Page 65 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

My dragon stirs, restless and rattling in my chest. He reminds me of someone, but hell if I know who.

“Well… mornin’, Wade,” the cashier says, his voice suddenly a shade higher, a little too forced. He straightens up, as if Wade hasn’t just walked into the middle of a conversation he’s been stonewalling. “How’s the twins?”

His gaze flicks to me, then back to Wade, sweat beading along his hairline.

Wade gives a relaxed nod. “They’re keepin’ us busy, same as ever.” His tone is easy, but his gaze sweeps over me with an assessing calm that sets my dragon’s teeth on edge. The cashier’s smile falters, nerves creeping in like he’s itching to pull Wade aside, whisper something he doesn’t want to say in front of a stranger.

Wade adjusts the brim of his hat, and that’s when it hits me.

A scent—sharp and intoxicating—winds through my senses, sparking a possessive need I don’t understand. My dragon growls, low and hungry, every muscle in my body locking down against the urge to lunge, to close the distance and claim. It’s buried under sweat and motor oil, but unmistakable—honeyed sweetness laced with a salt-edged bite.

It’s the most alluring thing I’ve ever scented. I go instantly hard, my instincts flaring, hunting for the source.

This man, of all people—this sun-bleached, all-American human—carries a scent that calls to every primal fiber of my being.

A low growl curls up from my chest, and I barely stifle it, clamping down on my dragon’s instinct.

Him?

You have got to be kidding me.

My dragon slams into me like a battering ram, claws out, scrambling to get to… what he’s sure is his mate. I reel, vision blurring, as Wade continues exchanging easy greetings with all the gormless townsfolk.

“He’s got the twins all worn out,” Wade says, an easy smile on his face, completely oblivious to the chaos unraveling inside me. He’s only a few feet away, the scent stronger now, wrapping around me like a siren song, impossible to ignore.

It’s impossible. No human should provoke this reaction. Least of all this man.

I take another inhale. He’s not a shifter, a demon, or a witch. Just flesh, blood, and sun-drenched confidence. But my dragon doesn’t care. He’s thrashing, pulling me forward, and for one disorienting moment, I’m almost certain—

“Excuse me.”

The words scrape out, rough and strained. My eyes lock on Wade.

He glances over, an eyebrow lifting. His gaze flickers to the gold glinting in mine, the claws pressing at my fingertips. And then, he tilts his head, amused. Like I’m a curiosity, not a threat.

“Son, you look like you’re fixin’ to bust outta your skin,” he drawls, calm as a breeze. He turns back to the cashier, sliding some bills onto the counter. “Bobby, give me a sec here, would ya?”

The cashier shrugs, indifferent, and Wade sidesteps me with that easy, unbothered grace, gesturing for me to follow him outside.

I’m too caught off guard to argue. Every step makes the scent stronger, and my dragon is ready to tear this place apart to get at it. My eyes fix on his ass, and I shake my head, desperate to clear the fog.

Outside, the Mississippi heat wraps around us, thick and suffocating. The scent lingers, a humming note in the back of my mind, winding around my senses like barbed wire.

Wade strolls over to the fuel pumps, hands stuffed in his pockets, as if we’re about to chat about the weather. But my dragon’s claws press against my skin, a low, feral growl rising in my throat

“Alright, big guy.”

He looks me up and down, his face relaxed, but those piercing blue eyes are sharp. Too sharp.

“Seems like you got a case of the, uh… unexpected urges.”

He gives me a sideways glance, his mouth tugging into a half-smile. “Look, I’m flattered, son. Really.”

His gaze narrows.

“But you can’t go shifting in the EZ-Mart.” He chuckles, nodding toward the shop. “Bobby’s heart couldn’t take it.”

He pauses, his voice dipping lower, colder.

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