Page 27

STACY

Success.

R ay texts a single word, and it steals my breath. The tension knotting every muscle in my neck and shoulders finally releases. A sob of relief slips from my lips.

I clutch my phone, staring at the tiny glowing screen like it’s a lifeline. He’s safe. They’re all safe. No vampires in alleyways, no ancient horrors hiding in the dark. This time, it was only... humans.

And somehow, fighting humans feels worse. It’s less surreal when the monsters look like us. Regular people. Then again, I’m not exactly one of them either.

Shifters avoid human cities like toxic waste zones—especially sprawling beasts like New York and its suburbs. Too many eyes. Too many secrets waiting to be uncovered. Too much danger wrapped in the illusion of civilization.

The more I think, the more unfinished it feels—like we’re stuck in a game where the other side knows the rules and we don’t.

I try to shake off this feeling that I’m waiting on the next bad thing.

Tonight shouldn’t be about dread. It’s about breathing, about laughing and forgetting, even if just for a few hours.

We’ve gathered in Erica’s backyard, where the night air feels soft and is thick with the perfume of jasmine trailing over the fence. Stars scatter across the sky like shards of glass. My drink is cool in my hand, and—for once—it doesn’t feel like the world is actively trying to kill us.

The weight Monica and Erica and I have carried is lighter, at least a little. We haven’t had a night like this in what feels like forever—where we’re all smiling, no one is bleeding, no one’s hiding bruises under their clothes, and no one’s halfway to a full-on panic attack.

“I was never worried,” Erica announces, her voice dripping with playful arrogance as she waves her hand through the air, swirling her drink. “I had complete faith in their babysitter.”

I blink. “Their what?”

She grins at me, raising an eyebrow. “Helena. She’s like a wolf-whisperer. Kept them from doing anything too stupid—including your big tree, Mon.”

Monica doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile. that waiting-for-the-next-bad-thing feeling spikes, making my stomach clench and causing a cool layer of sweat to bead on my skin.

“Eco Med,” she mutters, eyes locked on her phone like it’s dripping poison and she can’t stop sipping.

Erica frowns. “God, I hate when you do that. If you’re going to sit here scrolling?—”

“Shut up for a second, okay?” Monica snaps, her voice sharp, startling both of us. She holds up her phone. “Eco Med. That’s the pharmaceutical company. The one that owned the building you torched. I knew I’d heard that name before, but I couldn’t remember when or where.”

The name hits something inside me. A dull bell. Faint and far away.

“Yeah,” I say slowly, sipping my drink. “It does sound familiar… something… it’s been years.”

“Because it’s from another life,” Monica says, voice cracking. Her fingers tremble as she lowers the phone to her lap. She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Oh my God…”

Erica leans forward, concern etching her brow. “Mon, what is it?”

Wordlessly, Monica tosses her phone onto the wrought iron patio table between us. The image on it steals the breath from my lungs.

A man I haven’t given a thought to in what feels like ages stares back at us. Next to him stands a stranger in a sleek suit, the two of them smiling like they’ve just cured cancer. The caption reads:

Ivan Peterson & Jack Donahue

I sit up straighter, ice sliding down my spine. “Wait. Jack? Your ex-husband?”

Monica’s voice is flat. Cold. She stares out into the night, not looking at either of us.

“Ivan Peterson runs Eco Med. He and Jack… they go way back,” she says, eyes closing. When she opens them there is the hard edge of absolute certainty in them. “Somehow, Jack found out the truth about shifters.”

Erica raises a hand, palm out like she’s trying to physically stop the flood of information.

“Hold up. Even if Jack knows, Peterson is a billionaire. He wouldn’t bankroll something like this just because his buddy asked. There’s no profit in revenge.”

“Think it through, Erica,” Monica says with a bitter twist of her lips, “Eco Med’s a pharmaceutical empire. Of course there’s profit. Shifter blood is full of unknowns... if they can isolate even one antibody or mutation… it could be a cure, a vaccine, a miracle drug… it would be worth billions.”

“Right,” Erica breathes, processing. “So Jack gets his payback, and Peterson grows his obscene fortune even more. All for the small price of some non-humans.”

