“You’re a werewolf too?” The boy, Dylan, stared at Jaemus, a wide-eyed look of excitement in his blue eyes.

“Aye.” Jaemus sat across from the child on a seat made of fluffy cushions and soft material. Brandy had called it a couch and although it wasn’t as ornate as the king’s thrones he’d seen over the years, Jaemus was sure it was more comfortable.

He finished eating the sandwich Brandy had made him and though he’d never had chicken salad before, he decided he liked it. Quite a bit. Of course horse shit would have tasted good to him right about now too. He’d been living on small fish and critters, berries, and nuts for weeks, all of which he had to hunt and collect himself. Food that magically appeared to him and was made by a beautiful woman was certainly preferred. 

“Can you change right now?” Dylan asked.

“No.”

“C’mon. I want to see what you look like.”

“This,” Jaemus angled his hands at himself, “is what I look like.”

“As a human, yeah, but what color is your fur? Do your eyes glow like Mom’s and Reardon’s? Are you as big as Reardon? Because he’s huge! He likes to run and play games with me in the field. He can run so fast. Mom too. Can you run fast?”

Jaemus let out a low growl as Reardon and Brandy came into the room.

“You do not growl at my son.” Suddenly Brandy was standing right in front of him, hands on her hips and her mouth set in a firm line. Her eyes glowed in warning.

“He’s like a gnat, buzzing around my head with all his questions. I can’t stand the interrogation.”

Dylan’s shoulders sank and the child looked down to his lap. “I’m sorry.” He slid off his seat and ran out of the room.

Reardon joined Brandy in front of Jaemus. “Listen, brother, I consider that boy my son as well, and you will not speak to him like that again. Understand?”

Jaemus stood abruptly. Brandy backed up several steps, but Reardon remained in his face.

“Go ahead,” Reardon said. “Hit me. If it’ll make you feel better. But I guarantee it won’t. Especially when I hit back.” A growl worked its way into that final sentence, and Reardon’s eyes glowed an intense green-gold in challenge.

Claws extended from Jaemus’s fingertips. His canines lengthened and human reason leached away. “You won’t be able to hit back when I’m through, brother.”

Before he could lunge, Brandy stepped between them. Both he and Reardon let out growls, but she growled right back at them. “Grow up. Fighting won’t solve your problems, boys. Only forgiveness will.” She shot Jaemus a pointed look then faced Reardon. “I’m going to see if Dylan’s okay then head to bed. If I’m not mistaken, you were intending to worship every square inch of me in celebration of America’s freedom. Is that still on?”

Reardon’s eyes glowed brighter as he shifted his focus to Brandy. Desire swelled between them and the scent made Jaemus’s body react. It’d been too long since he’d buried himself in a woman. Too damn long.

“Aye, that’s on, fairy lass. Very on.” Reardon dropped his head and kissed Brandy square on the mouth.

Her body shuddered as she pulled away, laughing. “Well, okay then.” She walked out of the room, her hips swaying deliciously.

“Keep looking at her like that and I’ll rip your face off,” Reardon said.

Jaemus shifted his attention back to his brother. “Just trying to figure out why she wants you.”

Reardon’s features softened, his eyes dimming back to their normal color and a slight grin on his lips. “If you figure that one out, let me know. I don’t deserve her or her son, but for some reason they’ve decided to share their lives, their love with me. I plan to spend my entire life giving them whatever they want, though it will never be enough compared to what they’ve given me.”

“And the boy doesn’t care if you’re a werewolf and you’ve changed his mother into a beast too?” Jaemus hooked his hair behind his left ear and ran a finger along the scar before rubbing his bearded jaw. Though Brandy had tidied him, he still felt like a monster. He always would.

“Dylan is an exceptional boy,” Reardon said. “He and Brandy have a love for the supernatural. They accepted me in wolf form first then as a human then as both.” He scrubbed a hand over his own bearded jaw. “Look, I’m so sorry for what I did to you and the others. I had no right, Jaemus. I know that. Nothing I can do will right that wrong either, but look at me. It’s possible to be a werewolf and have a wonderful life.”

