Page 107 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

Sharp, sour, and unfiltered.

Good.

I want him afraid.

Because I’m not here to talk. I’m not here to negotiate.

I’m here to end him.

My claws scrape the pavement as I take a step forward, each talon sparking against the concrete.

Gold-tipped wings flare wide, casting my shadow like a blanket over the entire lot.

My teeth—serrated and made to shred—flash as I open my jaws, and a low growl builds into something guttural. Primordial.

He tries to scramble back toward the car, slipping on the wet pavement, shoes skidding uselessly as the first fat drops of a fresh storm hit the ground.

Too late.

My Dragon is in control now.

Lethal. Righteous. Pissed.

You don’t hurt a Dragon’s mate and walk away.

You definitely don’t touch what’s mine and live to tell the story.

This isn’t vengeance.

This is law.

My chest glows, gold cracks of heat building beneath my scales, and I let out a warning roar that makes the very air ripple.

It shakes the trees. Rattles the buildings. Shudders the earth.

Run, I think to him. Make it fun.

But he doesn’t. He freezes.

And that’s the last mistake he ever makes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO-CASEY

Something they don’t always tell you in med school—but I learned during a forensic pathology rotation—is that to reduce a human body to ash, you need a flame that burns at around sixteen hundred degrees. And even then, it takes hours.

But Dragons?

Yeah. They don’t follow the rules.

The second Zeke’s massive jaw opens and I hear it—that little click like a lighter being struck—my legs move without hesitation.

I step away from the car. Away from him.

Michael.

The man who stalked me, kidnapped me, terrorized me. The one who tore apart my dreams and thought he owned my body, my future, my fucking life.

But he doesn’t anymore.

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