Page 25

STACY

S am’s return from the dead is like a spark in dry brush—instantaneous combustion.

One second, everything is still, the world quiet and tentative in its grief.

Afraid to hope he’s really alive—then in the next, joy ignites in every corner of Dawson.

It’s a wildfire of celebration and disbelief that spreads faster than anyone could ever contain.

Shifters pour into the Crawfords’ neighborhood, eyes wide and wild, expressions lit with disbelief and delight. Even from where I stand on the outskirts of the yard, the pulse of energy is electric. They want to touch him, to make sure he’s real. To believe their own eyes.

It’s chaos. Beautiful, absurd, noisy chaos.

Laughing, crying, loud-voiced shifters practically form a parade, stomping through the Crawfords’ front yard like it’s Mardi Gras.

Each one determined to get a hug or a high-five from Samuel.

And Sam—despite the abuse he’s endured—is thriving on it.

He’s all teeth and dimples, that easygoing swagger I know so well back in full force.

He embraces everyone like he never left, as if the world hadn’t fallen apart in his absence.

And Erica hasn’t let go of his hand, not even once.

I watch her closely, worried about my friend.

She thought she’d lost everything, and this is a miracle—but it’s a lot to take in.

I don’t miss how her grip tightens, knuckles pale, whenever someone brushes too close.

She’s smiling, sure, glowing with the kind of joy that could only come from a resurrection—but the haunted edge in her eyes gives her away.

I know my friend and they may not see it, but I do.

She hasn’t shaken the nightmare of those eight days.

Eight days of believing the love of her life had died.

Eight days of mourning him. I don’t blame her for clinging like he might disappear again the moment she lets go.

Honestly, I’m shocked she didn’t lock both of them in his cabin and swallow the key. I might have if it were me.

The celebration stretches long into the night—music, laughter, pine smoke from the bonfire, and beer heavy in the air.

I dance with Ray under the stars, pressing our bodies together, the world once again feeling whole and warm.

The weight of loss lingers around the edges, but it’s thinner and no longer suffocating.

The way Ray looks at his brothers, I know—truly know—how much this means to them all.

Sam is more than blood. He’s glue. The kind that holds a fractured family together.

When morning comes, Ray and I are tangled in his bed.

Our limbs loop lazily over one another, heat trapped beneath the sheets.

I shift slowly, peeling his arm from where it rests behind my neck, carefully trying not to wake him.

His scent clings—musk and warmth and that smell that is distinctly him—which tugs a smile from my lips.

I lean over and press a kiss to the edge of his jaw, slow and lingering.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I whisper, nose brushing his cheek.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Seven twenty,” I say, glancing across the room at the clock. “I’ll make coffee.”

I slip out of bed, padding across the hardwood with a lightness in my step I haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

My mood is buoyant, as if the shadows weighing on us have finally loosened their grip.

But as soon as I come down the stairs a familiar, rich scent hits me before I reach the bottom.

Coffee. Already made. I pause at the threshold, pulse racing, blinking in surprise.

Helena.

Of course she’s here. Behind the kitchen island like she owns the place, stirring a straw through her coffee with lazy elegance. She lifts her gaze when I enter.

“You’re out of cream,” she says flatly.

I raise an eyebrow. “People normally say ‘good morning’, Helena. And they don’t normally come in uninvited.”

A ghost of a grin crosses her lips.

“You’re right. Good morning. And it is a good morning. God knows we needed one.”

“I didn’t know witches believed in God.” I smirk.

She tosses a used coffee capsule into the trash and shrugs.

“I do. And even if I didn’t, I might have started believing two days ago.”

Two days ago? Sam was only saved yesterday.

“Why? What happened two days ago?”

“I learned the truth about what happened with Samuel.” She pauses, closing her eyes, pursing her lips and sipping the coffee. She tastes it, nodding in satisfaction. But when she opens them again, a storm is brewing behind her eyes.

