“Hey Izzy,” Clyde calls to me from the kitchen. “Sharon’s on break. Take table 12, yeah?”I cringe a little. I hate being called Izzy. But I put on my best fake-sweet smile and tell him, “Of course, Clyde.” Then I tighten my apron and hurry off to take their order.Clyde is a rogue, like me. But that’s pretty much where the similarities end. In fact, Clyde is the only rogue around here that gets any sort of respect, since he owns the diner and it’s a popular spot for wolves and humans alike.He knows I hate being called “Izzy.” But I don’t call him on it because I need the money and he’s the only one that was willing to give me a job.In the interview, he asked me what experience I had.“None,” was my answer.That’s the answer to a lot of questions in my life.Experience? None.Pack? None.Parents? None.Mate? None.I hurry back towards table 12 to take their lunch order. I’m halfway there when I feel a steely grip of two fingers pinching my butt, hard. Hard enough for me to yelp. I spin, an involuntary snarl on my lips. But my face immediately goes slack when I see the identity of the butt-pincher.A guy with sandy hair and penetrating green eyes grins up at me from a table with two other snickering guys. I know this face. He’s the Gamma of the nearby pack, and comes in at least once a week with his two top fighters to powwow and talk trash on rogues.He’s handsome. He’s strong. He smells like heaven. He’s also an utter, irredeemable jackass.“Sorry,” the Gamma says, and he smiles up at me.Wait. “Sorry”? Did the Gamma just actually apologize to me?Then his smile turns to a sneer. “I thought you were somebody else. Turns out you’re nobody. My mistake.” He and his buddies have a good laugh at that.And me, I bite my tongue. Literally, I bite it, almost hard enough to draw blood, because it’s the only way to keep me from saying something I might regret. Someone like him would kill someone like me for far less than an unkind word, and not even Clyde would dare try to stop him.So, I say nothing, and I let him laugh, and I go wait on table 12 because it’s my job. The only thing I have.Because that’s me. Izzy the Nobody.

Chapter 1

“Hey Izzy,” Clyde calls to me from the kitchen. “Sharon’s on break. Take table 12, yeah?”

I cringe a little. I hate being called Izzy. But I put on my best fake—sweet smile and tell him, “Of course, Clyde.” Then I tighten my apron and hurry off to take their order.

Clyde is a rogue, like me. But that’s pretty much where the similarities end. In fact, Clyde is the only rogue around here that gets any sort of respect, since he owns the diner and it’s a popular spot for wolves and humans alike.

He knows I hate being called “Izzy.” But I don’t call him on it because I need the money and he’s the only one that was willing to give me a job.

In the interview, he asked me what experience I had.

“None,” was my answer.

That’s the answer to a lot of questions in my life.

Experience? None.

Pack? None.

Parents? None.

Mate? None.

I hurry back towards table 12 to take their lunch order. I’m halfway there when I feel a steely grip of two fingers pinching my butt, hard. Hard enough for me to