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HARLEY

“ S o, if you’ll take a look at these graphs here, you’ll see that despite the major dip last year, our profits have been climbing pretty consistently…”

I sighed and leaned forward to look at the wrinkled printouts the client was pushing across my desk.

If I were in his position, gunning for an increased loan for a ceramics business that was clearly failing, I wouldn’t have opened with these numbers.

Couldn’t tell him that, though—not without my boss’s permission.

I had a pretty high-ranking job at the bank, hence the corner office with the window, but that unfortunately put me in the position of handling clients like these.

“I’d love to see a copy of your most recent annual report,” I said.

“Annual report?” The guy scowled. “What for? I’ve provided you with enough information already. It never used to be this difficult to get an increase on my credit line!”

Bzz. Bzz. My personal phone vibrated from its hidden place in my top drawer. I glanced toward it. There were only a few numbers programmed to bypass my phone’s do-not-disturb mode.

“Well, that was before you increased it three times in a row,” I said with a smile.

My phone stopped buzzing. The client began rifling through his briefcase, grumbling to himself.

Moments later, the buzzing started again.

With the client still digging around, I opened my top drawer and glanced at the screen.

Cassidy. She knew I always had back-to-back meetings on Tuesdays.

If she was trying to reach me, it had to be really important.

“If you don’t have a copy of the report on hand, I’d be happy to continue this meeting via email,” I said.

“What? Email?” he sputtered. “These kinds of conversations should always be done face-to-face?—”

“And you’re more than welcome to make an appointment once you have the proper documentation,” I said kindly. “Now, I apologize, but I have another meeting to prepare for.”

“Now, Miss”—he glanced at the nameplate on my desk—“Harley, that’s not acceptable. I need that increase today.”

“I’m sorry,” I said with a sweet smile. I hated it when clients used my first name so casually.

I’d dealt with demanding small business owners like this guy for the bulk of my career.

At this point, it was like managing pouty toddlers.

“Once we get that documentation, we’ll continue the conversation.

Thank you so much for coming in.” I stood and walked around my desk.

I shook his hand, and used the handshake to guide the protesting man out the door.

With the door closed and my office blissfully quiet, I dropped back into my desk chair and pulled my phone out. Cassidy wasn’t the only call I’d received. The other number was, unfortunately, a little too familiar. Dylan’s school.

Massaging my temples, I called the school back.

“Miss Founty?”

“Yes, that’s me. Is Dylan in trouble again?”

“We’ve had some trouble with him today,” the principal said coolly. “Serious trouble, in fact. You know we’ve had trouble with some verbal altercations with other students.”

“I do,” I said. What had he gotten into this time?

“Well, today at lunch, he punched another student and nearly broke his nose.”

“Shit, seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. We’d like you to come pick him up today. We’ll discuss his suspension. The other emergency contact listed said she would be available if you weren’t.”

I sighed. Fighting? Suspension? I knew Dylan was having a tough time, but his behavior was getting out of hand. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

I ended the call, grabbed my purse, and hurried out of my office. Thank God, my boss’s door was open. I stuck my head inside. “Hey, Suri?”

My boss glanced up from his computer. He was an older man, perpetually threatening to retire, with a build like a retired linebacker and a seemingly never-ending stash of novelty ties. He took one look at my expression and sighed. “Let me guess. You need to head to the school?”

“Sorry. I know it’s the third time this month.”

Suri waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I know it’s not ideal for you, either. What happened?”

I stepped into his office and shut the door behind me, then leaned against it. “Dylan punched another student.”

Suri let out a low whistle. “Sounds like his puberty is in full swing to me.”

“Did he say anything to you about it at the cookout last week?”

I was lucky that Suri happened to live in my neighborhood.

He was my boss, but also a friend. And he was a shifter.

Shifters weren’t exactly rare, but they weren’t common, either.

I was a human, but my nine-year-old son Dylan was a shifter.

There were parts of shifter life—especially shifter childhood—that I simply couldn’t understand.

The first time Suri had met Dylan at the neighborhood cookout, he’d immediately realized he was a shifter.

Since then, Suri had done his best to mentor Dylan, but a mentor wasn’t the same as a father.

And Dylan didn’t have a father.

