Page 14

RAY

“ S hut up,” I growl, jabbing my thumb at my phone to silence the alarm with more force than necessary.

The sound cuts off, and I groan. Six a.m. is its own personal hell. I’ve spent years obsessed with my work, but if there’s one thing I still can’t get used to, it’s being yanked out of sleep at the crack of dawn.

I drag my bare feet across the cool hardwood and blink at the pale wash of light creeping through the blinds.

Everything feels heavy—my limbs, my thoughts.

Even the silence presses in, thick and buzzing like static.

I make a beeline to the bathroom. If coffee doesn’t hit me soon, I’ll start cursing my ancestors.

But something stops me.

Not a scent. Not a vibration. A sound—low, muffled, distant. I tilt my head, tracing it. Two engines.

Most people would miss it. But I’m not most people—and I’m not fully human. My body tenses before I realize I’ve stopped moving. I close my eyes, focusing on isolating the frequencies.

Yeah. Two vehicles. Both familiar—but wrong for this hour.

I toss the towel onto the sink and break into a run. The floorboards groan as I hit the stairs. My heart picks up, pounding the same way it does before a hunt. I hit the bottom step and rush to the kitchen window, jerking the curtain aside.

A BMW and a beat-to-hell Jeep Cherokee pull into the drive. I blink. Once. Then again.

Erica’s Beamer doesn’t surprise me. Maybe she wrapped up a gig early and wanted to see my brother. But the Cherokee?—

That’s Stacy’s.

I don’t hesitate a moment longer, rushing to the front door and calling her name as I step out onto the porch.

“Stacy? What the hell? You’re supposed to be in New York.”

Erica’s already out of the car, moving fast. Her posture’s tight, wired.

“We were attacked last night,” she says. “Wolves. In Michelle’s parking lot.”

“What?!” I exclaim, my voice cracking. “In the city?”

It’s not only surprise—it’s dread, slamming into my chest like a hammer. Stacy slides out of the passenger seat slowly, her face pale, and her movements stiff.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice so soft I almost miss it. “I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for Erica.”

Holy shit.

I run closer and crouch to look at the Cherokee. The damage is brutal. Half the bumper’s gone, jagged edges scrape the gravel. The buckled hood looks like it took a direct hit from something massive—like a tree or maybe a monster.

“How the hell did this happen? And how the fuck did you drive it all the way to Dawson?”

Erica crosses her arms, unfazed as always.

“I ran over one of the bastards,” Stacy says. “As for how…she took some coaxing, but we limped her here.”

“We can fix it,” Sam says, appearing before I open my mouth.

He steps up beside me, his jaw set.

“Girls, did I hear you right? Our kind attacked you in the city?”

Stacy lifts her hand, holding up two fingers.

“Two. Now that I think about it... the parking lot was perfect for an ambush. Completely dark. They waited until everyone left and just—pounced.”

Raul shows up too, his expression a thunderstorm that’s about to break.

“A bold-ass move,” he growls. “Did you get a good look at them?”

Erica nods. “Yeah. One was gray with black legs. The other was black with a white patch on his chest.”

Sam frowns. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Erica says, firm. “I was using my magic so I saw them clearly. Why?”

Raul’s brow furrows. The fire in him cools to steel.

“Because those colors don’t belong to anyone in our pack.”

“They’re outsiders. Have to be.” The words slip out before I fully realize I’m speaking. I glance between the others. “You all thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Dexter,” Sam mutters.

I nod once. “He’s the only one ballsy enough. And stupid enough.”

“That’s a stretch, kid,” Raul says. “Dex knows he ain’t got the numbers. He’s not that dumb.”

“Maybe. But Mercer’s not far. And desperation makes people reckless.”

Raul shakes his head.

“Doesn’t make sense. Why go to New York? Why target Stacy and Erica?”

Sam rubs the back of his neck. “Doesn’t explain much. But nobody outside this valley knows you’re a witch.”

“Make no mistake, we were targeted. They didn’t pick a fight—they picked us. Lucky for them they didn’t know who they were messing with,” Erica says, voice sharp as ice.

I glance at Stacy. She’s shaking. Barely, but I see it—because I’m always watching her. Always ready to catch her before she falls. I always am when it comes to her.

