Page 1 of Craved by the Werewolf (Mystic Ridge Monster Mates #2)

VALA

T he last haunting note of "Moonlit Confessions" faded into silence. I let it hang there for three beats—just long enough for the ache in the song to settle into my listeners' bones.

"That was Lunar Howl with their latest single, dropping exclusively here on the Ridge FM." My voice cut through the stillness of the studio. "If that didn't stir something primal in you, check your pulse. You might already be dead."

The red ON AIR light glowed above me, a steady reminder that somewhere out there in the shadows of Mystic Ridge, people were leaning in to listen. The night owls, insomniacs, and creatures who preferred moonlight to sunshine. My people.

Through the glass, Mika was perched in the control room like a smug gargoyle, headset crooked on her head. She caught my eye and started the finger countdown—three... two... one—before pointing at the blinking line on the phone board. Line Two. She mouthed take it.

I tapped the button. "Line two, you're on with Nightingale. Confess away."

A cheerful female voice came on. "Hi, okay, this might sound weird?—"

"Darling, you're calling me at nearly 3:00 AM. Weird is our baseline."

"Right. So... there's a new orc at work. He's huge, green, very polite. But when he smiles at me, I swear my knees actually buckle. Is it bad that I want to ask him out? Like, is there an orc dating etiquette I should know about?"

"Oh, I love this already," I said, leaning forward. "Okay, rule number one: orcs appreciate honesty. Rule number two: they also appreciate snacks, preferably something meaty. If you really want to make an impression, pack a lunch big enough to feed a small army and casually offer him half."

She giggled. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. And if he likes you, you'll know. Orcs aren't subtle. Just... maybe do your first date somewhere with sturdy furniture."

By the time we hung up, she was laughing, I was smiling, and Mika was pointing at another blinking light—this time, Line Four.

I hit the button. "We've got time for one more confession before I release you back into the wild. Line four, you're on with Nightingale."

"Hey." Male voice. Hesitant. With a rasp. "Long-time listener, first-time caller."

"What's eating you?"

"My roommate's a vampire..."

"That's not a problem."

"No, you don't get it. He's... old school. Like, refuses to use modern technology. No phone, no email, no streaming anything. Says it 'dilutes the blood.' But that's not even the worst part."

"Go on," I purred.

"He keeps his coffin in the living room. Right in front of the TV. And I can't move it because, well... he sleeps in it during the day. Which means my Netflix setup is basically coffin, coffee table, couch."

I bit back a laugh. "You're telling me you're living in a full-time funeral home aesthetic?"

"Yes. And he keeps the thermostat at fifty degrees because anything warmer makes him 'sluggish.' I wear a hoodie, hat, and gloves indoors, and he just sits there all smug in his velvet cape."

That cracked me. "Let me guess—he also complains about your garlic bread?"

"Every. Single. Time. Says it's an assault on his 'delicate constitution.'"

"Alright, here's what you do," I said, leaning toward the mic. "Tell Dracula to keep his meat locker in his own room. Shared spaces are for the living. As for the coffin—suggest a nice armoire. Still gothic, totally his aesthetic, and doubles as storage."

"That's... actually brilliant."

"I do my best. And maybe slip him a bottle of O-negative as a peace offering. Nothing says 'sorry about the garlic' like a good vintage."

He laughed, low and relieved. "Thanks, Nightingale."

"Anytime, sweetie. Now get off my line before I tell a secret about my last vampire encounter." I tapped the button off and grinned at Mika, who rolled her eyes but was smiling too.

The vampire caller hung up, and I queued my final set of the night—a moody track from The Shifting Skins followed by the latest from Stoneborn.

"Alright, my moonlit misfits, before I send you slinking back into the shadows, a quick PSA.

Someone—and you know who you are—left a necklace on the station steps last week.

Pretty little silver thing, humming with a love spell so strong it nearly knocked me off my stilettos. Cute, but also? Bold move."

I let the words linger, watching the phone board out of the corner of my eye.

"I'd just like to know who thought this was the way to my heart. Was it you, tall-dark-and-furry from Friday night? Or maybe our charming bass player from Moonfang? Whoever it was, you've got exactly one week to claim it before I pawn it for coffee money."

The first line lit up. Then the second. By the time the chorus of Stoneborn hit, every single one of them was flashing like the town tree at Winterlight Festival.

I didn't answer a single one.

Instead, I leaned back, grinning to myself, and let the music roll.

"Okay, my little demons, House Party is right around the corner, so get your tickets to Haven House's annual fundraiser—because nothing says 'support our youth' like dancing until dawn with vampires, werewolves, and whatever the hell those orb things from the forest are.

Trust me, you haven't lived until you've seen a dragon swoop the stage. "

I leaned in, my voice dropping to something more genuine than my usual radio snark. "Haven House isn't just another charity. It's a lifeline for kids who have nowhere else to go. Kids figuring out what they are, what they can do, and that they're not alone. I've seen it change lives."

For a split second, the memory of being scared and alone flashed through my mind. The weight of those dark days before Haven House had found me. Before I'd found a place to belong.

I pushed it away. Some stories weren't meant for the airwaves.

"Tickets available at havenhouse.org, and yeah, it's for a good cause, and it's just epic."

The music swelled, and I slid into my signature send-off.

"That's our witching hour, night crawlers.

This goes out to the last caller and my friends at the 10th Street Blood Bank—I'm told the Bloodlust boys are heading your way tonight with their new hit 'I'm a Sucker for Your Love.

