Rafe Book Novels & Stories

“Oh! Thank you very much. I’ll give it a read then . I guess I’ll learn a lot about my dead husband from here than I could while I was actually with him.” After that the publisher left. And Ms.Rafa took that book and sat on a rocking chair to read it. She said to herself, “Guess a legendary journey of a devil is about to be revealed by my hands. Should I be happy about that, I don’t know anymore…” Inside that Book…………….

Also, their soap-slick fingers traced welts from couch friction. Eli wore a tight brief against his semi-hard dick; Noah mirrored him, the fabric outlining his thicker length. They knocked on Rafe's door at 8 sharp with pounding hearts. Rafe answered in jeans and a fitted tee, his tattoos peeking at the collar while his smile was predatory. “Good boys. Come in.” He added as his eyes dropped below. His apartment was a stark contrast to theirs—leather furniture, dim lamps, a wall of books on knots and psychology.

*Harper* A few days later, Rafe calls mid-morning, his voice soft and a little guilty, like he’s been sitting with something too heavy for too long. “Hey,” he says when I answer. “You got a minute?” I sink into the couch, tucking my legs under me and feeling oddly nervous. “Of course.” There’s a short pause, but long enough for me to know this isn’t just a casual check-in. “I’ve been thinking about the party,” he says. “About McNaught.”

He closed the folder and sat back and looked at the ceiling. Daniel had told him to sit down yesterday. Not asked. Told. Tim had sat. He had thought about that afterwards for longer than he would admit to anyone. Not with anger, which would have been simpler. With something he couldn’t immediately name, something that sat in his chest in a way that was unfamiliar and not entirely uncomfortable, which was the part that bothered him most. Nobody told Tim Black to sit down. And yet. He had sat. Rafe arrived at seven thirty as he always did, coffee in hand, folder under his arm, ready to work before most people in Red City had finished their first hour of the day. He came into the study, set his

“How long have you known Kieran?” “All my life,” Rafe said without hesitation. “We were raised together. My father was Beta before me, his father was Alpha before him. We were practically joined at the hip as kids.” She leaned forward a little. “What was he like growing up?” Rafe chuckled, resting his ankle over his knee. “Carefree. Wild. He laughed all the time, fooled around way more than he should’ve. You wouldn’t believe it now, but he could be downright reckless.”

Coffee went cold. I returned to our house despite the restrictions. The place still carried the scent of lemon and spice. I moved quickly. Clothes. Documents. Essentials. I didn’t look at anything long enough to feel it. Cole drove us to Rafe’s apartment after that. It hadn’t been lived in for three months. Not since Rafe was admitted to the hospital. He’s twenty-two. Still hasn’t found his mate. He used to joke about being unlucky. Now he’s bedridden. Two days before the trial, I go to see him.

The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and something else—his cologne, maybe. Rafe motioned for me to sit while he flipped open a sketchbook. His hands moved with easy precision, the veins on his forearms flexing as he drew. I tried not to stare but my eyes kept drifting. “So,” he said without looking up, “tell me about it.” “About what?” “The story behind this tattoo you’re definitely not sure about.” I smiled. “You’re assuming it’s a story worth telling.” “There’s always a story worth telling.” He glanced up, his dark eyes catching mine. “Even the ones people try to hide.”

All of them are dangerous. “King Dartmouth always says you should make a splash if you’re going to be introducing yourself in his name,” the half wolf-shifter continues while I watch a vein I didn’t know Rafe had pulse in his forehead. My Rafe is angry. I see his hands forming into stone fists at his sides. “I’d say you’ve done that,” Rafe says evenly, indicating the bloodsoaked body.

But enough to make the clearing crack with a new kind of thunder. Rafe’s voice drops into something small. He looks at us—at the woman and child who are the center of the gravity he tried to destroy—and I watch him recalibrate. Fear is a map he cannot read. “You brought this on you, Rafe,” I tell him. He smirks, trying to reclaim something. “You’ll regret crossing me.” “Maybe,” I say. “But watch me try.” The engines scream closer, and for a heartbeat, it all hangs: men, choices, blood trailing like punctuation.

"I know that the first vision already happened and I was too late. I don't know what that means. The second vision hasn't happened yet. The man seemed to be reaching for me. Like he wanted me to help him." Sarah stared out the front window of the SUV. "Well Rafe was stealing the books from druids. He was after the stone circle and he was out to turn himself into the biggest baddest thing he could mix together. The books could be maps, could be recipe books, could be something he was planning to do next that we don't know about, or could be nothing. Any way you look at it Rafe is dead so he can't be using the books. But if they're at Tairneach manor then Jenna or someone else there must have