Page 6

FOUR

ASHER

A sher couldn't tear his eyes away from Danica as she stood there in that tailored charcoal dress, her long brown hair falling over one shoulder, looking entirely too delicate after nearly being crushed by the festival archway beam.

His dragon clawed beneath his skin, demanding he keep her close and safe.

The memory of her body against his chest—light, warm, and perfectly nestled in his arms for those brief seconds—sent a rush of heat through him.

"We should head to my office," he said, loosening another button on his shirt and rolling his sleeves higher.

The physical effort of catching that beam had barely taxed him, but the surge of protective instinct it triggered left him overheated.

"I've got the festival binder there, along with my laptop. "

"Your office at town hall?" Danica asked, tucking her notebook into her purse.

"No, my home office. It's close by, and I can show you what I've put together so far."

"Which isn't much," she teased, a smile playing on her lips.

"Which isn't organized," he corrected, returning her smile despite himself. "There's a difference."

He led her to the sleek red Porsche parked at the curb that he had his second-in-command Caleb drive over while they were surveying the festival grounds. He enjoyed the widening of her brown eyes as he opened the passenger door for her.

"Nice car for a small-town mayor," she remarked, sliding into the leather seat.

"Family money," he explained, closing her door and walking around to the driver's side, and sliding into his leather seat. "The Ectorius family founded this town. We've had some successful ventures over the centuries."

"Centuries?" Her eyebrows arched as he started the engine.

"Figure of speech," he said smoothly, pulling away from the curb. But his mind churned with thoughts that were anything but smooth.

Dragon shifters lived far longer than humans.

Their matings were permanent, spanning centuries.

If Danica truly was his mate—and every instinct screamed that she was—that complicated things exponentially.

How did you explain to a human that they were destined to be with you for a lifespan far beyond what they'd ever imagined possible?

Worse, how did you protect a human mate?

Dragons were built for combat, with scales that deflected most weapons and strength that rivaled industrial machinery.

Danica had none of that. No enhanced hearing to detect danger, no heightened reflexes to dodge falling objects, no natural armor, and no ability to fly away from threats.

She was fragile. Vulnerable. Mortal in ways that made his chest tighten with ancient fear.

"You're quiet," Danica observed as they drove through the tree-lined streets. "Worried about the festival?"

He glanced at her profile, memorizing the gentle slope of her nose and the fullness of her lips. "Among other things."

The short drive to his estate gave him time to reconsider his decision. Maybe he should send her away. Protect her from the dangers of his world by keeping her out of it entirely. His dragon snarled at the thought, rejecting it outright.

When they pulled up to the wrought iron gates of his property, Danica let out a soft whistle.

"When you said 'home office,' I wasn't expecting a mansion."

The gates swung open automatically, and Asher drove up the curved driveway lined with ancient oak trees.

"The family home has always belonged to the Alpha."

"Alpha," she repeated. "Gerri mentioned that. You're the leader of the local dragon... group?"

"Clutch," he corrected, parking beside the three-story colonial-style home. "It's what we call our community."

He led her inside, through the grand foyer with its crystal chandelier and up the curved staircase to his office.

The mahogany-paneled room with its wall of windows overlooking the grounds was his sanctuary, though today it felt different with Danica in it—smaller, somehow, despite its generous proportions.

His eyes fell on the festival binder splayed open on his desk, pages of notes and sketches spilling out in disorganized chaos. Next to it sat his laptop with twelve tabs open to various event planning websites.

"So," Danica said, approaching the desk with an appraising look, "this is what we're working with?"

Asher shifted his weight to hide his embarrassment. "No, this is what you're rescuing me from."

Her laugh wrapped around him like warm silk. "I've seen worse."

"I doubt that."

She pulled out her notebook, flipping it open to reveal neat columns, sketches, and what looked like a comprehensive timeline.

"I thought we could integrate some of your bigger ideas—not the color-changing ribbons, sorry—but maybe we could project some images onto the town hall at night? Much easier than lasers, and still visually impressive."

As she spoke, gesturing with slender hands that somehow conveyed both strength and vulnerability, Asher felt his resolve crumbling. He needed her. Not just for the festival, but in ways he wasn't ready to examine quite yet.

