Page 94 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

Every time I blink, I see her.

Casey.

My Petals.

That wide, genuine smile. Her soft brown eyes that hold galaxies.

The Dragon’s Rose now etched into her skin, glowing faintly against the swell of her breast whenever we touch.

Just like mine.

It pulses with her heartbeat. With mine. They’re more than just symbols. They’re the marks of our matebond.

Living proof of our connection.

And gods, the way mine tingles when I kiss her? When I touch her?

I’ll have to ask her if she feels it, too.

That surge of heat. The thread that pulls taut between us anytime we’re apart.

This morning, when I dropped her off at school, I kissed her goodbye and something inside me howled.

My Dragon didn’t like it. Not one damn bit.

I had the strongest urge to slam the truck door shut, throw the gear in reverse, and drive off with her tucked beside me where she belongs.

I didn’t, of course. Because she’s got pride, a good heart, and she wanted to finish what she started.

But now?

Now, I’m regretting the hell out of letting her out of my sight.

A strange ripple travels up my spine. My breath stills. The brush in my hand falters. Peanut shifts beneath me, sensing my tension, and whinnies softly.

My Rose—it burns.

Not in pain. Not like before. But like a flare going up in the middle of the night sky.

And just like that, my blood goes cold.

Something’s wrong.

Jed's chuckling as one of the goats tries to eat his shoelaces. “You’re gonna yank the whole damn boot off, Dolly Lou, and then what? You gonna learn how to drive the truck next?”

I grunt, distracted.

Kian is moving the herd of dairy cows to the south pasture, and Dante is working on the tractor with Emmet in the old barn.

I don’t know where Max is. Probably at his house with his babies, and I can’t say I blame him.

He’s been putting in a lot of time in the wee hours of the morning while they sleep just so he can be a hands-on kind of dad.

Must be nice.

I didn’t have a father to teach me shit growing up, so I genuinely appreciate his efforts.

Knowing his grandmother’s terms on the property, how he has to do sixty percent of the work himself, or he has to pay huge fines to the Leeds’ estate through his lawyer, only makes me respect him more.

---