Fated To The Gargoyle (Shadow Wolf Creek Monsters #1)

1. Treasure

TREASURE

Andy, the owner of Stanley’s Diner, keeps looking from me to my resume and back again. Whatever he’s after, he hasn’t found it yet.

I sit across from him in the booth with my hands folded and try to be patient while this man decides if I’m worthy of pouring coffee and carrying plates. My stomach’s been flipping since I sat down. It’s a waitress position. What does he think I’m going to lie about?

Six years I’ve been waiting tables. Sore feet, aching back, customers snapping their fingers at me like I’m a dog, and I still haven’t dropped a plate—not even running a full Saturday-night section alone. I’m good at this. That has to count for something.

He’s not even listening.

He frowns at the resume and rubs his forehead.

His thin hair sticks up in every direction, and his tie hangs crooked at the collar.

His work shirt has a ketchup stain near the second button and a smear of mustard on the sleeve.

His apron is worse—burger grease, what looks like coffee, and something I can’t identify near the pocket.

This man is interviewing me looking like the kitchen fought him and won.

“Hello?” I say. He still hasn’t made it past the same line.

He glances up. His eyes are sharp, though.

“What brings you to Shadow Wolf Creek?”

The way he asks it tells me everything. He’s sizing me up.

“Another new woman,” he mutters before I can answer, leaning back in the booth. “Hoping she’ll slip into town and find her fated mate.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

Yes, that’s partially why I came here. The stories pulled me in, the idea of fated mates, of someone out there who was made for you. But I also left behind a life that wasn’t working and a city that was bleeding me dry. That’s not any of his business, though.

“With all due respect, I don’t see how my reasons for moving here are any of your business.”

He smirks at that and sets my resume down.

Oh, hell no. I didn’t pack everything I own into a hatchback and drive across the country to get dismissed by a man with mustard on his shirt.

The floors are checkered, the booths are red vinyl cracked at the seams, and bacon grease is baked into every surface. The place isn’t fancy, but I’ve worked worse, and I’ve made worse look good.

“You’ve got ten booths,” I tell him. “Plus six stools at the counter. I could handle both sections on your busiest day. Alone.”

He blinks. I don’t think anyone’s talked to him about his own diner like this.

I nod toward the counter. “And your coffee pot is outdated. You’re burning through grounds twice as fast as you should and serving bitter coffee.”

He turns to the coffee pot, then back to me. He doesn’t say anything, and that tells me I’m right.

“I came here first because I really could use a job, and being a server is my specialty.” I hold his gaze. “But Shadow Suds is also hiring, so maybe I’ll try there.”

I start sliding out of the booth. “Keep the resume. I’ve got like fifty of them. Thank you for your time.”

“Wait.” He holds up a hand. “Hold on.”

I stop but don’t sit back down. The diner is closer to my apartment and the hours work better than Shadow Suds.

“I never said I wasn’t going to give you the job.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He ignores that. “What I’m saying is, you look like you’re fated.”

I stare at him. I rattled off my entire service resume, told him about his own broken coffee pot, and his takeaway is that I might have a shifter boyfriend waiting in the parking lot?

“Well, I’m not. At least not that I’m aware of.”

He slides out of the booth and crosses his arms. There’s sweat at his temples and dark circles under his eyes.

“That’s the problem,” he says, and his voice gets quieter. “A lot of you come in here thinking Shadow Wolf Creek is some fantasy land. You think you can just slide into town and all your dreams will come true, like you’re some damsel in distress.”

That one hits different. I’m no one’s damsel. I left LA because I was working myself into the ground just to stay broke, and the only person who was ever going to fix that was me.

But I don’t say any of that to Andy. He doesn’t deserve my story.

I shift my weight toward the door.

He glances at the Help Wanted sign in the window. It’s faded and curling at the corners.

“The sign stays up,” he warns.

“I don’t care what you do with it. This isn’t my business.”

He stares at me, and I stare right back. Then he walks behind the counter, grabs an apron from a hook by the kitchen, and comes back holding it out to me.

“You can start tomorrow evening. I’ve got a girl who works the day shift. I need a closer.”

I look at the apron, then at him. “That works perfect for me.”

He looks me up and down again, and I don’t love it. He’s trying to figure out something about me I haven’t told him.

“You look like you’re fated,” he says again.

Okay, so we’re just going to keep doing this.

“You are a real weird dude, Andy.”

He wipes sweat from his forehead. “I’ve lost six employees to these shifters. Every one of them, gone. Some wolf or bear walked through that door and decided my waitress belonged to him. I may not be able to detect the fated scent the way shifters can, but I know a fated when I see one.”

I almost feel bad for him. But I’m also not about to let his baggage become my problem.

I take the apron from his hand. “Thank you for the job, Andy.”

“Your shift starts at five. We close at eleven.” He’s already walking away. “Don’t be late.”

“I can handle it,” I tell him.

I head for the door and push it open, then turn back. “Seriously. Thank you.”

He groans. “I’m gonna keep interviewing because I know you aren’t going to last.”

I shake my head at him and walk out.

The second the door shuts behind me, I squeal. Full-on, hands-over-my-mouth, jumping-up-and-down squeal. A woman getting into her car across the lot looks over at me, and I don’t even care. Let her look.

I’ve been in Shadow Wolf Creek three days. Still tripping over boxes in my apartment, and I already have a job.

Is it the best-paying job? No. But it beats Hollywood, where I was faking it to make it every single month.

I split groceries with five roommates and still came up short, said yes to brunches that wrecked my budget, and paid over a thousand dollars for a room that barely fit my bed and a dresser.

I loved my roommates. I just couldn’t afford the life we were all pretending to have.

But Shadow Wolf Creek kept pulling at me. I saw a video online about the town, about the shifters and the fated mate bonds, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I know how that sounds. But I’ve always followed my gut, even when it takes me somewhere that doesn’t make sense to anyone else. I’m known for moving around, picking up and starting over, and most of the time people shake their heads and let me go.

Shadow Wolf Creek isn’t on anyone’s list of hot places to relocate. But something about this town felt right the day I drove in.

My savings stretched to a decent apartment, and every inch of it is mine.

No roommates, no notes about dishes in the sink.

The first night, I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening for footsteps that weren’t coming.

Just me and the hum of the refrigerator.

It’s lonely if I think about it too long, so I try not to.

If it doesn’t work out, I’ll go home to my parents.

That’s what you do in this economy when things don’t pan out.

You hold your head down, pack your car, and move back.

No shame in that. But God, I don’t want to.

I really, really don’t want to. I want this to be the place where I finally stop running and start building.

I keep Shadow Suds in the back of my mind, too. That man is too weird for me to think I’ll be at the diner long term. I give it six months before his paranoia drives me up a wall.

I pull my keys out of my pocket and walk to my car. The air up here is different from LA, cleaner and colder, and it smells like pine trees and wet dirt.

I unlock the door and get in, toss the apron on the passenger seat, and sit there with my hands on the steering wheel, grinning at nothing. First week in a brand-new town and I already have a job and an apartment with my name on the lease.

Andy thinks I’m fated and won’t last. He can keep that little sign taped to his window all he wants. I’ll be back tomorrow at five with my hair up and my game face on, and I’ll show that man what six years of experience looks like.

And if some shifter does walk through the door and claim me? Well. That’s a problem for future Treasure.