"You'll stay with me," he said, more statement than question. "I mean, to help with the festival."

Danica raised an eyebrow. "Did I ever say I wouldn't stay?"

"It's going to be dangerous though," he blurted, then immediately regretted it.

"Dangerous? It's a town festival, not a monster truck rally." She tilted her head, studying him curiously. "Unless you're planning to set the maypole on fire?"

Asher moved closer, unable to help himself. "What I mean is... people around me tend to get caught in complicated situations."

"Like almost getting crushed by falling archways?" She smiled wryly. "Good thing you were there today."

"I'll always be there," he promised, the intensity in his voice surprising even him.

Asher saw the flicker in her eyes and heard the slight catch in her breath at his words. His dragon rumbled with satisfaction. She wasn't immune to him.

He cleared his throat and stepped back, suddenly aware of how close they stood. "For the festival planning, I mean. This week. I'll be there to help you with preparations."

"Good," Danica replied, recovering quickly and jutting her chin up. "Because we're going to need all hands on deck. And you need to be attentive and not procrastinate anymore."

Heat rushed to Asher's face—a sensation so foreign he almost didn't recognize it.

No one in Ectorius dared speak to him that way.

Not his council, not his staff, certainly not anyone in his clutch.

As Alpha, his word and action were law. Yet here stood this five-foot-five human woman, challenging him as if she had every right to do so.

And damn it all, his dragon loved it.

"I don't procrastinate," he countered, guiding her behind his desk with a light touch at her lower back. "I strategize."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Her eyes glinted with amusement as she slid into the chair he pulled up beside his.

The space behind his desk wasn't designed for two. Their shoulders brushed as they settled in, and Asher caught the faintest hint of her scent. His dragon inhaled deeply, committing it to memory.

"Let me show you what I've got so far." He flipped through the massive three-ring binder with his scattered notes and printouts.

Danica's eyes widened. "That's... comprehensive."

"That's very diplomatic." He couldn't help smiling. "Go ahead, say what you're thinking."

"It's a hot mess," she admitted, flipping through the pages of half-formed ideas and unanswered vendor emails. "But there's potential here."

For the next several hours, they dove into planning, and Asher found himself both frustrated and fascinated by her approach. When she suggested bright jewel-toned tents instead of the traditional white canvas ones the festival had used for generations, he balked.

"The white tents are traditional," he insisted. "They've been part of the Founders Festival since the beginning."

"Traditional doesn't have to mean boring," Danica countered, sketching quick color swatches in her notebook. "Imagine emerald green, sapphire blue, and rich purple tents, with LED fairy lights woven through the tops after dark."

"Fairy lights?" Asher frowned. The irony wasn't lost on him—dragons discussing fairy lights.

"Trust me, the effect is magical." Her fingers brushed his arm as she turned to her tablet, pulling up examples. "See? It transforms the whole space."

The pictures were admittedly stunning, but Asher's resistance ran deeper than aesthetics. This was his clutch's heritage, and his responsibility to uphold.

"We'll consider it," he said noncommittally, turning the page to the food vendors.

"You've only got three food stalls listed," Danica noted. "A funnel cake stand, lemonade, and—what's this? 'Family food contributions'?"

"The clutch families always bring their traditional dishes to share," Asher explained. "It's part of our?—"

"Wait." Danica's hand landed on his arm, warm and disruptive. "Let me get this straight. You're making your own townspeople cook for your festival? The same people who are supposed to be celebrating?"

"It's tradition," Asher defended, bristling at her tone. "Every family contributes their specialties."

"And who gets to enjoy the festival while everyone's stuck behind serving tables?" She arched an eyebrow, challenging him directly.

No one in his entire life had ever questioned his judgment this bluntly. His dragon bristled, but something else stirred beneath the surface—respect. She saw problems he'd been blind to, and questioned traditions he'd never thought to examine.

"What would you suggest?" he asked finally, surprising himself with his willingness to bend.

"Food trucks," she said immediately. "Invite vendors from surrounding areas. Pay them to drive in from New Orleans. Your people should be enjoying the festival, not working it."