Luna of Ironwood

I was nineteen when he told me the bond was a mistake, and I agreed with him so fast the kettle was still warm when I left. Eight years, three jobs, and a lot of cold mornings later, Ironwood is falling apart and the alpha is dead and the new alpha is him. He needs someone who knows the western ridge. I need a seasonal contract, a cabin with a lock on the door, and a reason to leave in October. The pack is bleeding wolves one at a time through a broker on the council, and I am going to find him, hand the whole thing to open court, and walk out before the snow. He's learned to wait for an answer this time. Good. I'm going to take a very long time to give him one.