Wolf for Hire

Two days before the full moon.

July 1, 2023

Moonrise: 7:07 p.m.

Sunset: 8:31 p.m.

Chapter One

I woke up cocooned in the comforter on the bathroom floor, cold tiles biting at every inch of exposed skin. I pulled the comforter tighter, but the chill had already seeped into my bones. No pelt to keep me warm now—just tangled hair stuck to my face. I spat it out with a huff, half-expecting a growl that didn't come.

No more wolf, cozy in its fur. Just me—AJ—lanky, stiff-limbed, awkwardly wedged between the shower door and toilet. The warmth was gone, replaced by cold skin on a hard floor. The wolf never had to deal with mornings like this.

I groaned, forcing myself upright, my joints popping in protest. The bathroom counter was a blur in front of me, but after a few blind swipes, I found my phone.

4:15 a.m.

Moonset had been twelve minutes ago. Normally, I'd still be out cold after shifting back—especially after more... eventful nights. But the wolf had settled in early tonight.

Or maybe it was the damn cold that dragged me out of sleep.

The shower hissed in the background, a steady hum of white noise. It had been running all night. To hell with utilities; wasn't like I was paying them anymore. I twisted the knob to hot, waiting for the steam to fill the room. For a second, I thought about sticking with cold water to shock myself awake. But, with the chill that clung to my skin, a hot shower seemed the better way to start the day.

I deserved a little indulgence every now and then, didn't I?

When the water finally warmed, I let the comforter drop to the floor and stepped into the shower. The spray hit my skin, washing away the fur I'd shed but still clung stubbornly to me (if only it disappeared like in the movies). I scrubbed with a loofah, but that one itchy spot in the middle of my back stayed out of reach. Should've invested in a longer shower brush. I missed being able to scratch that spot with my foot like when I was a wolf.

I watched as fur clumped in the drain. Disgusted, I fished it out and tossed it in the toilet. I didn't bother flushing yet—the old plumbing would steal the cold water, and I wasn't in the mood to get scalded.

Clean—well, as close as I'd get—I reached for my towel, then remembered it was still in the dryer. Of course. Muttering a curse, I dripped through the apartment to grab it. Once toweled off, I went through the motions: first, plucking unwelcomed hairs from my face with tweezers (lest I give Frida Kahlo a run for her money), then shaving my new sideburns—I had a look I was going for, and this wasn't it. Then, it was jeans, black turtleneck, sneakers, and hair tied into a bun-like updo.

Spartan, but efficient. No time for anything else.

I stuffed the last of my things into a box and gave the apartment one final scan. The comforter was a lost cause—shredded, filthy, and too bulky to pack. I tossed it into a trash bag, along with last night's remnants: beer bottles, food cans, and a loofah too embedded with hair to save. I grabbed the bag and box, leaving the door unlocked as per the eviction agreement. Miss Patterson would be here soon enough.

The trash clattered into the bins by the back entrance, and I nearly missed my ballet flats, neatly placed on the first-floor landing. My neighbor's doing, no doubt—a small act of kindness. I smiled, slid the flats into my box, balanced it on my hip, and headed for the car. Maybe today wouldn't suck so much.

My car was right where I'd left it—smack in the middle of Miss Patterson's carport. Only now, it had a new accessory: a claw-shaped immobilization device clamped onto the front driver's side tire. Not even a real boot, just a cheap knockoff slapped on by Dixie Nissan's repo team.

I was behind on payments, so this wasn't a shock. But clearly, they thought I didn't know my way around a tire. If they did, they'd have used something more secure. Like a real boot that covered the lug nuts. Sometimes, sexism worked in my favor.

I sighed—more annoyed than surprised—and popped the trunk. Of course, this had to happen today. Why wouldn't it? I dug out the jack and tire iron. Not my first rodeo dealing with this crap, and probably not my last—but that didn't make it any less infuriating.

