Wolf for Hire

Chapter Fourteen

Skipping this chore wasn't an option. After all the effort I'd gone through to herd the familiars back home, the last thing I needed was for the animals to turn on me because I didn't feed them. Phin and Ferb were hell on wheels when they were hungry, and the parliament of owls was already plotting a coup. One more deviation in the schedule would only fan the fires—I could feel it.

The reptiles—Cassy and Camelia included—were blissfully indifferent to my werewolf form, focused entirely on their meals. The guinea pigs, equally unconcerned, twitched their noses eagerly as I distributed leafy greens. The fish were likewise more fixated only on the food, but the ducks around the Koi pond were spooked by my appearance. They flew a short distance away, honking agitatedly all the while, allowing me to leave out their frozen peas without my fingers getting assaulted.

Another silver-lining when you thought about it.

Then there were Phin and Ferb.

"Yip-yip!" Phin squawked, his call echoing eerily like an overexcited terrier.

"Yap-yap!" Ferb chimed in, the two birds bouncing on their perches. Together they sounded part dog, part Sesame Street Martian.

My hand settled down on a Ziploc bag of pumpkin seeds, as I watched them warily. "Alright, what's this about?"

"Yip-yip-yip!" Phin barked louder, his head bobbing as though urging me toward a particular shelf.

"Yap-yap-yap-yap!" Ferb's cries slowed as I moved away, only to speed up as I drew nearer again.

Trying to piece together their little game, my first thought was that it was some bastardization of Hotter-Colder. But, as the minutes ticked by, their barking cues only sent me in circles. Either the two of them weren't on the same page, or they were screwing with me.

Eventually, their antics defeated my patience.

"Alright, enough!" I snapped, turning on them. "Make up your mind, or you're getting the trail mix."

The two birds howled in protest, so I proceeded to take out the trail mix I'd made for them earlier today, measuring it out into two small dishes. Phin and Ferb descend on the trail mix greedily, their playful yips replaced by their suggestive moaning, and I realized that the feathery imbeciles had in fact been trolling me the whole time.

When I returned to the kitchen, the door to the garage was wide open, and every dog in the house had gathered inside, tails wagging and eyes locked on the rows of bowls lined along the floor. Coy, master of doors, the smug instigator of chaos, sat at the bottom of the stairs his body wiggling in anticipation.

Maggie and Murray sat patiently near the threshold, their disciplined presence a stark contrast to the eager crowd in the garage beyond. The barking began the moment I hefted the bag of kibble, its contents shaking, its packing crinkling. The sea of fur parted as I approached, dogs shifting aside to make way—all except for one.

The Jack Russell from earlier planted themself squarely in my path, their tiny body taut with defiance, teeth bared in a soft growl.

"Don't even think about it," I said, pointing a clawed finger at them. "Bite my tail again, and you'll get nothing to eat."

I rattled the bag of kibble for emphasis. "You'd like something to eat, right?"

The terrier tilted their head, growls subsiding as it appeared to weigh their options. Food or tail. Which was more deserving of their bite?

Hunger won out.

"Good call," I muttered. "Now, what's your name? Every menace needs a name."

I reached out with my thoughts, projecting the question. Her response came back instantly, a simple, sharp sound: Skeet.

"Skeet? Weird name for a dog," I said. Though, the more I thought about the name, the more appropriate it felt. I could easily see myself using her for target practice.

A proper name for a puntable dog.

With Skeet watching intently, I worked my way through the pack alphabetically, filling bowls with methodical precision. When I reached Boden's bowl, my hand hesitated. He was still somewhere out there, roaming Charleston, and the thought gnawed at me.

I didn't have time to mope. Not while I was stuck in wolf-clothes, barely able to function. Sure, I could wait for moonrise and try to convince the wolf to take over and search for Boden, but that would depend on her cooperation—and the risk of waking up in someone's yard again wasn't exactly high on my list of desirable outcomes.

Skeet's growls grew louder as I finally reached the S's. She was growing impatient and I could sense her thoughts returning to my tail. I laid Boden's bowl, a massive dish for one so tiny, in front of her and filled it with a similar amount to Annie's bowl—the two dogs appeared roughly the same weight.

