Page 3 of Craved by the Werewolf (Mystic Ridge Monster Mates #2)

VALA

I stared at my reflection in the studio's dark window, willing my hands to stop shaking as I adjusted my headphones for the third time.

The triple-shot espresso on my desk had gone lukewarm, untouched beside a stack of notes I'd rewritten twice—basic talking points for a fifteen-minute promotional spot that shouldn't require this much prep.

But this wasn't just any promotional spot.

This was a promotional spot with him.

"You're overthinking this," I muttered to my reflection. "It's fifteen minutes. You talk, he grunts, you plug Haven House, done."

The studio door swung open behind me, and Mika blew in like a one-woman storm—clipboards, tablets, and at least three different energy drinks balanced in her arms.

"Okay, so good news and bad news," she announced, dropping into the producer's chair with a spin. "Good news: we're trending on social media. Apparently half the community is tuning in tonight to see if you and the Alpha kill each other on air."

"And the bad news?"

"Corporate's recording this. Flagged for review." She tapped her tablet. "Also, try to ignore Ladran tonight—he's here taking photos for our Glitter account. Corporate wants behind-the-scenes content."

My stomach sank. "This was supposed to be low-key."

"Honey, nothing involving you and Thorne Kaine is going to be low-key." She gave me a grin that was pure mischief. "Relax. You're good at this. Just be yourself—charming, slightly dangerous, devastatingly witty. Don't forget to smile for the camera."

"What if he's boring?"

"Then you make him interesting. That's what you do." She flicked a glance at the clock. "Speaking of which, he should be here any minute. You ready?"

No. Absolutely not. But I nodded anyway.

"Good. Keep it clean, keep it engaging, and try not to start an interspecies incident." She winked on her way to the booth. "I'll be in your ear if you need me to cut to commercial."

The studio fell quiet except for the low hum of the equipment and the faint rush of late-night traffic outside.

I pulled up my playlist—handpicked tracks that wouldn't clash with whatever energy Thorne decided to bring.

If he brought any at all. For all I knew, he'd sit there like a statue and give one-word answers.

My phone buzzed with a text from the front desk: He's here.

My pulse spiked. "Okay, Vala. Showtime."

I was adjusting my mic levels when I heard it—the low rumble of a voice I didn't recognize, deep and controlled, speaking to someone in the hallway.

It was the kind of sound that didn't just carry.

It curled low in the spine, the quiet authority of someone who never needed to raise their voice to be obeyed.

The studio door opened.

And Thorne Kaine walked into my world like he owned it.

It's not like I hadn't seen him before—at fundraisers for Haven House, across the crowd at town events—but nothing had prepared me for the full impact of him up close.

He was tall, taller than I'd expected, with shoulders that made the doorway look undersized and a presence that pulled the airtight around him.

Black hair. A sharply cut jaw. Eyes the color of smoke catching the moonlight.

Those eyes swept the room with quick, predatory precision before landing on me.

"Ms. Nightingale." His voice was exactly what I'd imagined and nothing like I'd prepared for—polished on the surface, but with a low, underlying current that made my instincts sit up and take notice. "Nice to see you again."

"Vala," I said, standing to shake his hand.

His palm was warm, callused from whatever an Alpha did with his days, and when his fingers closed around mine, the contact wasn't just touch—it was a ripple of heat through my entire body.

"Thorne." He didn't let go right away, and there was the faintest lift to one corner of his mouth, like he already knew my pulse had kicked up.

"So," I said, reclaiming my hand and some shred of composure, "thanks for doing this. I heard media isn't exactly your favorite thing."

"It's for a good cause." He sank into the guest chair like it belonged to him, all ease and quiet confidence. Most guests got twitchy around the studio setup, the microphones, the red ON AIR light. Thorne looked like he'd come to bend it all to his will.

"Yes. Haven House." I sat, suddenly aware of how the space between us felt charged in a way the equipment hum couldn't explain. "Before we go live, any topics off-limits?"

"None."

I raised an eyebrow. "None? You sure? I have a reputation for asking uncomfortable questions."

A flicker passed in his eyes—amusement, maybe. "I can handle uncomfortable."

And there it was, that first quiet warning that this was not going to be the safe, predictable fifteen minutes I'd told myself it would be.

Mika's voice came through my headphones. "Sixty seconds, Vala."

