Lana Ferguson returns to her paranormal romance roots with The Mating Game, delivering a story that transforms what could have been a straightforward shifter romance into something far more emotionally resonant. This second installment following The Fake Mate proves Ferguson has mastered the delicate balance between steamy supernatural chemistry and genuine emotional depth, though not without occasionally stumbling over the very tropes that make the genre so beloved.
A Life-Changing Discovery in the Colorado Mountains
Twenty-eight-year-old Tess Covington has her life mapped out with characteristic precision: finish the Colorado lodge renovation, secure the HGTV deal, and pull her family out of financial straits. What she doesn’t anticipate is a detour through a Denver emergency room that rewrites everything she thought she knew about herself. The diagnosis of late-presenting omega wolf shifter arrives with all the subtlety of an avalanche, upending not just Tess’s biology but her entire sense of identity.
Ferguson handles this transformation with remarkable sensitivity. Rather than treating Tess’s late presentation as merely a convenient plot device, the author explores the psychological vertigo of discovering you’re fundamentally different from what you believed for nearly three decades. There’s genuine disorientation in Tess’s journey—she grapples with heat cycles she never anticipated, abilities she doesn’t understand, and an entirely new way her body responds to the world. The confusion feels authentic, avoiding the trap of making supernatural changes seem effortlessly easy.
The collision between Tess’s newly awakened wolf nature and Hunter Barrett’s carefully constructed isolation creates the novel’s central tension. Hunter owns the struggling Barrett Lodge, a property thick with memories of parents lost too soon and dreams that died with them. His introduction—all flannel, dark curls, and deliberate gruffness—establishes him as textbook grumpy alpha material. Yet Ferguson refuses to let him remain a simple archetype. Hunter’s wariness stems from legitimate trauma: the devastating loss of his parents in a car accident while he was at the beach with his then-girlfriend, followed by that same girlfriend’s brutal rejection of both him and the lodge he fought to preserve.
The Architecture of Attraction
Ferguson constructs the romance through layers of physical need and emotional vulnerability that gradually intertwine until they become inseparable. The initial heat cycles force proximity and intimacy before either character is emotionally prepared, creating scenarios that could easily veer into problematic territory. To her credit, Ferguson navigates these moments with conscious attention to consent and care. Hunter’s internal struggle between biological imperative and ethical responsibility feels genuine rather than performative, and his repeated prioritization of Tess’s wellbeing over his own desire establishes crucial character foundations.
The physical intimacy escalates thoughtfully, from Hunter’s reluctant assistance during Tess’s early heat symptoms to increasingly explicit encounters that blend primal intensity with unexpected tenderness. Ferguson writes these scenes with confidence, never shying from the specifics of omegaverse biology while maintaining emotional connection. The infamous knot scenes—which the author clearly takes pride in, based on the dedication—serve both physical and metaphorical purposes, representing the characters’ increasing inability to remain separate from one another.
What elevates these encounters beyond simple heat-driven encounters is Ferguson’s attention to the emotional aftermath. Tess’s mortification after her first loss of control, Hunter’s fear of repeating past mistakes, their fumbling attempts to establish boundaries while biology actively undermines them—these moments reveal character as effectively as the renovation sequences that frame the novel’s external plot.
Where the Foundation Shows Cracks
Despite its strengths, The Mating Game occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own conventions. The timeline feels compressed in ways that strain believability—from strangers to soulmates in mere weeks requires substantial suspension of disbelief, even accounting for supernatural bonding. While Ferguson acknowledges this through Hunter’s own doubts, the resolution still arrives with rom-com speed rather than the gradual building the early chapters promise.
The external conflicts sometimes feel manufactured to create obstacles where the internal ones would suffice. The financial stakes surrounding both the lodge and Tess’s HGTV opportunity add narrative urgency but occasionally crowd out the more interesting emotional territory. Ferguson juggles multiple plot threads—the renovation project, Tess’s family obligations, Hunter’s grief, the magazine feature, the television deal—and while she manages to prevent any from completely dropping, some receive less attention than they deserve.
Tess’s brothers, while individually charming, blur together outside of their designated roles as comic relief and eventual emotional support. Their late-story discovery of Tess and Hunter’s relationship creates manufactured drama that feels less organic than the genuine conflicts already present. Similarly, the rapid resolution of the lodge’s financial troubles through convenient magazine exposure and HGTV interest arrives with fairy-tale neatness that somewhat undermines the earlier stakes.
Themes That Resonate Beyond the Heat
Where Ferguson truly succeeds is in weaving substantive themes through the sensual framework. The novel examines how grief can calcify into isolation, how fear of vulnerability masquerades as self-protection, and how family obligations sometimes obscure self-advocacy. Tess’s pattern of minimizing her own needs to avoid burdening others finds its mirror in Hunter’s self-imposed exile from meaningful connection. Both characters have convinced themselves that safety lies in isolation—Tess through capable independence, Hunter through physical and emotional remoteness from others.