"Guests eat first," I said as I set her bowl down. "But you're not a guest—you're a menace."

I went to prepare the wet food for Maggie and Murray, and my stomach growled involuntarily as I opened the cans. These were Purina Pro Plan: Beef and Rice Entrees, and despite being nauseated by the idea of craving dog food, I nonetheless felt a ravenous hunger.

So, I did have an appetite after all.

It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. During full moons, I'd often fed the wolf canned dog food to keep her satiated—a practice I tolerated only because I was usually drunk at the time. But now? Sober, in broad daylight, and smelling dog food like it was fine cuisine? The revulsion hit harder.

I was supposed to be vegetarian, damn it, and I was cheating on my commitment with dog food.

Fortunately, I had a distraction. I turned to the next name on JT's list. I'd been saving the best—and worst—for last.

Carl.

Pulling a cafeteria tray from the cabinet, I began assembling his meal with care: boiled eggs, cut vegetables, and grapes. No banana chips. Before leaving the kitchen, I double-checked my pockets to ensure they were empty. Carl didn't need any extra opportunities to make my life miserable.

Balancing the tray, I strode down the hall and kicked open his door.

It hit the wall with a bang.

"Time to eat, Carl!" I shouted

The monkey's scream was immediate and satisfying. He'd been lounging on his little pink swing, rocking contentedly, but my sudden arrival, and wolfish appearance, sent him flying from his seat into the corner of his enclosure. Now he huddled there, cowering in wide-eyed terror.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

"Relax, Carl," I said, sliding the tray through the narrow opening and grinning just wide enough to show him all my teeth. "I'm not going to eat you. At least, not like this—you're just skin and bone."

I crouched to his level, resting my chin on the edge of the enclosure, my nose against the bar.

"We've got to fatten you up first, Carl."

Carl didn't move. His beady eyes flicked between me and the food, his tiny hands twitching.

"Oh, Carl," I said, making my voice as saccharin as I could manage, "you worry too much. If you just behave, I'll have no reason to eat you. No misbehaving. Simple as that."

Still the monkey didn't move towards his food. That was fine. All part of the plan.

I pointed to the tray. "Don't forget—not finishing your food counts as misbehaving."

The gears in his head were now visibly turning, his small brain trying to process the catch-22 he'd been saddled with. But that was the name of that game: human AJ was good cop, and wolf AJ was bad cop. I wanted to give Carl a reason to behave for good AJ. And, since I was stuck in my wolf-clothes, there was no better time to introduce Carl to the big bad future consequences of his actions.

His gaze darted from me to the tray and back again, a trapped animal debating whether the devil it knew was better than the one it didn't.

"Go on, Carl," I said, making my voice suddenly cold. "Eat. Up."

I stood back, crossing my arms and fixing him with a steady, unblinking stare. Unnerving the little dude in my current appearance didn't take much effort. It was a less-is-more sort of thing: stand there, let the natural intimidation of a werewolf in full fur and fangs do the work.

Carl finally caved, hopping up to the tray and shoving food into his mouth at an alarming pace. His tiny hands darted between the tray and his face, stuffing grapes and vegetables until his cheeks bulged.

For a moment, guilt flickered at the edges of my mind. Then I remembered how he'd tried to shoot me last night. In the ass. With my gun.

So, yeah—Carl deserved a little indigestion.

He finished quickly, burping slightly as he hopped back onto his perch.

"Very good, Carl," I said, clapping my hands together in mock approval. I retrieved the tray with a flourish. "Be good, now. I'll be back soon."

Normally, tormenting small animals was a definitive sociopathic behavior. But this was different. I was helping Carl. Whether through tough love or sheer terror, I'd teach him to behave—and then maybe teach him a little gun safety while I was at it, for good measure.

The sound of clanging metal greeted me as I returned to the kitchen.

There was Solomon, perched on the table, casually rattling a small bowl with his paw.

"Where'd you get that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes as Solomon batted the small bowl.

"From the cabinet. Obviously."

"You know we don't have cat food."

"You do, however, have canned salmon," he replied, his voice maddeningly even. "It's in the pantry, below the dried lentils. I request a can."

