Page 3

“A re you serious right now?” I snarl, glaring at Dante like he’s just asked me to donate a kidney. Or worse— go into town during tourist season .

“Look, I’d go,” he says, already distracted, eyes glued to the tree line, “but Avery’s got that morning sickness bad, and Rosie Posie won’t change out of her fur. Come on, man. Do me a solid?”

Sure enough, his cub— currently in full fuzzy-wuzzy Grizzly mode —is sauntering toward the woods like she owns the damn forest.

Which, to be fair, she kinda does.

I grit my teeth.

“This couldn’t have been, I don’t know, planned better ?”

Dante ignores that, starts stripping down, boots off and shirt flung on the porch like we don’t have rules about public Shifting. Though, in his defense, this is the ranch. Everyone here is in the know.

“Her name’s Casey. She was at the wedding,” he says like I don’t fucking know who he means. “You’re picking her up from Av’s old place. Don’t make it weird.”

“Why? She your cousin or something?” I ask, just to fuck with him. “Look, Yogi, if this is a setup?—”

“It’s not some fucking set up, asshole. And just for the record, I wouldn’t attempt to set your ornery ass up with my worst fucking enemy, you grouchy bastard. Casey is just a friend. Avery’s friend . So be nice.”

I grunt. Like being nice has ever worked out for me.

Besides, I know exactly who Casey is. In fact, I’ve been beating the shit out of myself just to stay away.

I’m no good for her.

She’s human. Soft. Fragile.

I’m a goddamn monster. Literally.

How can I take a chance my Dragon won’t hurt her if I try to pursue a human woman?

No. It’s not worth the risk, which is why I put the female firmly out of my mind right after that night.

“Emmet or Kian couldn’t go?” I try one last time, clinging to the hope that someone else could be sacrificed to the traffic gods.

Dante shoots me a look. “If they could, I wouldn’t be asking you, Zeke . Shit— Rosie! Hold on, Princess, Daddy’s coming!”

He’s already halfway through Shifting as he lunges toward the woods, pants around his ankles and the faintest snap of magic in the air.

Fur explodes across his skin, muscles popping, bones reshaping with brutal crunches.

It’d be impressive if it weren’t so damn disturbing .

Because now I’ve got the image of Dante’s massive Grizzly ass wedged into a pair of tighty-whities stuck in my brain like a trauma memory.

“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter, grabbing the keys to my truck. “I better get a steak dinner and a bottle of whiskey for this.”

I climb into the cab, but the second I turn on the ignition, my Dragon stirs.

Not with heat or rage, but with something strange.

Off-balance. Restless.

He hums under my skin, low and uneasy, like he senses something I don’t.

Like he’s already sniffing the air for something important .

I scowl.

“No. Don’t start.”

He growls back.

Yeah, I’m losing it. Talking to myself. Talking to my Dragon like he’s a separate damn person, which, I guess, in a way, he is.

But lately he’s been testy. Agitated. Like he’s starving for something and doesn’t know what.

I know what he craves, what he needs.

My Rose .

But that ain’t happening.

The Fates must fucking hate me because the only person who even tempted me to believe I might even have a mate is a damn human.

I growl my frustration and shake my head, forcing my angry beast back.

The quicker both sides of my dual nature come to grips with it, the better.

I shove the gear into drive and pull onto the road, the gravel crunching beneath the tires.

It’s a long drive into town.

Long enough for me to stew in my own misery and rehearse how much I’m going to hate this.

Because it’s a holiday fucking weekend.

Because the ranch is crawling with lovebirds and mates and happy-ever-afters I can’t stand to watch anymore.

Because my Dragon’s Rose is almost gone, and every hour that passes tightens the noose around my ribs just a little more.

And now I’m supposed to play chauffeur to some random woman who doesn’t even know how to drive out here?

Great.

Perfect.

Exactly how I wanted to spend my Saturday.

Grumpy, flammable, and babysitting some lost city girl with no idea she’s landed herself in the middle of a Shifter ranch full of hormonal mates and magical livestock.

