Negotiations with my landlord were short. Their outcome was simple. He—the jerk—wouldn't press charges. I—the bitch—would vacate my room by the time he was back from the hospital.

"Leave the keys inside!" The jerk slammed the door.

I couldn't believe I bit him. He grabbed my chin to show me what he wanted in place of my overdue rent. My vision went red, and...dunno what had happened next. His bloodied hand was undeniable. He needed stitches. He was screaming. I was shaking.

So...I guess I bit him.

Admittedly, I was insanely stressed. After I aged out of foster care, I thrived on ramen and dreams. One dream, actually. I dreamed I could scrape together enough money to pay college tuition. After two years, it felt like the goalposts weren't just moving, but like they were out of my reach.

But biting people? Even if those people were slimy landlords? That was a new low.

I sighed and tossed my neatly folded jeans and shirts in the ratty bag, zipped it, then topped the bag with the laundry basket. Then I bundled my secondhand textbooks and tied them with a string. My whole life tucked into one bag.

My breath escaped in an even deeper sigh. Should I even bother dragging the books along? Maybe it was time to let go. Had I really hoped I could get a degree in astronomy?

Thanks to dreaming about the stars, I would be sleeping underneath them tonight. Were Mom still alive, she would be sad to see what her baby-star came to. But she was dead, leaving me with nothing but a ring and a half-forgotten song for protection. She used to say it was all I needed to find happiness.

I twisted my mom's ring on the cord hanging around my neck. As a small girl, I wore it there rather than my finger, because it was adult-sized. When I grew up, I kept it there because my index finger was the best fit otherwise, and I didn't want people to think I was engaged or divorced or whatever.

I loved the ring. Its star sparked my interest in astronomy. Even now, that star twinkled in the pale blue depth of the moonstone.

Maybe this was the only star I needed; my one lodestar. I slipped the ring off the cord and into the palm of my hand, squeezing it, and squeezed my eyes just as tight.

Mom, I miss you, I thought. Nobody has ever loved me since you've been gone.

It wasn't for the lack of trying.

Every time I started a new class or scored another minimum-wage job, I wished upon a star to make a friend. It never happened. Everyone belonged to a clique, league, or group, and I didn't.

Shy, people agreed behind my back, or weird.

The harder I tried to be nice to other people, the less they seemed to like me. Even online, the other girls only had to post something silly—is it weird i think mermen are hot uwu—and the comments poured in. My posts received thumbs down, even when I asked about sexy fairy creatures.

It was like I had been branded with loneliness.

So, yes, it's been hard, Mom. No happiness found.

Maybe it was because I couldn't remember Mom's special song. The shock of Mom's death wiped the words clear out of my memory. Year by year, I hummed the melody, stringing a few words together. Sometimes they seemed to be the right words, sometimes they felt all wrong.

Sealed by moonlight... I sang the first line. I was sure it started that way. The air tingled in response to my voice. Or, maybe, I heard buzzing in my ears because I was hungry and stressed.

Anyway, I tried again.

Sealed by moonlight

no end, no wedge...

At some point during the second line, Mom's voice joined mine, singing as clearly as if she were still alive and in the room with me. I was getting the words right. Finally!

At the lowest point of my life, I finally remembered all the words.

Sealed by moonlight

no end, no wedge

Come hither my knight

Honor thine pledge.

My heart thumped.

My lips whispered every syllable again, slowly, afraid to screw it up. Maybe remembering the song was the breakthrough I needed. Perhaps, somewhere out there, someone knew what the song meant, and they would hear me. They would understand my loneliness and come searching for me.

Not a knight, ‌obviously, since the knights went extinct centuries ago, but someone.

The notion of someone out there wanting me made my heart ache so badly, my hands shook and the ring rolled out. The lone star inside the gem winked at me, and then the ring thudded on the carpet and...disappeared.

