Wine in the Wolves Den
Copyright © 2016 by Timber Wolf Danny
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its publisher.
Emma “Jelly Belly” Vardaman
I treaded lightly up the stairs to my bedroom where I heard the shower cutoff and the steady sound of padded feet and fellow lupine toenails click gradually across the marble tile floor and across the sheep wool textured carpeting, before I was greeted fully by the sight of Aaron just barely finishing to shake and rub himself dry with a towel as he quickly began to retrieve and slip on his original clothing and foot wraps. “Uh, uh.” I stopped him abruptly. “I got a fresh set of threads for you in the linen closet.” “No, no. That’s okay, miss Emma.” He dejected kindly, in his usual formal way. “You don’t need to do all that.” “Are you kidding? You’re one of us now.” I smiled, slapping his shoulder lightly. “Can’t at all have you representing the rest of the hood looking like just any old buster.” I slid open the mirror glass closet door of my room, and fished out one of my more refurbished leather waistcoats along with one of my old pairs of male twenty four sized jeans back from my short lived high school days through tenth grade. “You can keep the kick wraps, though.” I went on. “One thing I really can’t have overall else is my nose damn near peeling off the edge of my muzzle due to any stale sauerkraut smelling paw pads. We already have Taniel fully upholding that outstanding repulse of a reputation.” “Hehe. Roger that, Sergeant Hartman.” Aaron chuckled jovially in salute, while steadily slipping on his new gear. “Much better.” He sighed, after zipping up his fly, and readjusting the wraps over the toes and toe claws of his feet before buttoning the top of his jacket. “Pinot noir and a movie?” “Don’t forget the kettle corn and jerky.” I responded, patting my stomach with a wry smile. We turned and steadily began padding our merrily way back down the staircase and into the kitchen to grab the snacks when Margaret quickly came bursting into the kitchen like a shot from behind. “Damn it, Marge!” I jumped, nearly gasping desperately for breath. “You damn near almost gave me a massive heart attack.” “Sorry to bother you, Emmy.” She apologized sincerely. “But, I believe there’s something screwy going on down at the head circle of your driveway. Sounded very much to me like a grenade of some top had just went and gone off.”