But the weirdest part? No matter how I tell myself the pretty female from the wedding is not mine, the closer I get to Avery’s old place, the louder my Dragon gets.

Like something’s calling him.

She’s calling to him.

And for the first time in a long while, he sounds hopeful .

Town is full of folks trying to head down the shore for the weekend, so streets are crowded, and everyone is losing their patience and their minds as the traffic slows to a crawl.

Finally, I arrive.

I’m barely out of the truck when the front door swings open and she steps out.

Dark blonde hair.

Big brown eyes flecked with gold.

Curves that make my Dragon sit up and take notice—fast.

She’s wearing jeans that hug her hips like a second skin, a soft-looking T-shirt with a loaded hot dog printed on the front and the words “I like my wieners loaded” scrawled across her impressive chest.

I fight my smile and pretend like that isn’t the most outrageously funny thing I’ve seen all day.

Goddamn, she is even prettier than I remember.

She’s dragging a massive rolling suitcase behind her that hits every damn porch step on the way down like it’s challenging me to a duel.

And the second I lock eyes with her, the world shifts.

The heat in my chest punches to life.

My Dragon damn near tears through my skin, snarling mine-mine-mine like a lunatic, and I actually stumble a step backward.

No. Fucking. Way.

I might be able to admit right now that yes, my Dragon was right the first time we met. But I’m still not gonna do anything about it.

Her eyes narrow as she takes me in, chest heaving slightly from the effort of hauling that giant bag.

“Oh, um, hi. You’re Zeke,” she says, and squirms with what I assume is discomfort.

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

Because this time I know it’s not some fluke. Not some trick created by wedding ambiance and moonlight.

It really is her.

My mate.

My rose.

The Dragon’s Rose on my chest burns against my skin.

It all happens so fast I snarl with the wonderful welcome pain of it.

“You alright there?” Casey asks, her brown eyes wide and curious.

I don’t respond.

She arches a brow and tilts her head, voice dry.

“Okay, strong silent type. That’s cute. But if you plan on brooding the whole drive, can you at least help me get this thing in the truck?”

I blink.

“That’s your suitcase?” I ask.

“No, it’s my mobile panic room. Yes, it’s my suitcase.”

She hauls it toward me and practically dares me not to help.

I grunt, grabbing the handle and lifting it like it weighs nothing—because it doesn’t weigh a goddamn thing.

I’m a Dragon Shifter, not a noodle-armed farm boy.

She watches me toss it into the truck bed and makes a little hmm noise.

“Nice. You didn’t even throw out your back. Promising.”

I stare at her.

“You always this mouthy?”

Her lips curve.

“Only when I’m nervous. Or annoyed. Or breathing.”

I make the mistake of looking too long—at the way her lips tug into that crooked little smile, at the way the sun hits her hair and turns it golden, at the tiny silver scar on her chin that I suddenly need to know the story behind.

“You done staring?” she asks sweetly.

“No.”

Her eyes widen, and her mouth opens, then closes again. For one second, she’s caught off guard.

Yay me. I win.

Until she tosses her tote bag into the cab and climbs in like she owns the truck.

“Let’s go, cowboy. If I’m gonna get murdered, I’d rather it be before lunchtime.”

I climb in beside her, heart thundering like hooves on dry earth. I should say something smooth.

Something cool.

Instead, I blurt out, “You smell good.”

She turns, blinking. “Okay. Weird opener, but thanks.”

“I didn’t mean—” I drag a hand down my face, growling under my breath.

My Dragon is practically purring, rubbing up against my ribs like a damn cat.

She’s chatting like we never met, and I wonder for a second if she doesn’t remember me.

It stings. And I can feel my lips pull down in a frown.

“Didn’t mean what?” she prompts.

“Forget it.”

She grins and buckles her seatbelt.

“No can do, buckeroo. Besides, you’re kinda hot when you’re awkward.”

“I’m not awkward.”

“That’s what makes it hot.”

I start the truck, muttering a curse under my breath, and slam it into reverse.

She’s got no idea what she just stepped into.

But damn if I’m not already burning for more.