"Seriously?" I glanced around. The room was small. The carpet was flat and beige. By all rights, the ring had nowhere to go. Just like me. "Oh, crap."

I stuck my head under the bed. Dust bunnies sniggered at me instead of the ring.

I went on all fours and crawled underneath the bed all the way to my waist, running my hands over the carpet.

"Ring, where are you? Yoo-hoo! Riiing?"

And...nothing, until a buzz came from my pocket. The odds of my ring texting me were slim, but I had to pick it up, because I'd been praying for a job interview. Naturally, it could have been a bot sending out dick-pics, but let's be positive. Today could be my lucky day to receive personalized spam, not bulk.

Holding my breath, I wiggled from under the bed and worked the phone out of my skin-tight jeans.

Blake Villar: 301 Vista Boulevard, Grauberg, WA @4 pm, with Blake Villar. CY.

After my crappy morning, the message sounded refreshingly businesslike. It should have heartened me, but instead, it had an even bigger effect on me.

The desire to go see Blake Villar suddenly coursed through my veins. I felt like I needed to meet the guy, even if he was located in Grauberg, and I only applied for jobs in Seattle.

I stuck my tongue into my cheek. "Chill, it's just a guy. For all you know, it's some boring, middle-aged family man who needs you to straighten out the twenty years of water use records from flushing his toilets."

Really, I couldn't just up and go to Grauberg. The gas tank of my tiny Honda might get me to Grauberg in time for meeting Blake Villar, but I wouldn't have enough gas to drive all the way back to the city. I was freshly homeless and perpetually broke.

If Blake didn't hire me, I would be in big trouble, but, but, but...

"Beggars can't be choosers, right?" I asked the empty air. Which was very true, and on top of it, I was really curious to meet Blake. "So, all in favor of going to Grauberg, raise your hand?"

Something blue sparkled next to my foot as if in response. My lost moonstone ring! How I didn't spot it was a mystery, but I found it. If that wasn't a vote in favor of going, a sign, I didn't know what was.

On my way! I texted Blake and my heart thumped heavily after every letter.

Gosh, I really needed to eat something more nutritious than ramen before the end of June. I was obviously getting sick: These palpitations in my chest, the sweat beaded my neck, and the dizzy sensation...Plus, I wanted to sing Mom's verse again, and also Blake, Blake, Blake...

Sick, right?

I sighed and put the ring on my very empty ring-finger for safekeeping. It fit exactly right. Marveling that I had never done it before—out of pure habit—I texted Blake again.

Celeste: Btw, I'm Celeste.

Then, half-a-second later I added: Celeste Crowe.

Gosh, I couldn't stop texting this guy! What was wrong with me?

I know, he texted, and his name on the screen gave me more heart palpitations. Blake remembered my name! Nobody remembered my name. Blake did.

Celeste: Cool!

Blake Villar: I've been waiting for you to show up for a long time.

He...what? Was I finally going where I was actually needed? By someone? By Blake?

I used the wi-fi in the jerk's house to get the directions. I memorized it in one glance, as usual, but I stared at 301 Vista Boulevard for longer than that, jaw hanging.

Mr. Blake Villar awaited me at the jewel of the Pacific North-West, The Olympian Chalet!

A resort, a luxury spa, a golf course, a skiing lodge, and maybe a launchpad for the next Mars mission all in one. Everybody who was anybody had stayed at The Olympian at some point, including mysterious Blake Villar wishing to see me. Probably about a job at the property.

Once I put these two pieces together, I bulleted out of the house, jumped into my car, and floored the gas pedal. My Honda lurched, coughed, and gave up.

"Come on, you drama queen!"

The Honda spat out a cloud of violet fumes, which probably meant to say that out of the two of us, I was the bigger drama queen.

"That's my girl! Never lets me down," I told a blatant lie.

Honda rolled forward at a glacial pace.

"Yes, yes, you're doing it! Way to go!" I pounded the wheel with my right hand while steering with the left.

