Do you feel it yet? That pull to us? To Dead? Dead told us you haven’t been around many shifters like you, so perhaps you haven’t put your finger on that feeling yet. That hole. Sometimes herds are formed, and if one goes missing, that hurt is never patched. For us? For three weeks there has been a hole in our herd the size of a bowling ball. It doesn’t get better. It gets worse. Dead won’t ask you to leave your life if you’re happy. He doesn’t want to take you away from your family, or from your job, from your best friend or your home. Your happiness means too much for him to ask. So this is me, doing something he did for Two Shots and me once. He took pictures and showed them to us, made us realize what was happening. I hope that’s what these pictures do for you.
You belong with us, Raven. Dead is lost without you. He hasn’t told a dick joke in a week. If that isn’t a red flag, I don’t know what is. And if I’m honest? The rest of us are lost without you too. The boys ask about you every day, and there’s this weight on us now as we watch Dead struggle. It’s hard to get them to focus on the next event, and the next, when something so pivotal is missing.
Dead misses you.
I miss you.
The boys miss you.
This is me being selfish and asking you to call that place your “old home” and make a “new home” with us.
Dead, Dead, he’s in your head, he wants you here with him instead.
You’re a part of our herd.
Come home.
Your friend,
Cheyenne
There was a plane ticket resting in the clear pocket. Slowly, Raven pulled it out and read her name across the top. It was for tomorrow morning, landing in St. Louis, Missouri—Dead’s next event.
She clutched the ticket and the photobook to her chest and stared at the closed office door.
Cheyenne had titled the book, A Week to Remember, but it wasn’t just that. It was the week she fell in love, and she’d watched it happen all over again with this beautiful photo collage Cheyenne had taken the time to make for her. It was the week everything had fallen into place and she’d figured out who she was.
That hole Cheyenne had described? She felt it, too.
A herd.
Raven, the reject of the Hagan herd since birth, raised by humans, never quite able to fit in, had somehow secured a place in a real herd with people she adored and a man she absolutely and unconditionally loved.
With a sigh, Raven stood.
Come home.
Tears in her eyes, she nodded.
Okay.
Epilogue
Dead fidgeted with his flank strap. The worn thing had lost all of the spiky rope strands and was smooth now with age and use.
Was this worth it?
Was it?
He looked around the changing room. He’d been in thirty others, just like this one. He used to love this. Loved the adrenaline, loved the scent of fur and dominance, loved going after humans, loved the change, loved the bucks. Loved the buzzer that went off after a rider’s ass had already hit the ground. He’d loved the traveling, loved being around the boys. Loved the recklessness of this life. The chaos and uncertainty of it.
But now?
The arenas were packed now more than ever, but they still felt empty without Raven here to tell him, “It’s okay,” after he finished a buck. Last week, without her with him, he’d dropped down to fourth place, and this week he needed to get his ranking back and put the herd back together. No pressure or anything.
“Ten minutes,” a handler said through the door with a soft knock.
Dead didn’t answer, just pulled an energy drink out of his bag. Under it was a package of skittles from his dad and a Snicker’s bar from a care package Raven had sent him. She sent one every week. Her favorite candy was Snickers, so she always put one in there for him, knowing his dad had the skittles covered.
Why did his chest always ache so damn bad now?
The handler knocked again.
“Ten minutes, yeah, yeah, I got it,” Dead barked out.
When the door creaked open, Dead stood. “I said!—”
Raven popped her head in the door.
Huh. Apparently, energy drinks caused hallucinations these days.
She looked so good right now. Were those black wrangler cut-off shorts? God, his imagination was awesome. Long legs with those badass tattoos, the boots he’d bought her, a blood-red tank top, and her black cowgirl hat. Deeeelicious.
“You owe me an L-word.”
Dead frowned. His imaginings weren’t usually so demanding.
She cracked a smile.
“Raven?” he asked. God, he was gonna feel dumb if she wasn’t real.
She opened the door the rest of the way and blasted her hands on her hips. “I’m prepared to hear it. Lay it on me. Make it mushy.”
“Oh, my God, you’re really here?” He took a few steps toward her, and then that little hellion closed the gap. She ran to him and jumped, and his dumb ass barely recovered fast enough to catch her.
“Geez, you’re heavy, heifer,” he joked.
She swatted him and acted offended. “I said be romantic.”
He gripped the back of her neck and pulled her in, kissed the devil out of her. He didn’t know about romance-shit, but he did know she always went quiet when he kissed her and always looked drunk afterward. Drunk was probably good.
“Damn, girl, I missed you,” he murmured, hugging her so tight. He never wanted her to unwrap her legs from his waist. “When we die, let’s die fucking so they can bury us like this,” he said.
She tossed her head back with a laugh. “Getting colder. That’s not
