be worrisome. She hops up and races over. “Here am I!”
“Very good,” I tell her. “And here you go—what would you like?” I offer the prize box.
Her eyes go round as she spies a wolf-shaped sticker in pink. But then she looks at Sam, at the delighted way he’s going to town on his flake of jerky. She looks torn even as she asks, “May I have a piece of jerky too, Deek?”
I smile at her. “Yes. You may.” I hold one out, but when her fingers touch it, I lean down and growl at her, making her shriek—then laugh, loudly.
I let it go, watching as she dissolves into giggles and backs away from me, saying in a sing-song fashion, “Thaaaank yoooou!”
“Yeah, yeah. You did good, Maggs. And here. You forgot this.” I hold out the prize box and wait until she scampers up, awe painting her face, and claims the sticker she’d wanted.
Then I hold the box out to Samuel. “You get a prize too, buddy. Everybody gets to pick two things today.”
Sam speeds over, grabbing a dinosaur-shaped eraser that I think is supposed to smell like apples, but really just smells like burnt rubber and the esters that make artificial flavoring. The resulting composition doesn’t smell at all like the real thing, I can tell you that much—and so can any werewolf.
Speaking of smelling like the real thing, the scent of coconut has reached my nose, and because I watched Susan rub herself in coconut oil after our shower, not to mention when she took me by my dumb handle (and jacked me with her oil-slick fist, then sucked me off)—the scent makes me think immediately of her, and my mouth waters.
I will never be able to think of coconut the same. I may not even be able to safely walk past a stand of coconuts in the Pack’s grocery store.
Susan’s standing on the stairs, watching me, smiling. She mouths, “You big softie.”
I think she’s saying this in response to me calling Maggie back so she could have both things she wanted, which means the whole class will get to pick two things as a fairness ripple effect.
But I tip my head to her. “Soft is not my situation with you here,” I mouth back.
Her mouth curves up in a smile that has my heart racing.
I quickly redirect my attention to the class. “Harper?”
“Here am I!” she calls, sitting up. Roll call continues until my stack of homemade jerky squares are nearly depleted: I’m down to one. And this jerky was made by my mom and dad and shipped all the way from Ireland. These kids are eating Irish beef—the meat with the lowest trace elements of heavy metals because Ireland has never had their soil spoiled by an industrial revolution. Plus, my parents don’t believe in putting sugar in anything that isn’t a dessert, so this is the good stuff. Susan, who eats whole-food everything and even makes her own salad dressings from scratch, would approve. This dried cow is healthy, with its low number of calories while achieving high protein and sublime flavor. So help me, if one of the kids drops theirs on the floor, it’s mine.
(Among werewolves, the ‘five-second rule’ is less like this is safe to eat if I pick it up within five seconds of it hitting the ground and more like five seconds is the time it takes for every other werewolf in the place to cross the room and snatch up whatever is dropped. If you drop meat, be prepared to lose it. And if one of the kids gets the dropsies in this room, it won’t matter that we’re in church. Our adorable sea of grade schoolers will begin brawling in a fashion worthy of the movie Road House.)
I’m hungrily watching the kids’ hands, clutching the last slice of jerky close but not daring to distract myself with eating it yet, or I might miss my chance to wade in—as the adult—and prevent fighting by snatching fallen food for my own—
“Lucan?” Susan asks, now at my side.
“Hmm?”
I stiffen when I feel a tug on my jerky. My eyes snap to her hand.
She goes still. Her fingers open slowly. I want to look up at her face, but I can’t take my gaze from what I’m clutching. “You’re acting weird. Are you…” she asks, just as slow and careful as her movements. “Are you food aggressive?”
A bit of shame licks at me. Not enough for me to straighten out, but