LOGINTess wiped down the scarred oak bar with a rag that had seen better days, the jukebox humming low with some old Johnny Cash song. The Last Stop sat right where the county road met the state highway—half bar, half truck stop, all dust and neon. Neon beer signs buzzed in the windows, and the parking lot was half-full with pickups, big rigs, and a couple of beat-up motorcycles. Friday night meant the usual crowd: locals blowing off steam, truckers passing through, and the occasional drifter looking for trouble or a cold one. She owned the place with her uncle, but he mostly played cards in the back these days. Tess ran it. Short denim cutoffs, black tank top, scuffed boots, and a no-bullshit attitude that kept hands from wandering too far. Until tonight. He walked in around ten, ducking under the low doorframe. Tall, broad, dusty black cowboy hat pulled low. Dark stubble, sharp green eyes, a faded denim shirt stretched across shoulders that looked like they hauled fence posts and
Claire slammed the door of the rented Jeep harder than necessary, mud splattering her boots. The logging camp sat deep in the national forest edge—half a dozen bunkhouses, heavy equipment parked in rows like sleeping beasts, and the constant whine of chainsaws echoing through the pines. She was here to negotiate. The company wanted to clear-cut another two hundred acres. Her environmental group wanted them to fuck off. Reid Sawyer was waiting by the main office shack, arms crossed over a chest that strained his faded Carhartt shirt. Foreman. Late thirties. Tall, rangy, with a scruffy jaw and eyes the color of worn denim. Sawdust clung to his sleeves and the brim of his hard hat. “You the tree-hugger lawyer?” he asked, voice low and edged. “Environmental negotiator,” Claire corrected, lifting her chin. “Claire Mercer. We have a meeting.” Reid’s mouth twitched. “Meeting’s in the woods. Come on. I’ll show you what we actually do out here.” He didn’t wait for her to follow. Ju
Elena’s heels clicked loud on the concrete as she hurried across the nearly empty parking garage. It was past eleven, her laptop bag digging into her shoulder, and all she wanted was to get home, pour a glass of cheap red, and forget the shitshow of a day at the office. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead like they were about to give up. She didn’t hear him until it was too late. A big hand clamped over her mouth from behind, an arm like iron wrapping around her waist. She tried to scream but it came out muffled against his palm. Her bag hit the ground and she kicked back hard, heel connecting with something solid, but the guy didn’t even grunt. He lifted her clean off her feet like she didn't weigh a thing and shoved her into the back of a black SUV that smelled like leather and faint gun oil. The door slammed. Zip ties bit into her wrists before she could thrash free. A dark hood came down over her head. “Quiet,” a low voice growled close to her ear. “You fight me no
Lena adjusted the strap of her camera bag, the salt air already sticking her blouse to her back as she stepped off the tender onto the yacht’s lower deck. The Azure stretched out like something that didn’t belong in the real world—three hundred feet of dark glass and polished teak, lights glowing low and golden along every railing. She’d gotten the call six hours ago: emergency replacement for some big-name photographer who’d bailed. Double the usual rate, plus a cabin if she needed to stay over. She’d said yes before she could think twice. A crew crew member in a crisp white uniform led her up a sweeping staircase. Music thumped softly from the main deck—deep bass, nothing too aggressive. Maybe thirty people scattered around, all the kind of beautiful that money keeps polished. Lena kept her head down, already framing shots in her mind. She was here to work. She spotted him almost immediately. Marcus Vale leaned against the bar like he owned the horizon. Which, technically, h
The bell above the door of *Veiled Curiosities* had stopped working months ago. Elara Voss didn’t care. Most of her customers were the quiet type anyway...goths looking for aesthetic crystals, middle-aged divorcees hunting “protection” charms, and the occasional wannabe witch who couldn’t tell mugwort from marijuana. Tonight she was alone past midnight, nursing a glass of bourbon and flipping through a crumbling grimoire she’d told herself she wouldn’t touch again. The shop smelled like incense, old paper, and the faint metallic tang that always lingered after a bad rain. She traced a finger along a particularly nasty-looking sigil and muttered the words under her breath, half sarcastic. Nothing happened, of course nothing happened. Then the candles guttered. The air in the back room grew thick, heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks. Shadows in the corners stretched longer than they should’ve, pooling across the floorboards toward her. Elara set her glass down slowly. A
The full moon hung bright over the Blackwood Forest, turning the pines into silver silhouettes. Ranger Kira Novak moved quietly through the underbrush, rifle slung over her shoulder more for bears than anything else. The pack of wolves she’d been tracking for months had gone silent the last two nights, and the howls she’d heard earlier weren’t normal. Too deep. Too… human. She should’ve turned back at dusk. Instead she kept going, boots soft on the needle-covered ground, flashlight off. Something pulled her deeper. A flicker of firelight between the trees. Low chanting, male voices, rhythmic and primal. Kira crept closer, heart hammering, and crouched behind a fallen log. What she saw made her breath catch. A circle of massive wolves, was bigger than any natural animal, surrounded a stone altar bathed in moonlight. In the center stood a man who wasn’t fully a man. Seven feet of corded muscle, dark fur rippling across broad shoulders and down his back, ears pointed, claws gli
The office was dead quiet, well except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of the building settling. Elena rubbed her eyes, the clock on her screen reading 9:47 PM. The presentation for tomorrow’s board meeting still wasn’t right. The numbers looked solid, but the flow
His mouth crashed back into mine the second I said yes. No more careful distance. Jax kissed like he’d been thinking about it all night--deep, demanding, one hand tangled in my hair while the other shoved my dress higher up my thighs. I moaned into him, legs parting on the stool as he stepped bet
The hotel bar was almost empty by the time I slid onto the stool. Third night of this goddamn conference, and I couldn’t face going back to my room yet. The texts from Mark had stopped coming around nine, which was fine by me. Same old “miss you, call when you can” bullshit that meant nothing a
Thunder stroked so loud the windows rattled. I jerked against him before I could stop even realize it, my ass pressing firmly back into that thick, obvious bulge in his sweatpants. Rafe’s breath hitched. His hand on my stomach flexed, fingers digging in just enough to hold me there. “Still pret







