Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

T he Tween Library was set back in manicured lawns surrounded by flower beds that in summer months overflowed with lavender, roses, and foxgloves.

Right now, with the beds lying fallow, there was a huge Christmas tree set up instead, and a sign that read, “Gift a book for charity.” There was a box underneath.

Yeah, a human charity only, no doubt.

She grimaced when she noticed another sign outside the entrance featuring a black silhouette of a monster on a bright yellow background, a compilation of horns and wings and claws that actually didn’t resemble any exact species. There was a black diagonal line through the image.

No monsters. Not in Tween Library.

Yep, it sure helped to keep monsters uneducated, in the harness and power of humans, Charlie thought with a stab of anger.

Thank the goddess that was changing, gradually. Just outside the city gates of Motham sat the three-story Westerly Bookshop, which was run by a human. Charlie had gotten a lot of her texts for her master’s there, and it was always bustling and full of monsters—and these days, a fair number of humans too.

And Motham Library was due for expansion, she’d heard on the grapevine.

“Take that, Tween,” Charlie said under her breath. The humans here could pretend they lived in a bubble, but times were changing whether they liked it or not. One day, monsters in the valley would have equality, and be free to live wherever they chose without impunity.

To mate and marry humans without shame or fear of retribution.

The thought improved her mood no end. Which was a good thing, because now she had to steel herself to see her mom.

Inside, Shirley Sullivan sat at the front desk sorting through returned books and checking them off on her computer.

She jumped up when she saw Charlie. “Oh darling, you’re home. I’ve been so worried about you.”

After a hug, she asked hopefully, “Are you back for good?”

Charlie shook her head. “Only for a few days. I have some work to do, and just wondered if I could book a study room.”

Her mom frowned. “What kind of work?”

“Collating notes—for Max.”

“That wolf.”

“Yes Mom, that wolf Professor . And incidentally, have you got a copy of his last book in here yet?”

“Of course not,” her mom hissed, strutting back behind her desk. “You know we don’t carry… that kind of stuff.”

“Books written by monsters, you mean,” Charlie said loudly.

Her mom glanced around anxiously.

“Mom, the library is the most important place to stock books written by monsters,” Charlie said, leaning her palms on the desk. “You know that education changes attitudes quicker than anything.”

“Oh, Charlie, this isn’t the time to discuss such things,” her mom protested, sitting back down, tight lipped. Luckily, Charlie knew there was another side to Shirley. Her mom’s family were old Tween money, but Shirley had broken away from their conventions by marrying dad, a guy from the laid-back south. Her mother had a good heart, Charlie knew that. And Shirley had instilled in her a love of books and history, and Charlie would always be grateful to her for that.

The biggest problem was that Mom was afraid of the Council of Towns, who bullied everyone into submission behind a facade of gentility and white picket fences. And having had the conversation with Dad earlier, Charlie understood why. Shirley was just trying to protect the people she loved.

But she was still going to challenge her mom on her antiquated views.

“Please, Mom.” Charlie smiled sweetly. “Just book me a room and I’ll go and get on with my work.”

Her mom still hesitated.

“Fine,” Charlie said airily. “I’ll go and work in the café in the town square, and when people ask me what I’m doing, I’ll tell them I’m working on a book written by a wolf.”

Her mom pursed her lips. “Okay, you can have the room at the end.”

“Thanks, Mom.” She leaned in and gave her arm a squeeze. “Love you.”

Shirley gave her daughter a sad little smile. “I’ve got your favorite, lasagna tonight. I must have known you were coming home. And your bed is always made up, you know that darling.”

“I know, Mom.”

“So you’ll stay?”

“Yes, I’ll stay for the rest of the week.”

Her mom looked much happier as she went back to the book returns.

Charlie went into the study room and closed the door, then she got out all the pages of Max’s notes. Seeing his handwriting, her heart skipped a beat thinking of the other things those hands were capable of doing…

Enough of that.

