Chapter One

J enny Cortado's knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel of her beloved 1963 Volkswagen Beetle deluxe ragtop sedan. The rain pelted the windshield like an army of tiny fists, and the wipers squeaked in protest as they fought a losing battle against the deluge.

"Come on, baby," she murmured, patting the dashboard affectionately. "Just a little farther."

The vintage Bug responded with a worrying sputter, but Jenny chose to interpret it as agreement. She'd rebuilt this beauty from the ground up, pouring her heart, soul, and more than a few colorful curse words into every inch of German engineering. It couldn't fail her now. Not when she was so close to changing her life forever.

Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating a road sign that read, "Welcome to Beastly Falls - Population: ??" The question marks were an odd choice, Jenny mused. Maybe the sign painter had a twisted sense of humor. Or maybe—

CLUNK

The Bug gave one final, dramatic cough and rolled to a stop, mere feet before the welcome sign.

"No, no, no!" Jenny slammed her palm against the steering wheel. "Don't you dare die on me now, you temperamental tin can."

She turned the key, but the engine remained stubbornly silent. With a groan that was equal parts frustration and resignation, Jenny popped the hood and stepped out into the storm.

Rain immediately plastered her dark hair to her skull, and she silently thanked whatever deity was listening that she'd opted for waterproof mascara. The last thing she needed was to look like a raccoon that had gone ten rounds with a fire hose.

Jenny propped open the hood and peered into the engine compartment, scanning for any obvious issues. Nothing jumped out at her, which was both a relief and supremely annoying. She'd have preferred a glaringly obvious problem she could MacGyver her way out of with a hairpin and sheer force of will.

"Okay, think," she muttered, pushing her soaked bangs out of her eyes. "What would those pompous jackasses at your last job say?"

She pitched her voice lower in a mocking imitation of her former coworkers. "'Have you tried turning it off and on again, sweetheart? Maybe it's just too complicated for your pretty little head.'" Jenny snorted. "Yeah, because clearly, possession of a Y chromosome is required to understand internal combustion."

She fiddled with a few connections, checking for loose wires or corroded terminals, all the while acutely aware that she was in serious trouble if she couldn't get the Bug running again. Her interview was in less than three days, and she'd factored in plenty of travel time for unexpected delays. But this? This was pushing it.

After fifteen fruitless minutes of tinkering, Jenny was soaked to the bone and no closer to a solution, but at least the rain had stopped. She slammed the hood shut with more force than strictly necessary and glared at her traitorous vehicle.

"Fine," she growled. "Be that way. I'll just walk to the nearest gas station and call a tow truck. And when I'm famous for customizing kick-ass vintage cars on national TV, don't expect to be invited to the wrap party."

Jenny grabbed her phone and stalked away from her car, passing the weird town sign. But after a few minutes, she realized she was low on battery and there wasn't a signal. Because of course there wasn't. Why make things easy? Maybe she just needed to charge the phone. Of course, the cord was back in the car.

With a deep, centering breath that did absolutely nothing to center her, Jenny started walking back the way she came. The town of Beastly Falls had to have a garage, right? All she needed was shelter to dry off and maybe a sympathetic ear to vent her frustrations. Preferably attached to a body holding a large cup of coffee.

She'd gone about twenty paces back to her car when she slammed into... nothing. She could see the Bug. She just couldn't get to it.

"What the—" Jenny stumbled backward. It felt like she'd run face-first into a wall, but there was nothing there. Just empty air and more rain.

Tentatively, she reached out. Her fingers met an invisible barrier, solid and unyielding.

"Okay, this is officially weird," she muttered, pressing both palms against the unseen wall. "Did I hit my head? Am I hallucinating?

She walked along the barrier, testing it every few feet. It curved around, following the sparsely lit small town. When she'd made a complete circuit back to her car, Jenny let out a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.

"This isn't happening," she said, running her hands through her wet hair. "This is just a stress dream. Too many late nights working on the Bug. Any second now, I'm going to wake up..."

She pinched herself. Hard.

"Ow! Okay, not dreaming. Fantastic. Just fantastic. I'm losing my mind."

With no other options presenting themselves—unless she wanted to test her rock-climbing skills on the sheer cliff face bordering one side of the road—Jenny turned and trudged toward the center of the town.

As she walked, her mind raced through possible explanations, each more outlandish than the last. Government experiment? Alien invasion? Elaborate prank show? She'd even take "you're in a coma, and this is all in your head" at this point.

What she didn't expect was to round a bend and find herself on a bustling main street that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a 1990s sitcom... if that sitcom had been directed by Tim Burton.

Buildings with quaint, old-fashioned facades lined the street, their windows glowing against the gloomy night. But something was off. The architecture twisted and leaned at impossible angles, defying the laws of physics. And the shop names...

"'Fang-tastic Dentistry'?" Jenny read aloud, squinting at a sign featuring a grinning cartoon tooth with suspiciously pointed canines. "Cute. Real cute."

