Page 14 of His Lucky Charm

“Yes.”

“A werewolf.”

“We prefer ‘Guardian,’ but yes, technically.” He stood, seemingly unconcerned by his nudity despite the cool night air. “The legend is true, Eliot. Has been for centuries.”

I should have been terrified. I should have been running for the hills—or rather, away from the hills, back to the safety of town and rational explanation. Instead, I found myself moving toward him, hand outstretched as if to verify his solidity.

My fingers connected with warm, very real skin. His chest rose and fell beneath my palm, heart beating strong and steady. “You’re real,” I breathed.

“Very.” His hand covered mine, pressing it more firmly against his chest. “Are you afraid?”

Was I? I took internal inventory. Shocked, yes. Confused, definitely. But afraid? I looked into those green eyes—the same eyes that had flashed gold while he moved inside me, that had crinkled at the corners when he laughed, that had watched me with such tenderness in quiet moments.

“No,” I realized, surprising myself with the truth of it. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Relief washed over his features. “Thank god. I thought—when I saw you here—” He pulled me against him suddenly, arms wrapping around me in a fierce embrace. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? The pack is running tonight. If Kieran had found you first…”

“The black wolf?” I guessed, voice muffled against his bare shoulder.

“My cousin. He’s… traditional. Doesn’t like outsiders knowing about us.” Rafferty pulled back enough to look at me, his expression grave. “Which is why you need to get out of here. Now. I’ll explain everything tomorrow, I promise, but tonight isn’t safe.”

As if to emphasize his point, another howl rose from the forest—closer this time, followed by several answering calls.

“The pack,” I whispered.

Rafferty nodded. “They’re gathering for the ceremony. You need to go, Eliot.”

“What ceremony?”

He shook his head, already turning me toward the path. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow. Take the path straight back to town, don’t stop for anything, and for god’s sake stay inside once you get there.”

The urgency in his voice convinced me where rational argument might have failed. I nodded, stepping back toward the trail. “Will you be okay?”

His smile flashed in the moonlight. “I’m a Guardian, Professor. This is what I do.” He leaned forward to press a swift, hard kiss to my lips. “Go. I’ll find you tomorrow.”

With that, he stepped back into the stone circle. Before my eyes, the transformation reversed—man to wolf in a fluid motion that defied everything I thought I knew about the natural world. The russet wolf gave me one final look, then threw back its head in a howl that seemed to pierce straight through my chest.

Answering howls echoed through the forest, drawing closer. I took the hint and ran, heart pounding as I raced back down the path toward town. Behind me, the howls multiplied, a chorus of supernatural voices raising to the full moon above.

The Guardians of the Green were gathering, and for the first time in my academic career, I had discovered a legend that was entirely, impossibly true.

Chapter 8

I spent the night in a state somewhere between scholarly excitement and existential crisis. Werewolves—no, Guardians—were real. Rafferty was real. Everything I thought I knew about the natural world had been turned on its head in the span of thirty minutes in a moonlit clearing.

By dawn, I’d filled half a notebook with observations, questions, and increasingly wild speculations about the biological mechanics of shapeshifting. Sleep had been impossible; every time I closed my eyes, I saw Rafferty transforming, bones and muscle rearranging in defiance of physics.

When exhaustion finally claimed me around sunrise, my dreams were filled with wolves running through endless forests, calling me to join them.

I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of movement in the kitchen. For one disoriented moment, I thought the events of the night before had been a particularly vivid dream. Then Rafferty appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding two steaming mugs and wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants, and reality crashed back.

“You’re a werewolf,” I blurted, still half-tangled in the sheets.

His lips quirked in amusement. “Good morning to you too.” He crossed to the bed, offering me one of the mugs. “Black, two sugars, right?”

I accepted the coffee automatically, trying to reconcile the domestic normality of the moment with the supernatural revelation of the night before. “You transform into a wolf under the full moon. A wolf the size of a small horse.”

“Among other times.” He settled on the edge of the bed, his own mug cradled between large hands. “The full moon makes it mandatory, but we can shift at will otherwise.”