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T he 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.

In the sacred, ancient way.

The Fates carved her from starlight and wildfire and dropped her into my world at the exact moment my fire began to die.

And now I know why.

She’s my Rose.

The mate I thought I’d never meet. The one meant to anchor me, soothe me, save me.

And I walked away.

Because I had to.

Because the second she touched me, I knew she didn’t know what I was.

Didn’t know about Shifters.

Or Dragons.

Or the kind of hunger that comes when your soul finally finds the other half it’s been clawing the earth to reach.

She looked at me like a woman intrigued by a man.

Not like a woman who’d just been fate-stitched to a fire-breathing myth.

So I danced with her. I let myself taste that moment.

And then I walked off the dance floor and out of her orbit like it hadn’t shattered me.

But the damage was done.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. The way she laughed. The way her skin felt under my palm. The way my Dragon quieted the instant she smiled.

I should stay away.

But I can feel myself unraveling.

My fire’s dwindling.

And now that I’ve met her? Now that I’ve touched her?

My Dragon won’t be soothed by anything less than everything.

She doesn’t know it yet.

But I’m hers.

And whether I burn for her, with her, or because of her— time is running out.

And I’m not sure I have the strength to resist the pull much longer.

Because when the Rose finally withers away, when my fire goes out or flares too wild to contain, I’ll be gone too.

Either in flames or in madness.

Unless she accepts me. Which, I mean, would you believe me if I said I was a monster who needed to claim you to live?

Fuck.

I think I’m all out of faith.

For the first time in my life, I find myself staring death in the face with no other recourse other than to simply accept it.

What else is there for me to do?