Page 8 of Good Luck Charm for the Wolf

Eighteen homicidal little bastards that followed me all the way from the damn park.

Look, was getting stung half to death while butt naked during my nightly run the way I envisioned spending my Friday night?

No. No, it fucking wasn’t.

Shifting in the city was never easy. But it was necessary.

It was supposed to be stress relief for my kind.

Stretch the legs.

Clear the head.

Not Welcome to Nature’s Sadism Hour: featuring Doug the Unlucky Lone Wolf.

I thought it was a mere coincidence the couple of buzzers floating around my head while I shifted back from my Wolf form.

But it only got worse.

Dragging on my jeans quickly, though awkwardly, thanks to all the angry red welts, I checked my phone only to find a slew of texts from Esmerelda the Cuckolded.

You know. The Witch who hired me.

To catch her cheating husband.

Which I did.

Flawlessly, I might add.

Apparently, she wasn’t a fan of the truth.

Also, wait—can a Witch even be cuckolded?

Isn't that like a dude thing?

Whatever. Not the point.

The point is, she’s pissed.

And who does she take it out on? Me.

Not the cheating husband.

Not the sparkly eyed sidepiece.

Nope.

Her ire is aimed squarely at Doug.

Because clearly, I’m the villain here.

Before I can spiral deeper, Horace’s gravel-thick voice finally crackles through the intercom, cutting through my panic and bug-swatting like a grizzly-shaped buzzkill.

“What do you want?”

He sounds exactly as thrilled as I feel.

“Took you long enough!” I snap, ducking as a hornet tries to kamikaze my nose.

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