I did wonder how that would convert to hotter weather. Would we be slumped over and gasping in summer? I imagined grooming my pack and them grooming me, trying to get rid of an undercoat as fluffy and robust as the huskies back at the rescue. They required constantly undercoat raking, always producing enough coat to stuff a pillow with. Had I been the sort that spun up animal fur for clothes, I could have made a fortune off of what they naturally shed.
So many questions, never enough answers. But that didn't matter anymore. I had forever with my pack and there was always time to ask those questions, to get those answers, and to better understand who and what I was.
Once clean, I shook off and transformed back into my wolf self. The travel seemed much quicker, less of an inconvenience. Four legs were just better than two. In the middle of the forest, we ate our breakfast as a family.
And I managed to fight off the instinct to do that thing mother dogs do where they pre-chew their puppies' meals for them. But it was a close thing.
We traveled back to the Hummer, past the place where I'd last seen Lillian alive, as wolves. Her fear scent still stained the area, a rough and sour smell that was like moldy hay and lemons. I whined uncertainly and flattened my ears, hunkering my way into the car. Per usual, Hudson drove.
I was thankful for that. The only time I'd driven it, I'd ruined everything. When we got home, I was taking my old beater to the shop and never driving anything else again.
But my mind rested on Lillian. She'd been motivated by pain, not anger. I could understand that, if I wanted to. The question was; did I want to? It was hard to forgive when you were on my side of the situation, but comprehension didn't necessarily mean forgiveness.
I dithered, fighting myself with my feelings about her. What she'd done had been wrong, morally and judicially. Yet I couldn't say that, if I'd been in her shoes, that I'd have done any different.
Maybe there was some way to intercede on her behalf, still.
I shifted back to my human body and pulled my spare clothes on, thankful for the ones we'd packed in case we made it out alive. "Does anybody have Eskal's number? I want to talk to him when we get home."
Xavion handed me his phone again and I could help but wonder if I was about to start up trouble again.
Chapter 18
Gabe
As Sadie barricaded herself in her bedroom, Xav's phone at the ready, I brought my thoughts together and decided it was the perfect time to confront Hudson about an idea I'd had.
Yet, I couldn't seem to find Hudson anywhere. We'd gotten home merely an hour ago and he'd already vanished? I checked each of the bedrooms, the kennels, the various dog yards; nothing. No scent anywhere, either. Had he even come inside?
I finally found him out at the edge of the property, a wolf, marking his territory. I rolled my eyes. "Really."
He laughed at me, tongue flopping out of his mouth, and pranced over to see me. The mutt was giddy about last night, probably relieved that we hadn't gotten Sadie dead. I reached down and scratched his ears. "If you've got ten minutes, I want to make a proposal to you. One of those official ones you like so much, with different colored folders and everything."
Up went his ears. Well, that'd caught his attention. He bounded down the drive like a puppy and hurried into the house. I ran to keep up with him, my inner wolf whispering for me to change. Unlike Sadie, fresh as she was to it, we were experienced with shutting up the animal within. She'd get there, it just took time. In the meanwhile, she'd probably attack her steaks and not be the best company at a dinner table.
That was fine. We still had a couple of weeks before we intended to head back to work.
And that was why it was so important to get this out of the way.
Hudson had already pulled his pants on by the time I entered the kitchen. Bosco danced around his feet and he bent to pet the dog, who wiggled like a see-saw. I sat down across the dining table from him and tapped a stack of, as promised, multi-colored folders. "If you'd be kind enough to sit?"
My cousin made his way over and sat down in the seat I'd directed him to. "What's up?"
"It appears that we make substantial donations to rescues throughout the year, including this one. However, it also seems as though our donations are largely ignored," I said. "Essentially, we could be doing more with the money than we currently are, but we'd need to hire an expert in rescues."
I offered him the first folder, salmon in color, and tapped it. "The financial breakdown is in there."
He popped it open, looked through it, and put it to his right. "I'm listening."
"This folder," I said, picking up an aqua one, "Contains current metrics for sustainable rescues around the country. There are a great many of them that do transport services, too, getting dogs and cats from overrun shelters to areas where they're more likely to be adopted. There's also a fiscal breakdown there, too."
He frowned at the folder and looked between the
