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Technically, he’s right.

I snort, wiping a hand down my face, trying not to feel like the world's creepiest guardian angel.

And that’s when she steps out.

The door swings open, and the flickering streetlamp paints her in silver and shadow, wrapping around her like something out of a dream.

My dream.

My heart tightens inside my chest.

Her blonde ponytail is high and playful, curls bouncing against her nape, catching the light like a halo.

She’s only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Nothing fancy. But the sight of her hunching into herself against the chill?

It wrecks me.

She moves fast across the lot, clutching her keys in one hand, the other buried in her hoodie pocket.

She heads toward her little beat-up Toyota, and my protective instincts spike.

I know those cars last forever, but damn, that thing looks like it rolled off the lot before Y2K.

Too old.

Too unsafe.

She deserves better.

And just as I’m debating whether I can find a way to gift her a new ride without her yelling at me, she pulls out, tires crunching on gravel, and I spot it.

Flat tire.

She doesn’t notice until we’re already on the road.

Usually, I’d hang back. Shadow her. Keep her safe without being seen.

But tonight?

My girl’s in trouble.

And the beast inside me won’t let me wait.

I throw open the truck door and sprint toward her car just as she pulls to the side and jumps out.

“Stand back! I have pepper spray!”

She spins fast, fierce and wild-eyed, wielding the little pink can like a weapon of mass destruction.

I throw up my hands. “Pepper spray? Whoa! It’s just me?—”

Too late.

She sprays before the last word leaves my mouth.

Direct hit.

The burn hits like fire and fury, and I let out a roar that rattles the trees.