“Come inside,” I say gently, moving to her.

My hand finds her wrist, and that’s when I feel it—her pulse is hammering. Fast. Wild. She’s barely holding it together. She gives a small nod, pressing her lips tight. I open the door and lead her in. The others stay outside. The door clicks shut, and silence blankets us like snow.

I don’t speak, only hold her wrist, and feel the tremble in her bones. Her eyes glaze over, unfocused. She’s here in body—but her mind is still in that parking lot, trapped under headlights and claws. I run my thumb across her wrist, just once.

“You don’t need to talk,” I say softly. “You don’t even need to think right now. What you need is rest.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, and I see gratitude—but it’s buried under exhaustion.

“You, my dear red,” I murmur, trying to coax a smile, “need to lie down before your knees give out.” Her lips twitch, just barely, but it’s something.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Don’t mention it.” I lean in and press a gentle kiss to her mouth, brushing her wrist with my thumb again. “You’re safe here. I swear it. No one’s going to lay a hand on you.”

She doesn’t say a word—and for once, the silence doesn’t feel like retreat. It feels like surrender. Like trust.

She turns and climbs the stairs without another word.

I watch her go, that mess of red curls bouncing with each slow step, and my heart aches.

This isn’t the firecracker I know. This isn’t the girl who laughs like thunder and fights like lightning.

This is a version of her the world tried to break.

And I hate it. I step back outside, closing the door behind me, and rejoin the others.

“She’s in shock,” I say, voice low.

“She should be,” Erica snaps, crossing her arms tighter. “I’m still trying to process it myself. But Stacy… “I didn’t see that coming. She ran one of them down like it was nothing. That’s not the Stacy I know.”

I glance at the Jeep again, at the damage. At the proof of how far Stacy went to survive. Maybe fear didn’t paralyze her. Maybe it turned her into something fierce. Something unstoppable.

It probably helps that she’s seen our kind before. That’s the only thing I can think of that kept her from bolting the second she laid eyes on the wolves. I chew on that thought for a second, then glance around, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes as they wait for my take.

“So,” I say, trying to sound more certain than I feel, “where do we go from here, people?”

Raul steps forward, the steady thud of his boots echoing like a countdown. He’s got that look—the one that says I’m about to hear something I won’t like.

“Here’s where we go, Ray,” he says, his voice calm, but firm. “That attempt on Erica and Stacy shook you. I get it. There’s nothing we can do about it right now.”

I cross my arms and shift my weight, resisting the urge to punch something. He’s not wrong—but that doesn’t make it easier.

“I will send scouts to Mercer. Keep an eye on things for a couple days,” Raul continues. “Dexter’s pack is the only other one operating in the tristate area.”

“Fair enough.” I nod slowly, but suspicion prickles at the back of my neck. “And if Dexter’s pack wasn’t responsible? What if there’s someone new in the game?”

Raul chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.

“Do I have to answer that?” His eyes gleam, dark and sharp. “We can handle a rogue pack, Ray. It’s the other things that keep me up at night. The ones that don’t shift.”

I exhale through my nose. He’s right again, and I hate it.

“So what now? We sit on our hands or storm the compound again?”

“No.” Sam’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. Calm, but absolute. “That’s not an option. Security’s been tripled since we were there. I don’t know if the guy we roughed up talked, but I’m guessing he did.”

“Then let’s find out,” Raul says, his tone like gravel. “We’ve got Marcus Leonard’s address. Fucking guy lives in Shandaken.”

Sam raises a skeptical brow.

“What? You want to beat the crap out of him again? What good would that even do?”

Raul’s eyes go dark, more shadow than light.

“I’m not sure I’d beat him up,” he says, but there’s a storm in his voice. “He double-crossed us, Sammy. There should be a price for that.”

Sam doesn’t blink. “Only if we’re sure he deserves it. And right now? We don’t know jack.”

“We need to get practical,” I cut in, trying to steer this before it spins out. “That guy had a logo on his shirt. Either of you catch it?”

Raul nods. “Yeah. It was a helmet or something.”

“It was a Roman helmet—centurion style. I remember now. The company’s called Roman Security. We should look them up online. Might get more answers there than cracking skulls.”

