"They say bad things come in threes. Turns out, yeah—we do."
I hightailed it the hell out of Felcove four years ago. Away from middle of nowhere Michigan. Away from the Midwest's supernatural epicenter and my future as a Garland witch.
Away from Emery, my werewolf bestie... and far, far away from Tyler fucking Hargraves.
Then Grams died. She wasn't supposed to. Maybe not ever. Garland witches don't just kick the bucket. Suddenly, I've got responsibilities I never prepared for and the family monarchy on my shoulders. And there was no way in hell I was going to dodge the two formerly most important people in my life while I was in town. Accidentally roping both Tyler and Emery into a full moon sex magic ritual didn't help matters, either. Now I'm never getting rid of them—and I don't think I want to.
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