“What do you mean?” I ask, moving to the opposite side of the island.

“The shifters have been betrayed. And what I found out… it’s beyond the pale.”

Helena starts another cup of coffee just as heavy footfalls echo down the stairs. Ray appears a moment later, all warmth and gravity—his presence was grounding, welcome, and needed.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, scratching his bare, gloriously hairy chest as he pads into the kitchen.

Helena’s lips tighten. The storm in her eyes rages beneath an otherwise unreadable mask. She hands me the coffee.

“Good morning, Ray,” she acknowledges him. Darting her eyes to me as if to say, ‘S ee, I can be polite’ . She punches the button for another cup. “I assume you remember Adrian Dexter?”

Ray growls, his lips pulling back into a sneer. It takes me a second to place the name—then it clicks.

“Oh,” I gasp. “The Alpha, right? The other wolf pack that moved into the area or something…”

“Yes,” Helena says, but her attention is focused on Ray. She sets the new cup of coffee on the counter for Ray. “The very one.”

“What does that bastard have to do with anything?” Ray asks, grabbing the cup.

“That ‘bastard’ and his pack are the ones behind the attack on Erica and Stacy in New York,” Helena answers.

“No,” I say.

“I’ll kill him,” Ray snarls, slamming the mug down and turning for the door.

“Wait, pup,” Helena says, her voice sharp and commanding.

He freezes mid-stride, glancing back over his shoulder, tension radiating off him in waves. I move to him, sliding an arm around his waist, anchoring him with touch.

“You’re not stopping this, Helena,” Ray snaps angrily.

“Ray, hear her out,” I urge.

His back muscles are coiled tight. I rub a small circle, trying to calm him down. Helena sips her coffee, unperturbed by the angry shifter.

“Hmm. You really need better cream,” she mutters, setting her cup down with a sigh. “It’s worse than you think. You cannot, will not, go charging in like a damn fool.”

“I’m not—” Ray protests but Helena arches an eyebrow, stopping him mid-sentence. “Fine.”

He walks back over to the counter and I stay at his side. He picks up the coffee, cups it in both hands.

“The wolf you thought was Samuel?” Helena asks, her gaze laser-focused on Ray.

Ray stiffens. “Yeah?”

“One of their own. They sacrificed him to forward their plan—which is darker than anything I could have imagined in my worst nightmares. They’ve allied with a human,” she says, voice low. “And he wants every last shifter dead.”

Her words hit like stones dropped in still water—sudden, jarring, impossible to ignore.

“A human?” Ray echoes, squinting. “Is that even possible? The humans who know about us… they’re all here. And they’re not what I’d call hostile.”

“It’s a big world,” Helena says. “You can’t truly think only the people of Dawson know the truth. I didn’t get a name, just the initials. H.E.”

“What do they stand for?” Ray asks.

“Human Exterminator,” Helena says, not a hint of mocking in her tone.

Ray lets out a dry chuckle. “That sounds like a damn cartoon villain.”

Helena snaps her fingers, shaking her head.

“No jokes. You need to take this seriously, Raymond. He may be human, but he’s dangerous.

He’s clearly smart and has incredible resources.

That facility and how fast they built it are testament enough to that.

And you’ve seen the lengths he’ll go to get what he wants. Do not underestimate this opponent.”

Ray bows his head with a low growl, coffee forgotten.

His fists clench, chest heaving. I feel his muscles twitching beneath my hand—taut and ready to snap.

For the briefest of moments I think he’s about to shift which makes my skin turn cold.

Then it’s over. He looks up, picks up the coffee, and sips as if nothing happened.

“You’re right,” Ray says, bowing his head. “Sorry.”

“Do Raul and Sam know about this?” I ask.

“I was just at Raul’s,” she says, placing her empty cup on the counter with a final clink.

She squares her shoulders and looks at Ray.

“I asked him the same question I’m going to ask you.

This looks personal to Dawson, to your family.