She continued down the street, her disbelief growing with each step. 'Fur-ever Grooming' boasted a neon sign with a wolf's silhouette, its fur seeming to ripple in the flickering light. 'The Midnight Brew' was the only normal-sounding name, but even it had an odd symbol etched into its window—something that looked unsettlingly like a pentagram.

"I've got to hand it to the Beastly Falls Tourism Board," Jenny muttered. "They really commit to a theme."

There was a lot of people out and about this late. She checked her phone. Still no signal, but it was 9 p.m. Didn't small towns roll up the sidewalks at sundown? As she walked, she became aware of the eyes following her. Pedestrians stopped in their tracks, conversations dying mid-sentence as she passed. In the reflection of a shop window, she caught a glimpse of glowing yellow eyes and pointed ears before their owner ducked out of sight.

"Okay, listen up!" Jenny spun around, addressing the gawking crowd. "I get it. Small town, new face, everyone's curious. But the staring? Super creepy. So unless one of you fine folks wants to point me toward a mechanic or a phone I can use, how about we all just go about our business?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Then, slowly, a path cleared in the crowd. At the end of it stood a man—at least, Jenny thought it was a man. He was easily seven feet tall, with biceps the size of her thighs and what appeared to be... fur? Growing out of his collar?

"You smell different," the man-mountain rumbled, his nostrils flaring as he approached.

Jenny took an instinctive step back. "Uh, thanks? I think? Look, big guy, I'm flattered, but I'm really not in the market for whatever brand of weird you're selling. I just need a phone and maybe a tow truck."

The crowd had begun to press in closer, murmuring amongst themselves. Jenny caught snatches of their conversations, none of which did anything to calm her rising panic.

"...new blood..."

"...the curse..."

"...who's her mate?"

"All right, that's it." Jenny held up her hands, her voice rising an octave. "What is going on here? Is this some kind of creepy costume party? Because if so, you guys win. A+ for commitment. Now can someone please explain what the hell is happening?"

The man-mountain took another step forward, looming over her. "You're in Beastly Falls now, little human. And you can't leave."

Jenny's mind raced, processing the impossible scene before her. The weird shop names, the glowing eyes, the talk of curses and mates... It was like she'd stumbled into the unholy lovechild of Twilight and The Truman Show. This was not the reality show she was supposed to be interviewing for.

"Oh, hell no," she said, backing away. "I do not have time for this lack of sleep hallucination or whatever games my mind is playing on me. I have an interview in three days that's going to change my life, and I am not letting some small-town cult derail my career plans." Jenny backed away from the fur-covered mountain of muscle looming over her. The crowd of supernatural onlookers pressed closer. She'd faced down plenty of handsy customers and condescending coworkers in her time, but this? This was a whole new level of what-the-actual-hell.

"Look," she said, forcing a nervous laugh. "How about we just pretend this never happened, and I'll be on my merry way?"

The werewolf—because apparently that's what she was dealing with now—growled low in his throat. "You don't understand, little human. You're here for a reason. You're meant to be someone's mate."

Jenny's eyebrows shot up. "Mate? Listen, Fido, I don't know what kind of kinky roleplaying you've got going on here, but I am nobody's 'mate.' The only thing I'm mated to is my wrench set, and that's a strictly platonic relationship."

She took another step back, her eyes darting around for an escape route. But the crowd had formed a tight circle around them, effectively cutting off any chance of a quick getaway. Great. Just great. She was trapped in some bizarre Twilight Zone episode, complete with hot werewolf action. If she ever got out of this, she was never watching late-night sci-fi marathons again.

The werewolf's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply again. "You smell special. You must be mine."

"Okay, first of all, ew," Jenny said, holding up her hands. "Second, I hate to break it to you, big guy, but the only thing special about my smell right now is eau de rain and engine grease. Not exactly Chanel No. 5."

She glanced around desperately, hoping to spot someone—anyone—who looked even remotely sane. But all she saw were more impossibly beautiful faces, some with pointed ears, others with glowing eyes, all watching the unfolding drama with rapt attention.

The werewolf took another step forward, his massive form blocking out the streetlight behind him. "You don't have a choice, little human. The town has chosen you. You're mine now."

Jenny's back hit a lamppost, the cold metal seeping through her damp clothes. Panic clawed at her throat, but she forced it down. She'd be damned if she was going to let some overgrown lapdog see (or smell!) her fear.

"Listen here, Lassie," she snapped, jabbing a finger at his broad chest. "I don't know what kind of backwards, misogynistic bullshit you're trying to pull, but let me make one thing crystal clear. I. Am. Not. Yours. I don't belong to anyone but myself, and if you think for one second that I'm going to roll over and play submissive little mate to your alpha dog routine, you've got another think coming."

The werewolf's eyes flashed dangerously, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Jenny's bravado wavered. Maybe antagonizing the giant supernatural creature wasn't her smartest move. But before she could reconsider her life choices, a smooth voice cut through the tension like a knife through butter.

"I believe the lady has made her position quite clear, Grayson. Perhaps it's time you backed down."