to make of the attention. I had more energy, which annoyed me to no end because it suggested responsible adults had been right about nutrition and exercise.

Beside me, Hudson adjusted the blanket across his knees. “Why are you smiling?”

“I was thinking about food. Did you eat dinner?”

“Yes.”

“What did you have?”

“Chicken, potatoes, two rolls, salad, and part of Trevor’s brownie treasure.”

I nodded. “Acceptable.”

He leaned closer. “What did you eat?”

“I had a sandwich before I left.”

“What kind?”

“Turkey.”

“With?”

“Bread.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“And mustard,” I added. “I included a condiment.”

“That makes it a complete meal.”

“Thank you.”

Before he could continue, Patty dropped into the chair on my other side. “You smell weird.”

My entire body went on alert, every muscle clenching. Hudson looked over.

Patty held up her hands defensively. “I’m just saying, I’ve never smelled a perfume like this.” She leaned in close to me and took a big sniff. “You smell like a scared pine tree right before it goes through the woodchipper.”

Hudson laughed, and I forced myself to join in. “That was the goal.”

She shrugged. “I like it.”

She turned toward the screen, leaving me to suffer through a private cardiac event. A wolf shifter had just commented on the substance I’d bought from an Etsy witch. Either the woman was legitimate, or Patty had a generous relationship with bad perfume.

The projector started, lighting up the wall. A cheer rose from the littles. Byron stood near the equipment table and adjusted the focus while Hudson watched, practically vibrating with tension as he resisted the urge to help.

“You want to go over there, don’t you?” I asked.

“The picture is slightly crooked.”

I laughed. “It’s a movie about a giant radioactive lizard. I don’t think visual precision will save it.”

Hudson sent me a sidelong glance. “You’ve seen it?”

“No. I read the description after you told me about it.”

Tonight’s selection was

Atomic Titan: Rise of the Deep, a low-budget creature feature released directly to streaming three years earlier. The poster showed a skyscraper-sized reptile emerging from the ocean while fighter jets flew directly toward its mouth.

Trevor had picked it, which seemed to surprise no one.

Byron finished the setup, and the opening logo appeared. People settled into chairs, blankets, and hay bales. The lights around the pavilion went dark. Conversations dropped to murmurs, then mostly stopped.

Apparently, wolves were serious about silence during movies because when a teenager three rows back whispered something, five heads turned simultaneously. The teenager promptly closed his mouth.

I glanced at Hudson. He held one finger to his lips, then took out his phone. A message appeared on mine.

Hudson: Enhanced hearing, am I right?

Sloane: I thought you wanted me to reduce screen time.

Hudson: Special exemption for poorly made cinema.

The film opened with a marine biologist explaining an experimental energy source to military officials who appeared to have been cast based on access to matching uniforms.

The scientist pointed toward an animated map. “We have awakened something ancient.”

A deep rumble came through the speakers. Several children leaned forward.

Sloane: They awakened the CGI budget, and it’s furious.

Hudson coughed into his fist.

I looked over. His eyes remained on the screen, but his shoulders were shaking.

Hudson: Be respectful. Someone spent days creating that water simulation.

Onscreen, the ocean moved with the consistency of blue gelatin.

Sloane: I hope they recovered from their lack of sleep.

His grin appeared in the projector light.

The monster emerged six minutes later. It was green, enormous, and moved so rigidly, it looked like a lawn ornament subjected to strong wind.

Hudson: Terrifying.

Sloane: I’ve seen more convincing threats in aquarium gift shops.

Hudson lowered his head, his shoulders shaking again.

Patty sent us a mock glare. “Stop,” she mouthed.

I showed her the phone. She read the last message and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

The monster attacked a coastal city, although most of the destruction happened beyond the frame. Actors screamed while staring in slightly different directions. A building collapsed before the creature touched it.

Sloane: That building lacked confidence.

Hudson: Structural anxiety.

I pressed my lips together.

Two seats away, Grandma Ruth shushed us even though we hadn’t made a sound.

I tucked the phone against my leg and tried to focus. That lasted all of four minutes.

The military launched a missile at the creature despite the scientist yelling that explosions would make it stronger.

The explosion made it stronger.

Sloane: Who could have predicted that?

Hudson: Not the twelve people who were warned directly.

I covered my mouth with my hand.

Hudson leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine. The contact was probably accidental, but neither of us moved away.

Warmth spread along my arm. I became aware of every place our bodies touched through clothing. Shoulder. Elbow. His knee against mine.

It made my stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with the lie I was living and everything to do with the man beside me. For months, he’d been words on a screen, a steady presence checking if I’d eaten or taken a breath. Now, he was broad shoulders and a heat that made me want to lean in until there was no space left between us. It terrified me how easily I wanted to sink into it, to pretend for just one night that I actually belonged here.

Caldwell appeared halfway through the second act. He stood near our chairs holding his sketchbook, his hair mussed and eyes heavy.

I smiled up at him. “Need a seat?” I whispered.

He nodded.

I shifted the blanket and opened my arms. Caldwell climbed carefully onto my lap. He was heavier than expected, all long limbs and sleepy trust. I wrapped the blanket around him as he sat on my knees, his eyes trained on the screen.

The scientist discovered the monster responded to whale songs. Caldwell watched for several minutes, then reached one hand toward Hudson.

Hudson understood immediately. “Want to switch?”

Caldwell nodded.

He moved from my lap to Hudson’s with the practiced ease of a child who knew he would be received. Hudson settled him against his chest, adjusted the blanket, and continued watching the film with one hand resting on Caldwell’s leg.

The sight reached all the tender parts deep inside me.

There was no embarrassment in Hudson’s care. No sense that Caldwell’s need interrupted the evening or demanded explanation. He simply made room.

Eventually, Caldwell sat up and looked around for Julie, who was several chairs away beside Hilary. Julie opened her arms. Caldwell crossed to her and curled into her side.

After another minute, he lifted one hand and made a sign. Both palms pressed together, then rested near the side of his face.

Bed.

Byron stood before Julie could ask anyone. “I’ll take him.”

Jason glanced over. “I can.”

“You wanted to finish the movie.”

“So did you.”

Byron gathered Caldwell’s sketchbook and water bottle. “I’ve seen this already.”

“It came out three years ago,” Jason said. “You said you hadn’t.”

“Let me clarify,” Byron said. “I have seen enough.”

Hudson grinned.

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