Match Made In Growl
I crossed the veil for ancient magic and buried secrets, not for a six-foot-something tiger shifter who looked at me like I was dinner and dessert in the same muddy package.
One rain-soaked night.
One terrible decision against a tavern wall.
One claiming bite I absolutely did not sign up for… and now can’t stop feeling every time I breathe.
Criss Holt is everywhere—scenting me like a possessive bloodhound, growling when I try to work, and generally wrecking my extremely organized life with his big tiger energy and zero respect for personal space or professional boundaries.
I came here to excavate history, not to become the favorite chew toy of a reformed playboy who somehow went from “one night only” to “I built you a desk by the window so you never leave.”
But the wards are waking up, the town’s darkest lies are clawing out of the ground…
And this stripey pain in my ass might be the only thing standing between me and becoming part of the next layer of sediment.
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