Or less than half-grown, possibly, because it’s maybe the size of a border collie.
Clutching the clearly thrilled member of his pack, letting the animal (person) wriggle against his chest where it’s playfully rolling, whining, and nipping at him, Deek moves to Maggie’s door and helps her out. He hitches the young werewolf over his shoulder, it’s wagging tail slapping his face as he holds out his hand for Maggie to take.
With more enthusiasm, Charlotte and Ginny spill out of the other side and crowd around him to pet the madly excited werewolf.
I debate locking my purse in the car, but with a crew of three kids, you never know if you’ll need gum, Kleenex, Band-Aids, or a granola bar, all of which I have tucked away, just waiting to be used. I shoulder my bag and lock up our vehicle.
I’m smiling at Deek and the kids as he sets the werewolf on the ground and it bows playfully and woofs at them. But my gaze moves back to the porch, where the other shapes are standing sentry.
Black, brown, red—the werewolves stare back at me.
I’m about to move closer to Deek when one wags its tail—and then they all start wagging their tail and they spill down the steps and trot up to me in a friendly manner. Soon they’re circling Deek and the kids, and one of them pounces on the small happy werewolf, eliciting a wrestling match that has us all laughing.
“Come on,” Deek says. “Leave these idiots and let’s go to the house.”
“That’s ‘eejits!’” Finn hollers, the porch door slamming after him. “Wolves from Ireland think you’re complimenting us if you use words as gentle as idiot.”
“DON’T SLAM THE DOOR, EEJIT!” someone yells from inside.
Finn turns back and bellows, “WELL DONE!” He grins before adding, “AND SORRY!”
Deek is carrying Maggie now, and he’s feigning a frown as he moves up the porch steps, stepping politely over a pair of jeans but otherwise paying the stray clothing here and there no mind. “I used idiot because of our greeters. You’ll notice only Colin is from Ireland.” He hooks his thumb at the red wolf currently raising his leg to the tire of our car.
Finn makes a sympathetic face and slaps Deek on the back. “We don’t hold it against the rest of you.” Then he hollers with feeling, “Colin! Don’t piss in front of the girls, you daft weasel!”
The wolf comes skittering up the porch—and flops over my feet. “Oh,” I say in surprise, holding still.
Finn rolls his eyes, leans down, and seizes the wolf up by his ruff, holding the massive beast in his arms like it weighs nothing. “Don’t be a lickarse,” he chides it, and bops foreheads with it affectionately. At us, he jerks his chin, indicating the manor’s arched doorway. “Get inside, all of ye.”
We file in, with Finn murmuring, “Howaya, Sue.”
“Hi, Finn,” I murmur back, smiling despite myself since he’s still carrying the giant werewolf flopped in his arms—and when I look at it, it turns and looks right back, panting at me with its tongue lolling out, looking like it’s smiling.
I barely get an impression of the house—massive ship timbers half-encased by stone support the walls from wood floor to ceiling, coat hooks on the walls hold all sorts of clothes, not just coats, portraits of wolves and men alike decorate the foyer—when a thunderous pounding begins inside the house, sounding like the ceiling is going to come crashing down. Several pairs of bare feet round the landing of the stairs and bang down to the first story. Voices shout, “DEEK’S BACK!”
And then Deek and Maggie are engulfed with human male bodies and there’s hugs and shouting and absolute chaos until a woman enters the room from a swinging doorway and yells, “Lunch is ready, and PUT DEEK DOWN! He’s holding a baby!”
The red wolf Finn is holding, Colin, has kicked its elbow back so that it hangs over Finn’s arm, and with its relaxed pose, rear paws in the air and body slouched against Finn’s chest, it looks like that So, do you come here often? meme as it all but smiles at me.
Finn’s hand, which is wrapped around the chest of the animal, curls a big thumb and middle finger together—and then he flicks his middle finger out, thwacking the wolf he’s gripping in its fur-padded ribs, making the animal chuff with lupine laughter. “Quit making eyes at my mutt,” Finn mutters.