The statue outside Stanley's Diner moves at sundown.
I came to Shadow Wolf Creek with everything I own in my hatchback and one rule: I don't date coworkers. This town has shifters at the grocery store, merfolk, a dragon with a podcast, and everyone is out in the open about what they are. Fine by me. I'm here to wait my tables and save my money, not chase a fated mate. But the gargoyle crouched on the diner's roof caught my scent on my first shift. His name is Soren. He's six hundred years old and has spent every one of those years guarding treasure that was never his to keep. Now he's outside my window at sundown, and not one soul in this town sees a problem with it. This town, I swear. He says I'm his mate, calls me his treasure, and intends to worship me for the rest of his life.
