Bad Wolf’s Nanny (Silvermist Wolves #3)

Chapter 1 - Lola

Lola’s red beetle shuddered to a stop outside the library, coughing out a wheeze of exhaust fumes before finally settling down on the slick gray pavement.

Her little car had not enjoyed the four-hour road trip from Yale to the small town of Silvermist in Northern Maine, grumbling and grunting along the highway, but Lola patted the dashboard regardless and heaved a sigh of relief that she had made it in one piece.

She was here. Finally here. In a town not only built by shifters, but inhabited by them, too. Ruled by them in an uninterrupted line since they first settled here some four hundred years ago.

The research prospects were tantalizing.

She climbed out of her car, sweeping her dark chocolate curls up into a claw clip to protect them from frizz in the slight drizzle. Autumn was turning into winter thick and fast, and she shivered slightly as she tightened the belt of her dark red wool coat.

Biting her lip, she approached the library doors, glancing around for the opening hours.

The sun was already starting to set, even though it wasn’t yet six in the evening, and she couldn’t hear anyone in the library itself.

Her sensitive ears could, however, pick up the distant sounds of laughter and life closer towards the town center.

It made sense. It was a Saturday, and shifter communities tended to gather on the weekends.

Perhaps there was some sort of event or regional festival going on.

Lola winced, wishing she’d done more research into the Iron Walkers.

It had just been such a blur from hearing about the library job a week ago to packing her things and leaving; she’d barely had time to breathe.

Steeling her nerves, she swung open the heavy wooden doors, sighing in bliss as the scent of old books and warm tea beckoned from within.

“Hello?” she called, taking a few steps inside.

The library was bathed in a soft, golden light by old-fashioned oil lamps, rows upon rows of shelves stretching out ahead of her into shadowy corners populated by squishy-looking armchairs and the odd antique desk.

Though clearly old—that was evidenced enough by the weathered pale stone of the building—the space was clearly loved.

The wooden floorboards were polished and waxed, the walls bearing a recent coat of soft ochre paint, and the books neat and orderly.

The door slammed shut behind her, and she whirled around, her heart in her throat, only to be met with the disapproving glare of a tiny older woman wearing a prim, sensible shirt and skirt embellished only with a silk scarf tied around her neck.

“You’ll let all the warmth out,” the woman tutted, adjusting her spectacles. “It’s a nightmare keeping this place heated at this time of year.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lola said, fiddling with her fingers. “I… I didn’t know anyone was in.”

The woman hummed, circling Lola, her nostrils flaring slightly. Lola’s spine went stiff at the inspection, her shoulders squaring instinctively, and she had to fight the sudden urge to apologize for the ladder she had managed to rip in her tights earlier that day.

“You must be the girl they’ve sent me from Yale,” the woman said suddenly. “Lola Devereaux, is it?”

Lola cleared her throat. “Yes. And I’m a woman. Not a girl. Just…so you know. I’m far beyond my undergrad. I’m in the middle of my PhD, actually, and—”

“Yes, yes, I know all that,” the woman said, flapping her hand. “How old are you?”

“Um…twenty-five?”

“Is that a question?”

“No, no, of course not, sorry. I’m twenty-five. My birthday was last February. So…twenty-five and a half, technically.” Lola cringed at herself. Nothing says grown-up, mature woman than adding ‘and a half’ to her age. She sounded like a nine-year-old.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Twenty-five. That’s a girl in my books. Professor Conrad assured me she was sending somebody qualified.” With that, the woman turned on her heel and strode away towards the desk in the center of the room, her heels clacking on the floorboards.

Lola stood, too stunned to speak for a minute, before rushing after her.

“I’ll have you know I’m perfectly qualified!

I completed my undergrad with honors, got a top grade in my master's, along with multiple job offers from leading institutions worldwide! I worked for the library at Yale throughout my studies, revolutionized the online lending system, and have published multiple papers about shifter history, including one that focuses on regional—”

“Yes, yes, yes, all very impressive,” the woman said with a scowl, “but I need someone who has practical experience documenting, translating, and preserving centuries’ worth of archival material into digital form, as well as restoring old books and tracking down missing manuscripts.

