Her Dragon Captor (Her Dragon King Duet 1)

Back then, the YMWs had been a motley mix of the ancestors of both Native Americans and white homesteaders who’d been bitten by werewolves. They’d simply wanted to continue to live off the land, hidden away from humans. And for a while, things had gone great for them. But then advances like she-wolf rights and heat control had hit our state along with biosystems and WolfNet.

Unfortunately, Uncle Kyle and Clyde hadn’t realized how radicalized the Yellow Mountain Wolves were becoming until it was too late. And by the time they did, there wasn’t much they could do.

Over the last few decades, the majority of YMWs had become active Civil Wolf War Preppers—a group of mostly male wolves who believed the North American territories were headed toward a civil war, which would cleanse the lupine nation of progressives and rollback she-wolf rights.

And would you look at that? Turns out no she-wolf in her right mind wanted to live in the woods with a bunch of guys who had zero communication skills, negative digits EQs and expected she-wolves to conform to a version of the good ol’ days when they had few choices or rights.

Well, we do have choices now. And thankfully, most of the younger females living on Yellow Mountain opted to get the heat control shots our North Dakota clinic doctors provided for free at the state pack run wolf schools. Many of them also managed to leave Yellow Mountain behind for college as soon as they turned eighteen, taking advantage of the generous scholarship fund Uncle Kyle had set up for wolves in under-served communities.

However, the fathers and brothers they left behind weren’t grateful for my uncle’s interference. Like at all. Most of the Yellow Mountain she-wolves had wisely decided to disappear without announcing that they were going off to college. And after losing all their mate prospects, the younger YMW males had morphed into a virulent involuntary celibate (incel) community.

Even worse, they’d recently started attracting other young Civil Wolf War Preppers. Males from all over North America who thought the best thing they could do to address their inability to attract she-wolves was to move into the woods with a bunch of other male wolves who liked to whine about being the victims of modern lupine politics.

It was mad annoying, and real talk 100, I didn’t care what my uncle said. Those tragic YMWs would be receiving zero invites to any more kingdom house parties during my reign.

But you know, I promised not to cause a scene tonight. So instead of cussing him out loudly, I quietly point out, “Nobody in any North American state has ever been expected to bow to their queen or king. You don’t even have to show us respect. Just like I don’t have to keep you on as gatekeeper if you decide to be an asshole to me at my own coronation.”

“You can’t fire me!” he says, sneering with, like, his whole face. “That’s a four-year position.”

“Keep talking. Bet I can find a way to get around that pesky law. You know how keen my cousin, the President, is to bring all the gates under federal control. One call to him and that house we built for you will be replaced with a black box and a soldier from Wolf Force.”

Okay, I’m bluffing here. While it’s technically true that Rafes is the president of the North American wolves, it’s also true that Rafes despises me. So he probably wouldn’t take my side on anything, even if it benefitted his black box program.

However, Kirk doesn’t know that. And since the YMWs don’t believe in biosystems—it’s a liberal conspiracy to literally get in your head according to them—he probably needs this job to pay those high vintage wi-fi bills. Not to mention the fact that he lives in the newly renovated gatehouse, which is still the property of the North Dakota kingdom.

Kirk backs down but spits a wad of tobacco in the general direction of my feet before walking away.

If not for growing up with a great grandfather whose only face setting was “mean mugshot,” I’d probably be ewwing all over the place. Who spits tobacco anymore? Seriously, those YMWs are the worst!

I turn to continue my beeline toward Akwasi, only to falter when I see that he’s looking straight at me. Which means he must have seen everything that went down.

And did nothing.

Okay, I’m not sure how to feel about that.

On the one hand, I’m the Queen of a pack now. I don’t want or need my boyfriend rushing to my rescue every time one of my new subjects gets irate. But on the other hand, it kind of would have been nice to, you know, have to tell him that, because he had rushed to my rescue.

But, no, no…bad Ola. I can’t say I want a boyfriend who trusts me to handle my shit, but then get mad when he actually does. Thinking like that is how us Viking Wolf descendants end up in relationships filled with drama and time-travel.