Raven fled the bar as the first light of dawn crept over the city, wind whipping through her hair, Harley tires humming against the asphalt. She wanted distance, clarity, a moment alone—but the world wouldn't grant her that.
The streets were quiet, but she felt eyes on her. Alfa's silver gaze haunted her still, even from afar, a tether pulling her toward a danger she couldn't name. The memory of his blade flashing, the precision and power in his movements, made her pulse quicken. She didn't trust herself near him—but neither could she resist the pull.
Storm's presence lingered, too. Even in absence, she felt the warmth of his amber eyes, the solid weight of protection and desire. Their one night at the bar had been reckless, impulsive—but it had left a mark she could neither deny nor forget. The shifter's energy resonated with her own, fierce and untamed, tempting her with a safety she wasn't used to.
And Jethro. The vampire prince's crimson eyes, cold and commanding, burned in the corners of her mind. His obsession was terrifying and intoxicating, a danger she could feel like a physical hand pressing against her chest. The death of the first vampire had sent a ripple through the court, and Jethro's hunt for her had only begun.
As she rounded a corner, she almost collided with a figure in flowing dark robes. Tylif. The witch's eyes scanned her, sharp and unyielding, as though she could see straight into Raven's soul. "You cannot run from what you are," Tylif said softly. "Nor from what the world has decided you must face."
Raven shook her head. "I'm not ready for any of this. I'm not ready for *them*—for all of you."
Tylif's gaze softened slightly, but the weight of knowledge in her eyes remained. "None of you are ready," she said. "But the storm is awake. And it will not be denied."
Raven's chest tightened. She felt pulled in four directions—Alfa, Storm, Jethro, and the witch guiding her—but there was no choice in the matter. The supernatural world had claimed her, whether she wanted it or not.
Her hands tingled with power, energy simmering just beneath her skin. She could feel it now: she wasn't a pawn. She wasn't prey. She was the storm—and every step she took would draw them closer, whether for protection, desire, or danger.
And as the city stretched on ahead of her, dark and unknowable, Raven realized one terrifying truth: she could not outrun what she had become.