I jacked the car up with practiced ease, only to curse when I realized I'd forgotten to loosen the lug nuts. Of course—I'd put my shoes on before my socks. Growling, I lowered the car and wrestled with the first lug nut. I had to stand on the tire iron, putting all my weight on it before the damn thing came loose. One down, four to go.

A used tire from LKQ salvage yard had set me back $64, wheel and hubcap included—or $86 with the 90-day worry-free guarantee (but I preferred a can of Fix-a-Flat—it was cheaper). Gerald's Tires charged $109 for just the tire. As for paying off the car? Out of the question. Now that I was in default, they'd want the full balance. Assuming they hadn't already lined up a new buyer.

By the time I jacked the car up again, sweat dripped down my temples and soaked the back of my shirt. The air was thick and muggy—ah, the joys of coastal living. My hands ached from gripping the tire iron, sweat trickling down my spine. Just as I got the car back up, I heard it—a low engine rumbling, then stopping. A car door thunked shut, followed by the familiar scent of expensive perfume: a floral smell of jasmine, with undertones of amber and sandalwood.

I peeked over the top of my car, and there she was—Miss Patterson, arms crossed, leaning against her Mercedes Coupe, watching me with that sharp, assessing gaze that made my skin crawl. She was decked out in crisp overalls that looked straight out of a home and garden catalog. She appeared ready to get her hands dirty, but the freshly manicured nails and wrinkle-free clothes told another story. The heavy lifting would be left to David, her property manager. Miss Patterson was here to supervise, not break a sweat.

I ducked, but not fast enough—our eyes met. Damn it. Of course, she'd show up now, looking perfect while I was all slimy and grimy. This was just what I needed: an audience. She probably planned to arrive early, hoping to watch me struggle. And I didn't disappoint.

I could feel Miss Patterson's eyes boring into me. She'd shifted for a better vantage point, standing, arms still crossed—like a foreman inspecting her workers. That familiar knowing look on her face, the smirk tugging at her lips, made it worse. She was loving this.

After fumbling and dropping the lug nuts—twice—and having to crawl under the car to fish them out, I had enough. That was it. I stood, wiping my hands on my jeans, trying to hide my rising irritation, and shot her a glare.

"Don't let me stop you," she said smoothly, her posture oozing casual authority. She waved a hand at the car like it was an afterthought.

I straightened, meeting her gaze. "I'll be done in a minute," I said, the back of my hand rubbing the bead of sweat that had rolled into my nose. "No need to hover."

"But I do need to park my car. I could have you towed, but it appears that someone is already on that." A slight smile tugged at her lips.

I held her gaze for a beat before bending back to the tire. "You'll have your spot back soon. I'm already out of the apartment—maybe deal with that?"

She ignored my comment and asked a question of her own. "Did you at least have the sense to toss that couch?"

I grunted, pulling the booted wheel off. "What's wrong with a free sofa?"

"That thing isn't even Goodwill material. Really, Allison, it's like you're allergic to quality."

I smirked. "Just throw a doily over it or something. Isn't that what women your age do?"

Patterson didn't look a day over 35, but I knew better. She had to be in her fifties, still rocking a bob like she spent her formative years in the '80s, worshiping the likes of Melanie Griffith in Something Wild. That, and under all that jasmine and sandalwood, she just smelled... old.

She didn't even blink. "You're just making more work for David."

"Oh, golly gee," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Why not just give him my security deposit? Hold it over his head like you do with everyone else. Isn't that what it's for?"

She scoffed. "And waste two grand on something I can get for free? Please."

"Then deal with it yourself," I shot back.

"You know, all of this could've been avoided if you'd just signed the new lease."

I popped the trunk, pulling out my spare tire. "I couldn't afford it. I barely scraped by as it was."

She paused, and I felt her eyes on me, calculating. "We could've worked something out. You were late a few times, but you always paid. And that little dog of yours, or whatever it was, didn't cause me any real trouble. You fixed the place up well enough. Drywall's tricky, but you did a decent job—though the paint was a little... off."