My girl slash drama queen sped up to the socially acceptable 20 mph. My heart desired 100 mph to get to Blake all the faster, but I would take twenty. I was on my way and I wasn't plagued by doubts for the first time in forever. I had wind in my hair. It was going good!

The dizzy feeling of adventure and intrigue to meet Blake intensified once I left Seattle and drove into the mountains. Juicy bugs splattered my windshield, so I rolled all the windows down to have a better visibility.

Air filled my lungs with moisture from the overnight rain. I didn't care. Born on the Pacific coast, I was used to spring showers. They washed our cedars, pines, and aspens until they turned the mountain slopes into a patchwork of green. Wildflowers dotted it with white lace, red tufts, and yellow buttons. Above the forest, the stone ridges rose, their snowy peaks hiding in the clouds.

Once upon a time, a poor girl rode all alone in the enchanted forest to meet her fate—or, in my case, to meet an enticing man. The closer I drew to Grauberg, the more often I stepped on the gas.

By the time the mountains stepped back from the road to spring the town-site like a trap on me, I wouldn't ever remove my foot from the pedal.

I was dying to see if the actual Blake would justify my mounting excitement that stoked the fires of my imagination so much.

Low-rise buildings in alpine style, colorful tour buses and big-city traffic appeared out of nowhere. The smell of deep fried food made my stomach growl. Dashboard clock showed 3:40 p.m., so I was already running late.

"Shut up, tummy. Eating is overrated."

My Honda zipped down Central Avenue to the last set of lights.

To my left, the road curved back, starting its loop around town. The trailheads would spider-web from it, cross the river, and climb neighboring summits. The Vista Drive led to Blake. I was shaking with nerves and biting my lips as I turned onto it.

Nature rewarded my efforts with the stunning view of The Olympian's slate roofs. While the seven hundred room resort could be considered cozy by big city standards, in the Cascade Mountains, it was the absolute top.

The traffic eased a little on the approach, and then the road became completely deserted. The combed forest on both sides of the highway and the boardwalk running alongside it was also empty. Sunlight, already scattered by the clouds, dimmed to a premature twilight. The spruce-trees darkened to black. Mist billowed between them, stretching in long strands toward the road.

Weird and weirder.

For the first time since I left Seattle, I tapped the brakes. My Honda gratefully slowed to a crawl.

With the darkness and mist thickening around me, the elated mood that carried me here cooled off. A chill ran through me. I wasn't normally one to make rash choices, let alone obsess over a guy like I was obsessing over Blake on the drive. And why? What did he do but send me a couple of texts? I didn't even know what he looked like.

Why was I so into this guy?

I scanned the shoulder of the road, looking for a place to park and think things over...when suddenly, a smoky-gray wolf stepped out of the woods, as large as my car.

Larger!

I screamed, twisting the steering wheel with all my might to swerve away from him.

The Honda's tires squealed on the gravel but, thankfully, jolted to a stop.

Feeling the whiplash, my heart raced a thousand beats per minute. I forced my gaze up to meet the wolf's eyes.

Green like ferns, vivid, and luminescent, they held my gaze even through the windshield separating us. The beast smiled, showing his canines.

Smiled? What? Wake the hell up, Celeste!

When I did, my Honda sat on the road shoulder, on a collision course with the thickest spruce tree I'd ever seen.

The wolf was gone, if he'd ever been there.

Cars zipped by every few seconds in both directions. Two little boys pedaled bikes to town ahead of their mom. The gasoline needle on the dashboard pointed to empty.

My long groan ended in a hysterical laughter once I realized what had happened: I fell asleep at the wheel because I was such a mess. Then I escaped a deadly crash by running out of gas...also because I was such a mess.

Now, the only thing I could do was jog to The Olympian, find Blake Villar, try not to faint in his presence, apologize profusely and keep my fingers crossed.

