Epilogue
“No! Not the serrated knife!” As I watched, Becky yanked the utensil in question out of the hand of an inept male werewolf. “Use this one to slice carrots.”
I couldn’t help smiling at the formerly quiet werewolf’s bossiness, and even more so at the way her student obeyed immediately with no biting commentary about the bloodling puppy frolicking at their feet. Six weeks after my return, the pack was almost unrecognizable. Which wasn’t to say the male werewolves had entirely come around.
For example, they’d nearly universally chosen the afternoon shift when presented with Thanksgiving-cooking choices. And I’d been dumb enough to let Gunner join the early-bird females while leaving the untrained werewolf males to me.
As a result of my lack of foresight, I’d been respo
