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1417 Words
RAVEN’S POV.
The Black Vulture looks exactly how it sounds—ugly, loud, and dangerous.
The neon sign flickers, casting the bird’s wings in a glow of red light. The parking lot is already full, bikes lined up. The thump of music rattles the pavement under my boots as I swing my leg off the bike and stand there for a beat, breathing in the stink of exhaust, spilled beer, and wolves.
This place reeks of testosterone and bad decisions.
Perfect.
I tug my leather jacket tighter, tilt my chin, and stride toward the door. I know how I look. Dark jeans, boots heavy, black tank clinging to a body carved from too many nights fighting for survival. Leather on my shoulders, scars under my skin. Enough attitude to make anyone think twice.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
Because underneath the mask, my pulse is already running high. Not just from the mission. Not just from the explosives strapped in a satchel against my hip. But because of the gnawing, dangerous certainty that he’s here.
My wolf has been pacing all day, ears pricked, claws scraping my ribs. She knows.
And I hate how much of me is listening.
The bouncer at the door gives me one long, heavy look, eyes flicking down my frame, trying to place me. He doesn’t ask for ID just as expected—wolves don’t bother with human rules here. He just grunts, jerks his chin, and lets me through.
The bar swallows me whole.
It’s a wall of heat, noise, and sweat. Music blasting through the busted speakers. The air reeks of whiskey and cheap beer, spiced with the musk of too many wolves crammed into one space. Laughter crashes around, layered with curses and the occasional snarl when tempers spill.
And at the heart of it, Blood Moon outlaws patches gleam in the dim light. Their patch is everywhere—on leather, on flags nailed to the walls, on the backs of men who think it makes them gods.
My stomach twists. I force myself not to look too long. Not to see blood painted under that patch in memory. Not to remember flames.
Focus.
The satchel is heavy on my hip. A handful of carefully wired charges. Enough to gut this place and send the Blood moon outlaws back to hell.
All I need is the right corner. The right moment.
I push through the crowd, hips swaying, eyes focused. Wolves notice me—some with curiosity, some with hunger, some with suspicion. I flash teeth when I need to, a glare daring enough to send attention away.
I can do this. I have done worse.
And then like doom hanging over my head, I feel him.
Before I see him. Before I hear him.
The air feels heavier. My skin prickles. My wolf goes still, ears flat, tail tucked low.
Whiskey and smoke.
My heart stumbles.
I know. I know it’s him.
And then my gaze moves across the room, through the haze of dancing bodies and light.
Cole.
He’s leaning against the bar, a glass in his hand, shoulders broad enough to block out the world.
Leather clings to him like it was made for his body alone. His hair is dark, messy from the ride he probably took, jaw straight, mouth set in something halfway between a smirk and a snarl.
And those eyes—silver, burning even across the crowd find me instantly.
My lungs seize.
There are a hundred wolves in this room. A hundred scents, a hundred bodies. But he sees only me.
Like he knew I was coming. Like he was waiting.
The crowd is loud around us—music, laughter, fights but it’s nothing. The only sound I hear is my pulse slamming against my ribs.
I should look away. I should turn, disappear, vanish into the smoke before he closes the distance.
I don’t.
I can’t.
Our eyes lock, and it’s like barbed wire dragging across skin—painful, inevitable, and binding.
He pushes off the bar, slow, deliberate, predator steps. Wolves part for him without thinking, shoulders bowing, gazes dropping. He doesn’t look at them. He doesn’t need to.
He’s hunting.
And I’m the prey.
My legs tremble, but I force them steady, tilting my chin, lips curling into a smile I don’t quite feel. If he’s going to come for me, then I’ll damn well meet him head-on.
The crowd became bigger near the pool tables. A fight breaks out—shouts, laughter, glass smashing. Bodies jostle me, and before I can dodge, a rough hand snags my arm.
“Hey, sweetheart,” a wolf slurs, reeking of cheap booze. “Didn’t know Blood moon outlaw were recruiting strays now—”
The words die.
Because Cole is there.
His hand closes around my waist, firm, possessive, pulling me back against him in one swift move. His scent slams into me, and my knees almost buckle.
He leans down, voice low against my ear.
“She’s not yours to touch.”
The drunk stumbles back, muttering, suddenly very interested in disappearing.
Cole doesn’t let go.
His hand burns at my waist, fingers splayed against my ribs like he has already claimed me.
My wolf howls, wild with want. I grit my teeth, fighting the tremor threatening my body.
“Let me go,” I hiss.
“Can’t,” he murmurs, silver eyes catching mine. “You will start trouble.”
I laugh, sharp and brittle. “You think trouble needs my help to start in this place?”
His mouth tilts into a dangerous smile. “You seem like the kind trouble follows everywhere.”
I want to spit back, to bite, to slice through the tension with words as cutting as my blades. But gods, the way he looks at me, the way the bond hums between us—it steals my breath.
We stand there, pressed close, the crowd roaring around us, our words threaded like barbed wire.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says finally.
“Funny,” I shoot back. “I was about to say the same to you.”
“Except this is my world.” His hand tightens, just enough to make my pulse trip. “You don’t belong here, Sweetheart.”
The sound of that endearment in his mouth is a strike to my ribs. I flinch before I can stop it.
He sees. Of course, he sees.
“Let go,” I whisper again, weaker this time.
He leans closer, lips a breath away from mine. My body betrays me, leaning in before my brain can scream no. The air between us is electric, thick with heat and hunger. One tilt, one slip, and I’ll be kissing him like I have always wanted to since the highway.
One tilt—
And I snap out of it.
With a move, my hand slips into my jacket and my knife is pressed to his ribs under his jacket, pressed hard enough to be felt through leather.
His eyes flash.
“Careful,” I murmur, my mouth curving into something wicked, even though my hands are still shaking. “I bite harder than I look.”
For a heartbeat, we hang there—his hand on my waist, my blade at his side, the bond clawing at us both.
He grins, slow and dangerous. “So do I.”
The world might have
ended right there. Wolves snarling, sparks flying between us, hunger too sharp to ignore.
But then the sirens blare.
Fuck.
Red and blue explode through the hazy windows. The music cuts. The crowd moves into chaos—shouts, chairs crashing, wolves scrambling to escape the raid.
Before I can move, Cole’s arm locks tight around me.
“Let go!” I fight, but his grip only hardens.
“Not a chance.”
He drags me through the panicked crowd, shoving bodies aside with brutal ease. My knife clatters to the floor in the rush. I claw at his hand, but it’s useless. He’s furious and persistent in one ball, immovable.
We slam through a back door and into the night air. Sirens wail closer, boots pounding inside the bar, but out here it’s just the two of us, breathless in the dark.
I twist, snarling, “What the hell do you think you’re doing—”
His eyes burn into me, dark and merciless.
“Saving you,” he growls.
And he doesn’t let go.
- Writer