I ignored her and focused on lowering the tire, rolling it to the front of the car.

"I could help you, you know," she said sweetly. "A personal loan. A little cushion while you get back on your feet."

I let the tire thud to the ground and stood, crossing my arms this time. "I have enough debt already, thanks. The only loan I'm after is a mortgage."

"Houses are risky these days," she mused, tilting her head. "Default, and you end up with nothing."

"Or, I could end up owning a place of my own," I muttered, hoisting the spare tire onto the hub and struggling to line up the holes with the studs.

"And if you can't pay it off?" she countered. "Renting is safer for someone in your position. I might have a smaller place—$1600 a month."

I didn't look up, busying myself with the tire. "Sounds like a steal. Utilities included?"

"Of course not."

"Then there's your answer."

Miss Patterson stayed rooted, eyes fixed on me. "What if I let you keep a pet this time?"

I busied myself threading the lug nuts into place. "Even if I had one, I'm not interested."

"Then what's with all those empty food cans in your trash?"

"Maybe I've developed a taste for the finer things."

"I thought you were vegetarian."

I paused, then forced myself to keep working. "Who told you that?"

Her lips twitched. "You did. Last year. I invited you to a barbecue, and you turned down the pulled pork. Said you hadn't eaten meat in a decade."

Again, I fumbled with the lug nuts. How the hell did she remember that? I still considered myself a vegetarian—at least, in human form. The wolf had its own cravings, which didn't count. And after the things it made me devour, just thinking about meat made me sick. Patterson's cat gave me more than indigestion—he had left scars, mentally and physically.

Miss Patterson let the silence hang before speaking again, her tone light. "So, moving back in with your parents?"

"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. I focused on the jack, lowering the car to the ground. "I'm not that desperate."

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She seemed amused. "Then where to?"

I shrugged. "What, you sending me a housewarming gift?"

"Maybe a birthday card. September 7th, right?"

I froze. How the hell did she know that? First the vegetarian thing, now this? I barely acknowledged my own birthday, let alone expected anyone else to. My thoughts must've been written all over my face.

"You know, Allison," she continued pleasantly, "it pays to take an interest in people. Good for relationships, good for business."

"Good for squeezing every dime out of your tenants."

She gave a slight laugh. "Being practical doesn't make me heartless."

"Just soulless. If you had one, you'd have sold it for a place south of Broad."

"In a heartbeat."

Well... had to give her points for honesty.

I tightened the last lug nut and hefted the booted tire into the trunk next to another immobilized one. Not my first rodeo. Turning to Patterson, I wiped my hands on my jeans again. "I'd offer a handshake, but I've already got enough grime on them."

Her smirk widened as her eyes flicked downward. "Looks like you forgot something."

I followed her gaze to my hubcap. Which I had forgotten to put on. Shoes and socks, AJ. Shoes and socks. I picked it up and tossed it into the trunk without a word.

"I'd watch those wheels in your trunk," she said, still watching me. "Those clamps are trackable, you know."

"Noted."

I hopped into my car, and without another glance, drove off.

I drove in circles, my brain scrambled—Miss Patterson, the eviction, the damn boot. I was supposed to be going somewhere, but driving this early threw me off. Normally, I'd be walking to work by now.

I glanced at the clock on my dash. My stomach flipped.

I was supposed to be opening shop.

"Shit!" I yanked the wheel hard to the right as a horn blared behind me. Downtown Charleston's narrow one-way streets felt like an obstacle course. But I didn't have far to go—relatively speaking.

I fumbled for my phone and called Candice. Voicemail. I left a rushed message and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, cursing myself under my breath.

When I drove by the café, the lights were already on. My heart sank.

I found a parking spot a block away and ran up the street. No way Kayla opened the store—she didn't have keys. Which meant...

Candice looked up as I walked in, already behind the counter, her matted blonde hair pulled back in a twist. Exhaustion showed in the shadows under her eyes, though she hid it well. Years of running her business and raising two teens hadn't dulled her energy. I admired that about her.

