Page 43 of Enemy Wolf

“That would cause an uproar these days,” I admitted. “But I’m sure she had her reasons. Were the wolves and dragons even enemies back then?”

“It was right after the dragons made their support of the vampires clear. So yes, it was an act of betrayal to be helping them instead of the werewolves. So her moon magic was stripped from her in what I’m told is a very painful ordeal. Drink?”

She held out a flask to me, which I accepted, and she continued her story.

“Without moon magic, my mother found it very difficult to get pregnant. But surprise!” Shiloh lifted her arms in mock celebration. “She had me, her miracle baby. But her lack of moon magic also made her more susceptible to infection, and she passed away weeks after I was born. So, long story short, the whole witch community raised me.”

“Damn.” I took a fast sip of the liquor in her flask, rye whiskey by the taste of it, and handed it back to her. “Sorry about your mother.”

Shiloh shrugged as she accepted the flask. “Thanks, although I never knew her enough to mourn, you know? While I’m grateful for the ones that did raise me, they all made it very well-known how much they despised my mother. How she came from such a great, powerful line and threw it all away. And that created a different kind of barrier, you know?” She upturned the flask and took a long swig. “I was so scared as a kid that I would be punished for what my mom did. Even as an adult, I sometimes wonder if people think I’m gonna betray the territory.” Her bandaged hand shook as she took another drink. “I guess that’s why I’ve tried so hard to be involved in the community. Running the bar, helping with the human festivals and other events. It’s like I’m trying to atone for my mother’s sins.”

“You don’t need to atone for anything,” I said. “Everyone here loves you. And they know that you love Vargmore.”

“Everyone, huh?” She cocked her head and gave me a smile that left me thoroughly tongue-tied. “What about your family?”

“I don’t have many alive,” I admitted, accepting the flask from her again. “The few that are, aren’t worth talking about. A bunch of scumbags.”

“Really?” Shiloh’s brow furrowed. “You mean the feral wolves?”

“They’re not my family. Like you, they’re the community who raised me. Well...” I paused with the flask on the way to my lips, wondering about how much I should tell her. “I have a half-sister who’s still feral. She’s more civilized than most of them actually, and I worry about her sometimes.”

“An outcast among outcasts, huh?”

“Yes. She and I kind of bonded over that. I also worry about her being able to survive out in the wild.”

“Because of how harsh the wilderness is?”

“That, along with the fact that she can’t shift.”

Shiloh’s eyebrows went up into her hairline. “Can’t shift? So she’s human?”

“She looks it, but no, there’s a wolf in there. She just can’t draw it out for some reason. What worries me is that she can’t defend herself. She’s vulnerable, even a liability out here, to be honest.” I took a swing of the flask. “I tried to get her to come with me when Tryn brought me into Howling Death, but she refused.”

“Would you want to pay her a visit while we’re out here?”

“Probably shouldn’t. Ferals don’t like talking to civilians much.”

“That’s understandable. It’s too bad though, if she’s the only family you got.”

“The only one that matters, anyhow.” I returned the flask to her. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” she groaned, running a hand across her belly.

“Let’s eat then.”

We ate our leftover pheasant while talking over less serious topics.

When Shiloh started yawning and her eyelids got droopy, I stood up and looked around for some privacy.

“I’ll be in my wolf form during the night,” I told Shiloh. “Just as a precaution. He’ll awaken easily if something sneaks up on us.”

“Works for me.” The pretty witch was half-asleep already, rolling out her sleeping bag and shaking out her blanket.

I fed another couple of logs to the fire before heading off for some privacy to shift. When I returned, Shiloh was already reclined and bundled up, the firelight dancing over her relaxed features. She was facing the fire, so I padded around to guard her back, facing the barrier she’d made.

I plopped down and rested my chin on my paws, turning my nose toward her hair to pick up some of that orange-cinnamon scent. Just as I started to drift off, Shiloh rolled over, her hand outstretched and sinking into the fur at my shoulder.

“Goodnight, Orson,” she whispered.

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