Jaemus doubted that. “Good fortune only smiles upon you, Reardon. You’re one lucky bastard.”

“I guess so. Flidae brought my brother back to me.” Reardon clapped him on the shoulder, but didn’t wait for Jaemus to respond. “Where were you before the goddess dropped you here?”

Jaemus shrugged. “An island. I don’t know where or when. I was the only one there.”

A pained expression flitted across Reardon’s face. “You’ve been alone since Flidae separated us?”

“Aye.”

“That’s been over a month.” Reardon’s jaw tensed then he shook his head. “Well, you’re not alone now. You must be tired, and sleep will make those cuts heal faster. Come. Meredith, Brandy’s mother, prepared the guest room upstairs for you.”

“You get a mother out of the deal too. Incredible.”

“Aye, Meredith is wonderful. You’ll meet her tomorrow. She lives on the property along with the wolves that we’ll also introduce you to. They’re a fantastic pack.”

“And you never intend to go back to Ireland? Our Ireland?” Wouldn’t that be the goal of all the men? To get back home?

“There’s nothing there for me, Jaemus. I lived a life there that caused me to betray men who had only been loyal to me. I don’t want to be that man ever again.” He led Jaemus to a set of stairs and climbed. “Besides,” he threw over his shoulder, “this time and place has so many things you won’t be able to live without.”

Don’t be so sure. Jaemus had come from surviving alone on a scorching tropical island. There was a great deal he could apparently live without.

He followed Reardon up the stairs if only for the promise of a place to sleep. He was the kind of tired he felt deep down in his bones. Maybe if he got some rest he’d be able to sort through the emotions storming inside of him. He was still furious at Reardon, and yet, relief coursed through him as well. Reardon was taking care of him again. Giving him a place to stay, an apology, encouragement that things as a werewolf were not as bad as they seemed. These were all good things, but Jaemus also remembered he was in this situation because of Reardon. He hadn’t minded their previous life as hired warriors. He was good at that life.

If he stayed here with Reardon, what would his life be like? Could he keep the wolf in him hidden? Could he bury that part of him and carry on like the regular human he longed to be again? Could he find someone like Brandy for himself? Did he want to?

Too many questions, not enough answers. So, aye, sleep it would be. Maybe some answers would come in his dreams.

“Here we are.” Reardon stopped at an open doorway and motioned for Jaemus to enter. “Bathroom’s down the hall. There’s more food downstairs in the kitchen if you get hungry. Help yourself to anything you need.” He turned to leave, but then swiveled back. “No more growling at Dylan or Brandy or each other. Deal?” He stuck out his hand, and Jaemus gaped at it.

“I won’t growl at the boy or the woman,” Jaemus said.

“But you can’t promise not to growl at me?”

Jaemus shook his head.

“Maybe in time.”

Doubtful.

Reardon lowered his hand. “See you in the morning.” He walked down the hall a little ways and disappeared behind another door. Giggling sounded on the other side and Jaemus shut his door to drown it out. He wasn’t about to listen to his brother’s escapades. Not when no escapades were scheduled for himself.

He surveyed the room he’d been given. The walls were a deep blue and covered in art work depicting wolves in snow. Wonderful. He couldn’t go a moment without being reminded of his fate.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he lowered to the large bed and flopped back. The bed was surprisingly comfortable. No lumpy spots and no smell of fresh stuffing. It was even more comfortable than the couch. Maybe Reardon had been right about it being hard to leave this time and place.

Jaemus propped himself up on one elbow so he could continue scanning the room, but as he took in the end tables fashioned to match the woodwork on the bed, his eyes grew too heavy to keep open. Taking one of the soft cushions from the head of the bed, Jaemus sunk his head into it. The cuts Brandy had tended hurt less as they brushed up against his clothes. His borrowed clothes. 

He sat up and pulled off the shirt then peeled away the pants too, dropping both in a pile on the floor by the bed. In nothing but a pair of undergarments, Jaemus pulled a thin sheet over his mostly naked body. The bedclothes smelled clean and fresh. So different from the sun-baked forest and sandy shores of the island. So different from the star-filled skies of Ireland too.

