Page 7 of Craved By the Werewolf
Five minutes later, "Charm School" had materialized on my afternoon schedule, like a splinter under my nail. As if I were some pup who'd never faced a microphone. My grip tightened until the phone case whined in protest.
"Son of a—" This was not happening.
"Oh, and Thorne?" Knox's voice oozed satisfaction. "Try not to bite anyone." He burst into laughter before hanging up.
The plastic finally cracked.
I closed the conference room door behind me and headed for the overlook trail, where the mountain air could scrape the noise out of my head. Pine, cold earth, and distance steadied me better than anything ever could.
Somewhere out there, in the cluster of lights that was downtown Mystic Ridge, she'd be getting ready for her next broadcast. She would be getting ready for me.
I told myself it was just another job.
My wolf called me a liar.
3
VALA
Istared 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 trendingon 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.
