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RAY

I diots, the lot of them. Raul and Monica. Sam and Erica.

Their names come to me like old scars I trace in the dark. My brothers and their human mates.

Raul had stood up to Brad, our old Alpha, risking everything for the woman he loved. And Sam tangled with a witch so powerful, she could’ve torn our whole world apart. Different battles, same underlying truths.

Pain. Loss. Complication.

They’re in love—messy, intense, all-consuming love. Raul and Monica practically breathe each other. Sam looks at Erica like she hung the damn moon and her smile answers him with a glow that’s almost blinding.

Doesn’t the fact that they never had to happen make it worse? All that chaos for love?

Before the humans came into Dawson, life wasn’t exactly simple, but at least it was predictable.

We worked, we fought, we drank. The usual.

Humans were a rarity at our hometown bar, and that was fine by me.

We kept to ourselves and everyone knew the rules.

Even Brad and Kenny, as much as they postured, knew better than to go too far.

Raul ripping Brad’s throat out? That had been a breaking point.

All because he wanted to walk hand-in-hand with a human woman through town without fearing reprisal.

Sam had gone even further—drawing Roberta Connors down on the town and pack.

That witch was death wrapped in silk, and thanks to Sam’s choices, she killed two of our own.

All of that led to an almost civil war among the pack.

If not for our own secret weapon, the witch Helena, we’d have lost everything to Connors or the civil war that followed.

All because of a human woman and Sam’s stubborn heart.

They call it fate. Destiny. Mating bonds. Whatever. I call it chaos wrapped in perfume and good intentions.

Still, even I can’t ignore the upside. Because of Raul, I can now walk into any bar in Shandaken without feeling eyes on my back.

I don’t have to worry about rules or bloodlines.

I’m free to talk to whoever I want, human or not.

It's a strange sort of freedom—one I didn’t ask for, but sure as hell won’t waste.

So tonight, I decide to test the edges of this new freedom.

“Tiffany’s” is a cozy bar nestled in downtown Shandaken.

I’ve been here a few times, enough to know the owner, Tiffany herself, but not often.

The air reeks of lemon cleaner, cheap perfume, and the kind of desperation that clings to too-high heels.

Classic rock hums low beneath the chatter of small groups of women.

The walls are plastered with legends—Hendrix, Joplin, Zeppelin.

There’s something about that kind of music that hits differently when you’ve lived through war and blood and grief.

Maybe it’s the rawness. The lack of filter.

I slide onto a stool, nodding at Tiffany who’s working behind the bar tonight. She’s a whirlwind of energy, always moving, always watching. She greets me with a grin and a familiar nasal tone.

“Evening, stranger. Usual? Or something to light a fire under that fur of yours?”

I chuckle. “The usual’s fine. Too hot for anything stronger.”

Her gaze flicks to the left and she grimaces before looking back.

“Stay clear of those girls at ten o’clock. Especially the redhead. She’s not from around here and she’s trouble. I knew it the second she walked in—miniskirt, heels, perfume like she’s hunting husbands. City girl, no doubt.”

I follow her gaze and freeze.

Stacy Bingham.

That freckled face—soft curves and quiet mischief—burned itself into memory long ago. Stacy Bingham. One of Monica’s friends. She’s been to Raul’s place more than a few times. We’ve shared wine, small talk, and tension thick enough to cut.

Tonight, she’s a walking temptation—blue top clinging to her skin, white skirt showing off those long, toned legs. She’s staring out the window like she’s waiting for someone.

“Hey, Tiff,” I murmur, eyes still on Stacy. “This her first time here?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the cap off my Corona. “She was here a couple weeks back. She was hanging with Ronnie Keller. They were onto their second bottle of Jack when his wife pulled up. Ronnie saw her coming and slipped off before it blew up but that one’s not giving up. Trouble, I tell you.”

I know Ronnie Keller. Married. Idiot. A right fucking cunt.

“Right,” I mutter, taking a swig.

The cold beer’s bite doesn’t kill the heat building in my chest. This is exactly what happens with these humans. Chaos. By their very nature it changes things.

I shouldn’t care who she’s screwing. She’s grown. But I do care when someone I know walks blind into a buzz saw. Around here, once you’re branded a homewrecker, it sticks. And when it sticks to her, it stains all of us—Monica, Raul, even me.

I don’t need this shit. I like my life quiet. Decision made, I set the bottle down, toss a bill on the counter, and make my way toward her table.

“Hey,” I say, keeping it casual. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her eyes widen, flick to the window, then snap back to me.

“Ray! Wow, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I bet,” I say, sliding into the chair opposite her.

The frown on her face says everything but I’m not going to let a frown deter me. I’m on a mission and I’m going to save her whether she wants it or not.

“Ray… I’m… uhm… waiting on someone,” she says, choosing each word with care.

The air between us tightens. I catch the scent—musk and heat, low and coiled. She feels it too, no matter how she pretends otherwise. She darts her eyes to the window and back, pursing her lips.

“Yeah,” I say, putting my elbows on the table. “I know.”

“You know?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “Ray there’s nothing between us?—”

“Look, I’m not here to ruin your night,” I say, cutting her off, “but you’re making a mistake. A big one and I can’t stand by and watch it happen without at least saying something.”

“Ray, if you want something, you have to?—”

I hold up my hand, shaking my head.

“You’re a grown woman and you do what you do,” I say, but I can’t keep my eyes from dropping along her body.

It’s the briefest of moments but the tension in her body and the hesitant smile on her face tells me she definitely saw it.

I barrel ahead before I can get more distracted than I am.