Maybe he'd still hire me after showing up late.

Oh, and maybe he'd lend me some fuel.

Why not give me a lift back to my car too, while he was at it?

Moaning, I dropped my head on the steering wheel and let the tears flow. It was a terrible plan for anyone but the most charming of women. I held the title of Miss Unloveable, so I was looking at a one hundred percent chance of another failure.

Through my shaking sobs, I heard someone pull in behind me.

I didn't have the will to stop crying.

Probably, a cop was on hand to write me a ticket I couldn't afford to pay. My shoulders shook harder at the thought of it. I was so, so broke...and so unhappy.

Their car door slammed. My heart thumped together with it, cutting off my breath.

I tensed, expecting the sound of his footsteps on the gravel to come next, but I heard nothing except the passing vehicles until the knock on the Honda's roof. My breath hitched again, as I rolled the window down. The new scent that drifted through the window made my head spin.

"Everything alright?" asked a gravelly voice.

"Peachy." I hastily wiped my eyes with the back of my hands, probably smothering my mascara into a racoon's mask.

"I'm sorry...ah..." Officer, I was preparing to say officer.

But the guy leaning on my car wasn't a cop. Not that cops couldn't be tanned, or wear their hair in a man bun, or have deep green eyes like ferns. They totally could; but he wasn't a cop.

My heart screamed that it could only be one man from the billion men who populated the world.

"I'm sorry, Blake, " I said without stopping to think.

Stupid heart, but it was right. This man had to be Blake Villar, because if someone extracted my dreams about what an ideal man should look and speak and move like, then turned them into a real boy...that would be him. Blake.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Celeste." Blake hit particularly deep notes on my name. They reverberated through my chest like a low frequency beat. I wanted him to keep talking so I could close my eyes and listen to it as all my worries evaporated. He could do it to me...just with his voice.

"B-being late," I over-explained.

Also, I couldn't stop fake-smiling, on the brink of batting my eyelashes at him. Basically, doing my best to come across as your stereotypical blonde, even though I was nothing even remotely close to the popular cheerleader type. I was the stereotypical nerd all over, but in a blonde package.

Blake glanced at his wristwatch and cocked a brow.

"You're on time." His movement was slight, but it drew even more attention to his strong, aquiline profile. "And you're perfect."

For the job, I guess? I dry-swallowed. "I...I wouldn't be on time, if you didn't come all the way here. It's amazing. Like, r-really."

He nodded, acknowledging that, yes, yes, he was amazing. Plus solid, tall, and reassuring. He shouldn't have been real. But he was a being of flesh and blood, and his scent confirmed it. Not some skin-deep aftershave.

Nuh-huh.

His scent was a deeper, wild, troubling smell. Even if I was in the habit of day-dreaming about hot guys, I could never have imagined that. It was the smell of his soul, and I couldn't get enough of it. I wanted to bottle it and inhale it all night long.

My fingers tangled in my hair as I tried to conceal my scattering thoughts and the damage my earlier tears had caused to my makeup.

"Run out of gas..." I gulped. I needed to try harder. So, one more time, and in a complete sentence. "I mean...my car ran out of gas."

He nodded along, as if it happened every day. "Makes sense."

"Do women typically run out of gas when they have an appointment with you?"

"I wouldn't know."

Did his indifferent expression mean to convey he didn't spend his days cruising the backcountry looking for a hookup? And he was doing it for my benefit? I felt him devouring me with his eyes.

He did say I was perfect before, which was, of course, absurd, because I...I was as far from perfect as you could throw it.

"I...I find it hard to believe, Sir...Blake...Sir."

Blake smiled with one side of his mouth, showing an oddly sharp, long canine. Somehow, it made him even more alluring to me. Yes, such a thing was possible, and yes, I was stunned as well.

"Believe it or not," Blake said, holding my gaze as my cheeks heated up, "it's my first time looking for my fated mate."

A fated...what now?