Wolf Bonded (Wolfish 1)

“What?” Romulus barks, then immediately reigns in his voice to add, “All I’m saying is that this one’ll be much better. I promise.”

Though I wish I was being offered a magical knife to cut the tension in the room, this will have to do. I have a feeling that this night is going to need some alcohol in order for me to get through it in one piece.

Once we all have wine in hand, Rory raises his glass in a toast.

“Cheers to your birthday Romulus,” he says. It sounds strange to hear him call his dad by his first name. Maybe it’s a werewolf thing.

“To Romulus,” Marlowe says with a nod that Kaleb mirrors.

Everyone raises their glass, including me. I put the wine to my lips and am delighted by the taste of it. It’s so sweet and smooth and rich, I’ve never tasted anything like it.

No wonder Jess, Aimee, and Tom got so drunk the night we broke in. I’d have a hard time stopping too if faced with a whole cellar of the stuff.

I look around the room as I linger with a few long sips, and I notice that there aren’t any birthday decorations, or cake, or presents, or anything. I think back to when everyone at school was telling me about the rumors of the boys belonging to some strange religion, and I wonder what kind of religion werewolves practice. Maybe birthday cakes aren’t part of their tradition.

Or maybe it’s just because Romulus won’t have it. He seems annoyed enough to be celebrating at all. But that could just because I’m here. I’m the annoyance.

Knowing that makes it impossible to relax, even with another sip of wine.

“So,” Romulus says, looking right at me as he sits back down in his chair. “The boys said you took it pretty well.”

“Excuse me?” I say as I feel my nerves start to ramp up. “Took what well?”

Romulus looks at me as if I’m stupid. Then, he looks at the boys with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, she knows,” Kaleb says, reaching over to squeeze my hand in reassurance.

I swig the remaining content of my glass into my throat in order to gain the courage to say what I know is expected.

“You mean how you’re all werewolves?” I ask. There, I said it. I can’t believe I said it. Having said that in any other circumstance would have had people thinking I’m crazy.

“Technically shifters, but close enough,” Romulus says smugly. He has a skill at speaking to me so condescendingly that I feel like a three-year-old.

I ignore my discomfort and forge ahead with a question. Might as well, it all seems out in the open now. Marlowe takes the glass from my hand and stands up to refill it for me. I give him a grateful smile that he returns when no one else is looking.

“What’s the difference between a werewolf and a shifter?” I ask. I’ve never even heard of a shifter before, so I have a feeling this evening is about to get a whole lot more interesting, if that’s at all possible.

“We’re all wolf-shifters,” Rory says. “Except for Lydia, she’s a werewolf.”

I look at Lydia, and at how beautiful she is, and I’m still completely confused.

“There’s really not that much of a difference,” she explains, her voice slow and patient. “Wolf-shifters are born as pure blood wolves, whereas werewolves are made by being bitten and changed into a turned wolf.”

“A … turned wolf?”

I feel my pulse spike. This is new. The boys never mentioned this before.

It’s all it takes to send my mind racing.

“It’s all technicalities and semantics, you know, the differences between the two. We’re all of one kind.” She shoots a smile at me again in spite of the noises Romulus is making under his breath.

I get the feeling he doesn’t think it’s all “merely semantics” at all, but Lydia leans forward and kisses him on the cheek and he seems to instantly melt at her presence.

“What would I do without you,” he says as he strokes the side of her face, seeming to forget for a moment that they aren’t alone.

It’s a shockingly tender, if brief, moment.

Regardless of his gruff demeanor, one thing’s for sure, Romulus definitely loves his family. His pack. And everyone really seems to love him too.