Page 2 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

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.

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