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“All good here. I’m with Harley.”

“Great,” Striker said, “because I’m with Dylan at the clubhouse, so you two can meet us here instead of at the alpha house.”

I blinked. “What? Why the hell are you at the clubhouse?”

“Because Dylan wanted to go. He hit me with the puppy eyes, Ace—what was I supposed to do?”

I rubbed my forehead. “Harley, our son is a menace.”

“I could’ve told you that. Did I hear Striker sayclubhouse?”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes. There better not be any shady shit going on,” I snapped, then ended the call while Striker sputtered his denial.

“That kid,” Harley said. “He can smell a pushover from a mile away. There better not be any half-naked women wandering around that clubhouse.”

I winced. It was midday, so hopefully any late-night visitors had already left for the day. “Striker will handle it.”

“Not before they traumatize my baby,” Harley muttered.

She was only half-joking. I could only hope Striker had it handled, because the only thing scarier than an angry dragon alpha was an angry Harley Founty. I handed her my helmet and climbed onto my bike. Harley straddled the bike behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. We hadn’t ridden like this in a decade, but it felt like no time had passed at all.

The sensation of the wind on my face was nothing compared to the warmth of Harley’s body pressed to my back and the gentle pressure of her arms wrapped around me. It was almost like flying with her astride my back. Not quite as good—and it only made my dragon want to stretch his wings more—but still settled a protective instinct deep inside me.

There were alotof bikes and cars parked outside the clubhouse. Way more than there usually were in the middle of the day, when a lot of the guys had work or were still passed out from partying the night before. Word must’ve gotten out that Dylan was at the clubhouse.

Harley climbed off the bike and pulled off the helmet. Her auburn hair spilled out over her shoulders. She dropped the helmet on the bike seat and rushed toward the clubhouse without even glancing at me. All I could do was hurry after her, and I was right at her back when she opened the clubhouse door.

“Oh, jeez,” she said.

Inside, it looked like Dylan was the king of the castle, and the rest of the club members—all twenty of them—were his loyal followers. Dylan was sitting on the bar, his feet dangling off it, with Striker on the barstool next to him. Dylan was laughing, abright sound that reminded me of Harley’s. That kid looked like a carbon-copy of me, but parts of him were pure Harley. The blend always made my heart swell.

“Is this everyone?” Harley asked as she glanced around. “The whole clan?”

“Oh, not even close,” I said. “There are about a hundred-and-twenty shifters in the extended clan. This is just the club members within the clan.”

“Over a hundred,” Harley echoed. “And Dylan’s the heir of all of that?”

“If he wants to be,” I said.

“There he is!” Striker called. “See, I told you they were on their way.”

“Hi, Mom,” Dylan said with an excited wave.

Striker strode over and clapped me on the shoulder. “See? I told you it’d be fine.”

“You didn’t tell me shit,” I said with a grin. “You’re lucky there’s no shifter chasers around today.”

Harley crossed her arms over her chest. “Damnlucky.”

Striker raised both hands in surrender. “I made sure they were gone before we came over!”

“That’s why you’re my best enforcer,” I said.

“Is that Harley?” one of the clan members said. “Harley Founty? This is Harley Founty’s kid?”

“Damn right it is!” Hawk said, laughing. “Harley, come here and meet the guys again!”

Harley acquiesced with a laugh and allowed herself to be pulled into the gaggle of shifters. I watched her as she shook hands and re-learned names, moving from conversation to conversation with grace. I made my way behind the bar and grabbed a beer from the cooler. Harley caught my eye and mouthed ‘seltzer?’ mid-conversation. She disentangled herselffrom the group, gesturing toward me and the drinks as I plopped down into the corner of the couch.