Page 72 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

Blooming.

And I mean, wow, it is so beautiful.

“Hey, your tattoo?—”

“It’s not really a tattoo,” he says, voice low and careful.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“It’s my Dragon’s Rose. And now, uh, you have one, too.”

I can’t think. Can’t breathe.

I mean, it’s one thing to get caught up in the whole “hey, I’m a Dragon” thing during sex.

In the heat of the moment—with hormones high, skin flushed, and his mouth doing unspeakably talented things—it felt fine.

Even hot.

Like, of course, the man who could kiss me into another dimension might also be a mythical creature. That tracks.

But now? In the cold light of after?

When I’m staring at a glowing rose mark on my chest that wasn’t there yesterday?

I feel kind of crazy.

Like, legit might need a CAT scan kind of crazy.

Because how else do you process the fact that your weekend rebound is not only a cowboy with the body of a Greek statue and the stamina of a marathon runner, but also apparently a fire-breathing apex predator who imprinted on you like some sort of magical soul mate?

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

This is not how normal people’s summer break stories begin.

“So, let me get this straight,” I begin, trying not to freak the fuck out.

Oops. Too late.

“You gave me a magical tramp stamp over my heart?”

He lets out a surprised bark of laughter.

“No! I mean, well, not exactly. It’s more like a mating mark. A soul bond.”

“Oh my God.” I feel faint. “You soul-bonded me during sex?”

“I—we—we didn’t know it would trigger that now,” he stammers, reaching for me. “It only happens when the bond is real. When the match is truly fated. It’s sacred, Petals. You and me? We’re destiny.”

I don’t even register the tenderness in his voice.

I’m up and off the bed in a flash, wrapping the sheet around myself like a shield.

“You’re telling me this, this not tattoo that burned into my chest means I’m what? Like your property or something?!”

“No! Not my property. My mate,” he says, his perfectly arched eyebrows raised high and I’m starting to hate how perfectly gorgeous he is.

“Mate? Like some kind of mystical supernatural WIFE?!”

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