Comfort the Wolves

2. Pistols and Embroidery

She gestured to the pink armchair on his left.

Ivan delicately removed its flower-embroidered pillow and lowered his long frame into the chair. His knees came up since the chair was so low and he, so tall. Settling in, he placed the flowery cushion on his lap.

Miss Finn clicked the safety on her gun and shoved the thing in the pocket of her wrinkled apron.

"I will admit, sir, that I am a little frustrated with your pack at the moment," she said, sweetly tucking one ankle under the other as she folded her hands on the armrest. "I have done everything you recommended to keep your kind off of me. Since I was thirteen, mind you. Thirteen. My grandma didn't think you'd let me go, so she taught me a few things herself. Made sure I stayed clear away from you."

Her grandmother Frederica had been a potential mate as well, but her situation had turned out even worse than Miss Finn's. Her mate and first pup had been brutally murdered by a jealous rival. Those days had been more brutal—killing a wolf for their human mate wasn't unheard of. But a pup? That was a crime unpardonable.

Ivan had reread the files to prepare for this meeting. In compensation for her loss, the Pack had granted Frederica immunity. While capable of carrying their young, Federica was not obligated to do so, nor were her children nor her children's children. No potential mates were to be graphed in for breeding for three generations. It was the first contract of its kind in those days.

It wasn't as generous as it seemed; breeding potential in humans skipped at four generations on average.

But then came Miss Finn. Smelling sweeter than sunshine and more potent than all her flowers combined. Now that she was grown up, Ivan could tell she would have been the sort of mate that could change a pack. Will must have sensed that somehow. Ivan folded his hands over the pillow and nodded while she spoke.

"I've stayed off your land, I've stuck to the city limits, I've avoided any area I know your kind frequent. Not once have I stepped back your-side. Mr Wolf, sir, I am twenty-seven. Old enough to make a good wife and mother. But I haven't had kids or gotten married without warning you, just like I promised. I can't stand by my door with a taser every waking minute of the day, so I've kept my head low. I have done my part, Mr Wolf, sir."

"We are grateful for that, Miss. We know it can't be easy." Ivan's thumb was absentmindedly brushing over the blooms of lavender stitched onto the pillow. "And my name is Ivan."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "My whole life I've been paying for your mistake those fifteen years ago. And I am this close," she pinched her forefinger and thumb a hair apart, "this close, Mr Ivan, wolf, sir, to saying: screw it. Screw Beltan, the ungrateful city. Screw my friends, my altar, and all the reasons I stay here." Her eyes met his, hard. "And screw you. Pack of the White Pined Woods. I'm done."

Ivan took a moment to decide what to say. "That is a relatable sentiment, Miss Finn."

She waited for more from him. But he simply held her gaze, steady and letting his presence bleed a sense of calm into the room.

"I was expecting some sort of push back." She sounded miffed.

"I think you know, Miss Finn, that Beltan is the safest place for you. You have a deal with our Pack. And we honour that."

Her lips twisted, sour.

He waited a moment before setting the flowered pillow aside so he could lean towards her, elbows on his awkwardly bent knees. "We are an exception among Packs at the moment. We've had thirteen potentials born in the last decade, which means we can let you live your life without interference."