Ireland. He had to get back there. Maybe Reardon liked it here in this time and place, but Jaemus didn’t belong here. He wasn’t quite sure where he belonged. Maybe wedged in the pages of ancient myths where werewolves and other monsters lurked. Maybe in Hades where evil beasts prowled.

Maybe nowhere. Nowhere at all.

If Reardon could find a place to belong…

He growled, folding the cushion around his head to muffle the sound. He wasn’t his brother. Things didn’t work out for him as they did for Reardon. His brother flexed a little muscle and people bowed down to him—even boys and women from the future apparently. Jaemus, on the other hand, had to work for everything.

When it was his turn to bring home food for Reardon and their mother, he couldn’t rely on fighting. No. He ended up trading work for what they needed. It was never easy work either. Mucking stalls. Harvesting crops. Cleaning forges. Shipbuilding. Granted, he’d acquired many skills, but with a few well-placed punches, Reardon had fed and clothed them all. It took Jaemus weeks sometimes just to earn a few loaves of bread.

But he’d done it. For his mother. For his brother. A brother who did protect him. A brother who eventually made him an extremely wealthy man with all the treasures they’d garnered fighting kings’ battles. A brother who included him in his legendary army.

A brother who chose continued victory over letting Jaemus live a natural, human life.

Brandy wanted him to forgive Reardon. His brother wanted that forgiveness. It wasn’t that easy though. Nothing ever was.

Jaemus rolled to his side and slept for two days straight.

****

“I’ve asked around, Boss,” Zavier said. “No one wants the Wolfman job.”

Three days had gone by since Jared’s arrest, and Zavier was trying his best to be Wolfman, but the kid wasn’t mean or scary or muscled enough. Each show had less and less of a crowd as word got out that the previous Wolfman was gone. No one had answered her help wanted ad either. Robert had been by nearly every day to mention and re-mention that he was all too willing to take the burden of the trading post off her shoulders.

Tato, I’m failing you here. Big time.

And that was the worst part. If Maple Ridge Trading Post closed, the world wouldn’t end, but the last thread that tied Nika to her father would be cut. Sure, she had her memories and she’d never forget his love for her, but she needed this physical reminder of him. Something concrete she could look at say, This was his and a part of him is still here with me.

If the post was gone, Tato would be too.

True, her father was already gone, but she felt him at the post, more than anywhere else. She wasn’t ready or willing to be rid of that feeling yet.

“There’s got to be someone willing to do the job.” She straightened the beeswax candle display to her left.

“Not for the pay you’re offering, Boss,” Carrie said, coming up to the register area toting two bags from Rosie’s Diner. “Lunchtime.”

On Thursdays in the summer, Carrie, Zavier, and Nika had a weekly lunch-staff meeting together. They rotated who brought lunch. Nika usually made some Polish food Carrie and Zavier had never tried before. Zavier always got his grandmother to make something for them, and Carrie’s aunt, Rosie, owned Rosie’s Diner in town.

“I can’t afford to pay any more than I’m offering.” Nika accepted the eggplant sandwich Carrie handed her. “But I guess Jared couldn’t live off that pay, hence the need for the meth business.”

On Tuesday, Sheriff Olsen, two detectives, and a drug-sniffing dog served her a warrant to search the trading post for any indications that Jared was operating any part of his business from there.

“Go for it,” she’d said. “All you’ll find here are bills. Ones I can’t pay.”

Sheriff Olsen had given her a suspicious look, and she’d quickly realized a booming meth business would pay those bills.

“Do you think my tato raised me to be a drug dealer, Sheriff?” She’d offered him what she hoped was an innocent-looking smile, because though she was innocent, she felt as if anything she said or did could be used against her in a court of law.

“No. Your father was an upstanding citizen of Canville. Too bad you’re selling to Senclair.” Olsen had signaled to the detectives to start their search.

“Who said I’m selling to Senclair?”

“Senclair. Just about announced it at Rosie’s last night.” Sheriff Olsen had leaned against the counter by the register and squinted at her. “You marrying him too?”

Nika had let out a rumble through clenched teeth. “Absolutely not.”

