Page 1 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

CHAPTER 1

ALICE

The first thing I notice isn’t the trees or the birdsong or the glistening lake I saw in the brochure. It’s the heat.

Not just the summer sun—though that’s definitely a thing, dripping sweat down my spine like it’s got a vendetta—but the kind of heat that makes your brain fog up and your thighs stick together in the worst way. My floral sundress is too optimistic for this weather. The tote bag strapped across my chest is slowly carving a dent into my shoulder, and the clipboard in my hand is already damp from my palm.

Perfect. Just perfect.

I stare at the welcome sign, painted in swirling letters and glitter that’s already peeling at the corners:Welcome to Camp Lightring!

Below it, smaller text boasts:Where Every Camper Shines Bright!

I blow out a breath.

“Okay,” I murmur, adjusting the clip in my hair for the fourth time. “New start. No crying about cheating dirtbags. No thinking about Miranda. No regretting everything you’ve ever done.”

The camp director, Julie—bright-eyed and way too peppy for someone in charge of children—had hugged me so hard I nearlylost a lung when I stepped off the shuttle. She handed me a counselor badge, a room assignment, and a map that looks more like a fantasy treasure scroll than anything practical.

I peer at it now, squinting.

“Cabin C... So, over the bridge, left at the toadstool garden, past the canoe racks—wait, what?”

There’s a sharp wolf-whistle to my right.

My stomach sinks. And then, promptly, my heart follows it into some deep, cold abyss.

He’s leaning against a post near the mess hall like he’s posing for a photoshoot that no one asked for. Shirtless. Muscles like he’s carved out of moonlight and ego. Scruffy beard. Wild, shaggy brown hair. A cocky grin stretched wide across his face like a billboard for trouble, party of one.

Werewolf.

Definitely werewolf. The scent is faint but there—the earthy musk of forest, iron, and something vaguely like bonfire smoke. I’ve read about it. My ex-boyfriend dabbled in paranormal theory, back before he dabbled in my best friend.

“Hey there, Barbie.” His voice is pure gravel and sunshine, deep and lazy. “You lost, or just admiring the view?”

I want the earth to open up. Just swallow me whole, please. “I—I’m not lost,” I say, immediately sounding like a preteen girl on her first day of debate club. “I’m looking for Cabin C.”

He grins. “You’re lookin’ at it.”

Of course I am.

I glance down at my clipboard like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Are you... Jason Fenwick?”

He pushes off the post with that animal grace that all shifters seem to have in stories, except this isn’t a story. This is me, real-life, stuck for eight weeks with a half-naked man who thinks he’s God’s gift to children’s programming.

“In the flesh,” he says, tossing an empty granola bar wrapper into a trash can with alarming accuracy. “And you must be Alice Rivers. My co-captain of chaos.”

“I prefer the term counselor,” I say, stiffly.

“Sure. But chaos is what we’re dealing with, sweetheart. Trust me.”

I don’t like the way he sayssweetheart. Like it’s a test I didn’t study for. I adjust my tote bag strap again.

He notices.

“Lighten up, Alice. It’s camp. Not a funeral.”

“I take my job seriously,” I say, chin tipping up instinctively.

---