' Lock your doors... or don't." I let my voice drop to its most intimate tone.

"This is Nightingale, your midnight messenger slipping into the mist."

I cut my mic, pulled off my headphones, and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

Through the glass, Mika's shadow shifted. A second later, she was at the door with a mug in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. Time for the post-show reality check.

The control room door swung open, and Mika slipped in with a steaming mug in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. She had that look—equal parts mischief and mild guilt—the one she only used when she was about to drop a conversational grenade in my lap.

"Lavender tea, extra honey," she said, setting it in front of me. "Plus, a splash of that throat tonic from the witchy shop downtown."

I sniffed the steam, suspicious. "What exactly is in this tonic?"

"Nothing that'll kill you," she said with a grin, sliding into the guest chair. Then she propped her chin on one hand and asked, all casual, "So... good news or bad news first?"

"Bad," I said without hesitation. Always better to rip the bandage off before the antiseptic.

She didn't miss a beat. "You've got a co-host for House Party this year."

I froze, mug halfway to my lips. "No."

"Yes."

"Who, why?"

Her smile was pure evil. "Thorne Kaine."

The tea sloshed dangerously. "The Alpha? Our Alpha? At my event?"

"Technically, it's Haven House's event."

"Mika."

"Vala."

"This is a terrible idea. He's... terrifying. The man probably files his nails on cement blocks."

"Doubt it," she said lightly. "He seems more like the 'tear them to perfect points with my teeth' type."

"Not helping," I muttered.

She held up her hands. "Look, last year the crowd got a little... spirited."

"A few bites, a few brawls, and someone set the merch tent on fire."

"Exactly my point. Corporate wants someone with actual crowd control skills to help you wrangle the more... enthusiastic guests."

"And they think putting the local apex predator on stage with me will calm people down?"

"Or rile them up in a profitable way," she said sweetly, folding her hands on the table like she hadn't just suggested throwing a shark into a swimming pool.

I groaned into my tea. "You saw him at the Spring Fling. He has two settings: silent judgment and smokey-eyed murder glare. Do you know how many awkward silences that's going to be on stage?"

She shrugged. "You have enough sarcasm for both of you."

"Mika, this man growls between breaths. Like, audibly. I'm not emceeing over werewolf rumble bass."

"You've always said you wanted better sound design," she said, perfectly straight-faced.

I threw her a glare. "Alright. What's the good news?"

Her grin widened as she slid one of the papers across the desk. "You have a meeting in L.A. next Monday with the network bigwigs. They're interested in syndicating The Nightingale nationwide."

My brain stalled for a solid three seconds. "You're serious?"

"Completely."

National syndication. Bigger markets. My voice riding the airwaves from coast to coast. The kind of reach I'd only dreamed about when I'd started this gig—but the excitement tangled immediately with a knot in my stomach.

"So... to sum up," I said slowly, "I'm hosting House Party with Thorne Kaine, and prepping for the biggest meeting of my career, at the same time?"

Mika beamed like she'd just handed me a winning lottery ticket and a lit stick of dynamite. "Yep. You're welcome."

I stared at the tea like it might have the answer hidden somewhere in the steam.

On one hand: career jackpot. On the other: sharing a stage with Mystic Ridge's most intimidating resident.

"I could say no," I muttered. "Just... no. Walk away, let them find someone else with a death wish."

Mika tipped her head, unimpressed. "You could. But then you'd have to explain to all the kids at Haven House why they're not getting new books, new beds, or the kitchen upgrade they've been begging for."

She didn't play fair. She never played fair.

I groaned. "Why are you like this?"

"It's a gift." She grinned, leaning back in the chair like she'd already won. "And let's be honest—you've never backed away from a challenge in your life. You're just annoyed you didn't get to veto your co-star."

"Co-host," I corrected sharply. "And no, I'm annoyed that my co-host growls."

"You growl."

"I purr. There's a difference."

Mika's laugh was pure trouble. "So... that's a yes?"

I slumped back in my chair, the words tasting like defeat. "You already know it's a yes. But I'm getting hazard pay, a medic on standby, and my name stays first on the poster."

She snorted. "Poster? Honey, there's a billboard going up this week."

I was halfway to arguing when her expression shifted into something almost... gleeful. "Oh, right. One more tiny detail."

I narrowed my eyes. "Define tiny."

"He's coming in tomorrow night." She paused, shuffling through her papers with that infuriating casual air she'd perfected. "We'll have confirmation hopefully in the morning, so the afternoon shows can start plugging it."

"Tomorrow night?" I nearly spilled my tea all over the control board. "As in—tomorrow tomorrow?"

"Yes, Vala. Tomorrow tomorrow. First joint promo spot. Fun, fun, fun. Together. The whole town will be listening."

I stared at her, jaw hanging somewhere near the floor. "You ambushed me."

"Technically, I prepared you. This is me being helpful."

I pressed a hand to my forehead. "You could've at least given me a week to stock up on silver jewelry and holy water."

"Wrong monster, darling."

"I'm keeping the holy water anyway."

Mika rose, gathering her papers and my shredded peace of mind in one graceful sweep. "You'll be fine. He'll be fine. Haven House will rake in a fortune. Everybody wins."

She left before I could come up with a good comeback, the door clicking shut behind her.

I sat there for a long moment, staring at the empty mug, thinking about Thorne Kaine's threatening glare and the way my pulse jumped every time his name came up.

Tomorrow night.

Great.