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“Then maybe it is. As long as I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to be wrong.” Bruce finally said. “Glad you could make it. Billie Ann deserves to know who killed her stepdaddy.”

“Yes, she does.” Rafe agreed.

Billie Ann felt the tears fill her eyes again as she made her way deeper into the trailer just before Bruce walked inside. Turning, she quickly went and shut the door with a smile at Bruce. “Thanks for hanging with me tonight.”

“What are friends for?” Bruce made his way toward the chair that had always been Davey’s. “You think he’d mind if I slept in his chair?”

“No, he wouldn’t mind,” Billie said with a sad shake of her head. “Goodnight, Bruce.”

“Night, Billie,” Bruce said as he curled up in Davey’s chair.

Walking into her old bedroom, Billie collapsed on the bed, shoving her face into the pillow, and let the tears overtake her. She deserved a good cry, but after this she needed to get her shit together. She had a bar to run. A legacy to protect. And a lot of Shifters, drunks, and smartass talking animals to wrangle.

And she’d be damned if she failed.

CHAPTER 7

The old bar was quiet, its wooden bones creaking in the morning hush. He’d found an old coffee pot in the back and managed to coax it into working. It groaned like a grumpy elder but started brewing, the rich scent curling into the air like a promise. After the long night he'd had, he needed it strong enough to punch him in the face.

Stepping out onto the porch, Rafe leaned against the post and let his gaze sweep over the land. It was all familiar and yet distant, like looking at a childhood home through someone else’s eyes. That’s why earlier, before the sun had risen, he’d let his Jaguar out. He had shifted completely and moved through the woods in silence, re-learning every tree, every breeze, and every unfamiliar scent that now mingled with the past.

But nothing pulled at him like the trailer did.

His gaze drifted there now. He’d passed it before his shift, just after he'd slipped into the trees, and through one cracked window, he’d heard the soft, broken crying. Her crying.

It had nearly brought him to his knees.

He had felt her pain as if it were his own. Something inside him had surged at the sound of her sorrow, a deep, primal urge to fix it... no, to destroy whatever had caused it.

Rafe’s jaw tightened.

He couldn’t take away her grief. But what hecoulddo and what hewoulddo, was find the son of a bitch responsible for it. Or the whole damn pack of them, if that’s what it took.

Rafe had known the moment he stepped onto the property yesterday that his mate was here.

It wasn’t a scent, or a sound, or even something tangible, just a low, deep certainty in his bones that his mate was close. The kind of knowing only a Shifter truly understood. That soul-deep click that said,That’s her.

Herbeing human had thrown him, but just for a moment. Not because it bothered him, hell no, but because it meant he had to move carefully. Gently. She didn’t know what they were to each other yet. Didn’t feel the full weight of fate pressing them together like he did.

But he felt it. Oh, did he fucking feel it.

That truth anchored him even now, stronger than anything he'd ever known. And after the initial jolt of realization, a sense of quiet certainty settled over him. He’d been waiting a long time for this, long enough to know you didn’t fight fate when it handed you the one person you were meant to protect, love, and hold through whatever storms came.

The moment he’d stepped inside the bar, his eyes had gone straight to her. Like his soul already knew where to look. She’d been standing by the counter, talking to someone, unaware ofthe seismic shift happening in his world. His Jaguar had growled its approval, low and primal, pacing just beneath the surface. The man in him wasn’t far behind.

He’d felt everything all at once. The possessiveness, awe, and something dangerously close to hope had nearly knocked him on his ass. It was too much, too fast, and he’d had to step back and get himself under control before speaking to Mac. His beast had wanted to get to her, speak to her, be near her, but Rafe had forced himself to hold the line. She was human. She didn’t know him. And she sure as hell didn’t know what she meant to him.

Yet.

Now, standing outside in the cool morning air, Rafe wanted nothing more than to check on her. He knew she was safe. It wasn’t that. It was the need to be near her.

“Fuck,” Rafe muttered, running a hand down his face. He hadn’t slept, the weight of everything still sitting heavy on his shoulders. Too late, he sensed he wasn’t alone.

“Not a morning person, I take it?”

Rafe’s head snapped to the right.

Bruce. The damn cat was perched on the porch railing like some smug gargoyle, tail flicking, eyes narrowed in amusement.