Renee Morse

In 2022, Lisa Marie Presley asked her daughter to help finally finish her long-gestating memoir. A month later, Lisa Marie was dead, and the world would never know her story in her own words, never know the passionate, joyful, caring, and complicated woman that Riley loved and now grieved. Riley got the tapes that her mother had recorded for the book, lay in her bed, and listened as Lisa Marie told story after story about smashing golf carts together in the yards of Graceland, about the unconditional love she felt from her father, about being upstairs, just the two of them.

Surviving a werewolf attack should’ve been the strangest thing to happen to me tonight. But no, the universe had other plans. Now, I’m stuck dealing with a broodingly hot guy named Wesley St. John—who seems way too comfortable with murder. Definitely a red flag, right? Wes isn’t just some guy I stumbled upon—he’s a protector, but not the friendly kind. His job is to keep the supernatural world in check, and my ignorance is making things complicated.

I killed a girl last night. I did it with my bare hands and an old piece of pipe I found lying next to the dumpster. But that's not the part that got me. The part that scared me, the part I can't seem to wrap my head around and still has me reeling, was that when she charged me, her body shifted - and then she was a wolf. All snapping teeth and extended claws.