The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened like spilled ink under the neon.
I clutched my jacket tighter, head down, heart beating in my ears as I pushed through the chill.
Every step toward 7th and Main felt like walking into the lion's den.
Except tonight, there weren't just lions. There were wolves too.
The café loomed ahead, its 24-hour sign buzzing faintly in the damp air. Warm light spilled from the windows, pooling on the slick pavement like a promise I didn't believe in.
Inside, a handful of night owls nursed their drinks—students, truckers, a couple of insomniacs scrolling their phones. Nobody looked dangerous.
But the man in the corner?
Yeah. He didn't belong here.
He was sitting alone, back to the wall, black coat draped over the chair like armor. Dark hair, clean cut. A face carved from shadow and steel. No smile. No expression. Just eyes—gray and glacial—tracking me the second I stepped through the door.
Stone.
I didn't need to check my phone. I knew.
Because when a man like that looks at you, the air changes.
My lungs locked, heat flooding my veins in a rush I hated myself for feeling.
He didn't wave. Didn't move. Just sat there like a storm waiting to break.
I swallowed, forced my legs to work, and crossed the room. Every step felt like a confession.
"Sit."
One word. Low, rough, threaded with command.
Not please. Not would you. Just sit.
I slid into the chair opposite him, pulse hammering.
Up close, he was worse. Better. Both.
Tall even sitting down, shoulders broad under that tailored coat, hands resting on the table—strong, veined, a watch that probably cost more than my apartment catching the light.
And those eyes.
Jesus.
They weren't just gray. They were cold fire, burning without heat, stripping me bare.
"You're late."
His voice was smoke and gravel, soft enough to make me lean in, hard enough to pin me in place.
"I—" My throat scraped. "I said twenty minutes. You said ten."
His mouth curved. Not a smile. Something sharper.
"When I tell you ten," he said, "you make it five."
My breath snagged. "I'm not—"
His fingers brushed the table, slow, deliberate. Not touching me. Just close enough that my skin buzzed like it wanted to.
"You think this is a game?"
The words slid under my skin, deep and dark.
Before I could answer, the bell above the door chimed.
And the temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees.
I didn't have to look to know.
I felt him.
That other presence, coiling like smoke behind me.
Wolfbane.
His voice came first, low and lazy, like sin wrapped in silk.
"Well, well. If it isn't the ice king himself. Didn't expect to see you slumming it here."
I turned.
And there he was—leaning against the doorway, a smirk curling his mouth, leather jacket dripping rain, dark hair falling over eyes that gleamed like amber fire.
If Stone was winter steel, Wolfbane was wildfire.
Sharp where the other was smooth. Reckless where the other was controlled.
And both of them? Dangerous in ways that made my bones ache.
"Leave," Stone said. Not to me. To him.
One word again. Hard as a gunshot.
Wolfbane laughed, low and slow.
"Aw, that's cute. You think you get to call the shots."
He pushed off the door, strolling in like he owned the place, every line of him a challenge.
"Thing is, I was invited too." His eyes slid to me, molten and mocking. "Right, princess?"
My pulse stuttered.
I hadn't invited him. I hadn't invited any of this.
But the way he said it—like we shared some dirty little secret—made heat lick up my spine.
Stone's gaze cut to me, sharp as a blade.
"Explain."
"I—I didn't—" The words tangled in my throat.
I wanted to scream that I had nothing to do with this, that Wolfbane just showed up.
But the truth? My silence was louder than any denial.
Wolfbane dropped into the chair beside me, too close, smelling like rain and danger.
Stone didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched, a predator in perfect stillness.
Wolfbane grinned, teeth white in the dim light.
"Relax, big guy. I'm not here to steal your toy."
His hand brushed the back of mine—lightning through my veins.
"Not unless she wants me to."
The air went nuclear.
Stone's hand closed on the table edge, knuckles white.
Slow. Controlled.
But his eyes?
They were murder.
"Touch her again," he said softly, "and you won't have hands."
Wolfbane chuckled, low and filthy.
"Big talk for someone hiding behind screen names."
He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear.
"Bet you don't even know her favorite color."
My body locked. Heat and terror tangling until I couldn't breathe.
Because in that moment—two men, two storms colliding over me—I realized something bone-deep and brutal.
This wasn't about me anymore.
This was about power.
And I was the battlefield.
The bell chimed again.
Both men stilled.
Every muscle in my body went tight as I turned—slow, like the world had dropped into molasses.
A third figure stepped in.
Tall. Dark. A hood shadowing his face.
He didn't look at anyone. Didn't speak.
Just slid into a booth across the room, phone in hand, as if he owned the night.
My phone buzzed.
???: [Smile, Velvet. I'm watching.]
And that was when I knew—
This wasn't just war.
This was carnage.
To be continued…