Page 93 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

He groans again—this one broken, reverent—and then we’re flying.

Not literally, but it feels like it.

Like our bodies are just along for the ride while something bigger than us—our bond, our fate—takes hold and soars.

When we finally come down from that place, panting, tangled, and trembling in each other’s arms, I realize something with a clarity that leaves me breathless.

This isn’t the end of something reckless.

It’s the beginning of everything.

And there is no place on earth I’d rather be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN-ZEKE

I don’t like this.

I haven’t liked it since she kissed my cheek this morning, promised she’d be careful, and walked into that damn school like it was just another Wednesday.

Like her psychotic ex isn’t out there somewhere plotting gods-know-what.

Like she isn’t carrying my fucking soul in that beautiful, fragile human body.

But Casey insisted she needed to work today.

Tie up loose ends.

Finish charts for the kids who rely on her for meds.

Leave things better than she found them, because that’s the kind of woman she is.

And I admire the hell out of that—her grace, her strength.

Just like I admire the fact that my woman is practically a damn doctor.

We haven’t talked in detail yet about what she wants next, career-wise, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever Casey decides, I’m one hundred percent behind her.

If she wants to pick back up where she left off before that bastard hijacked her life, then that’s what she’ll do. No question.

Hell, I already have some of Max’s contacts quietly checking with Barren County Memorial Hospital to see if there are open spots for her to finish up her internship.

It’s only twenty minutes from the ranch. Just off Route 80. And you better believe I’ll be there to drive her back and forth every damn day, if that’s what it takes.

Because yeah, I want my mate safe and protected at all times.

This might be the twenty-first century, but I’m an old-fashioned Dragon like that. Sue me.

Still, admiration doesn’t quiet the storm inside me.

Not when my Dragon’s pacing in the shadows of my mind, low growls vibrating through our shared core.

Not when every inch of my instincts—sharpened over decades of battle, survival, and blood—are screaming that something is off.

I’m in the horse pen, brushing down Peanut, our steadiest, gentlest gelding. The same one I saddled for Casey during our first ride together.

That memory alone should calm me. Her laughter in the wind. Her thighs snug against the saddle. Her nervous smile turning radiant when she realized she could trust me, and the horse.

But my focus is shot to hell.

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