“He didn’t mention it,” Suri said. “But I could sense he was more on edge than usual. Have you thought about taking him to his sire?”

Grimacing, I shook my head.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but if his sire was an alpha, Dylan’s likely to be an alpha too. I won’t be much help to him if that’s the case. His dragon will want to be with his clan—his blood. If I’m around, it might actually make it worse.”

I knocked my head back against the door with a thunk. “You think it’ll get worse?”

Suri’s brow furrowed. “I can’t say for sure. But I don’t think you should wait to find out. Go pick Dylan up. I’ll clear your schedule for the next few days.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Really.”

On the drive to the school, I turned Suri’s advice over and over in my mind. Dylan was only nine years old, but his dragon was already beginning to awaken. I’d thought I’d have a few more years to figure out what to do, but it looked like that wasn’t the case.

What the hell was I going to do?

I hurried into the school to the office.

The principal met me inside. He had a disappointed scowl on his face that was unfortunately just as familiar as his disappointed voice on the phone.

He had one hand on Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan’s mop of blond hair hid his features as he stared down at his brightly colored sneakers.

“As I said on the phone, Dylan hit another student,” the principal said. “As we all know, that’s strictly against the code of conduct?—”

“He called me a dumb lizard!” Dylan said without looking up. “Why isn’t he in any trouble?”

The principal closed his eyes and exhaled. Apparently, this argument had already occurred a few times.

“Come on, Dylan,” I said. “I’m taking you home.”

“Miss Founty, this behavior can’t continue. We understand the challenges of shifter puberty, but Dylan is out of control. We suggest you look into additional outside help so he can better control himself.”

“Right. I’ll do that.” But how? I had no fucking idea. Suri was the only resource I had, and even he was telling me Dylan’s father was the only one who could help.

I led Dylan out of the school. It was a gorgeous late-spring day in Atlanta, with clear skies and the trees exploding with dense green leaves.

Dylan didn’t seem to notice any of it. He dragged his feet to the car, then dropped morosely into the passenger seat.

He tugged his red backpack into his lap and curled around it like a little dragon with a hoard.

I slid into the driver’s seat, but didn’t start the car.

“M’sorry,” Dylan muttered. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to? What do you mean? You don’t accidentally punch somebody, Dyl.” I turned the key in the ignition and began to drive home.

Dylan huffed, frustrated. “I know! I just…” He trailed off.

He pulled his knees close to his body, bag still in his lap, like he was making himself as small as possible.

He stared out the window as the quiet neighborhood streets rolled by.

Dylan had always been small for his age.

He had a mop of wavy blond hair, hazel eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his face just like mine.

He was whip-smart, leaps and bounds ahead of his peers, but I knew he struggled to express himself.

Especially now, when his shifter puberty was starting to rear its head.

“He called you a name that made you angry?” I prompted.

“It wasn’t only that,” Dylan grumbled.

“Then what was it?”

“He said I’d never be good at shifting because I didn’t have a dad,” Dylan said. “He’s a wolf. He said dragons are always difficult. And that’s why I don’t have a dad. And that made me so mad I… I was so mad I hit him. It happened so fast. I really didn’t mean to, Mom, I promise.”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. My kid might be the shifter, but I felt a sudden rush of dragon-rage myself. But at the same time, I felt my heart break, too. Kids could be so mean. And this was my fault, too. I’d avoided this conversation for too long, and now Dylan was paying the price.

“I’m sorry too, kiddo.”

Dylan glanced over at me, surprise obvious in his wide eyes.

“It’s your shifter puberty,” I said. “It can make it harder for you to control your emotions. You’re going through a lot of changes right now, and I know it’s overwhelming.”

“The other shifters at school seem like they’re fine.”

“They might be. They might not be. Dragon shifters have it a little harder.” I glanced over at him, then turned my attention back to the road.

“Your shifted form is bigger, stronger, and a lot more powerful than a lot of other shifters. Growing up into that shape is a big challenge, physically and emotionally.”

“Is that why my dad didn’t want me?”

He said it so matter-of-factly that my heart broke all over again.

“No. It had nothing to do with you, Dyl, and everything to do with me and him. It was never anything to do with you.”

“Mm.” He didn’t sound convinced.