4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

C ourage

I take stock of my new assignment. She's petite, barely reaching my shoulders, with a shock of bright pink hair that falls in waves around her heart-shaped face. Her green eyes were wide and wary as they met mine, but there was a spark of something else there too—defiance, maybe, or a hint of mischief. She's wearing a simple tank top and shorts that show off her curves.

Wolven noses are far more sensitive than humans. Beneath the artificial tang of cleaning products, there's a softer, sweeter undertone. Vanilla and something floral. Considering the hard-partying image I've seen splashed across the tabloids, it's unexpected.

My eyes sweep the open-plan living area, taking in the gleaming hardwood, the plush white couches, and the abstract art on the walls. It's all very chic, something I'd expect of an A-list celebrity. But something about it feels off. Generic.

"Nice place." I pause, inspecting the space. "Your decorator has good taste."

Candy snorts, then pads barefoot to the kitchen. "What gave it away? The complete lack of personal touches? Yeah, I got emancipated at seventeen, bought the house, and hired someone to fill it full of stuff. Figured that's what you're supposed to do when you have money."

I follow her, my nose twitching as I catch a whiff of chlorine. Sure enough, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I spot an infinity pool glittering out back in the California sun.

"But let me guess, it doesn't really feel like home?" I lean a hip against the marble counter, watching as she pulls two Diet Cokes from the fridge and wordlessly offers one to me.

"Make a list. I'll get the fridge stocked with stuff you like."

I blink, surprised by the thoughtful gesture. A spoiled starlet caring about her bodyguard's snack preferences was the last thing I expected.

"And to answer your question, no, it doesn't feel like home." A beat. "Except for my music room."

My ears perk up, my tail swishing low to the ground. "Music room?"

A genuine smile touches her lips, softening her face. "Yeah, want to see?"

I nod and she leads me down a hall, pushing open a door at the end. The moment I cross the threshold, it's like entering another world.

Sunlight streams through the windows, catching on the glossy surfaces of several guitars hanging on the walls. A sleek drum kit sits in one corner, an electric keyboard in another. But it's not just the instruments that make this room feel alive.

Every inch of wall space is covered in framed pictures, awards, and hand-written lyrics. I move closer, taking it in. A much younger Candy in what must be a TV sketch wearing cat ears and a tail. Candy with a microphone in hand, belting her heart out on stage. Candy grinning as she holds up a gold record. Candy with her arms around two smiling little girls at what must be a hospital.

"Is this from your volunteer work?" I ask, tapping the photo with a claw.

She comes to stand beside me, her shoulder brushing my arm. "Yeah, at the Children's Hospital. Those kids… they're fighters. Real survivors." Her voice is soft, almost reverent.

Glancing down at her, I reassess the woman I thought I had pegged. "You're not quite what I expected, Ms. Wood."

"Candy," she corrects, a spark of mischief in her eyes. "Ms. Wood is what my tenth-grade tutor called me when I didn't do my homework."

"Troublemaker even back then, huh?"

"You have no idea." She grins. "And what about you, Mr. Big Bad Wolven? Were you born with a six-pack and a serious attitude, or did you have to work for it?"

I can't help but laugh. "Oh, I've always been big and bad. It's in the wolven genes."

"Cocky much?" She arches a brow.

"Confident," I correct with a fang-filled smile. "Turns out, when you grow up learning to fight and protect, it leaves an impression."

Her expression sobers slightly. "Oh?"

"I'm part of the Wolven Warriors. We keep the peace in the Integration Zone, watch out for our own. At least, that was the job until recently."

"What changed?" she asks, curiosity bright in her eyes.

I shrug. "Bold, our leader, went viral after being recorded saving a human hanging onto a crumbling fire escape after our last big earthquake. Next thing we know, rich and famous types are lining up to request our services outside the Zone."

"And lucky me, I get the cocky one who doesn't believe in wearing clothes." She's teasing, but there's a warmth to it. "Your friend goes viral for heroics, I go viral for…" she pauses, eyes lowered. I'd expected her to be unrepentant, but she seems genuinely contrite.

I open my mouth to reply when her phone buzzes. Candy jumps, her hand flying to her pocket.

"Shit, that's Maury. It says, and I quote, ‘Get your tuchus to my office by two p.m. I have a plan. Not sure you're going to like it. Frankly, I don't care if you do'."

I'm not a mind reader, but I have a feeling, by the way Candy's eyes narrow, that she's considering giving me the slip. When a second text comes through, she glances at it, smirks, then reads it out loud.

"‘If you come without Courage, you're fired'."

Her lips press into a flat line, which makes me assume I wasn't off base when I imagined she was planning to leave without me. Why does she look adorable wearing that ridiculous no-lips expression?

Something tells me this job is going to be a lot more interesting than I bargained for. One thing's for sure—life with Candy will never be boring.