“— You’re Raven’s mate-wife,” this crazy woman tells me.
“— And who is he?” I ask, full of doubt.
“How could you not know? He’s an alpha, a two-faced wolf— a werewolf, a wolf!”
“Good heavens… is it a quadrobber or what?” I press my hand to my chest, doomed.
“And that’s just what I needed! An adult man who thinks he’s an animal! God forbid! I’ll be exhausted just walking him!”
“— Believe me, being a wolf’s wife is a great honor!”
“Yeah, sure. The stench comes from his mouth, there are clumps on his butt, and you’ve got to regularly treat him for fleas. And how do you clean the couch of fur after him? I’ll go bankrupt on cleaning! No, I don’t need a husband like that,” I say decisively, refusing.