Rafe Sadler Novels & Stories

“What gives? Are you okay?” I smile and nod then Safira turns to Cain and shoots him a glare. Cain rolls his eyes and looks away, the struggle to match Safira’s cheerful nature evident on his face. I resist the urge to sigh and instead I pull myself together mentally. I try not to make my voice quake as I speak. “Rafie has called off the tournament.” Safira nods and Rhys grunts but Cain is silent. I do not look to him for a reaction, instead I try my best to come up with a good explanation for what has happened.

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 music kicked up again—some indie rock playlist Eli swore by—and they belted out the chorus off-key, their bodies bumping as they danced in the limited space between the couch and the TV. It was one of those nights, the kind where the world outside faded, and it was just them, buzzing with energy that felt alive, electric, and almost too close. Next door, the roar of a motorcycle cut through the evening. Rafe stopped the engine outside his new building, the vibration still humming through his thighs as he swung a leg over the leather seat. He grabbed the duffel from the saddlebag, his tattooed arms flexing under the worn black jacket. At thirty-five, Rafe had seen enough moves to make thi

He had brought Daniel here because Daniel was the only person he had ever met who made that same thing possible just by being in a room. Rafe appeared at the edge of the hidden garden. Tim looked at him. Rafe came in and stood by the table and looked at Tim sitting in the chair with the particular expression he wore when he had something to say and was deciding how to say it. “The south side situation is resolved,” Rafe said. “Good,” Tim said. Rafe looked at the empty chair across the table. Then back at Tim. “Leo asked if he should reach out.” “No,” Tim said.

Ninety two *Freya* Rafe looked so vulnerable lying there, his handsome face unnaturally pale, dark lashes fanned out against his sculpted cheekbones. Tears prickled my eyes as I stared at him. I'd always found him breathtaking, but now, with the knowledge of what he'd risked for me, what he'd sacrificed, he'd never seemed more beautiful. Or more beyond my reach. Rafe was everything I'd ever wanted. Strong, brave, compassionate. A true leader who inspired loyalty in all those around him. His people adored him, and with good reason. He always put their needs before his own.

Rafe came to me three months after the choice, in the late afternoon on a day when Dominic was at a council meeting and the house was quiet. He knocked on the door of the room I now used as an office—my maps spread across the walls, the pack territory coming into clearer relief with every week of work—and he looked like himself, which was to say he looked like someone who had done the internal work and was on the other side of it, not unchanged but real. "I want to talk to you," he said. "About Cael. About some things I should have told you earlier."

She had just finished her last reading when the heavy tent flap opened. Rafe Harlan stepped inside. The strongman was a legend among the crew , 6’4” of pure muscle, broad shoulders, thick arms covered in tattoos, and a barrel chest that could lift impossible weights. His shirt was open at the collar, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin and dark hair. Sweat still glistened on his neck from the final performance. “You’re still here,” he said, voice low and rough. Luna looked up, a slow smile curving her lips. “So are you.”

“You don’t get to beg, not after what you did. Every brother who looked at me sideways because of your lies, every shipment we lost, every night Corleone had to sleep alone wondering if I was coming back in a body bag—that’s on you.” I pressed the flat of the blade against his cheek. “How long, you coward?” “Eight months,” he whispered, finally breaking. “Eight months… Rafe brought me in after that bad deal in Carson City. They paid good. They said the Reapers were finished anyway.” I smiled without warmth. Rafe has been alive for more than eight months and I had no fucking idea. He had a rat in my own gang and I didnt know about it. God, wasn’t I stupud?

"Tade, please... stop, I beg you..." But Tade is far from finished. "You have systematically ruined every single alliance we had!" he screams, his chest expanding as his wolf rumbles. "I warned you about Rapha's sharp mind. He carries the exact same dangerous brilliance as Nyara. But you dismissed him as a useless, plain rogue and convinced me to throw him to the wolves! Look what happened! Rapha is Kaelum! He is the most powerful black-market weapon designer in the world, and we did not even know it!"

Rafael Stone, as the Alpha and captain, served as the unified roar of the squad—and that roar was currently promising to make Lyon’s tenure with the San Diego Stormbreakers a living, breathing nightmare. Rafael wasn't averse to the spotlight. He had spent his life being trailed by eyes—first as the local prodigy, then as the phenom, and now as the powerhouse leading his pack onto the ice of the Pacific Ice Arena. They would have even more followers if not for the scathing exposés Lyon had splashed across the digital front pages for years.