Page 73 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

“Diana. Orion’s second cousin, maybe third… nobody can keep track anymore.” She presses a drink into my free hand, something sparkling and pink that smells like it could strip paint. “We’re so glad you came. You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting for someone to put that man in his place.”

“I’m not sure I’m putting anyone anywhere…”

“Oh, honey.” Diana’s grin widens. “He alphabetized our entire pack library last month because someone shelved a book in the wrong section. One book. In a collection of three thousand. And he found it.” She shakes her head. “The man needs someone to make him relax. You’re already a hero.”

Before I can process this, movement across the lawn catches my attention.

Orion is in his lycan form, massive and dark, moving through the crowd with the careful grace of someone very aware of how large and potentially terrifying he is. Pack members pat his flank as they pass, completely casual, occasionally tossing him scraps from their plates like he’s an extremely well-behaved dog at a family picnic.

And perched on his back, sitting perfectly upright with the dignity of a tiny furry warlord, is…

“Is that my cat?”

“Happens every time,” Theo says, materializing at my elbow with a plate of perfectly grilled burger patties. “Hates him as a human. Loves him as a lycan. We’ve stopped trying to understand it.”

Mario has somehow teleported from my shoulder to Orion’s back, and he’s riding the massive lycan across the lawn like he’s surveying conquered territory. His copper-penny eyes scan the crowd with regal disdain. His tail flicks occasionally, as if directing his mount’s movements.

Pack members are taking pictures. Actually taking pictures, phones out, faces delighted, capturing the moment like it’s Christmas morning.

“He’s majestic,” Theo says solemnly. “Truly.”

Orion, in lycan form, makes a sound that I’m pretty sure translates to why does everyone betray me.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” I admit.

“We have a calendar,” Diana adds. “Of Mario riding various pack members in lycan form. It’s our biggest fundraiser.”

“A calendar?”

“The April picture is particularly good. He’s wearing a tiny crown.”

I watch the tiny orange warlord continue his parade, and warmth settles in my chest. This is absurd. This entire situation is absurd, the supernatural barbecue, the lycan-riding cat, the three-hundred-year-old lycan king who got his feelings hurt because a fifteen-pound rescue cat likes him better in a different body.

This is my life now.

I think I love it.

“So you’re, like, actually an expert?”

The teenage girl asking the question, Mira, I remember, because I checked my mental checklist, is looking at me with the kind of reverence usually reserved for rock stars or particularly impressive TikTok creators.

“I own a bookstore that specializes in romance,” I clarify. “That doesn’t make me an expert. It just makes me someone who’s read a lot of books with shirtless men on the covers.”

“But you know things.” Mira leans forward, dark eyes bright with enthusiasm. “About the tropes. About what makes a good love story.”

“I know what I like. That’s different from expertise.”

“Okay, but…” She holds up a finger like she’s about to conduct a quiz. “Enemies to lovers?”

“Classic. Best when there’s forced proximity and the hatred is secretly just really aggressive attraction.”

“Only one bed?”

“A personal favorite. Especially when neither party will admit they’re delighted about the sleeping arrangements.”

“Grumpy-sunshine?”

I glance across the lawn to where Orion, human again, Mario presumably returned to his throne of judgment, is standing with his arms crossed, listening to an elderly pack member with an expression of barely concealed impatience while simultaneously scanning the crowd until his eyes find me.