Olsen had put up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Thought I’d heard him say that.”

Which he probably had. That’d made Nika want to scream, but she’d bit back her anger and stepped out of the way as the police searched the post. Finding nothing suspicious—or any customers to question—they’d left.

“Maybe I should cancel the show,” Nika said around a bite of her sandwich now. “Red and Hunty have been hinting around at trying their luck in Hollywood. I only think they stay on because they’re both sweethearts and feel bad for me.”

“Like us,” Carrie said, lightly punching Nika’s arm. “Just kidding.”

“Yeah.” Zavier wiped marinara sauce off his mouth with the back of his hand. “We stay because we love you, Nika.”

She reached across the little table in the middle of the post where they ate and squeezed each of their hands. “I love you guys too.” Her throat was too tight to finish her sandwich so she wrapped up the other half, deeming it tonight’s dinner.

“Let’s finish out the week with the show,” Zavier said. “I know I suck as Wolfman, but it’ll give you a chance to break the news to Red and Hunty.”

Nika nodded. “Then I guess I’ll meet with Robert and give him what he wants.”

“Ick.” Carrie wrinkled up her nose while Zavier coughed on his sandwich.

“Not that!” A whole-body shudder wracked her body. “Never that. I’ll just let him buy the post. I’ll make sure he offers you two jobs at Mr. Sprinkles.”

“I wouldn’t work for anything Robert Senclair owned,” Carrie said. “Besides, after next year, Zavier and I will be off to college. He’ll no doubt go to Harvard and I’ll find a nice bargain community college for people who have no idea what they want to be when they grow up.”

“Carrie…” Zavier started, but she held up a hand to silence him.       

“I’m not smart like you, Zavier. I’m not creative. I’m not athletic. Come to think of it, I can’t name something I’m truly good at.”

“You’re good at being you,” Zavier said softly.

Nika held back the awww threatening to slip from her mouth. God, had a guy ever said anything that sweet to her? Umm, nope. Never.

“You’re good at slinging bullshit,” Carrie said, but the blush on her cheeks let everyone know she’d been affected by Zavier’s words. “You’ll make an excellent lawyer someday.”

Zavier shrugged. “For now, however…” He held up his can of Mountain Dew. “To Wolfman.”

Nika and Carrie held up theirs as well and all three of them toasted Wolfman. After the final show, Nika would lay him to rest.

Ugh. She felt terrible. About everything.

“Come watch the show.” Zavier stood and cleared away everyone’s trash.

“Sure.” It wasn’t as if any customers were inside the post. There would be some on the log bleachers out back in the theater area though. That might improve her mood. Maybe she could hold an impromptu fifty percent off sale and entice those guests to come into the post.

Zavier left to get into costume while Carrie went to the theater to fire up the popcorn machine. Nika took a few quiet moments to look around the trading post. If she closed her eyes, she could remember what it sounded like on a hot July day with tourists milling about, buying items, laughing with their families, munching on snacks, trading stories with Tato as he wrung them up at the register.

Before she could stop them, tears trailed down her cheeks. Her father’s beloved trading post would be a Mr. Sprinkles Donut Shop. Tato hadn’t even liked donuts.

After wiping her eyes, Nika smoothed her rust-colored tank top and shook out the folds of her long skirt. One of her favorites, this skirt sported a geometric Native American design with alternating rows of turquoise, black, brown, and rust-colored shapes. She wore it with a wide brown belt with a silver buckle and a long silver necklace she’d made with a turquoise leaf hanging from it. She’d also made matching earrings, but that was when Tato had been alive and she had some time for arts and crafts. She hadn’t made any jewelry in ages. She missed it. 

She wiggled her toes in her brown sandals that laced up her ankles. This was as spiffy as Nika Skarvinski got. After the post closed for good, maybe she’d become a naked, homeless person. She’d have to move south though. Vermont weather was rarely good for outdoor nudity.

Straightening her spine—no need for the few customers at the show to see her dead spirit—Nika went out back and slid onto the first log bench in the theater’s bleachers. A handful of customers made up the audience. Nothing at all like the crowd Jared’s Wolfman used to attract, but she was thankful for Zavier’s attempt to help. Such a sweet boy.

