Chapter One

The mutt was back.

He sprawled across my front rug like he owned the place, head on his paws, tail twitching lazily. His fur was a mess of dirt-caked black and grey, the kind of scruffy that made him look more like a cursed shadow than a proper wolf. I didn’t need a second coffee to recognize the glint in his eyes—calculating, waiting. He’d been lurking around all week, but today, he planted himself right at my doorstep like a doorstop with an attitude problem.

I waved a hand. "Go on. Get lost." He blinked slowly, unbothered. "Go home," I added, flicking my wrist like I was dismissing a stubborn ghost. The beast yawned.

With a scoff, I stepped over his shaggy bulk and dropped into my favorite rocking chair—old, creaky, and painted the color of rusted sage. My coffee had cooled to that regrettable stage between drinkable and insulting, but I sipped it anyway, running my thumb along the ridges of the ceramic mug. The pattern reminded me of waves or maybe vines, depending on the angle.

My garden stretched beyond the porch, overgrown in that endearing kind of way. The basil was starting to flower, which meant it needed pruning. The mint had taken over half a planter and was threatening to invade the thyme. The grapevines coiled up the side of my cottage like they were reaching for secrets. And I had orders—potions, poultices, and a questionable request for a "romantic hex" from someone I wouldn’t trust to babysit a potted plant.

I slurped my coffee deliberately, loudly, and pointed. The mutt’s ears twitched.

"Oi. Quit complainin' or find someone else to babysit you." I took another sip and muttered into the rim of the mug, "Maybe they’ll keep ya."

He let out a low, exaggerated huff and sank further into the rug. With an exaggerated stretch, I raised my arms until my spine popped and gave him a lazy finger wave. He didn’t budge. As I turned and shut the door behind me, I muttered, "You’re lucky I haven’t turned you into a frog."

Inside, I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror. My green tank top looked like it had lost a battle with sleep, and my brown baggy trousers had the kind of wrinkles only deep commitment to doing absolutely nothing could create. But they had pockets, which meant they were now officially work clothes. As for a bra? Hard no. My hair was another beast entirely—a curly, frizzed-out halo of dark brown defiance. I scooped it into a claw clip and hoped for the best.

Coffee topped off, I leaned on the kitchen counter, elbows planted firmly, face resting in my hands. The machine gurgled like a dying beast. Outside the window, I caught movement. The mutt. Watching me.

I grinned slowly. "Let’s make this interesting."

I practically skipped to the bookshelf, a monolith of dark wood cluttered with ancient tomes, cracked leather bindings, and one poorly disguised stash of moonshine. I grabbed a grimoire from the top shelf and flipped through until my finger landed on what I wanted.

A transformation curse. Not strictly legal anymore. "Perfect," I whispered.

I opened the front door with a smile so wide it hurt. The wolf’s ears perked up, but he didn’t lift his head. Until he saw the book. Then he was up like a shot, bounding off the porch and into the overgrown yard.

"That’s no way to behave," I called, stepping onto the porch. "Come back and play nice." He didn’t. So I snapped my fingers.

With a startled yelp, he vanished from the garden and reappeared mid-air inside the cottage, landing with a heavy thud on the living room rug. Curtains snapped shut on their own. Candles flared to life in synchronized ignition, flickering from shelf to shelf. Crystals hanging from the ceiling began to glow, casting fractured light across the room. The rug beneath him—woven with subtle threads of spellwork—lit up in the shape of a pentagram.

I plopped down cross-legged across from him and grinned. "Let’s make you a bit more sociable. Shall we?" He rolled his eyes. Literally.

"Hey," I said, already gathering magic into my palms. "If you ain’t got anything nice to say...tell the room. I'm nosey."

I closed my eyes and focused. Threads of energy wound together, tight and humming. I visualized the curse, weaving it into the shape of the creature in front of me. The air tingled. Magic built in my chest, thrumming like a held breath.

Rustling broke my focus. I cracked one eye open. The wolf was standing. Then stretching. Then...his bones began to twist. Limbs lengthened. Fur retreated into skin. Joints popped with sickening snaps as his body contorted, reshaped, and rebuilt itself. I watched, fascinated, a small part of me wondering if I could adapt the spell for personal grooming purposes.

Within moments, a man stood where the wolf had been. Naked. And glaring. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with lean muscle and a kind of tension in his stance that screamed Do not test me. His hair was black with brown undertones, shaved close on the sides and messy on top. His eyes—dark, bottomless, human eyes—stared me down.

"D@#n," I said. "I really wanted that frog."

He crossed his arms, voice gravelly. "You were going to turn me into a frog?"

I flicked my wrist again. He flinched. "Nonsense."

He began pacing slowly, watching me. "Do you often poke apex predators just to see what happens, or am I special?"

I picked at my thumbnail blankly. "You’re definitely special."

He frowned. "Aren’t you even a little ashamed?"

"For breaking the curse that had you stuck in fur and fleas? You’re welcome." I pulled my knees up and rested my chin on them. "When I first saw you, I thought you were here on pack business. Took a week to confirm you weren’t registered with anyone nearby. A rogue wolf parked on a witch’s porch isn’t just suspicious. It’s dangerous."

His gaze roamed the room. The walls of books. The hanging herbs. The faint smell of citrus and salt. I studied him, too—sharp cheekbones, narrow hips, trouble in a package.

"You’re not even pretending to leave," I said. "You planning to stay, mutt?"

He hesitated, almost as if he was about to lie. "I wasn’t born like this. First shift was... messy. I panicked. Ran without a clue where to go."

"Couch is yours," I said after a beat. "Temporarily."

He eyed the orange velvet loveseat like it might bite.

I spun on my toes, energized. "Now, I’m about to be in a world of magical legal trouble, so I need a few supplies. First: a plump blue frog. Preferably by sunset."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned to leave, but he suddenly stopped. His body tensed, head snapping toward the door. A beat passed. Then, in a blur, he moved in front of me, crouched low, growling.

The door exploded.

Smoke and splinters flew.

I took a slow sip of coffee. "Well," I muttered, watching the flames flicker across the threshold, "looks like the cavalry's here."