I crossed my arms. "Well, Mr. Know-It-All, seems like you can handle things yourself."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

He flicked his tail with exaggerated nonchalance. "And you may have noticed that I lack opposable thumbs. I require your assistance."

"How is it that you can look so much like a cat but act like such an asshole?"

"Practice."

With a sigh, I headed to the pantry. Sure enough, the salmon was exactly where he said it would be.

"Grab one of those Purinas while you're at it," he called after me, his tone as casual as someone ordering at a drive-thru.

I plucked a can of dog food—another beef and rice—from the shelf, muttering, "What, you in the mood for surf and turf?"

He didn't respond.

Cracking open the salmon, I poured the brine into the sink before pulling the lid the rest of the way off. When I went to open the Purina, Solomon raised a paw.

"Just the salmon for me, if you please."

Then why the hell did you make me grab the Purina? I thought but bit my tongue.

I scooped the salmon into the bowl with a fork and began breaking the chunks with the fork.

"That will be sufficient," he said, and I placed the bowl in front of him. He leaned in to eat the salmon with deliberate, dainty bites.

I slumped into the chair across from him, arms crossed, watching as he slowly worked his way through the bowl, but less halfway through, I broke.

"So, what is it you actually want? Don't tell me you're just here for food. You prompted me to feed the animals, and you made me grab that extra can on purpose. So, out with it."

He kept eating, his pace unchanged, chewing with the kind of calm that made my teeth grind. When he finally paused, he licked his mouth, then his paw, swiping it over his face in slow, deliberate strokes.

So many animals to throttle, yet so little time.

At last, Solomon looked up, his amber eyes meeting mine with unnerving intensity.

"Tell me, when was the last time you ate?"

I frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with everything." His gaze drilled into me. "So? When?"

"Ugh..."

"Let me guess," he said smoothly. "A bit of that deer you and your pack were snacking on, perhaps?"

"What? No! I've had breakfast."

"And that was?"

"...Coffee and a donut," I muttered.

His flat stare was scorching, the kind of look you'd give an idiot child.

"Ah, yes. Just what every growing lycanthrope needs. Flour and sugar."

I bristled. "Look, I haven't had an appetite since last night, alright? I'm vegetarian—I don't like meat. And after... you know… the deer. I haven't felt like eating."

"And what about your other half? Your Little Miss Moody?" He gestured lazily with a paw, his tone dripping with faux concern. "I can't help but notice you're having a bit of a bad hair day. One wonders how you got yourself into this predicament."

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. What could I say? That I was in this predicament because one of the familiars tried to eat me? That wasn't what Solomon was getting at, and I knew it. My stomach hadn't stopped growling since I'd prepared Maggie and Murray's food.

Solomon's ears flicked, his head tilting slightly. He'd clearly heard it too.

"I assume you've noticed a change in your appetite, ever since you acquired your… passenger" Solomon said, breaking the silence with pointed calm. "You could say you're eating for two. I wonder how your other half feels about you starving yourself."

"So, what?" I asked, sitting up. "She's being moody because she's hungry?"

Solomon gave me a long, slow blink—an ordinary cat mannerism made somehow condescending on a mug like his.

"I believe the term your generation uses is hangry. And I suspect you've noticed that without the moon, your ability to shapeshift is more taxing than usual. Reshaping yourself takes strength, and, without the moon to guide you, that strength must come from somewhere. A different source."

Solomon paused, as if giving me time to process, before continuing.

"One, I might add, that you've been neglecting due to your... less-than-robust dietary habits."

I sighed, the realization sinking in.

"So. What? I just need to eat something? That's it?"

Here, have a snickers, AJ—you're not yourself when you're hungry.

"Oh, sure," he said, his tone growing more amused. "You could nibble on some leafy greens, maybe toss in some tofu for protein. But you might consider this: wolves, like all dogs, are highly food-motivated. If you want her cooperation, might I suggest eating something she enjoys? Somehow, I don't think she'll be inspired by a kale salad."

"Great," I muttered. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that? I don't have time to go hunting again, and it's not like I can go shopping while looking like this. What am I supposed to—"

Solomon's head turned toward the counter behind me, and I followed his gaze to the can of dog food I'd left out earlier.

