Page 2 of Fated to the Gargoyle

“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.