Hungry For Her Bear (Hungry Fur Love #2)

Prologue-Donny

The sun was shining when I left for work this morning, as it always seemed to on crisp Autumn mornings in Castor’s Corner.

Like the Goddess herself was mood-lighting the whole damn town.

Maybe She was trying to butter me up. If so, She was doing a good job of it.

The day passed by in a whoosh of appointments and fashion fiascos, and now, we’d just finished charging our wards, protecting the town.

Even so, I could still feel it as I stood beneath the pale moonlight.

There’s just something about fall that makes everything feel a little more enchanted.

The air gets that bitey edge, your sweaters start looking cuter, and the leaves go full drama queen.

And let me tell you, nobody does foliage like South Jersey.

Our trees go full-on peacock every October—flashing colors like they're competing in a magical Miss America pageant.

The pines keep it classy, of course, but the maples? The oaks?

Those show-offs burst into flaming oranges and reds like they’re about to storm a runway.

There are even some purples, the kind that make you feel like you fell into a bottle of cabernet and never looked back.

Even the birches get their shimmer on.

It was no coincidence that my birthday landed right smack in the middle of fall.

October 18th, baby.

A Libra to my glittery little core.

And yes, I was feeling every one of my mature, magical years that morning.

Not that I’d tell you my exact age, so don’t even ask.

Witches live long lives, okay?

Some of us just do it while still looking like cover models for Wands & Wine Weekly.

But even though I looked fluffy and fabulous—and I did, thank you very much—my age was a bit of a sore subject.

Probably because I’d yet to find someone to share my present or my future with.

Someone who could handle all this—the curves, the sass, the moonlit rituals, and, oh yeah, the chaotic magical energy that sometimes sparks out of my fingers like I’m cosplaying a lightning bug on meth.

So yeah. The past?

Not really my favorite topic.

It was full of failed almost-romances, regrettable eyebrow shapes, and an unfortunate incident with a talking vibrator and a cursed drawer that I still refuse to discuss.

Let’s just say—I stay busy.

I run my salon, Hair Now, Gone Tomorrow, I co-guard the magical wardings of this entire town with my besties-slash-soul sisters, and when things get really dire, I turn to my trusty drawer of battery-operated back-up plans.

You know the kind.

The kind you do not use in a group setting—unless you’re in a very different kind of Coven.

Castor’s Corner hadn’t exactly been overflowing with viable man meat lately.

At least, not until they showed up.

The trio of supernatural hotties that had blown into town like the world’s sexiest natural disaster.

My powers always got twitchy around newcomers, but this time?

Full-on tingle fest.

Every time I caught a glimpse of the grumpy Bear Shifter working at the firehouse-slash-bakery, my magic decided to perform an internal jazz hands routine.

Which was concerning.

Especially because Ryan McLeod looked like he could break me in half and then bake me a pie to apologize.

And that? That was a problem.

But right now I have different concerns.

Mainly my besties who were whispering about me with freaking blow horns or so it seemed.

“So, what are we doing for her birthday this year?” Bella asked Evie in the worst attempt at a stage whisper I’d ever heard.

I didn’t bother to hide my groan.

Not this shit again.

It was no secret I hated birthdays. Mine especially.

Nothing like being reminded that your existence was a side note in your own parents’ epic love story.

A plot twist they barely remembered, let alone celebrated.

Yeah, I had issues. But who didn’t?

The thing was, I wasn’t pouting about it anymore.

Not since learning Evie and Bella weren’t just my best friends—they were my blood.

Cousins.

Real family.

The kind that didn’t forget your birthday.

Even when you really, really wished they would.

“Ladies,” I drawled, narrowing my eyes at the two conspirators. “I’m still here. I have ears. Magical, highly sensitive, stunningly symmetrical ears.”

Evie ignored me, as usual, giving Bella a wide-eyed shrug like I hadn’t just threatened her with bodily glittering. Which was fair.

I’d already doused them in pink glitter rain once this week, and honestly, it did nothing to deter them.

If anything, they looked sparkly and smug.

It was the night of our monthly boundary ceremony.

You know—the thing that kept clueless humans from wandering into our little supernatural haven.

We were standing around a roaring bonfire, the flames dancing higher than usual, crackling with layered spells and protective intent.

All very serious. Very mystical. Very important.

And yet there they were—giggling and plotting like my entire disdain for birthday parties wasn’t a matter of public record.

