I like my monsters like my coffee—strong, hot, and not trying to kill me. I’m done with hunting down supernatural criminals. Fighting for my life everyday gets old. So, career change. Social worker for supernaturals is a way to use my skills in a no risk environment. Right? Wrong. It turns out the last witch in my role was slaughtered by a lycanthrope—and the prime suspect is my client who happens to be pure, forbidden deliciousness. Totally irrelevant. I get paid to support the vulnerable, not lust after them. Or assume they’re guilty unless proven innocent. But the cops are outgunned. The wizards are morally bankrupt. And the lycans are concealing information. There’s someone powerful, clever, and armed with inside knowledge who’s getting rich running drugs. Someone lurking behind a network of faeries and lycanthropes. Someone corrupt enough to kill to keep their secrets. I’m a witch. I’m not going down without a fight.