"Oh," I muttered. "Right."

My stomach twisted, growling softly in betrayal.

"Why don't you grab a fork and come join me?" Solomon said, turning back to his salmon, his voice positively dripping with smug satisfaction.

I held the fork in midair, the chunk of beef and rice dripping in gravy hovering inches from my mouth. The wolf stirred in the back of my mind, her interest undeniable, but I stopped myself, clenching the utensil tightly.

"Your turn," I muttered, projecting the smell of the food toward her like an offering.

Her presence pressed closer, an eager tug at the forefront of my consciousness. She liked this game. Too much, if I were honest.

Scattered across the table were three empty cans of wet dog food. My initial attempt to keep it at one had failed—the wolf knew she had leverage, and how to use it. My stomach growled in protest, not just from hunger, but from the absurdity of what I was doing.

"Stubborn mutt," I muttered under my breath.

The wolf didn't respond in words, but I felt the equivalent of an impatient huff—a demand that I hold up my end of the deal. She wasn't taking the wheel without some incentive.

The wolf's cravings bled into mine, making the idea of taking another bite... tolerable. And with my wolf-like sense still intact, the taste and smell was even bordering on decent.

I gave in, sliding the chunk off the fork with my teeth. The wolf surged forward as I chewed, savoring the flavor I fed her.

"There," I grumbled, swallowing. "Happy now?"

She didn't answer, but my fingers tingled, the claws softening and retracting as the skin shifted back to its human texture. The wolf always delivered, but the terms were clear: no food, no cooperation.

I glanced at my hands—normal enough to pass as human, as long as no one got close enough to see that I wasn't wearing nail extensions. My feet, too, were human-shaped again and could be hidden within a pair of shoes. And, of course, there was my face, that was now back to normal and free of any unwanted hair—I'd eaten an entire extra can to get the wolf to help me with that.

But, looking human didn't mean I was. I'd negotiated for superficial changes—the visible parts of me. Beneath the skin, the beast still lurked.

Beneath the clothes, fur galore.

It was a decision made to conserve whatever energy was left, and to avoid further compromise—I didn't want to eat more dog food than absolutely necessary.

I could pass in public, as long as I didn't wear sandals or grin too wide for a photo.

The fourth can sat unopened beside me, but my stomach churned at the thought of eating more, but the wolf poured her appetite into me and I found myself reaching for the can.

"You're worse than a loan shark," I muttered, cracking it open. I caught myself sniffing. "A loan wolf."

Objectively, it wasn't actually that bad. I still had the senses of the wolf, tongue included, and, with her in the seat next to me—in the mental sense—I had a direct link to her cravings and desires. She was enjoying the food, and, thus, so was I.

"Fine," I sighed, spearing another chunk. "But this is the last one."

The wolf pressed closer again, hunger laced with smug satisfaction, and we began to work our way through the last can. You know, once I learned to look past the fact I was eating dog food, I was just basically sharing a meal with my wolf. A simple act of communion that wasn't half bad.

Maybe I'd judged the dog food too harshly.

"Should I be concerned?" came a voice from right beside me. I started, mid-swallow, and nearly choked. Coughing, I dropped the fork down and spun towards the voice.

Nevermore—having returned and entered the kitchen without my notice.

"It's not what it looks like," I managed hastily, clearing my throat.

He tilted his head, eyes glittering with amusement. "Then what does it look like?"

Damn it. He had me there.

"Fine," I said, pushing the half-empty can aside. "It's exactly what it looks like. But it's the only way I can get back to human form."

"Surely," he said, fluttering onto the table, "there's a more elegant solution."

I waved a hand in the direction of the table's other end. "Probably. But little mister Solomon here—oh, come on!"

My eyes darted around the room.

The cat was gone.

Again.

"He Batman'd me."

Nevermore let out a low caw of intrigue. "Solomon?"

"This cat," I grumbled, scanning for any trace of him. "He shows up to give me some backhanded advice, and then vanishes. I don't even know whose familiar he is. Sandy's? V's maybe? I don't know."

"Sounds charming."