Who outside Dawson knows what you are? Who else might he target? ”

Ray frowns, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No clue. We’ve always been careful—no shifting unless absolutely necessary. We keep a low profile.”

“Well, someone saw through the act. Damage is done,” Helena says grimly. “Now the question is—how do we contain the fallout?”

Ray sighs, sips his coffee, then tilts it back and drains the cup. He sets the cup down, rubs his face and rolls his shoulders before answering.

“Contain what, exactly? If this guy’s been running his mouth, it’s already out there. What do you want us to do—track down every human he’s talked to and pray it’s not too late?”

Helena narrows her eyes. “Doubt it. He’s smart. If he wanted exposure, there’d be a viral video already. A press conference. Headlines. But there’s nothing. Which means he’s playing a longer game.”

“He told the scientists at least,” I add. “They wouldn’t be out there otherwise.”

“They’re dead,” Helena says, her tone cool but satisfied. “Erica outdid herself. Set the whole place ablaze—no spells, just old-fashioned fire. Natural enough not to raise suspicion. I’m impressed.”

“Conley!” Ray exclaims, eyes lighting up as he slaps the counter. “The guy from Roman Security—remember? He was guarding the lab. We pulled his name when we started digging. We were gonna go after him before Sam’s howl…”

“Then what are we waiting for? He has to know more. He’s clearly the next link in the chain,” Helena says.

“Easy,” Ray says, gesturing to the window. “It’s early. Raul and Sam are probably still hungover—I know I am. And we’re talking about a human. We can handle him. You don’t need to come.”

“What, you miss the thrill?” I tease.

“Hell yes,” she fires back. “Mercer was boring. Masking scent, sneaking around. I’ve had enough of that. I’m ready for something real.”

Ray frowns. “I think Erica wanted to seduce the info out of him. You planning the same?”

“Nope. Erica’s got her way. I’ve got mine. I have a plan,” Helena says with a sharp grin.

“Why are witches always cryptic? Erica wouldn’t tell me hers, either. What is this big, mysterious plan?” I ask.

“Conley runs a security firm,” Helena says, clearly savoring every word. “I’ll set up a meeting. You two? My bodyguards. Big, brooding, and intimidating. Just threatening enough to sell it.”

The front door creaks open. I jump, spinning so fast my neck twinges. A hulking silhouette fills the doorway—Raul, backlit and unbothered.

“It’s perfect,” Raul says, sounding far too awake for someone who drank half the night. “No need to go scorched earth. We isolate the human, extract what we need, and disappear.”

“You heard all that?” I ask. Raul looks at me, the surprise clear on his face that I would even ask. He arches an eyebrow but Ray snickers, jerking my attention back to him. “What?”

Ray points at his ears, shrugging.

“Wolf,” he murmurs.

“But he was…” My voice trails off as realization hits—and my cheeks burn.

Oh god. If he heard this conversation from outside, then he’s definitely heard—I can’t even finish the thought.

If he can hear this conversation from outside the house, there’s no way he can’t hear me when… oh god. I am suddenly very interested in the pattern of the kitchen counter, unable and unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes. Ray slips a comforting arm around my waist.

“Exactly,” Helena says breezily, ignoring my meltdown entirely. “Let’s not give him a heart attack, hmm? Not every day you meet three giant wolves in business casual.”

“We’ll be careful.” Raul claps Ray on the back. “Now get your hungover ass moving. We’ve got work. And a hunt tonight.”

Ray straightens and stretches. I can’t miss the way the muscles roll as he does, which only makes my skin burn hotter.

“Yes, Alpha,” he says, heading up the stairs to dress.

I watch them move together, instinctively in sync. The way they read each other, the silent bond—it’s back. I hadn’t realized how broken it was until now. Sam’s return didn’t just heal a wound. It completed them.

They aren’t just a pack.

They’re a force of nature.

And if I were this so-called Human Exterminator?

I’d start running. Now.