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“Will you act like a grown-up if I say yes?”

“I will. I promise. No more games. I know I screwed up before, but I want to do this right.”

There’s something in his voice that catches me off guard—like he means every syllable. Not just because he wants me, but because he wants to earn me. Something is shifting, not fast or all at once, but shifting.

“I’ll give you your chance,” I murmur. “Pick me up tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. Monica’s place.”

He smiles, hopeful but wary. “Done.”

“I have one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You show up on a bike. Doesn’t matter what kind. Just… a bike.”

He nods slowly, lips curling into a smirk. “I can do that.”

I inch closer and press a kiss to his cheek. His skin is slick with sweat, salty and warm against my lips.

“Thanks again,” I whisper near his ear.

It feels too simple, but there it is.

I walk to Erica’s car with my hands in my jacket pockets, heart pounding harder than I want to admit. The cold air nips at my face, but I barely feel it. It wasn’t the truck. Or the tree. Or even his brute strength.

It was his voice. His honesty. The apology that came without pride or performance.

Owning what he did changes everything. Ray could’ve moved an entire forest and it wouldn’t have meant a damn thing without that. This isn’t about biceps or pickup trucks or even romantic gestures. It’s about respect.

And tonight… he showed me some.

10

RAY

Next time I see Helena, I’m kissing her. Right on her witchy mouth.

There’s no killing the smile on my face when I enter the shop. No more hesitation. No more overthinking. Helena cracked something open in me—something rusted shut so long I’d forgotten it was even there. She reminded me of who I am—what I am—and did it without judgment, without flinching. The Crawford witch is right.

She always is, damn her.

We shifters are born at war—with ourselves. The wolf wants dominance. Control. The man craves reason. Most days, we find a balance. Barely. It’s easier with danger to focus us. But peace? Peace makes everything blur.

The wolf gets restless. He growls loudest when the world is too quiet. That’s when I wrestle with him hardest, having to work to keep him reined in. Deep down, I know the truth. He and I have to agree before we can do anything. No matter how much I want to pretend he doesn’t matter, he’s still me.

Today, though, we’re on the same page.

I step into the garage and inhale the familiar scent of oil, metal, and old coffee. It’s familiar and comforting. Raul is hunched over his laptop, tapping away at some schematic. Probably another exhaust system design since that’s what he’s been obsessing over recently.

Sam’s working his toolbox over, handling each wrench like it’s made of glass. Typical. He treats them like holy relics.

“Morning, sunshines,” I call out, my greeting echoing off the concrete walls. I stroll across the room like I don’t have a care in the world. “Relax, Sammy. Your tools haven’t wandered off. I stood guard all night to keep them from growing legs.”

“One day they will walk away,” Sam mutters. “And then you’ll all be sorry.”

Raul throws a glance over his shoulder. “Calling us ‘sunshines’ and cracking jokes? You get laid or something?”

“Tsk, tsk,” I say, shaking my head in mock scolding and trying to hold back an even bigger grin. “Such vulgarity from the great Alpha? Mom would’ve washed your mouth out with soap.”