Page 7

T he 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 he could do and what he would do, 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.

Her being 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 of the 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.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rafe muttered, narrowing his eyes. “How the hell do you sneak up on a Jaguar?”

Bruce shrugged—or at least gave the feline version of one. “Clearly, you’re slipping. I could’ve sliced you to ribbons with these.” He held up a paw dramatically, flashing his not-so-impressive claws. “Lethal weapons, my friend.”

Rafe gave him a flat stare. “You come at me with those toothpicks, and I’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

Bruce snorted. “Easy, killer. I’m just saying...get your head out of your ass. I’m counting on you to watch Billie Ann’s back when I’m not around. She’s strong, yeah, but she’s also the type who runs into a burning building to save a drunk raccoon.”

Rafe didn’t reply right away, his jaw tight, eyes going distant as they drifted toward the trailer. “No one’s going to touch her. Not while I’m breathing.”

“Good,” Bruce said, sitting back like he’d just concluded a business meeting. “Glad we’re clear.”

Before Rafe could respond, the front door of the bar swung open behind them, and Billie Ann stepped outside.

Both males turned as Billie Ann stepped out onto the porch.

She was barefoot and still tugging her hair into some kind of messy bun, wearing a threadbare T-shirt with a faded band logo and a pair of old cut-off shorts.

It wasn’t some sexy outfit designed to make a man drool, but damn if it didn’t short-circuit Rafe’s brain on sight.

There was nothing deliberate about the way she looked. No makeup, no effort, just raw, natural Billie Ann, and it hit him harder than any woman ever had in a cocktail dress and heels.

It wasn’t about the clothes. It was her. All of her.

And Bruce was right. His head was so far up his own ass, it was a miracle he could still breathe. He dragged a hand down his face and muttered under his breath, “Get it together, man.”

Behind him, Bruce made a soft coughing sound that suspiciously sounded like a chuckle.

“Oh, good, you’re both up,” she said cheerfully, brushing her wild hair out of her face. “There’s bacon and eggs if you want some before I start on the inventory.”

Rafe blinked. “ Uh-yeah. Sure. Ah, thanks.”

“Good answer,” Bruce snorted, giving Rafe a side-eyed glance. “Real smooth, Romeo.”

“Shut up, Bruce,” Rafe hissed, giving him a burning glare that said he would kill him without a second thought.

Bruce stretched with a purr, ignoring Rafe’s warning glare. “No bacon for me, but I’ll take some scrambled eggs, light on the scramble.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “I remember how you like your eggs, Bruce. It hasn’t been that long.”

As she disappeared back into the bar, Rafe watched her go, his eyes glued to her ass in those cut-off shorts. Fuck!

Bruce snickered. “You didn’t even realize she left the trailer, did you?”

Rafe scowled not answering that question because he was pissed at the answer. He hadn’t noticed and that was a fucking problem.

Bruce flicked his tail. “Damn, man. You’ve got it bad. I saw those googly eyes you were giving her. Better sharpen those instincts before someone else sneaks up on you. Like love. Or worse...feelings.” Bruce made a gagging sound.

“Shut the fuck up, Bruce,” Rafe snapped, throwing the door open so hard it banged against the wall. His boots hit the floor like warning shots. “Do you ever stop talking, or is your mouth on some kind of dark magic loop?”

Bruce didn’t flinch as he followed Rafe inside. “What can I say? I'm gifted. Also, you're welcome. Someone’s got to provide commentary for the brooding, lovesick hero vibe you got going on.”

Rafe stopped dead in his tracks, his body going rigid. The low, guttural sound that rumbled from deep in his chest wasn’t human. It was his Jaguar—pure, primal, and not amused.

Bruce, mid-step with one paw comically raised like he was sneaking through a cartoon, froze in place. His eyes went wide, tail puffing out slightly as his gaze snapped to Rafe.

“Do you want to die?” Rafe growled, his voice a lethal rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.

Bruce blinked. “Not particularly,” he squeaked, then cleared his throat and tried for casual. “I mean, I’ve got nine lives, but I’m trying not to waste them all in one day.”

Rafe turned toward him fully, eyes glowing just enough to make Bruce take a slow, silent step backward.

“Was it something I said?” Bruce asked carefully, as if approaching a bomb with a butter knife.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he growled again in warning.

Bruce raised both paws. “Whoa, whoa. Okay. Message received.”

The low growl subsided slightly as Rafe exhaled, shoulders still tense, but his animal retreating enough for his brain to re-engage.

“Not to self: Don’t fuck with the Jag before noon,” Bruce said then gave Rafe a nod. “Check.”