The Tween Library wasn’t the best place to get all hot and bothered

She opened up her laptop and started to add notes.

She had to trust that Max would have sorted his head out by next week.

At least by then, she’d have all this in order for him to start on his first draft.

Head down, she got to work, deciphering his awful handwriting.

Charlie guessed that was what love was all about.

Max could barely get his jacket and scarf off as he arrived home and strode into his study. He grabbed the book about the Felcin mutiny and took it into the snug. Mrs. Bates had lit a fire before she left and laid out teacups and a barrel of biscuits.

It was kind of her, but he wasn’t hungry.

He had work to do.

The historical account of the wolf mutiny was not exactly light reading, but he forced himself to take it all in.

On the night of the mutiny, Felcin and his troops had surrounded Athelrose’s tent and, under cover of darkness, tied him up, killing many of his most trusted followers.

If it hadn’t been for the efforts of nearby orcs, Athelrose would have died out there that night, poisoned by a huge dose of blood ivy. The witch of Motham, Selina, had undone the effect, but Athelrose had been weakened and was on bed rest for many days, nursed by his beloved Amelia. It took weeks to overthrow the Felcin troops who, headed by Oliver Felcin, retreated to the Wastelands, held in check by magic force fields applied by white witches and mages.

Some months later, Felcin escaped, using the help of a dark mage to weaken the force field, and tunneled under the Motham wall at night. Up in the mountains with his small pack of mutineers, his fur turned silver, and his pelt grew thick. His descendants would forever be recognized by their thick silver coats.

In the following years, the Felcins made a few attempts to return to Motham, but each time, they were chased out by Athelrose’s army.

And then… Max’s eyes widened with disbelief as he read on… Many years later, in the year 48,372, Felcin received a pardon.

From Athelrose himself.

For his pack’s brave endeavors in keeping the ogre clans at bay.

But despite the pardon giving him the right to return to Motham, Felcin and his pack decided to remain in the mountains. This was their home now, and their wild, ferocious nature was best suited to tangling with ogres.

Long after he shut the book, Max remained deep in thought.

This was a tale of espionage, of power struggles and survival. But also of brave deeds and forgiveness.

And a pack finding its rightful place in the world.

He sat, staring into the fire, trying to come to terms with everything he’d learned.

Was it true? Was he really half Felcin? Sure, there was some proof in those photos, and the silver of his pelt when he’d shifted. But why had his mom chosen to hide his father’s identity from him?

She was dead, and he couldn’t ask her.

He tried to curb his anger, his sense of betrayal. His mother must have had her reasons.

Had she been afraid to acknowledge that her son had wild alpha blood running through his veins?

Gods, it was hard to face that himself.

Could it account for the events of these last two weeks? For the powerful feelings he had for Charlie?

Yes, he decided, it could.

The incredible chemistry between them had released his inner wolf, shown him his true identity. And now, it was time to rewrite his own history, and rethink his future. A future he knew he wanted Charlie to be a part of.

As he stood up and stretched, his phone pinged with a message from Charlie.

Max’s mouth curved into a smile as he read it.

Is it safe to come back on Monday?

He stared at that message, the little dig at him not wasted. Cheeky little witch.

Another message pinged. This time it was a selfie.

Of Charlie pouting, her beautiful dark curls wild and untamed around her face, an extra button or two on her blouse left open to display the swell of her breasts. Her eyes danced, teasing him, inviting him to play.

An ache started up in his balls, and another, stronger one pulsed around his heart.

He understood now that there was a place where his logical brain couldn’t go. No matter how many books he read, how much he tried to apply rational thought, his wolf would cut through logic every time.

He wrote a reply with clumsy, shaking fingers and had to keep correcting the text, because although the message was fairly innocuous, the emotion behind it was not.

Yes, I can safely say, come back on Monday. I miss you.

He stood chewing on his lip and staring at the screen, then took a deep breath and pressed send.

Not such a lone wolf anymore, eh Max Hunt?