"Oh, he's a delight," I muttered. As I looked around for Solomon, I couldn't find any trace of him. Even his bowl and can of salmon was gone. But I could still smell the salmon so I knew it wasn't all in my head. The prick had probably put them away simply to gaslight me.

Nevermore's gaze fell on the remaining cans of dog food. "So, four cans in. Tell me—are you planning to make this a permanent addition to your diet?"

I scowled. "Wolves are very food-motivated," I said flatly, parroting Solomon.

"And this was his idea?"

"Well, sort of." I rubbed my temple, the truth only making it worse. "He didn't say it had to be dog food. It was just... convenient."

Nevermore's feathers fluffed in mock astonishment. "Convenient? You mean to tell me it didn't have to be dog food? You could've made eggs? Sausage? Or, you know, normal food?"

I blinked, then groaned. "Do we even have that?"

"Did you check?"

I dragged a hand down my face as the realization hit me. Solomon had played me. Or maybe it wasn't just a prank—it felt a bit punitive. As if to say: Eat properly, or eat dog food.

I set the half-empty can on the floor. The wolf protested, but we'd already reached our end of terms.

Coy was there a moment later to lap it up.

Crossing my arms, I turned to Nevermore. "Alright, enough with my dietary shaming. What's the update with the kids?"

He preened his feathers, his tone taking on a theatrical flair. "Ah, those little scamps. Quite the inquisitive bunch. First, I've deduced how Monty ended up in their yard."

I sighed. "Let me guess. Skeet."

"You're correct," Nevermore said, his voice carrying a note of amusement. "Our little terrier friend has a habit of, shall we say, acquisitions. Turtles, squirrels, snakes—even once brought home a skunk." He tilted his head, feathers fluffing. "And it wasn't even dead. A real stinker, you could say."

"Fantastic," I muttered. "Where'd she find Monty?"

"In the woods, I'd imagine. We're not far from her yard if you cut straight through the trees."

I squinted at him. "Okay, enough with the side tangent. You're being cagey. Tell me about the kids. Did you threaten them or not?"

"Oh perish that thought," he said smoothly, hopping to the back of a chair. "As I said, I merely satiated their curiosity."

"And that sounds dubious as all hell," I said, arms still crossed. "Explain."

He hesitated—just long enough to make me suspicious—before tilting his head again. "So, the sister turns out to be quite the negotiator. Kids these days—never been given so much sass from someone so young."

I stared at him, my patience wearing thin. "Are you telling me you got strong-armed by a seven-year-old? What did they demand?"

"Parker is nine, thank you," he corrected primly, "and it was nothing unreasonable. I secured their promise never to show the video in exchange for... a small concession."

My stomach sank. "What. Did. You. Do?"

"After the story I told them, they want to meet you," he said airily. "And the other animals. Hardly an outrageous request."

I gaped at him. "That was your brilliant plan? What makes you think they'll actually keep their promise?"

"It was a magic promise," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Oh, right. Magic. Of course." I threw up my hands. "That makes everything better. Did you make it gluten-free too?"

"Well, no wheat was involved. But, given our options, it was the best solution, if you ask me. And they said they'd return the shoe you seemed to have left behind. Rather kind of them, don't you think?"

"Wonderful," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. Somehow, I knew this would come back to bite me. Every magical problem I'd dealt with so far had tried to eat me, shoot me, or force me into public speaking. The sooner I could claw my way back to a normal life, the better.

"I'm going to wash my mouth out." I pushed myself back from the table and stood up. "Thoroughly. Then we'll head into town to look for Boden. We've wasted enough daylight as is."

As much as I hated this pet-sitting gig, I'd signed up for it, and through hell or high water, I was going to see it through. Life could rob me of my apartment, my job, my smooth skin, and my dignity, but it couldn't take my work ethic. Even if lycanthropy stripped me of my humanity, that was the one thing that would remain.

Sometimes human, sometimes wolf, but always a professional.

As I turned to leave, Nevermore's voice followed me, dripping with amusement.

"Tell me—do you plan on keeping the tail?"

Startled, I glanced over my shoulder.

Sure enough, the fluffy appendage, which I'd completely forgotten about, had crept its way out of JT's scrubs and now swayed cheerfully behind me.

"Oh, goddamnit," I groaned.