I crossed my arms over my chest, casting a narrowed glance toward the firehouse where smoke curled into the night sky and the unmistakable scent of grilled meat wafted through the cool air.

Of course.

The three new Shifter additions to our town were out there flipping burgers and searing steaks like they weren’t sex on legs with sharp teeth and mysterious pasts.

I could practically feel the hormonal haze wafting off Evie and Bella from here.

Evie’s fated mate, Jaxson, had already claimed her.

The Wolfy Sheriff had broody eyes and a body that did deeply sinful things to denim—not that I noticed. He wasn’t mine, after all.

But I did approve of how he treated Evie. And I was happy for them.

Mostly.

Bella was dancing around her own animalistic tension with one of the other two Shifters, and I’d bet my limited-edition Jimmy Choos that this whole freaking birthday party idea was cooked up as an excuse to gather under the pretense of cake and awkward presents.

The heifers.

“AHH!”

“Donny!”

The glitter storm hit them mid-conspiracy, raining golden flecks over their heads and shoulders.

They squealed, of course.

But it was practically a tradition at this point in our lives.

They plot. I bomb. Period.

“Oops,” I said, smirking. “My wand sneezed.”

They glared at me, but I was already flicking my wrist and redressing myself in something that made me feel like me—Lafayette 148 New York cashmere, wide-leg silk and linen-blend pants.

Earthy taupe tones—perfect for my skin color and my dark hair.

Elegant without trying too hard.

Magical but minimal.

We weren’t typical Witches, not in Castor’s Corner.

Evie had that effortless retro glam thing going on—like a 1960s siren met a horror movie hostess and they decided to run for mayor.

Bella was a garden nymph come to life. Bows, florals, the occasional pastel tulle.

And me? I was couture curves, top to toe. If it had structure and softness, I’d wear it.

And if it didn’t come in my size? I’d make it.

Being curvy in a supernatural world came with its challenges.

Shifters could eat three times their weight and still look like a damn Marvel superhero.

But our Trifecta? We were soft, strong, and undeniably magical.

My magic hummed in my veins as I looked around the fire-lit circle.

It wasn’t just vanity.

This was about presence.

Power.

Claiming our space in a world that often tried to squeeze us into smaller boxes—both literal and metaphorical.

I used magic to tailor designer pieces not just for me, but for others in the town who deserved to see themselves in velvet, in silk, in sequins.

We weren’t invisible.

We were divine.

“Still trying to throw me a party?” I asked them, softer now.

Bella grinned, unrepentant. “What gave it away?”

“The utter lack of subtlety,” I said. “And the glitter in your hair.”

Evie stepped beside me, giving my hand a squeeze.

“You don’t have to celebrate if you don’t want to. But, well, we want to celebrate you.”

I didn’t answer right away.

The truth was—I wanted to believe them.

I wanted to lean into it, into the possibility that maybe birthdays didn’t have to suck.

That, maybe, being seen, being loved, was something I could allow without bracing for disappointment.

“I’ll think about it,” I said finally.

Which was basically a yes in Donny-speak.

The girls knew it too.

Bella bounced on her heels, and Evie’s eyes shimmered in the firelight.

Ugh. Emotions. Gross.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I huffed, executing a full-bodied twirl like the dramatic queen I am. “I have a hot date with a medium-rare steak and a sinfully spicy book series Stanley told me not to read in public.”

“Nuh uh, Donny dear,” Bella said, snapping her fingers and hooking her arm through mine like a determined Disney villain sidekick. “You’re eating with us tonight.”

“Wait—why? Did I lose a bet? Am I being punished for something I said in a past life?”

“Because we’re family, you glorious, sparkly beyotch,” Bella hissed like a trashy soap opera villain and somehow made it sound like a love confession.

It was honestly pitiful how much I adored her.

“She’s right,” Evie chimed in, always the cool mom of our trio. “We’re family. We’re hungry. And let’s face it, none of us knows how to portion control. So whaddya say? Come, break bread—or, you know, meat—with us?”

I squinted suspiciously. “Where?”

“Firehouse. The boys are grilling,” Evie answered, eyes gleaming like she just got away with shoplifting from a Sephora.

They both burst out laughing like the maniacal Witches they are.

And for once?

So did I.

Because even though I had spicy books, leftover steak, and a perfectly fluff-folded blanket waiting for me at home, there was something even better about dinner with the people who made my life feel like magic.

Even if they were bossy, nosy, and constantly trying to fatten me up for some future supernatural bake-off.

Family, right?

Dangerous.

But worth it.