Ivy Lane came to Hollow Oak with nothing but a guitar, a broken magical contract, and one rule: absolutely no dating shifters.
Especially not six-foot-plus panther shifters with bedroom eyes, pack issues, and a protective streak wide enough to qualify as a forest fire. Too bad Dorian Vale didn’t get the memo.
He offered backup vocals and cinnamon rolls. Then warded her stage. Then casually offered to risk supernatural litigation just to keep her voice safe.
Which would’ve been fine—if her fae instincts didn’t keep purring whenever he entered the room.
Now the town’s planning a festival, her ex-warlock is back with paperwork from hell, and Dorian keeps looking at her like she’s already his.
If he says the word “mate,” she’s either going to bolt… Or beg him to mark her on the microphone. She chose him with a song. He answered with his teeth.