The renovation of the lodge functions as extended metaphor for the characters’ internal work. Just as Tess sees potential beneath the dust and disrepair of Hunter’s family property, she gradually perceives the hurt and hope beneath his gruff exterior. The process of restoration—deciding what to preserve, what to update, what to completely reimagine—parallels their emotional journeys toward wholeness. Ferguson doesn’t belabor these parallels, but they add satisfying thematic coherence to the dual plot tracks.
The Mating Game also explores questions of destiny versus choice in ways that complicate simplistic “fated mates” narratives. Yes, biology draws Tess and Hunter together with undeniable force. But Ferguson insists that biological compatibility doesn’t automatically create emotional intimacy or guarantee lasting partnership. The characters must choose each other repeatedly—in moments of frustration, miscommunication, and fear—making their ultimate commitment feel earned rather than inevitable.
Technical Craft and Narrative Voice
Ferguson’s prose moves with contemporary energy, favoring snappy dialogue and modern references over purple description. The dual first-person perspective allows intimate access to both Tess’s anxious overthinking and Hunter’s carefully controlled longing. The voice work distinguishes the characters effectively—Tess’s internal monologue crackles with nervous energy and self-deprecating humor, while Hunter’s thoughts move more slowly, weighted with memory and caution.
The pacing occasionally sags in the middle section, where the characters’ emotional push-pull can feel repetitive. Several scenes hit similar beats: attraction, resistance, rationalization, temporary resolution, repeat. Ferguson varies the circumstances enough to maintain forward momentum, but the pattern becomes predictable. The final act accelerates dramatically, racing through resolutions that might have benefited from more breathing room.
The supporting cast adds texture without overwhelming the central romance. Jeannie, Hunter’s aunt and the lodge’s unofficial keeper, provides both comic relief and emotional wisdom. Ada, Tess’s omega best friend, offers crucial grounding and perspective on what Tess faces. The brothers serve their purpose as lovable chaos agents, even if they remain somewhat interchangeable. These characters prevent the story from feeling isolated or claustrophobic despite its relatively contained setting.
Literary Company: Similar Reads for Consideration
Readers who connect with The Mating Game will find compatible pleasures in Ferguson’s previous shifter romance The Fake Mate, which shares the same universe and introduces characters who make appearances here. The grumpy-sunshine dynamic and workplace setting create similar chemistry. Her contemporary romances The Nanny and The Game Changer demonstrate Ferguson’s range beyond paranormal elements while maintaining her signature blend of humor and heat.
For readers seeking more omegaverse romance with emotional depth, Zoey Draven’s The Clecanian Series offers similar attention to world-building and character development within science fiction frameworks. Ruby Dixon’s Ice Planet Barbarians series provides comparable balance between sensuality and genuine relationship building, albeit in a more overtly comedic register. Kathryn Moon’s Lola and the Millionaires series explores pack dynamics and found family themes with Ferguson’s same commitment to consent and character agency.
Those drawn to the renovation-as-metaphor framework might enjoy Christina Lauren’s The Unhoneymooners or Helen Hoang’s The Kiss Quotient, which similarly use external projects to facilitate internal transformation, though without supernatural elements. The grumpy-sunshine dynamic finds excellent expression in Talia Hibbert’s The Brown Sisters series, particularly Get a Life, Chloe Brown, which brings comparable wit and emotional intelligence to contemporary romance.
Final Assessment: When Biology Meets Biography
The Mating Game succeeds more often than it stumbles, delivering exactly what its premise promises while occasionally reaching for something deeper. Ferguson understands her genre’s conventions well enough to both honor and subvert them, creating familiar comfort food with unexpected seasoning. The romance satisfies on visceral and emotional levels, even when the plotting feels overly convenient or the timeline compressed.
Tess and Hunter emerge as genuinely likeable protagonists worth rooting for, flawed enough to feel human despite their supernatural natures. Their journey from wary coexistence to genuine partnership earns its emotional beats, making the inevitable happy ending feel sweet rather than saccharine. Ferguson writes with confidence and clear affection for both her characters and her readers, never condescending to either.
The Mating Game works best when Ferguson trusts the inherent drama of two wounded people learning to be vulnerable rather than manufacturing external obstacles. Her best scenes strip away supernatural intensity to reveal fundamental human needs: to be seen, valued, chosen. The paranormal elements provide delicious flavor, but the emotional core remains recognizable to anyone who’s ever struggled to believe they deserve love.
For readers seeking escapist paranormal romance with substance beneath the steam, The Mating Game delivers satisfying returns. It won’t revolutionize the genre, but it represents Ferguson’s growing mastery of her craft—combining technical skill with emotional intelligence to create stories that linger beyond their final pages. In a crowded paranormal romance landscape, that combination of competence and heart makes Ferguson’s work worth seeking out.