Red Riding Hood appeared on the little stage and welcomed the audience. She caught Nika’s eye and Nika instantly knew Zavier had told her about the show ending. Hunty came out too and blew Nika a kiss. With blurry eyes, she waited for Zavier to come bounding out of the trees in the Wolfman costume.

Before he did, Carrie slid into the seat beside her and put her arm around Nika’s shoulders. “You’re doing the right thing,” she whispered. “Your father would understand.” She leaned her head on Nika’s shoulder.

Too choked up for words, Nika put her arm around Carrie’s waist and held the girl. Because she needed something to hold onto. Her heart was breaking. Into a million jagged pieces. She had no hope of putting it back together. No hope at all.

A scream from the row behind her made Nika jump then turn around. A woman pointed to the stage, where in the trees to the right, Wolfman stood. 

“Glad we can still get a jolt out of someone,” Nika mumbled to Carrie.

Instead of replying, Carrie stared straight ahead, her mouth slightly agape.

Nika followed her line of view and instantly saw what had garnered Carrie’s complete attention. Another Wolfman was inching onto the stage.

“Two Wolfmen!” someone yelled from the audience.

Nika could tell the second Wolfman was Zavier by the height and way he moved and the costume which she’d know anywhere. So who in the hell was the first Wolfman?

And where had he gotten his costume because it was phenomenal.

Shaggy silver fur surrounded the head. Huge, golden brown eyes—dammit, glowing eyes—stalked Red and Hunty on the stage. This Wolfman was bare-chested and corded with muscle, a light coat of silver fur on its back. Gnarled hands ended with dagger-like claws and long canine teeth protruded out of a massive jaw. One with the lips curled back in aggression with saliva dripping in hunger.

Slowly Zavier backpedaled off the stage while the new Wolfman advanced on Red and Hunty. Nika moved to the edge of her seat as did Carrie.

“Where did he come from?” Carrie asked. “He’s amazing!”

Amazing. Yeah. Completely.

The small crowd behind them went wild with applause and shouting. They were eating this up even more than when Jared had played Wolfman.

The show unfolded a little off script, but Nika didn’t care. The audience was more than satisfied, and she wanted that Wolfman. As soon as Red and Hunty took a bow, Nika was on her feet and racing to the edge of the theater where the new Wolfman had run off.

“Wait!” she called. “Hey, wait!”

The dude stopped, but didn’t turn around right away, his shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath.

Nika jogged to catch up to him and being up close stole her breath away. He was… big. Well over six feet tall with wide, slightly furry shoulders. “Holy shit. Your costume is marvelous. Did you make it?”

He didn’t say anything. Just panted in front of her. His glowing golden brown eyes were perfectly wild and untamed and… intense. She couldn’t move under the power of them.

“So I guess we’ll consider that show your interview, yeah?” She smiled, hoping to break the magnitude of his stare, but no. This guy was really into the role. Like completely in character. And was he actually growling a little? Cool. “Okay, umm, why don’t you change and come to the trading post? We’ll fill out the paperwork because, baby, you’re hired.”

She reached out a tentative hand and patted his forearm—his ripped-with-muscle forearm. How did one get that effect in a costume? Genius.

Nika headed back toward the trading post, but Mr. Wolfman stood there, breathing heavily, saliva still dripping from his jaw. The details he’d included far surpassed anything Jared had done. She imagined what this guy could do with a larger audience and felt downright giddy. She’d get Carrie to make a video advertisement. Yeah. Something edgy and hip and you’ve-got-to-come-on-out-to-see-this. The ring of the cash register filled Nika’s head and she got drunk on it.

I don’t have to sell to Robert Senclair.

She clapped as she walked away. God, she hoped she could afford this new guy. He appeared to be a professional. Was he used to a big paycheck? What made him crash her show then? He must have been willing to take a pay cut. Maybe he’d been to Hollywood and had become disheartened by it all. Maybe a small town trading post show was just what he was looking for to restore his faith in his craft.

Maybe Nika Skarvinski had received her first miracle.