Kayla stood beside her, mimicking every move as they worked through the early rush. Candice's face softened when she saw me, but the exasperation beneath the warmth was clear.

"AJ," she called, handing a cup to the last customer before turning to me. "Why didn't you call?"

"I did," I panted, catching my breath. "Left a voicemail."

Candice raised an eyebrow. "I meant before your shift. Kayla had to call me—she couldn't get in." She glanced at Kayla. "Think you can handle the online orders?"

Kayla nodded, and Candice gestured to the chairs by the window. I followed, ignoring the knot twisting in my stomach.

"You've got a little something on your nose. What happened?" she asked after we sat. She smelled of citrus and fresh linen. Simple yet invigorating.

I hesitated, rubbing my face. "I, uh... got evicted this morning. Then... had to deal with a flat tire." That sounded better than admitting I'd been booted.

Candice's eyes widened slightly. "AJ, why didn't you call out? You didn't need to come in today."

I fidgeted with the rough fabric at the edge of my seat. "I still planned to work. Most of my stuff's packed, and I figured I'd start looking for a place after my shift."

"So... you don't have anywhere to stay?" Candice's voice softened, but her concern cut through.

Heat crept up my neck as I looked away. "I'll figure it out," I mumbled, staring at a coffee stain on the table.

Candice sighed, rubbing her temples. "Where are you parking?"

"On the street," I admitted, shrinking with every word. I really messed this up.

She shook her head. "AJ, you're going to rack up a parking ticket bigger than what you'll make today. I get it—you're dedicated—but you've got more important things to handle." She gave Kayla a quick nod before turning back to me. "I've been meaning to focus on Kayla's training anyway. I'll take your shift."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she silenced me with a raised hand. "No arguments. You need to sort out your housing. I know you took this job to avoid moving back with your parents, but living out of your car isn't an option."

She stood and moved to the counter, fixing a cup of coffee—with warm milk and plenty of sugar. She knew I liked it sweet.

She handed me the cup. "Here. You need this."

I took it, trying to smile. "Candice, I—"

"You can pick up extra shifts later if you need the money," she cut in. "But right now, focus on finding a place. Get a roof over your head, okay?"

I nodded, knowing she was right. I was barely holding it together, and the last thing I needed was to mess this up too. "Thanks," I muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

Candice's face softened. "Take care of yourself, AJ. You can't help anyone if you're running on empty." Her words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened the pit in my stomach. Every mistake, every late shift felt like another step toward losing her faith in me. I wanted to do at least one thing right, even if that thing was being a barista. It was about the work ethic, more than the work itself.

I nodded, forcing a smile—hoping it looked more 'I've got this' than 'I'm barely holding it together with coffee and duct tape'—and got up to leave. The bell jingled softly as the door closed behind me.

Once inside the car, I buckled in, started the engine and AC, then, after taking a deep breath, beat my fist against the steering wheel, frustration boiling over. I was already losing pieces of myself with each full moon. Losing this job wouldn't just mean losing a paycheck—I'd lose the last shred of stability tethering me to something like normalcy.

To stay human, I had to keep living like one.

I had no intention of becoming a hermit living in the woods, or, as my father put it, living in a van down by the river.

I took a deep breath, steadied myself, then took a long swig of coffee. The sugar and caffeine cut through my headache but did nothing for the gnawing ache in my stomach.

I stared blankly out the windshield, my mind spinning. Call my parents? The thought made me sick. I'd have to tell them everything—about the eviction, the court mess, the wolf problem. No hiding it with the full moon days away. Hell, they didn't even know I'd lost my job at Muckenfuss. Talking to them would be all or nothing.

I decided on nothing.

My stomach growled, cutting through the tension. Maybe I couldn't think straight because I was starving. Pancakes. Pancakes would help.

Then it hit me. I knew who to call.

Vanessa answered on the third ring, her voice groggy and irritated. "AJ, why are you calling this early?"

"It's 7 a.m.," I said, forcing some cheer into my voice.

