For the
Psychic Wolves for Lupercalia challenge.
Miles is quite resigned to staying wolf-less, to having yet another mark of Vor worthiness denied to him. It's okay; he has his career now. Admiral Naismith needs no wolf!
Hello, surprise cub.
10k words. Sequel to
Paddy.--
The Imperial gardens were full of wolf cubs.
Miles sidestepped a moving knot of brawling, still plushy-furred teenagers, bit back a short-lived smile as Ivan was hit behind the knees and almost went down.
Ivan's brother was ambling back, gently nosing the cubs away from his wobbling human. Amongst the assembled Vor and the Armsmen lining the walls at least one in five moved alongside their own companion, and Lady Luck willing tonight there would be more. Half of those young hopefuls milling around, forgetting (some of) their dignity to tease the pups would later in the evening be going to the brothers of those she-wolves who had birthed their intended, request permission to court. It was in fact remarkably similar to the dance one danced with women, save that male or female it was the wolf who had the last word, always.
A wet nose pressed into his palm. Miles blinked down at Ivan's Paddy, sneaked his head a pat.
"Cuz?"
It was annoying how randomly perceptive Ivan had gotten since he'd acquired Paddy to notice things for him, Miles thought.
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