Chapter 13

Joseph woke up the next morning to the sight of Zoe hunkered down on the floor, scrubbing at his puke like it was her personal mission.

He rubbed his pounding temples, the room reeking like a bad night in a dive bar. Hadn't tied one on this epic in ages.

Zoe's eyes were puffy and red as she glanced his way. "Joseph, if cutting loose from Gina twists you up this bad, maybe I should just ghost. Even if the moon comes down hard on me, I'd shoulder the blame for you—no sweat."

Joseph dropped his gaze, voice going gravel-low.

Gina was his she-wolf, sure—but hell, so was Zoe.

And... Zoe hadn't stabbed him in the back, rolling around with some side-wolf behind his tail!

He'd blacked out sloppy; she'd played nurse all night, no complaints.

Plus, her head games—that paranoid delusion jazz—still hadn't cleared up.

She stonewalled treatments, hated the "crazy" label like poison.

Gawking at this wilted flower of a she-wolf? It yanked him back to the video—Gina on her knees, skull-smacking pavement mile after mile.

Chest seized; his mug darkened. "You're overthinking it. Betrayal? That's my red line—lights me up. Till I sniff out what Gina's got cooking with that mutt, I'm not letting it slide."

Before Zoe could chime in, his phone buzzed insistent.

"Joseph, heads-up: tomorrow's big shindig—the Johnsons are RSVPing."

He slitted his eyes. "Noted."

Brian?

Knew it—pup was gunning for the prize.

Brian probably hadn't clocked yet: tomorrow's throwdown? Joseph's lock.

Joseph snorted, then something pinged.

"Any word on Gina?"

Assistant choked on air. "Sorry, Joseph—drawing blanks."

"Useless!" He roared it, boot lashing a chair into next week.

Crash jolted Zoe like a live wire.

"Vanished right here in Galathia Town—what're you mutts paid for? Cams a bust? Two grown wolves, and you can't sniff 'em? Buncha deadbeats!"

Chest heaved wild; forehead vein popped like a fuse.

How many days?

Every report? Nada—lost in the wind.

Gina? Just a plain-Jane mind-healer.

Who the hell else could've swiped her?

Joseph clicked off, irritation bubbling fresh.

That hard-won calm? Torched.

Then—Zoe, hovering at his six.

He wheeled. "Tomorrow's bash? You're my plus-one."

Gina loathed Zoe down to her bones.

If she was holed up somewhere, catching him parading Zoe at the pack's big powwow? Bet it'd froth her up enough to bust out swinging.

That thought tugged his lip crooked—grin sly. Didn't even register.

Zoe, off to the side? Heart did a little jig, thrill zipping.

"Sounds perfect!"

Lashes dipped quick—don't let him spot the glee.

...

Bash night, every big paw in Galathia Town packed the joint.

Joseph strolling in, Zoe's paw in his? Ripples hit—whispers exploding.

"Check it—that's Joseph's fresh squeeze!"

"Eh, don't see the upgrade. Looks like yesterday's news next to Gina, if you ask me."

"What're you, blind? Pretty's dime-a-dozen. Remember all those lookers who tried batting lashes at Joseph? Ended up curb-kicked. This one's got game—real chops! Heh... word is, her house's got this zen nook. Joseph's hooked—loves holing up there, cross-legged, 'diving deep' into life's big questions, if you catch my drift!"

"Huh, who'da thunk? Joseph's got a taste for the mystic!"