Monica stares at the table, shoulders curling inward. She's collapsing under the weight of both the past and the future.

“I guess he never got over me. The divorce. It’s so ironic…” she swallows, blinking as if trying to chase away ghosts. “I talked to Raul about him. I thought Jack would eventually move on. Raul didn’t.”

Erica makes a small noise in her throat. “You know, you really should start listening to him.”

“Jack’s obsession was deeper than I wanted to admit,” Monica murmurs, her eyes lost in the dark, like she’s retracing every misstep that brought us here. “He must’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to prove something to Ivan. Whatever he showed him, it was enough.”

A tightness coils in my chest.

“You’re missing something,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “Jack saw Raul shift—right before Raul stopped him from hurting Monica. After that, it wouldn’t take much to start digging. Hire a PI. Hack records. Spy on us himself.”

A voice cuts through the tension. “Who’s been spying on us?”

We all turn as Sam emerges from the shadows near his cabin, his expression carved from stone. His eyes flick between us, jaw tense, like he knows he’s not going to like the answer.

Erica hesitates, then breathes out, “Monica’s ex.”

Sam’s whole body tightens. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.”

Raul and Ray come around the corner right behind Sam and even in the dim light, I see the fury brewing beneath Ray’s skin.

“Donahue? That Donahue? Last I checked, he was some wannabe copywriter with delusions of grandeur.”

Monica doesn’t blink. She stabs her finger at the phone like it’s a weapon.

“Jack had the motive and the idea. Ivan had the money. Together, they have the means.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. And I can’t shake the feeling that whatever comes next… none of us are ready.

“Shit. Those two must have teamed up with Dexter,” Ray says, circling behind my chair, voice low but biting. “It makes sense. They all win if we fall. Donahue gets revenge. Peterson gets richer. Dexter grabs what he couldn’t steal alone.”

Raul doesn’t blink. His voice slices the air, cold and sure.

“Over my dead body.” His jaw tightens, his expression hardening like stone. “We deal with Dexter and his mutts later. Donahue and his buddy come first.”

“I agree about Donahue,” Sam says, folding his arms. “But the buddy? He’s a much bigger problem.

He may have gotten onto this by following Donahue’s lead, but Peterson’s a billionaire.

He’s probably holed up in some guarded penthouse in Soho.

Storming that? It’d be suicide. We should leave him alone. ”

“After what that fuck did to you? No. No way, Sammy, you’re wrong,” Ray cuts in, sharp. “Peterson sees profit and now we’ve bled him. You think he’ll let this go no matter what we do to Donahue? He’ll come after us with more resources than we can even imagine.”

Raul nods slowly, rubbing his chin.

“Good point, kid. We need to cut the head off this snake. Best possibility is that we find them together. Kill them both, leaving no time for the other to retaliate.”

Monica stands, phone aglow in her hand. “I think I know just the place,” she says, eyes sharp with certainty. “Eco Med is hosting a fundraiser at the Mandarin Oriental in New York. Three days from now.”

Raul frowns, looking skeptical. “A packed hotel in the city? How the hell do we pull that off?”

“We’ll find a way,” Sam says with quiet confidence. “The key is getting them in the same room. At the same time.”

“Perfect,” Ray mutters, and suddenly he’s reaching for my wrist. “Time to go.”

“Hey!” I yelp, startled. “What the hell is that for?”

He doesn’t stop walking, but he glances back with something unreadable in his eyes.

“Because I owe you something,” he says. “Because I owe us something.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, my chest tightening.

“Wait for it,” he says, that grin tugging at his mouth—mischievous and dangerous. He’s clearly got a plan.

We leave the backyard gathering. As we round the corner of the house, moonlight spills over everything in a silver wash. Then I see it—and stop dead in my tracks.

It’s parked beside the yard like a beast waiting to be unleashed—his latest obsession. The chrome gleams so brightly, I can see my reflection in the tank.

“She looks fantastic,” I whisper, reaching out to trace the sleek curves.

“She’s going to look even better with you on her,” he says, handing me a black helmet.

