Rafe Season Two Novels & Stories

Rafe stood at the edge of the palm line like a god carved from bronze and shadow — white linen shirt open, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the dark tattoos that disappeared beneath his waistband. His gray eyes burned with a mixture of fury and raw hunger as they raked over her barely-covered body. “I was just sunbathing,” she said, quickly pulling her hand away, but the bratty tone remained. “Is that against your precious rules too?” Rafe stalked toward her across the sand, each step deliberate. The bulge in his shorts was already obvious. “You’re out here alone. Touching what belongs to me. And from the way you were moaning, I’d say you were hoping that supply boat might see exac

Her head felt heavy, her eyelids drooping despite her efforts to stay awake. “I need to tell you something else,” Rafe said, his tone more serious now. He hesitated, as if weighing the enormity of what he was about to reveal. “Something about me. About what I am.” But before he could say more, Delia’s head lolled against the couch, and her breathing evened out.

“He’s he’s dead. They said he was dead.” Rafe didn’t flinch at the pain in her voice. He let it cut the air, let her grief roll over him. It wasn’t his burden, not yet. But he could see it twisting her, seeing the raw edges of her fear, of her doubt, of a hope she had been denying herself for years. “Yes,” he said evenly. “They said that. They buried a coffin. They burned everything that tied him to you. But…” He paused, watching her inhale sharply, wolf instincts flaring like heat beneath skin. “…he may be alive.”

Jeff drops his hand immediately, his face going pale as Rafe steps between us, his shoulders tense, jaw clenched tight enough to shatter. “She’s with me,” Rafe says, his tone leaving no room for argument. Jeff holds up both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, man, we were just talking.” “Talk to someone else.” Rafe doesn’t move, his stance protective, his hand curling around my wrist to pull me gently behind him. Jeff opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, probably something stupid, but then he thinks better of it and turns, vanishing back into the crowd. The second he’s gone, I let out a tense breath.

Then, without looking up, “He’s settling in.” Tim looked at him. “What?” “Daniel,” Rafe said, still looking at his folder. “He’s settling in. He went out with Leo yesterday without any resistance. He’s working. He pushed back at you about the security and you told him things you don’t tell people.” He turned a page. “He’s settling in and you’re letting him.” Tim looked at him steadily. “Your point.” Rafe looked up. “My point is that Webb is moving and you have pushed two important meetings and you spent thirty seconds looking at a mood board on someone’s laptop yesterday.” He held Tim’s gaze. “That’s my point.”

“And they’re sure? They confirmed it?” My pulse hammered. Rafa exhaled slowly. “Listen to me,” he said, voice low. “Stay inside, do not engage, and keep the others hidden. And Kane, don't call again unless it's a life-and-death situation.” Then he hung up. I stared at him. “Rafa, what happened?” He didn’t look at me at first. He pressed his fingers into his brow, struggling to keep himself calm. When he finally lifted his eyes, the softness from earlier was gone.

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

“It is. That's why not all people meet their bounds and not all people who meet their bounds marry them either.” “I hope I meet my bound,” Raf drawled his speech, eyes struggling to stay open. Anne could see that he was about to fall asleep, she slowed down her strokes on his hair and tried to stay still just until he fell asleep. “I'm sure you will.” Raf yawned. “But mother, is father your bound?” “No, he's not.” “I figured,” Raf slurred. Anne smiled, strokes slowing to a final stop. “Why would you say that?”

" Cohen was silent, his eyes fixed on the floor, waiting for the tempest to break. Rafe rose from his seat, every step heavy with suppressed rage. His breath came short, his movements tight with anger that seemed no fire could thaw. Silently, he strode to the door, his cloak swirling behind him like a dark phantom. Cohen watched as the king left the room, his boots loud as they struck the floor. The atmosphere hummed with the force of his anger. Rafe didn't stop, didn't falter, as he made his way to the west wing. Rafe slammed into Seraya's room without invitation. The door crashed open against the stone wall, and the sound cut through the silence like a knife. The room was dark, save for th

I commanded her. "I'll make sure I'm the only one she marries no matter what happens. And I won't allow any reason to change that." I whispered loudly. "Even if I had to kill all the men who approaches him, I would." "Okay, boss, I'll go first," Rafilla said and left. "Not yet. Wait for me dear, someday you will know everything too. After my plans." Rafaelia's POV. I rearranged my make up and short dress, that you could see almost the soul. With my beautiful body and face, no man can refuse me.