“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.