RULE #5

The tavern I sit in doesn't know my name. It's never served me a drink before now, and no one will look at me as anything other than another stranger passing through. I don't even know what the name of this town is or what kingdom it belongs to. I hadn't bothered to learn it or read the signs. I won't be staying long so it doesn't matter.

"What'll you have?" the tavern keep asks from behind the bar.

"Whatever's strong," I reply, and sigh when he drops a bottle in front of me and pours it. Whiskey. It's always whiskey. There never seems to be anything stronger these days no matter how much I hope there is.

Still, I drink it without complaint, tossing it back and asking for another. Beggars can't be choosers. Whiskey is whiskey. It'll do the job a little, but it won't give me the buzz I'm looking for. Most alcohol doesn't anymore, my metabolism too high.

A man sits down at the bar beside me without asking if I want company, and when I glance at him, I roll my eyes. He's clearly not some wandering merchant like his outfit might suggest even though he's trying his best to fit in. His clothes are too fine, the materials too expensive. He comes from wealth of some sort, but he's trying his best to blend in despite it. Nothing good ever comes from pretenders, especially when those pretenders want to look like less than they are.

"We don't get many of your kind here," he comments as I dismiss him, determined to have my drink in peace.

When I glance at him with a raised brow as I toss another whiskey back, he doesn't flinch away from the shine in my eyes.

"And what is my kind?" I ask.

I'm not exactly projecting what I am. Most wouldn't know if they didn't know what to look for, the shine in the eyes, the sharper canines, the height. All wolves feel a little wild though. If you can sense the wild, perhaps you can tell. I wouldn't think this man has that gift which means either I'm underestimating him, or he has help hovering just out of my line of sight.

He shrugs. "A wolf isn't so hard to spot."

I glance over my shoulder and take in the few men watching him like a hawk. Guards, so he's more important than even I expected. And one of the men is focused more intensely on me rather than him, his eyes hard and his expression as severe as his widow's peak.

"Which of your men told you that?" I ask before pointing to the one watching me. The man scowls in answer. "I bet it was that one."

The man beside me smirks. "Clever wolf. I don't meet many clever ones."

I can't decide if that's a compliment or an insult, so I settle on it being both. Many wolves are cunning. There just aren't that many of us to compare to. Not in the Enchanted Forest anyway. I've looked. They're either very good at hiding or don't exist. There's no other option.

"Why is it you're here bothering me when I'm trying to enjoy a drink?" I rumble, looking away from him. "I'd like to be left in peace."

"Ah, yes. As I'm sure you've figured out, I'm someone of importance," he declares like it's some sort of secret and every person in this shithole doesn't know what he is.

"You don't say," I grunt before taking another drink.

"And I have a proposition for you, wolf," he continues, annoyed at my interruption even if he doesn't say it. "Have you any interest in gold?"

"No," I answer honestly. "Wolves have no need of gold."

And that's true. Anything I may need, I can procure or make. I can hunt to eat. I can sleep beneath the stars. I can make my own clothing and shelter. About the only thing I spend coin on is ale and whiskey, and I don't need anyone helping with that habit.

He nods. "I thought so." He slides a piece of paper onto the table between us. "How about the location of a rather large pack of wolves in the Enchanted Forest?"

My eyes flicker to him abruptly, and when I reach for the map, he jerks it back. "Not so fast, wolf. It doesn't come free."

I scowl. "And what is it you want, human?"

He grins and tucks the map back into his clothing. "King Phillip," he corrects. "And for you to know what I'm asking, I need you to come with me."

I study him for a moment, taking in everything about him from his balding head to his portly stomach. He seems harmless, dressed as he is in his too pretty merchant clothing. Most kings aren't smart enough to kill a werewolf in the first place, but this one seems clever enough to make me wary. I should be careful, should tell him no, but that map?

I could have a pack. I could find more like me. My desperation makes me weak and make a decision I might not have otherwise.

Throwing back the rest of my whiskey, I set the glass on the counter. "Alright, Your Majesty. Let's see what you've got."

His grin widens and a glint enters his eyes. That should have been my sign to leave, but I was lonely, and a lonely wolf is a dangerous wolf.

It finds you in traps and cages.

Sometimes, it finds you dead.

When I find myself in a cage of King Phillip's making, I add another rule to my list, one my father didn't have to teach me, but a lesson I learn myself.

Never trust a human. I know that now. The first pangs of hunger drive the lesson home. The first touch of starvation sets it in stone. . .