Page 26 of His Lucky Charm

“Subtle,” I commented dryly.

He stood, stretching in that way that somehow bridged canine and human movement, then headed toward the bedroom, pausing to look back at me expectantly.

“I’m coming,” I assured him. “Though I feel obliged to remind you that interspecies relations are not on tonight’s agenda.”

The wolfish expression he gave me somehow perfectly conveyed his thoughts on the matter: Obviously not, you ridiculous human.

I followed him into the bedroom, where he immediately hopped onto the bed we’d reinforced specifically for nights like these. He curled up on his side of the mattress, leaving space for me beside him.

This had become our routine during full moons—I would join him in wolf form for comfort and closeness, then be awakened by his transformation back at dawn for more… intimate connections. It was unorthodox, certainly, but like everything else about our relationship, it worked for us.

I changed into sleep clothes and slid into bed beside him, immediately enveloped in supernatural warmth as he pressed against my side. His fur was soft against my skin, his breathing deep and even.

“I love you,” I murmured, the words coming easily now after months of practice. “All of you.”

He made a rumbling sound deep in his chest, then gently licked my cheek—the closest approximation to a kiss in this form.

“Yes, yes, I know that’s disgusting,” I said, wiping my face while failing to hide my smile. “Some of us maintain hygiene standards regardless of form.”

His response was to deliberately lick me again, making me laugh despite myself.

“Menace,” I accused fondly. “Absolute menace.”

He settled his massive head on my chest, golden eyes watching me with unmistakable affection before slowly closing in contentment. Within minutes, his breathing deepened into sleep, the day’s exertions catching up with him.

I remained awake a while longer, one hand stroking his fur absently as I contemplated the strange, wonderful path that had led me here. Six months ago, I’d been determined to disprove the existence of the Guardians of the Green. Now I was intimately entwined with their future leader, participating in their ceremonies, documenting their history.

Life, I reflected as sleep finally claimed me, had a curious way of transforming expectations into something far more magical than imagination could conceive.

I dreamed of running through endless forests beneath a silver moon, a russet wolf always by my side.

Chapter 14

The Guardian Moon Festival was in full swing, Cloverton’s streets packed with tourists and locals alike celebrating the town’s most profitable weekend of the year. Green streamers hung from every lamppost, wolf-shaped pastries filled bakery windows, and vendors hawked everything from carved wooden guardians to t-shirts proclaiming “I SURVIVED THE HOWLING IN CLOVERTON.”

If they only knew.

I adjusted my festival badge—“Dr. Eliot Byrne, Historical Consultant”—and made my way through the crowd toward the small stage where I was scheduled to give a talk on “The Historical Roots of Guardian Legends.” It was my third year giving this presentation, a carefully crafted blend of actual history and strategic omissions that satisfied academic rigor without revealing the furry truth living among them.

“Professor!” A voice called over the crowd. I turned to see Mal waving from The Lucky Hound’s festival booth, her pink hair now streaked with green for the occasion. “Raff’s looking for you!”

“Where is he?” I called back, checking my watch. My presentation was in thirty minutes, hardly time for one of Rafferty’s “urgent meetings” that inevitably led to rumpled clothing and rushed explanations.

“Town hall!” she replied with a knowing grin that suggested she understood exactly what I was thinking. “Says it’s important!”

That could mean anything from actual pack business to Rafferty wanting to steal a kiss in the coat closet. Either way, I had time to check before my talk.

The town hall had been transformed for the festival, its usually staid interior now festooned with green decorations and educational displays about the “mythical” Guardians. I nodded to several townsfolk as I made my way through the building, my position as Rafferty’s partner and the local historian making me something of a minor celebrity in Cloverton.

I found Rafferty in the small anteroom behind the main hall, pacing nervously in the tailored suit he wore for official functions. After three years together, the sight of him still made my heart beat faster—all six-foot-four of barely contained energy and devastating good looks.

“There you are!” He stopped pacing, relief washing over his features. “I was about to send a search party.”

“I was exactly where I said I’d be,” I pointed out, straightening his slightly askew tie with practiced ease. “Setting up for my presentation. The one you insisted I give even though it’s our anniversary weekend.”

“About that.” He caught my hands, his expression suddenly serious. “There’s been a change of plans.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Rafferty, there are three hundred people expecting to hear about guardian mythology in twenty-five minutes.”