Page 71 of Good Luck Charm for the Wolf

A notch on a bedpost.

Fuck no.

NO WAY!

That’s not it.

That’s never been it.

She’s my mate.

My. Mate.

She’s supposed to be my forever.

And I trashed that like a goddamn moron too scared to admit he wanted forever more than his next breath.

I pull out my phone again, fingers trembling as I swipe and stab at the screen.

There’s only one person crazy and powerful enough to talk me off this ledge. And he’s probably already lighting candles and muttering about the Fates laughing at dumb Wolves like me.

Uncle Uzzi.

It rings once. Twice. Then he finally answers.

“Douglas Wolfgang McGregor.”

Yep. He’s already using the full name.

“You’ve got balls of brass, son, calling me at this ungodly hour.”

His voice is pure disapproval, layered with a healthy splash of I told you so. I yelp and pull the phone back, watching in disbelief as blue sparkles flicker out of existence presumably from the little speaker where my ear was resting.

“Did you just zap me through the phone?”

“What do you want? Be quick now.”

“Uncle Uzzi,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face, shame pooling thick and ugly in my gut. “I fucked up.”

No point sugarcoating now.

“Dina’s pissed. No, it’s worse. She’s hurt.”

Saying it out loud makes my throat tighten, my Wolf pacing harder, letting out mournful, angry yips in the back of my head.

“I hurt her. I did the wrong thing. I thought the wrong thing. I panicked, and she kicked me out of Pizza Girls like some loser who never deserved her in the first place.”

I pause, breathing hard.

“I feel like I’m dying, Uzzi. Like I’m some monster who lost his mate because I’m too emotionally constipated to admit I wanted her more than I wanted air.”

Uzzi doesn’t rush to fill the silence.

He lets me stew in it, which, honestly?

I deserve.

When he speaks, it’s low and sharp.

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