Mated for the Holiday

Chapter 1

Junie

Only I would get stranded during a fucking blizzard, in the middle of a mountain road, when an avalanche is bound to occur any minute.

Should I have stayed at Starview Inn? Maybe, but then I’d have to endure creepy Dan and his stuffed animals. That man, an oddly close friend of my father’s, does not understand that I, a woman who likes to watch National Geographic for fun, am not interested in his latest stuffed squirrel.

So, you see, it was either have a tea party with creepy Dan and his collection or brave the storm.

The radar told me I’d have plenty of time to make it back down the mountain to the quaint town of Starview, where my best friend, Ophelia, and older brother, Sam, are probably fucking like animals.

Lucky for me, the radar lied and now I get to freeze to death. Joy.

Let’s take stock of my situation, shall we?

I’m by myself.

I have a warm car.

I have 16 ounces, wait, fuck, 8 ounces of coffee.

There’s a box of pastries that are meant to be delivered to Ophelia.

She’d understand if I showed up empty-handed, but her customers at Hexed would not be thrilled.

Hexed may provide spells and potions to the community of Starview and lend books to those in need of an escape, but they are also a coffee shop and require pastries on a weekly basis.

What’s a girl to do? Starve? No. I’ll tell her it’s payback for telling me all the gory details of her first night with Sam.

All she needed to tell me was how they were locked inside together and were magically forced to tell the truth.

It’s not a surprise to me that they are now disgustingly in love.

When the details start flooding my mind, I reach in the back to grab a chocolate croissant because remembering makes my eye twitch.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I grab the gem hanging from my neck and run it along the chain a few times while I think about what to do, then tear off the chunk of pastry that looks like it has the most chocolate.

I have to admit, I’m a damn good baker, and my work ethic is the reason why I’m in this mess to begin with.

When was the last time I took a day off?

If I’m not baking, which is rare, I’m catching up on admin tasks.

When I started Forever June three years ago, I was twenty-six years old and in the middle of a crisis.

Sam was chasing his dreams, landing the best photographer jobs in the country.

Ophelia has a similar work ethic to mine and was working non-stop at Hexed with her family, but at least that was her vision for her career.

My two best friends had their lives figured out, and what was I doing?

Working the front desk at the local hotel, daydreaming of what my perfect life looked like.

Like any person with anxiety and a hyper-fixation mentality, I tried many (many) different hobbies before I landed on baking.

I’d always loved to bake, mostly cookies and cakes for birthdays, but this was when I started to dive into laminated dough.

Immediately, I was hooked: butter croissants, danish pastries, cinnamon rolls, you name it.

Three excruciatingly long months later, Forever June was born.

I turned in my notice to the hotel, and Ophelia’s mom helped me find a kitchen to rent at a low cost. It isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but I’m surviving.

I love my job, I do, but it’s been three years of zero time off.

There’s always something to do: craft recipes, source new vendors, prepare dough for weekend orders, hire temporary help for holidays—the list goes on.

At least if I die by avalanche, not only will I have unlimited time off, but I’ll have a full belly of the best fucking pastries in the north (not kidding, I have an award).

Somehow, an hour has passed since I’ve been stuck on the mountain. I’m too full to eat another pastry. My coffee is gone. It’s time to figure out how to get out of here.

I could try walking back up the mountain to the Starview Inn. It’s maybe five miles? Six miles? If I weren’t wearing my Mary Janes I’d consider it. They might be waterproof, but my calves can’t handle walking uphill in two-inch heels.

Also, I’d for sure get lost. The signal on the mountain is never reliable, and the road is completely covered by snow.

Just when I am about to brave the winter storm and stand on my car to see if I can get a bar or two to send my location to Ophelia, I spot a giant dog running toward me from the east.

Wait, is that a dog?

“What the—”

I have to squint to focus on the large animal in the bright white snow.

It’s… not a dog. It’s too large. Not as large as a bear, but it’s definitely bigger than your average domesticated pet.

I can’t tear my gaze away from its features: dark gray fur, black obsidian eyes, big fucking paws.

“Holy shit.” My jaw drops at the sight of the werewolf, who pauses a handful of feet away from my car.

It tilts its head to the side. Studying me. Watching me.

I lift my hand and wave, like an idiot, then immediately retract it. Why the fuck am I staring at this wolf? I don’t know enough about them to feel comfortable being this close to one.

Cautiously, I reach between my seat and the driver’s door to find the button that lowers the back of my seat. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

I find the button and press it. I jerk forward. I must have pressed it the wrong way.

“God dammit.” Now’s not the time.

I try again. This time, I press the other side of the button and make sure to keep my eyes on the wolf in case it… runs at me? Attacks me? I don’t know, but this is the slowest mechanism in the world, and it takes a million years until I’m lying down in the car out of view.

I shut my eyes.

Pretend you’re not here, Junie.

Breathe Junie.

Fucking breathe, Junie.

The Starview Times doesn’t need a headline that reads, “Junie Watts nearly escapes the largest avalanche of the year, only to be mauled by a werewolf.” Except, they wouldn’t call it a werewolf because humans and paranormal creatures rarely acknowledge each other.

The downtown area of Starview, where I reside, is ninety percent witches like Ophelia.

She’s the reason why I can recognize a werewolf to begin with, and she’s told me countless times it’s best to stay away from them. Now that I see a wolf up close, I know I should listen to her. Yet there’s something about this particular wolf that calls to my curiosity.

As if I needed more attention drawn to me, my music shifts from a smooth house beat to thumping rave music. Couldn’t it have done this at any other time? I’m trying (and failing) to be stealthy.

I reach toward the radio, trying to be careful not to go above the window. When I finally press the button to turn off the music, I sigh and lean back.

“I did it.”

I smile, internally patting myself on the back, then everything shifts. My arms line with goosebumps as the sensation of being watched comes to the forefront of my mind. I shift my gaze to the left, and instead of seeing a large wolf like I expect, there’s a man.

“Ah!”

I scream and try to roll over. Except I’m still buckled. I hit my elbow on the center console and yell a string of curse words.

After a very deep sigh and a few seconds to calm myself, I peer to the left to see if the man is still there.

He is.

And he’s naked.

How did I miss that?

His hair is black, a shade or two darker than his wolf fur.

His eyes? Also dark. Not quite black, but a deep brown.

And his body? Don’t get me started.

Too bad he’s a werewolf. He’d make the perfect one-night stand.

The wolf, well, now man, tilts his head to study me once more. I resist the urge to wave because that’d definitely be weird.

He places a hand on the frame of the door and leans toward me. I can’t tear my gaze away. Not from his two sleeves of tattoos, his lean torso, his extremely kissable mouth, and especially his eyes.

So, imagine my surprise when the first thing out of his mouth is, “Are you going to open the window or keep eye-fucking me?”