One day I’m rescuing a wounded wolf in the woods. Next, I’m tripping over a naked guy with rippling abs, making coffee in my kitchen at Gravenshade Hall.
He says his name is Wynter. That he’s fae. That I once spent a year in Faery, dancing under moonlight like some enchanted puppet. Thankfully, I don’t remember a second of it.
I'm twenty-five, short on memories, haunted by ghosts who won’t keep their opinions to themselves (including my dead mother, who has notes) and the prime suspect in my parents’ unsolved double murder.
Now I’ve got a broody houseguest who thinks he’s a wolf, watches me like he’s starving, and insists he can’t touch me. Won’t touch me. Because of a Very Serious Vow.
The inconvenient part? I’m starting to believe his delusions.
Then the Wild Hunt shows up to claim me. Again.
What follows is chaos, longing, and a fae prince whose devotion runs so deep it should terrify me, but somehow it doesn’t.
Which is the most inconvenient thing of all.
Fated, forbidden, and achingly slow to burn, with a growly shifter prince who saves all his spicy sweetness for her.