"Okay," I said, shifting into my late-night host mindset. "We'll do introductions, talk House Party security, plug Haven House, maybe take a call or two if we have time. Sound good?"

"Whatever you think is best."

Of course he'd leave it up to me. Probably thought the whole thing was beneath him. We'd see about that.

"And we're live in three... two..."

The red ON AIR light flashed, and my voice slipped into the smooth cadence my night crawlers tuned in for.

"Welcome back to Nightingale, night crawlers.

Things are about to heat up in the studio.

" I shot him a sideways look, and those gold eyes met mine without flinching.

"I've got a very special guest tonight—someone you all know by reputation, if not by sight.

He keeps Mystic Ridge safe, he's tall enough to change your lightbulbs without a ladder, and rumor has it he once made a vampire apologize for jaywalking.

Please welcome Thorne Kaine, Alpha of the Mystic Ridge Pack and head of security for our upcoming House Party fundraiser. "

Thorne leaned toward his mic. "Thanks for having me, Vala."

The way he said my name—low, deliberate—sent a little flutter through my chest. Professional, I reminded myself. Keep it professional.

"So, Thorne, House Party's coming up fast. For those who've never been, what exactly are they getting themselves into?"

"A celebration." The quiet authority in his voice made the word feel like a command. "Over four thousand partygoers in one location, raising money for Haven House. Live music, vendors, activities for all ages, and comprehensive security to make sure everyone enjoys themselves safely."

"A celebration—I like that." I smiled, leaning in just enough to match his presence. "Now, let's talk security. This isn't your average event, is it? You're dealing with vampires who might get a little too enthusiastic, werewolves who could shift unexpectedly, witches with temperamental magic..."

"And humans who think they know how to mingle with the supernatural," he added smoothly.

"Ouch. Shots fired at the human population," I teased, letting a laugh into my voice.

His expression didn't change much, but his eyes warmed—just slightly. "Fair point, though."

"So how do you prepare for that kind of diversity?"

"Experience. Planning. And making sure everyone understands the rules before they enter the venue." His gaze locked with mine. "Most problems can be prevented with clear communication and appropriate consequences for those who choose not to listen."

There was a subtle weight on those last words that made the back of my neck prickle. "And what happens to the troublemakers who don't listen?"

"They deal with me."

I forced my focus back to the mic. "Speaking of rules, let's run through a few event basics for our first-time attendees..."

For the next few minutes, we found an easy rhythm.

Thorne was articulate, prepared, and—against my earlier prediction—far from boring.

He covered parking, entry procedures, prohibited items (apparently silver jewelry was a bad idea), and emergency protocols, his voice slipping lower now and then, brushing against my nerves in ways that had nothing to do with the broadcast.

"And now," I said, glancing at Mika through the booth window, "let's take a call. I've got Sira from downtown on line two. Sira, you're on with Nightingale and Alpha Thorne."

"Oh my gosh, hi!" Sira's voice came through bright and breathless.

"I can't believe I got through. Alpha Thorne, my friend went to last year's House Party and said you personally escorted her to first aid when she had an allergic reaction to something in the punch.

Is it true you carry antihistamines in your jacket? "

Thorne actually smiled—an unguarded, genuine smile that transformed his face, and for a heartbeat, I forgot we were live. "I carry a lot of things in my jacket, Sira. The safety of community members is always the priority."

"That's so sweet!" Sira gushed. "Okay, so my real question is... are you single?"

I nearly choked on my water. "Sira!"

"What? I'm asking for a friend!"

"I'm sure you are." I shot Thorne a look, expecting him to shut it down quickly. Instead, he was still smiling, that slow, controlled kind of smile that made me wonder just how much he enjoyed watching me squirm.

"I appreciate the interest, Sira," he said smoothly, "but my focus right now is on making sure House Party is safe and successful for everyone who attends."

"Smooth deflection," I murmured, just loud enough for the mic to catch it.

"That's what media training is for," he replied.

My brows rose. "You had media training?"

"Today. Emergency session courtesy of the pack elders." The dryness in his tone was a shade away from sarcasm. "Apparently my natural charm needed... refinement."

I laughed before I could stop myself. "Your natural charm?"

"That's what they called it."

"And what would you call it?"

His eyes lingered on mine a beat too long. "Honest."