Mercy Loomis

No one in the village believes Wil’s stories about the wolf, except the girl he’s being forced to marry. But the wolf has other plans for Wil – and troubles of his own.

Published in the anthology Bedknobs and Beanstalks from Ravenous Romance, 2009.

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Read an excerpt below!

The grass rustled, and suddenly the wolf was there. It sat well out of reach, one paw raised as if considering whether to come nearer.

“Hello, friend.” Wil smiled. “I didn’t know if you’d be here.”

With dainty steps the wolf picked its way closer, craning its head to sniff at him. It was so intent, so cautious, that Wil’s brow furrowed.

“It’s me.” He held out his hand for the wolf to sniff. Soft breath warmed his fingers, and then, to his surprise, the wolf moved forward, rubbing its face against his hand, his fingers sliding through the thick fur of its neck and back as it turned and walked back the way it had come.

Wil stared after it in shock. He had never tried to touch the wolf, less for fear of being bitten than for the knowledge that Emma was right, and this was no ordinary creature. His skin tingled with premonition.

The wolf walked only a couple of paces before turning again, letting out a great sigh as it faced him, only this time Wil could see the movement of the air, a great swirling, luminescent in the moonlight. As the wolf moved into the roiling air its body blurred, dissolving, twisting into that moving breath and pouring out the other side. A new shape formed, a man's shape, pale and lanky and with a shock of dark curls. Black Welsh eyes pierced him through, driving every thought out of Wil's head and leaving him reeling with confusion.

The pookha—for what other creature, mortal or fae, could change its shape so easily?—sat and wrapped his arms around his knees. His voice was a rich, belling tenor, like a hound's. “Did you mean it, when you said you wished you could stay here with me?”