Novel & Cerita Outer Banks Rafe Cameron

His heart pounded with an intensity that had nothing to do with the growls devouring the walls. "Cohen!" Rafe's voice was a knife edge above the din, coarse and jagged. Cohen sprinted forward, sweat and ash staining his face from hauling the water casks along with the others. He lowered his head hastily, sensing the tension behind Rafe's words. "Yes, Alpha?" "Where is Seraya?" Rafe snarled, his voice raw with suppressed rage. His eyes slanted, glinting with a pale sheen under the moonlight as if his wolf pushed insistently close to the surface.

He said, “Whatever it is, you know I’m only loyal to you. I’m your man, Jamie. Ever since that day you rescued me from those bloody rogues.” Jamie knew he could hold Raffa to that. The first time Jamie met Rafa was through an unfortunate event where he had to rescue him from a bunch of rogue wolves that were trying to kill him. He didn’t know who Rafa was by then, but he rescued him anyway, knowing that he was falling prey to the rogue wolves. Ever since then Rafa had been a loyal friend to Jamie. After digging deeper, they realized that Rafa was indeed from their own pack, but due to the death of his parents, he had been on the streets. Rafa was 13 years old then, almost the same age as Jam

“There’s too much to lose.” She looks away, jaw working, but doesn’t argue. That silence from her is as close to trust as I’ll ever get again. Rafe steps out then—limping, bleeding, but standing. His shirt is dark with blood at the ribs, but he still smiles, cocky and venomous. His gun dangles in his hand like an extension of himself. The crowd parts for him, men watching, unsure if they’re following a king or a ghost. “Cruz Maddox,” he drawls, voice frayed but sharp. “Always dragging everyone into your tragedies. Woman. Child. Old friend with a knife fetish. You really don’t know when to stop.”

I blinked when the soft glow of the crystal lamp hit my eyes, my heart hammering wildly as the man who had taken me stepped into view. Rafe. That was the name his men had whispered with reverence and fear. He is a charismatic criminal leader, they called him the one who ruled the city’s shadows with a velvet smile and an iron fist. He was taller than I expected, broad-shouldered in a tailored black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of smooth, tanned skin marked by a single silver scar along his clavicle. His eyes were a piercing hazel that seemed to drink in every detail of my disheveled state.

Malik gave a single, curt nod, his eyes flicking to Lachlan before returning to the blueprints. "The joker is Rafe," Dan continued. "A Nahual from the favelas of Rio. Favored hitman for the Dos Santos shifter cartel, right up until he stole their entire digital ledger and leaked it to the federales just for the chaos of it. He’s been running from a kill order ever since." Rafe offered a two-finger salute, though his eyes were locked on Lachlan’s claws, which were subconsciously extending.