Page 1 of Feuding with My Shifter Werewolf

Chapter One

Kristen

"This shit's for the birds."

Peering over the expanse, uncertain who among my colleagues made the remark, I'm compelled to offer a hardy. "Ditto, my friend, ditto."

It's another late night at the office. The glow of my computer screen cast eerie shadows across the cubicle walls. This place is really spooky at night and I'll be here forever if I don't get my head out of the clouds. But…

I can't focus on the feasibility report due tomorrow. Not with that documentary playing again on my second monitor.

I still can't remember how I stumbled on this documentary about the untouched wilderness in the Rocky Mountains. But I've watched it nearly on repeat for the last week, finding myself pulled into the breathtaking footage, as if I haven't watched in a million times.

On the screen, sweeping vistas of snow-capped peaks and lush valleys filled with wildflowers called out to me. The urge to be there, immersed in the beauty of nature and not here.

Because here sort of sucks.

I inhaled sharply, pulse quickening. This yearning had been growing for months now, an unshakable restlessness that feels like I'm trapped in the day-to-day monotony of my life.

Wake up. Dress. Work.

Wake up. Dress.Work.

Wake up. Dress.

…I blink staring at the screen and my life doesn't compare.

No breeze. No beauty. Justwork.

I close the video and squeezed my eyes shut. But why…when I open them I'll be still here. And this reality is sucking the optimism from my soul.

What are you doing, Kristen?

Really?

Spending the last of your thirties stuck in a fucking cubicle, crunching numbers for corporate overlords who don't even remember my name half the time?

There had to be more to life than this.

This can't possibility be it, or I'm one breath away from a fucking nervous breakdown.

I'm talking kicking, screaming, and demanding that the universe gives a fuck that I'm drowning.

That I need more than going through the motions, more than unfulfilling relationships and predictable routines.

I want—no, need—a change.

Somethingdifferent.

And I need itnow.

My gaze slides to the research proposal I'd typed up this morning in a fit of inspiration—and desperation. It's an ambitious plan to study the impacts of pristine mountain ecosystems on local wildlife populations.

The kind of immersive fieldwork that would get me out from behind this desk and into the wilderness that haunts my dreams.

Before I can second guess myself, I snatch up the printed proposal and stride toward my boss's office.

Frank barely looks up from his own computer when I tap my knuckles against the doorframe.

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