Page 2 of Wanderlust With Wolves

Luna shrugs. “Avalon Vale is still invitation-only for outsiders, so if we want more humans settling in, wehaveto give them reasons to stay. This town thrives on tourism, but we need more than just weekend visitors. We need people who want tobelonghere.”

I grunt, acknowledging the point. Avalon Vale was never meant to be a permanent secret. We kept it that way out of necessity, but times are changing.

Businesses like Luna’s are helping bring in outsiders—slowly, carefully—until Avalon Vale is more than just a hidden sanctuary for Otherkin who’ve served in the Rift Wars.

Buta Lupercalia-based event? What did she call it? The Sweetheart Wilds Event? That’s another thing entirely.

Vane smirks. “So? You joining this year?”

I just look at him.

Vane bursts into laughter. “That’s what I thought.”

I shake my head and lift my axe. “I’m too old to be running after women through the woods like a lovesick pup.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Vane nudges me. “What if your true mate is out there just waiting for you to?—”

The axe comes down with a solidthunk, splitting the log clean in two.

Vane whistles. “Alright, alright. Message received.”

But as I set up another log, I can’t shake the familiar ache creeping into my chest.

I’ve had enough battles. Enough scars. Enough ghosts.

Some men are made for chasing.

I’m not one of them. Not anymore.

Chapter Two

DETOUR OF DESTINY

Maya

The open roadand a good playlist fix a lot of things—restlessness, heartbreak, and the undeniable urge to scream into the void about my crappy ex-boyfriend.

I grip the steering wheel and take a deep breath.No screaming today. You’re better than that.

The Florida humidity is finally behind me, and now I’m somewhere between the Midwest andwherever the universe needs me to be next. I don’t always have a set destination—Sagittarius moon problems—but when I getthat feeling—a tug in my gut, a whisper in my bones telling me to move—I listen.

Maybe it’s intuition. Maybe it’s my spirit guides sending me cosmic breadcrumbs. Or maybe it’s the lingering irritation of having my savings stolen by a guy who thought “investing” meant using my money to print ugly T-shirts for his groundbreaking new brand.

(Newsflash, Trevor:Nobodywants to buy a shirt that just saysVibes?in Comic Sans.)

Beside me, curled up in his favorite spot on the passenger seat, Mr. Belvedere flicks his tail, unimpressed with my continued ranting.

“I know, I know,” I sigh, glancing at him. “I’m harping. But I have every right. Hestolefrom me, Lynn Aloysius Belvedere.”

Mr. Belvedere does not dignify this with a response. He is a cat of many opinions, but right now, they seem to be:Drive the van, woman. The road is calling.

I reach over, scratching between his ears, and refocus on the scenery ahead. The stretch of highway before me is quiet, the kind of road where the sky opens wide and the land rolls endlessly. A good place for clearing thoughts. A good place toreceive.

I pass a road sign. Five miles outside of Avalon Vale.

The name catches my eye on a roadside sign. Everyone knows Avalon Vale. It’s exclusive. Mysterious. The kind of place that’s invitation-only, which makes itten timesmore intriguing. I’ve heard whispers of it—hidden mountain retreats, untouched nature, a town full of secrets.

Maybe one day I’ll get to see it.

---