"It's Saturday," she grumbled. "7 a.m. is early."

I sighed, cutting to the chase. "Pancakes at IHOP?"

A beat of silence. I could hear her smirk. "What do you want this time, AJ?"

"Can't a friend just invite a friend to breakfast?" I said, though we both knew better.

Vanessa chuckled, light but knowing. "You only ask me out for pancakes when you want something. But fine, you're treating."

"Deal," I said, relief washing over me. But it was short-lived. We'd been friends since college, though I wouldn't exactly call it a close friendship. More like a transactional one. I provided tax help during filing season, and she provided me... favors. Usually in the form of information, such as temp work that you were unlikely to find on any postings of job-sites. Or if you needed a little dirt on a local debt collector when you needed to negotiate a repayment plan.

She was good at it too—most people underestimated Vanessa. With her bubbly personality and picture-perfect smile, she seemed like the kind of girl who breezed through life without a care. But I knew better.

Vanessa would never agree to anything without an angle.

We met at the IHOP on Folly Beach. Vanessa strolled in like she'd stepped off a magazine cover, her oversized sunglasses and effortlessly chic outfit the perfect blend of casual and calculated. She slid into the booth across from me, sunglasses still on, lips curling into that familiar, too-perfect smile. Her aroma was filled with sweet and spicy notes, like cinnamon or cardamom, but more alluring. It made my eyes water, and yet I found myself drawn to it.

I'd already snagged a table and worked through most of a breakfast sampler—scrambled eggs, crispy hashbrowns, buttermilk waffles. The bacon sat untouched, waiting for Vanessa. I'd even ordered another sampler for her a few minutes earlier, though I'd likely eat most of it too.

"Morning," Vanessa said, sounding much perkier—probably thanks to an ungodly amount of caffeine. "So, what's up? This is early for us."

"Just thought we could kick off the day with some breakfast," I said, trying to sound casual. It didn't land.

Vanessa arched an eyebrow, unconvinced but playing along. "Uh-huh. Just a nice breakfast, huh? So... how's life treating you?" she asked, nibbling on a piece of bacon.

"Still at the coffee shop," I said.

Vanessa smirked. "Not what you went to school for, huh? But it keeps the lights on." Her slight, yet amused, smile made me feel like she could see right through me. She was waiting for me to play my hand first.

"Mostly," I admitted, that familiar knot tightening in my chest—good old envy. Vanessa had a way of turning nothing into something. If life handed her lemons, she'd whip up gourmet lemonade and sell it for twenty bucks a glass.

But Vanessa never got lemons—she got melons. And she knew how to flaunt them, leaving me wondering if I'd missed the part of adulthood where you learn to look like a magazine ad. Meanwhile, I was still figuring out how to adult without looking like a disaster.

She leaned back, gaze steady, body relaxed but still alert. Vanessa had a knack for peeling back your layers without you noticing. If she cared about anything beyond money, she'd have made a killer investigative journalist. But there was no profit in that, and Vanessa never wasted time on things that didn't pay off.

Which made me wonder: why the hell did she waste her time on me? It sure wasn't for the free breakfast.

"So, what's really going on, AJ?" Vanessa's voice softened to coax a confession out of me.

I hesitated. Lying to Vanessa was pointless—she could read me like a bad mystery novel, and she already knew something was off.

"I got evicted this morning," I said, the words sour in my mouth. "And my cards are declined." I was paying for this breakfast with the cash Mrs. Willerby had given me.

Vanessa's eyebrows shot up over her sunglasses. Surprise flickered into frustration. "Seriously? Why not ask your parents for help? Don't they live in the Groves? I'm sure they'd let you crash for a while."

"And tell them I got fired because I was arrested for indecent exposure? Hard pass."

Vanessa frowned, pushing her sunglasses into her hair. "But it's expunged, right? Why does it matter?"

"Katherine won't care," I said, shaking my head. "And my sister is still there with her fiancé—husband, I mean—until they close on a house. I'd rather sleep on the street than deal with their drama."

