The first time I noticed Rafe acting strange, I brushed it off. Strange was normal for him. He was restless energy in human form—always moving, always plotting, always needing to prove himself louder, wilder, bigger than everyone else. But this was different.

For days, he disappeared. No late-night calls demanding I sneak out, no reckless drives down empty highways, no sudden appearances outside my window. Just silence. And with Rafe Cameron, silence was never a good sign.

When he finally texted—meet me at the quarry, midnight—my stomach twisted. I almost didn’t go. But something in my chest, something I hated admitting even to myself, wouldn’t let me stay home.

The night was thick with summer heat when I got there. Rafe’s truck was parked crooked near the edge, his music thundering faintly from the speakers. He leaned against the hood, a cigarette dangling from his lips, that smirk tugging at his mouth like he’d been waiting just to see the look on my face.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

“You vanished for days and that’s all you’ve got to say?” I snapped, crossing my arms. “What’s going on, Rafe?”

He just chuckled, flicking the cigarette away, eyes glinting under the dim light. “I’ve got something for you. A surprise.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That usually means trouble.”

“Not this time.” He pushed off the hood, stepping closer, close enough that I could smell the mix of smoke and salt air clinging to him. “Close your eyes.”

I stared at him, hesitant. “Rafe—”

“Trust me,” he murmured, softer now, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I did.

I heard the rustle of fabric, the scrape of his shirt being pulled over his head. His footsteps circled me, slow, deliberate, as if building the moment. Then his voice, right in front of me, low and vibrating with something unsteady.

“Okay. Open.”

When I did, my breath caught.

Across his chest, fresh ink glared back at me. My name. Bold, unflinching, etched into him like a brand. The skin around it was red and raw, the letters stark and black against him, impossible to miss.

My hand flew to my mouth. “Rafe. No. You didn’t—”

“I did.” His smirk returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were locked on mine, burning, waiting. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Good?” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Rafe, this is… this is insane.”

“Yeah?” He stepped closer, and I stumbled back, but he caught my wrist, dragging my hand to his chest, pressing my palm against the heat of his skin. The tattoo pulsed under my touch with the rhythm of his heartbeat. “You feel that? That’s yours now. I’m yours.”

I shook my head, panic and something else twisting inside me. “You can’t just—tattoos are permanent, Rafe. You’ll regret this—”

His laugh cut me off, sharp and bitter. “Regret? The only thing I regret is not doing it sooner. You don’t get it, do you? You’re it for me. I don’t care if the whole world knows—I want them to. I want them to see your name on me and understand they’ll never have me. Because I already belong to you.”

I stared at him, my hand still trapped against the scorching skin of his chest, my name seared into him forever. He looked half-crazy, half-desperate, and completely certain.

“This isn’t just a tattoo,” he said, voice dropping to a raw whisper. “It’s proof. You’re stuck with me. Always.”

The night was heavy around us, the hum of cicadas filling the silence I couldn’t break. I should have run, should have told him this was too much, too far. But instead, I left my hand where he wanted it—pressed over his heart, over the ink that marked me as his.

And Rafe smiled like he’d won.

Like he’d finally found the one thing he could claim forever.