Raven didn't wait to think. Her hands gripped the handlebars tighter as she tore down the empty street, heart hammering. The alleyways twisted like mazes, but she knew she couldn't outrun the pull she'd felt from Alfa. His silver gaze haunted her mind, threading through her thoughts even as the roar of the Harley drowned everything else out.
She barely registered the bar until she skidded to a stop outside it. Neon light flickered across the puddles on the cracked pavement. She needed a drink. Needed to clear her head. Needed—though she wouldn't admit it—a break from the storm that had attached itself to her life.
Inside, the bar was dimly lit, the scent of beer and spice thick in the air. A tall, broad-shouldered man with amber eyes moved behind the counter, polishing glasses. Storm. His presence was grounding, calm, and yet electric, like the quiet before lightning strikes.
"Need a drink?" he asked, voice low and rich.
Raven nodded, sliding onto a stool. Conversation was optional; she just wanted to blend into the shadows. But as the night wore on, the pull of Alfa, Jethro, and even Storm's energy tugged at her in ways she hadn't anticipated. One drink turned into several, and Raven, for the first time in months, felt herself uncoil.
By the time she left the bar, she was unsteady, and the night swallowed her in its darkness. She woke hours later in a bed that wasn't hers, beside Storm. Panic surged, tempered by the faint awareness that he was no ordinary man. Shifter. Wolf. Protector. And somehow, despite herself, her heart thrummed in sync with his calm, steady presence.
She bolted before dawn, leaving Storm's bed and his questions behind, trying to convince herself it had been a mistake. But the supernatural world had other plans. The pull of Alfa and Jethro—the danger and desire—was relentless. And Raven was already caught in the crossfire.