Raul groans, the sound deep in his chest, like I just told him he needs a salad. He turns toward the workshop anyway.

“Yeah. Point taken. Do that.”

“Aw, did I bruise your ego?” I say with a smirk. “Tragic. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

He glances back, eyes narrowed.

“If that wasn’t a decent lead, I’d have made you eat dirt for that crack.”

Inside the workshop, Raul pulls up a browser and types in the name we found. His fingers move surprisingly fast for a guy who prefers claws over keyboards. He hits Enter, and we all lean in.

The first result is a squat building with a glaring red sign: Star Pharma . We click through. The next image shows three middle-aged men in lab coats, grinning like smug bastards. The third photo is a sleek hand holding an injection. Something about it makes my skin crawl.

Raul clicks on the site’s Who We Are section, and a video intro begins to roll across the screen.

“At Roman Security, we value medical work in every form. Whether it is research, hospitalization, or other clinical studies, our high training standards guarantee quality protection.”

“Bullshit,” Raul grunts, and I don’t even try to read the rest. That marketing fluff tells me nothing I don’t already know—or suspect.

“They’re guarding something medical,” I mutter. Obvious, but it needs saying. “We need to dig deeper.”

“We should compile a list of their partners,” Sam suggests, voice firmer now. “Track down who they work with.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure, let’s play amateur detective. Knock on a few doors, get a SWAT team on our asses by lunchtime. Pass.” I jab my finger at the screen. “Click the CEO tab.”

Raul smirks. “You got it.”

A new photo fills the screen: silver suit, smug face, early forties, and a waistline that screams desk job. The caption reads: Jason Conley.

My pulse spikes. I lean in, adrenaline kicking hard.

“That’s our guy. You want answers about what Roman Security’s hiding up here? He’s the one we ask. Forget Leonard. We need this guy’s address.”

“I’m on it,” Raul says, nodding slowly. Then he glances at me, eyes gleaming. “Nice going, Ray. Really.”

Sam claps a hand on my shoulder. “Good job.”

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Raul says, chuckling. “Guess where Conley lives?”

I don’t even have to look, and yet I do, my eyes scanning the address that’s popped up on the screen.

“268 Jamison Drive, North Haven,” I read aloud. Dry laugh. “Two blocks from the mansion we crashed last week. Gotta love the universe.”

Raul grins. “Saves us the trip to Manhattan.”

“Okay, what’s the plan?” I ask, looking between them.

Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “Teargas.”

I glare. “I’m serious, Sammy. The guy’s rich, and he runs a high-end security firm. That means guards. Armed ones.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll need a diversion.”

Before anyone can say more, a new voice cuts in from the door.

“Say no more.”

We all turn to see Erica leaning against the frame with her arms crossed and a dangerous sparkle in her eye.

“How much did you hear?” Sam asks, voice low and tight.

“All of it, pup.” She flashes a wicked grin. “You need a distraction? I’m your girl.”

“How?” he asks, already half-knowing the answer.

“By being a woman.” She steps closer, a little sway in her hips. “I’ll wear something distracting. Don’t ask what—I’ll improvise.”

Sam scowls. “They’ll be armed.”

She shrugs. “I kicked one of your kind’s asses last night, remember? Would’ve taken his friend too if Stacy hadn’t stepped in. You really think a couple of rent-a-cops scare me? I need sleep first, though. I’m dead on my feet. Can we do this tomorrow?”

“Fine by me,” I say before Sam can object. “We’ll hit them tomorrow night.”

Sam’s jaw tenses, but he gives a reluctant nod. “If anything goes wrong?—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Erica cuts him off, her voice softening. She crosses the garage to her Sammy, cupping his face in her hands. “Thanks for not wrapping me in bubble wrap. That kind of trust? It matters.”

“Thanks, Erica. We move tomorrow night. Ten p.m. Until then, let’s get some work done.”

“Hell yeah,” I say, laughing as I head toward the counter.

It feels like we’re making progress. We’ve got a name, a face, and an address. Next, we’re paying him a visit. And it won’t be friendly. I doubt he’ll be eager to share. But we’ll get what we came for—one way or another.