Page 2 of Good Luck Charm for the Wolf

You know the kind. Supreme confidence inflated by protein shakes and delusion.

He’s mated to a Witch, and she’s the one who hired me, convinced he’s stepping out on her.

Spoiler alert: he is.

I watch him now through the zoom lens of my camera, laughing a little too loudly as he wraps his arm around a petite blonde whose aura is so non-magical it’s practically beige.

Not his mate. Not even close.

Click-click. Gotcha.

Before you go clutching your pearls, let’s get something straight.

I’m a Wolf. A lone one. A PI by trade and a predator by nature.

I don’t enjoy this kind of work, but it pays. And unfortunately for me, rent doesn’t magically pay itself just because I’m morally conflicted.

Do I wish I was investigating art thefts and corporate espionage instead of photographing seedy hookups at eight PM on a Thursday? Sure.

But that’s not the world we live in.

This world is corrupt, dirty, and full of people who screw up spectacularly. I’m just here to document the aftermath.

Could I ask my old Pack for financial help? Maybe.

But I left that life behind two decades ago, and let me tell you, no one throws a goodbye party for a lone Wolf. Except maybe with pitchforks.

Rafe Maccon, our local Alpha and all-around decent guy, let me go clean.

No blood, no fuss, no banishment flames.

I stuck around Jersey, rented an attic apartment that smelled like mildew and unfulfilled dreams, and built a life of sorts.

I don’t cause trouble.

Not unless someone pays me to.

Sometimes that means getting punched by a cheating husband who doesn't appreciate being caught mid-thrust.

Sometimes it means out-running a furious Siren with boundary issues.

But hey, not my fault. I’m just the messenger with receipts.

Do I have friends? Not really. But if we’re being generous, there’s Horace.

Grizzly Bear Shifter. Former hacker, now head tech guy for Date to Mate. He throws me gigs now and then.

Background checks.

Digital digs.

The occasional stakeout.

We have an unspoken agreement. He pays well. I don’t make him talk about his feelings. It's beautiful.

I like to think we’re friends, in a gruff, if-you-touch-my-honey-cake-I’ll-rip-your-arm-off kind of way.

He’s newly mated, actually. Big, growly Bear with googly eyes.

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