I don’t try to hide my smile. He slides the key into the ignition and hits the start button.

The engine answers with a deep, throaty roar that sends a thrill through me.

I swing my leg over the seat and settle in behind him.

The rumble between my thighs is pure adrenaline.

He remembered. Through all the chaos and everything we’ve been through, he remembered.

I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his back. He revs the motor three times then the motorcycle bounds into motion. We tear down the road, leaving the Crawfords’ cabins behind.

The wind hits my face, sharp and cold, but that only adds to my excitement. Houses blur past in streaks of dark and light. All the tension and all the noise in my head fades. This moment belongs to us.

We climb the winding hill toward Shandaken, trees blurring past like restless ghosts.

I realize I have no idea where we’re going—but it doesn’t matter.

A lake, river, or some forgotten path in the woods.

It’s irrelevant. All I need is this—him, me, the open road, and the hum of something alive beneath us.

When we hit the T-junction just outside town, I think he’ll take the turn Monica always raves about. She’s talked about Raul taking her up to the hillside so many times it’s burned into my mind like a dream I haven’t lived yet.

Ray doesn’t turn, though. He keeps going straight into Shandaken.

The engine snarls as we enter town, louder than anything this sleepy place is used to hearing. A few heads turn. Some glare. An older man mutters something I can’t hear, but I see it in the tight line of his mouth.

Ray doesn’t flinch. He rides like the road owes him a debt. I lean in, pressing closer. Let them stare.

We pass through town and into the dark stretch of highway beyond. The streetlights fade, swallowed by night. Trees press in from both sides, looming. A jagged mountain rises in the distance, its silhouette massive against the starlit sky.

After four sharp turns, Ray veers off the road. Gravel crunches beneath the tires, but the bike doesn’t falter. The suspension handles the uneven field like it was made for it.

Ray pulls to a stop, and the engine cuts out with a final purr. He swings his leg over the seat and offers me his hand.

“Here we are.”

I accept his hand, stepping off, and draw in a breath.

The view hits me like a punch to the chest, stunning me to silence.

We’re on a cliff and the forest stretches below us, dark and endless.

Farther in the distance are the scattered lights of Shandaken, flickering like fireflies.

Beyond that—tiny and faint—Dawson glows at the valley’s base, a memory cast in gold.

“Wow...” The word escapes me, too small for everything I feel.

“‘Pretty’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, huh?” He squeezes my hand, his smile soft and knowing. “This used to be my favorite place growing up. All these years, it still gets to me.”

“I get it,” I whisper, heart swelling. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of this.”

We walk slowly toward the edge of the field, the cool grass brushing my calves. My fingertips graze his. The silence between us stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s… honest. Then his steps falter. He looks at me, his gaze softer.

“Listen, I…” he starts, then hesitates. “Thank you for the past couple of weeks. I was falling apart. I don’t think I would’ve found my way out if it weren’t for you.”

Emotion rises in my throat, thick and sudden.

“Ray, you pushed Monica to look into my mom’s death… you opened the door. You helped me find the truth—even if it hurt. I needed that. You didn’t let me drown in not knowing.”

A bittersweet smile twists across his face.

“Did you ever think we’d end up here? After the mess we made of things?”

“No. God, no. ‘Got off on the wrong foot’ doesn’t even scratch the surface. We were a disaster,” I laugh, feeling light and happier than I can ever remember feeling.

“We were,” he agrees, stepping closer as his arms slip around my waist. “But I don’t want to relive that disaster. I want to remember this. Right now. You. Me. This moment.”

“Then shut up and kiss me, idiot,” I murmur, looping my arms around his neck with a grin.

His mouth curves into that slow, infuriatingly sexy smile that makes my heart skip. He leans in, and when our lips meet, everything else vanishes. Just him. Just us. The night, the wind, the stars—all of it fades into nothing.

A soft breeze stirs the field around us, lifting strands of my hair into the air. They brush his face, his cheeks, his temples—but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. He’s all in.

And so am I.

The world can fall apart tomorrow. But tonight? I have this. I have him. And for once—that’s more than enough.