Honey and Howls by Eliza Gayle (Cozy Witch & Wolf Shifter Romance) Signed Paperback

Three months ago, Willow led four witches across the bridge to Devils Point and asked the pack for sanctuary. They agreed. KIND OF. Ever since, she's been baking her heart out for wolves who haven't decided whether to keep her.

Ryker, on the other hand, doesn't trust her and he wants the witches gone.

He's not wrong to be cautious. His ex handed his enemies information that got his friend killed, and Willow's mother IS the witch who tried to break his pack. Except he can't stop obsessing over her anyway, and he CANNOT afford to know what that means.

When the alphas pair them up to run the island's biggest festival, neither of them is prepared for the long hours, the sharper words, and the way he can't stop watching her when he thinks she isn't looking.

Then a winter storm traps them alone in a cabin, and there is nowhere left to hide from any of it.

Expect a slow burn that aches and a grovel that earns its name. She refuses to fold. He has to learn the hard way that wanting her was never the threat. This is cozy refuge meets primal danger, banter as foreplay, and yearning that hurts long before it heals.

Practical Magic with werewolf heat and a small-town bakery — for fans of Laurie Gilmore's The Pumpkin Spice Café and Ali Hazelwood's Mate.

Honey and Howls is a cozy spicy paranormal romance featuring witchy bakery magic, enemies-to-lovers tension, fated mates, forced proximity, found family, and small-town island secrets — Book 2 in New York Times bestselling author Eliza Gayle's Devils Point Witches series. Available as a signed paperback here, or read the ebook free in Kindle Unlimited.

📖 Sneak Peek:

The pastry case had never been so perfectly arranged.

She stepped back and surveyed her work with the critical eye of someone who'd reorganized the same display several times in the past hour. Croissants fanned in a golden crescent moon on the top shelf. Lavender scones formed neat rows below. The honey tarts caught the light through the window, their glazed surfaces gleaming like polished amber.

She adjusted one tart a quarter inch to the left. Stepped back. Moved it a quarter inch to the right. All while the bell over the door stayed silent.

Seven forty-five. Fifteen minutes until he arrived, and she'd already wiped down every counter, swept the floor twice, and brewed coffee she wasn't sure she should offer him. Was coffee too friendly? Too domestic? Would he read something into a simple cup of coffee, or would refusing to offer it make her look petty?

She knew she was overthinking everything. That didn't stop her from untying her apron and re-tying it with more precise knots, and checking the clock again.

Seven forty-six.

The bakery hummed with warmth around her, ovens radiating heat that pressed back against the frost creeping up the window panes. Maeve's eclectic collection of vintage tables and mismatched chairs scattered across the small space, each one worn by decades of use. String lights dangled from exposed beams alongside bundles of dried herbs, and the walls held layer upon layer of island photographs in frames that had long since stopped matching.

This was her territory. Until now.

She'd chosen the corner table deliberately, positioned so her back was to the wall and she could see both the door and the windows. It was only a small advantage, but she'd take what she could get.

Her notes lay spread across the table—merchant lists, timeline drafts, budget projections Mara had helped her compile. Evidence that she was prepared, professional, capable of handling this assignment without letting personal complications derail the work.

Personal complications. That was one way to describe wanting a man who'd spent three months trying to convince the pack to throw her out.

Willow pressed her palms flat against the counter and breathed. The oak was cool beneath her hands, and offered her grounding. She focused on that sensation, on the familiar scent of yeast and honey and the herbs drying overhead. As long as it was anything other than the anticipation coiling tighter in her belly with every passing minute.

She'd read once that attraction faded without encouragement. Starve it of attention and it withered. A comforting theory, except hers seemed to feed on hostility like it was kindling.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Checked the clock. Seven fifty-one.

What Readers Are Saying:

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "The tension and drama is so real that it made me teary." — Laurie, Amazon Reviewer

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Always well written and always a twist at the end." — Pam, Amazon Reviewer

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "A total immersion spicy romance from page one." — Jeanne, Amazon Reviewer