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PROLOGUE-ZEKE

The fire inside me used to be steady.

Fierce. Mine.

Now it flickers.

On good days, it simmers beneath the surface like a waiting storm.

On bad ones, it sputters so low I wonder if it’s gone entirely.

Dragons aren’t meant to feel cold.

But I do.

I feel it in my bones, in the way my breath fogs the mirror in the morning, in the brittle edges of my control when I shift.

And every time I glance down at the Rose inked into my chest—my Dragon’s Rose—and see the magic draining from it, I feel that cold like a knife behind the ribs.

It’s dying.

And so am I.

All because I haven’t found my fated mate. Haven’t claimed her.

Well, some of that is true. Some of it isn’t quite so cut and dry.

Everyone else on this godsdamned ranch has found their person.

Their one. Their mate.

Not me. Not really.

I’d made peace with it.

Or something close enough.

Figured I’d go out quiet.

Maybe save someone else before I went feral and burned the whole damn place down.

Then she walked in during another fucking Motley Crewd wedding.

It was just another round of slow music, glowing fairy lights, syrupy speeches, and over-starched shirts that made me want to slit my own throat.

Then she was there. Casey.

All curves and honey-colored eyes and that voice—low, warm, amused.

She offered me her hand like I was the only one in the room. Called me out of my head and into hers with a simple, “Do you dance?”

I touched her, and everything inside me roared. Literally.

Es meus.

She’s mine.

Not in the possessive, controlling way.