A Grey Wolves Howliday (The Grey Wolves #14) by Quinn Loftis

“Hell!” Thia mimicked.

Decebel sighed.

Fane kept going. “And then endure the agonizing pain of childbirth, just to ensure the survival of our very species. I mean, wow. That’s all I can say. Just, wow.”

“Okay, wolf-man,” Jacque patted him on the shoulder. “Now you’re laying it on a bit too thick. But we do appreciate the effort.”

Wadim took another small step away from Bethany, and a look of relief came over his face when she didn’t follow. “My apologies … um … ma’am.” All the males in the room groaned.

“Did you just call me … ma’am?” Bethany asked.

“Bethy,” Drake interrupted. Everyone except the historian knew—perhaps because he’d spent entirely too much time poring through centuries-old tomes instead of hanging out with actual women—that calling a woman ma’am when she was under the age of some indistinct number of which no male was entirely certain and therefore wisely avoided the term altogether, was an insult of the highest order. “Would you like me to get you a glass of orange juice, my love?”

Bethany immediately turned to her mate. “Orange juice sounds outstanding.” Suddenly, the girl was all smiles, and the tension in the room fell several levels. The storm had passed as quickly as it had appeared. Decebel let out a quiet breath of relief. His eyes met Fane’s, and the alpha, too, looked relieved.



Jen stared at her to-do list, which was six pages long and counting. They had just under four weeks before Christmas Eve, and she was determined everything would be done before the big day. She glanced up around the room to see who was missing. As she was doing the head count, Gavril, Rachel, Crina, and Adam walked in. They said their good mornings, but she wasn’t paying attention. Four of Jen’s brigade members were missing. Her mate had suggested calling them “groups.” She mentally rolled her eyes. I mean, could we get any less original?

“You remember I can hear you, right? Decebel said through their bond.

“How could I forget? You remind me, frequently. You seem to forget that my every thought is not directed at you.”

“But your mind is such an interesting place, baby. I can’t help but eavesdrop.” His tone had deepened and taken on what she referred to as “the bedroom voice.”

“Nice try, Casanova. Your seduction tactics will have to wait for about four weeks. I got too much to do and not enough time to do it.”

“I’m sorry, did you say four weeks? Because I’m pretty sure I did not hear you correctly.” She nearly laughed out loud at the indignant growl.

“B, I have to assign the brigades … or squads. I still haven’t decided what to call them. And that’s one more thing I have to do, but I digress. After assigning everyone to their brigade /squad/company, I’ll have to explain in, no doubt, a ridiculous amount of detail what they are to accomplish, order more decorations, and create the menu, while also making sure we have Christmas treats to eat from now until the Christmas/everything celebration party. Not to mention I’ve got to get Thia’s first birthday cake, which she gets to eat by herself.”

“Why does she need an entire cake to herself?”

“It’s a thing. If you don’t believe me, look it up on that awesome invention called the Internet. I also need to get Slate a pre-one year birthday cake because there will be no time to celebrate his birthday once it gets here. By then, the shit will have hit the fan. I have to get Titus a ‘happy adoption, we consider you family even if you didn’t come out of Sally’s vagina’ cake—”

“You’re not really going to put that on the cake, are you?” he interrupted.

She looked at the list where she’d written this particular task. “I’d like to, but I don’t think it would fit.”

“Bloody hell, I hope not,” he muttered, though she didn’t think he meant for her to hear it.

She made a question mark by the note and then continued. “I also need to order the Happy Everything/Merry Christmas cake. I need to make sure each of the rugrats has appropriate attire for the Christmas party because Sally will no doubt have Titus dressed in one of those ugly-as-hell sweaters that are supposedly all the rage.”

“Do we really need that many cakes?”

Decebel’s words reminded Jen of another thing that she’d mistakenly skipped over. “Crap, thank you, B. I almost missed the cake I need to order for Bethany’s baby shower.”

“We’re having a baby shower, too?” His voice rose an octave.

Jen’s eyes moved from her list to his face. “Don’t you think a baby is a big freaking deal, especially in the wolfy world? I mean, how often do Canis lupus have babies to celebrate?”

“Well, lately we’ve had two, and a dormant child,” he pointed out. He wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t the point.

“They were the first two in nearly twenty years, Decebel. Bethany’s child will be the third. It’s a big freaking deal, and she deserves a flipping cake.” Jen knew she needed to bring it down a notch. She was getting a little, or a lot, defensive over a cake. But it was a big deal. Hell, being pregnant in the human world was a big deal. Being pregnant in their world was a colossal deal.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice serious. “It is a big deal, and we should celebrate it.”