“Ronnie’s married. Are you sure you want to wait for him? ”

Her smile falters. “What? Married? Shit…” She leans back, like the words hit her chest. “I had no idea.”

“Well, now you do.” I say, lowering my voice and reaching across the table with one hand. “Let’s get out of here before he shows up.”

She looks at my hand and I think she’s going to take it. Her arm starts to move then she stops it and shakes her head.

“No,” she says, pursing her lips. She narrows her eyes and her open hands ball into fists. “I’m sorry, Ray, but I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

I had all my attention on Stacy and barely register the sound of the door opening until it slams into the wall. A voice shouts, slicing through the music.

“You!”

The instant I turn Kelly, a brunette, is barreling toward our table. Her face is twisted in fury and she’s waving her fists through the air as if she’s fighting it on her way over.

“You fucking bitch!” she screeches. “Ronnie’s mine! My goddamn husband.”

Shit.

The chairs of those gathered scoot and a table clatters to the floor as they scramble to get away. Stacy lurches to her feet, unsure, hands half-lifted—but her legs don’t move fast enough. She’s about to be scratched by those carefully manicured claws.

I leap between them, catching the brunette’s wrist mid-air. It halts her cold. Her death glare shifts to me as she screeches.

“No, this isn’t happening,” I say, calm and cold. “You think your husband’s cheating on you—with her?”

“Let me go, asshole!” she spits, yanking her arm. “Yeah, he is! Ronnie told me everything!”

I glance past her to Tiffany behind the bar, but don’t let go.

“You hear that, Tiff? Apparently Stacy’s been sneaking around on me—with Ronnie freaking Keller.”

The barkeep laughs, long and loud. “That’s a good one, Ray.”

“What do you mean she’s cheating on you? You’re what? You’re her?—”

“Boyfriend,” I cut in smoothly. “Whatever Ronnie told you, it wasn’t her he was talking about. Ronnie knows me. You tell him that if he drags me—Ray Crawford—or my girl into his mess again, I’ll make sure he regrets it.”

Kelly curses, struggling against my grip on her wrist. She shifts her glare to Stacy then back to me. Finally she curses and stops fighting. I let her go, but keep myself carefully positioned between her and Stacy in case she’s not really done.

“You’re lying,” she says, but the fight is gone.

“I am not,” I say.

She glances around the now mostly empty bar like she’s looking for a likely candidate for her husband’s floozy. She huffs, shoots another death glare at Stacy, then storms out with the grace of a hurricane. I sigh and resume my seat across from Stacy. I lift two fingers, signaling Tiffany.

“Can I get another beer? And a refill for the lady’s drink.”

Stacy exhales, sharply, picking up the chair that fell over when she jumped up. She places it at the small table, gripping the back so tight her knuckles turn white. She closes her eyes as she inhales. She holds her breath, then takes the seat, pressing her hands to her cheeks, then she shudders.

“Thanks…” she says, shakily. “I… I didn’t know. Shit… just my fucking luck. I didn’t do anything Ray. Shit. I didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

I frown, staring at her. I’m trying to decide if she’s serious or not.

“You were seeing her husband,” I say, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

“But I didn’t know!” she says. “He lied and besides, we didn’t do anything. We didn’t even kiss—we talked, that’s it. I liked him, he seemed nice.”

“He’s a shit,” I say, almost growling. “And people talk. A lot. Add to that you’ve been seen around town with Monica, which connects you to the Crawfords. People know her and they know you. You get a reputation like that and it will spread faster than a wildfire.”

“I didn’t know,” she says, her voice small. “Ray, you have to believe me.”

“I do. But what I don’t believe…” I lean forward, my eyes locking with hers, “is why someone like you ends up here, waiting for Ronnie freaking Keller. What’s wrong with Manhattan? Not enough men down there?”

Tiffany returns with our drinks. Stacy sips hers slowly. She’s drinking vodka. I smell it. She sips then sets it down and lifts a finger.

“I’ll tell you—on one condition.”

“Hit me.”

“This stays between us.”

“My lips are sealed.”

She looks down at her glass, swirling the clear liquid.

“I’m lonely, Ray,” she says, shrugging and shaking her head.

“Monica has left the city. Erica’s busy all the time, when she’s not working she’s up here.

It’s just…I used to have friends, laughter…

something to look forward to. Now I don’t even have someone to call on a Friday night.

” She hesitates, then adds with a small smile, “Also, and don’t you dare laugh or I swear you’ll be wearing this drink… I have a soft spot for mountain men.”

“You mean, you have a thing for bad tattoos and bad manners?” I ask, keeping my voice deadpan.

She giggles and takes another sip as her cheeks color. Her scent is… incredible.

“What? What’s wrong with them? They’re real. Rough around the edges, sure. But hey, they use their hands for more than just typing emails. What’s not to like?”

“Well, off the top of my head? They smell bad.”

She was taking a sip when I smart off and she laughs so hard that vodka sprays from her nose. I watch her—really watch her. Laughing like that, she doesn’t look like trouble. Just someone who's been through too much and still finds a way to laugh anyway.

“Oh my God—what?”

“I’m serious. You smell like lavender shampoo. They smell like horse shit.”

Her laughter rings through the bar, unguarded and warm. She clutches her stomach, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Okay, okay, maybe not that rugged.”

I watch her laugh and something unexpected is happening. Warmth forms in my belly. Interest, maybe even curiosity. And something else—empathy, maybe. The kind that creeps in before you realize it’s not just her you’re trying to protect.

“Can we get out of here now?” I ask softly.

She nods, still smiling.

I came here for answers. Now I’m wondering if I found something better. Something I wasn’t looking for.

I still say love’s chaos. But maybe it’s the kind worth choosing.