In the context of the Iron Walkers and their history.

You’re an outsider. I told Conrad that, but of course she didn’t listen. ”

The woman turned her back again, moving to the other side of the circular desk, where she began scribbling something down in an enormous ledger.

Lola exhaled sharply and skirted around the desk, planting herself firmly in front of the woman and placing her hands on either side of the ledger to get her attention again.

“I know that. I’m not a member of the Iron Walkers, but I am a wolf shifter.

I grew up in a pack. I know the importance of pack cultural context in recording history. That’s a major part of my thesis.”

“And where is this shifter pack you grew up in?”

Lola swallowed. “Pennsylvania.”

The woman set down her pen and looked up, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Pennsylvania? Pennsylvanian wolves have a completely different hierarchical structure from wolf packs further north, including this one. You might as well be a German wolf shifter, for all the knowledge it would give you about the Iron Walkers.”

“You don’t understand,” Lola said desperately, “that’s why I’m here!

I’m missing vital historical context in the study of how different early shifter settler cultures contribute to modern pack dynamics and power!

The data is simply missing with nomadic or…

or…smaller pack structures like mine. The opportunity to work in this library, to study alongside you, the insights I could gather…

it would help enormously in supporting my thesis that greater pack stability during settlement is vital to the relative power of a pack in later years. ”

The woman huffed, turning to a different ledger, and Lola followed her round, her voice growing louder.

“There are so many displaced packs still looking to reestablish themselves following the humans’ attempts to eradicate us.

Just imagine how helpful it would be if I could discover a definitive answer, backed by research, to how they can best put down roots and ensure stable foundations.

The current model is based entirely around a completely dominant alpha with no support structure around him. But then take the Iron Walkers—”

The woman groaned, slamming the book shut. “Look, I can tell that you’re very passionate—”

“Take the Iron Walkers,” Lola insisted. “The traditional model has had only a central alpha, but the Iron Walker Alpha…there are rings of power around him, with clearly defined roles and expectations for each level of the hierarchy. It’s a rare approach, but there’s a reason the Iron Walkers are so powerful, and I think that it’s precisely because of the original pack establishment of that precise power structure.

So please. Please let me stay, please let me study what I can from your archives.

I really, really think I can be of use to you! ’

The woman considered her for a moment, tapping her fingernails against the desk, her gray-blue eyes narrowed in concentration. “What classification are you familiar with?”

Lola sucked in a breath, blinking at the sudden change of topic. “Um…Yale uses the Library of Congress Classification, but I’m very familiar with Dewey-Decimal as well; it’s what the library in my hometown uses.”

The woman hummed. “What ethical procedures would you follow when digitizing rare or culturally sensitive materials?”

Lola tugged on the sleeve of her cardigan.

“Consult the head librarian first, and then reach out to a cultural committee within the pack if one exists, and if necessary, request permission from the alpha where the material contains highly sensitive information about pack ceremony, tradition, or law.”

A strange gleam entered the woman’s eye, and she cocked her head. “What sort of glue would you use in the restoration of an eighteenth-century calfskin folio?”

Lola bit her lip as she tried to recall her rudimentary bookbinding knowledge. Why hadn’t she taken that specialized summer course last month? “Animal glue for the main structural adhesion, and then paste for any further paper adhesion, such as endpaper replacement.”

The woman lifted one arched eyebrow. “Very impressive. Okay, Lola Devereaux. One last question, and I’ll give you a chance.”

Lola exhaled, nodding vigorously, preparing herself for any number of niche or tricky questions designed to catch her out.

There was nothing she knew better than books.

She could answer any question, recall any tiny scrap of random knowledge, deduce exactly what it was this woman wanted for her library—

“Do you intend to join the pack?”

Lola stopped short. Shit. Shit. She hadn’t even considered that.

Hadn’t even thought it would be necessary—she was only going to be here for six months!

When she’d officially left her original pack, she’d never joined a new one, never felt the need to.

A pack wasn’t somewhere she felt comfortable; studying them, sure, that was fine.

That was her contribution to shifter culture. But actually participating in a pack…

The idea opened old wounds that she had absolutely no intention of revisiting.