I still kept referring to John as Sarah's fiancé, like it hadn't yet clicked in my head that they were now married.

Vanessa's lips quirked. "Chelley would love having you around. Doesn't she look up to you?"

"Not if I'm the deadbeat sister living in the garage."

Vanessa shrugged, but the gleam in her eyes told me she was already working out a plan. "And how's that worse than living on the street? At least they've got a cute little room."

"Independence," I muttered, sharper than I meant to. "I just want a place that's safe, secure, and won't complain if I bring in a dog."

Vanessa smirked, her gaze sly. "What kind of dog? A pet, or a... pet?"

"A dog, V. Just a large one," I said, rolling my eyes. "Also, if you hear about any temp work, I could use the cash."

Vanessa chuckled. "Well, the 4th is coming up, and with all the tourists, you could make a killing if you—"

"No," I cut her off firmly. "Nothing that involves showing skin."

It was Vanessa who talked me into working shifts at the gentleman's clubs.

Vanessa's grin widened, eyes teasing. "You sure? You made a week's wages in tips last time. It'd cover a nice hotel. Plus, you could gather some gossip for my column."

"Not happening," I said, more forcefully. "Last time, one of my high school teachers showed up. I had to threaten to tell his wife if he blabbed to my mom. Besides, I haven't shaved in weeks. No one's paying to see that."

Vanessa's eyes sparkled. "I know a few who'd pay extra."

"Drop it, V," I warned, though a small smile tugged at my lips—V had that supernatural charm to make me smile even when I was mad at her. "Got anything else?"

Vanessa sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Fine. But it's not really a job—more of a favor for a friend. How are you with animals?"

I shrugged. "Better than average, I guess. Why?"

Vanessa leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Remember Sandy? Our sorority sister with all the animals?"

I leaned in too. "The one with the zoo in her house?"

"That's the one," Vanessa nodded. "She's out of town, bit of an emergency, and JT—some guy you haven't met—has been helping with her animals, but he's swamped. Sandy's also looking for a roommate to help with costs, maybe some company. She's not a people person, but I think you could charm her."

I hadn't been close to most of our sorority sisters. They were a peculiar bunch, really into New Age, astrology, studying Latin, and other assorted hobbies. Vanessa had brought me in because they needed a treasurer. We'd taken forensic accounting together, and she knew I was good with numbers. The irony that I was in a financial mess wasn't lost on either of us.

I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "How exactly am I supposed to charm someone who doesn't like people?"

Vanessa leaned back, grinning. "Easy. Start with the animals, make a good impression. You'd stay at her place in the meantime and even get paid for your troubles. I can help you set up something more permanent after that. Sandy's place is quiet, private—out in West Ashley. She's even got a stable where your 'dog' can stay if he doesn't play nice with the others."

A chill crept down my spine at the way she said 'dog.' Vanessa didn't know about my lycanthropy—or at least, I'd never told her. But the way she spoke sometimes made me wonder. She had this knack for knowing just enough to keep me on edge, always making me question what else she was hiding. Or it could be a ploy to make me reveal more of my hand. You never knew with V.

"I'm not exactly an animal expert," I said cautiously. "And Sandy doesn't seem like someone who appreciates the 'fake it till you make it' type."

Vanessa waved me off. "Oh please. You've faked your way through worse. They adored you at Cabaret. JT will be there to help, and I've got your back. I'll even leave him a good word for you. You'll be fine."

I narrowed my eyes at her, suspicious. "And what do you get out of this, exactly?"

Vanessa's grin widened. "Just helping a friend, of course. And maybe I promised JT I'd find him a replacement... and offer to help find Sandy a roommate. So really, it's three birds with one stone."

I rolled my eyes. There was more to it than that, but part of me felt relieved. Vanessa might be a bit unorthodox at times and always trying to capitalize on our interactions, but she never let me down.

"Alright," I sighed, still a bit dubious. "Where do I start?"