Page 5 of Mountain Protector

“Sorry about the mess,” she says, moving a stack of books off a chair. “Wasn’t expecting company until later.”

“It’s fine.” I remain standing, scanning the room. Original tattoo designs cover one entire wall—intricate, dark, beautiful work. Nothing like the commercial flash I’ve seen in most shops. These tell stories. “These yours?”

“Yeah.” She tucks a strand of purple-streaked black hair behind her ear. “Do you need coffee? I need coffee.”

“Already had some.”

She pads to the kitchen, and I watch her move. She’s wearing tiny sleep shorts that barely cover her ass and that worn tank top. Her body is a canvas—tattoos swirling down her arms, across her shoulders, disappearing under fabric. I spot a large piece on her thigh—a wolf surrounded by night-blooming flowers.

When I look up, Ruby’s watching me, coffee mug in hand, head tilted. Something passes between us. Her lips part slightly, and heat pools low in my gut.

I’ve heard the stories about this town. People meeting and just knowing. Love at first sight. Always thought it was bullshit. Small-town fairy tales for bored locals. Now I get it. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s fucking brutal, like being hit by lightning and wanting more.

Ruby breaks eye contact first.

“I should get dressed. We need to be at the shop in twenty.” She sets down her mug. “Can you make sure Spike’s carrier is by the door? He comes with us.”

“Sure.”

She disappears down the hallway, and I exhale, not realizing I’d been holding my breath.

What the fuck is happening to me?

I’ve been a bodyguard for years. Had plenty of attractive clients. Never once felt this instant, overwhelming need to claim someone. To protect them, not because it’s my job, but because the thought of anything happening to her makes my blood run cold.

I find Spike’s carrier beneath a pile of sketchbooks and move it to the door. The little dragon watches me from his perch on a small rock under a heat lamp. His enclosure is immaculate. It’s the one organized space in this chaotic apartment.

“You’re the priority, huh?” I say to him.

Spike blinks at me, unimpressed.

I circle the living room, taking in more details. A photo of Ruby with an older couple, presumably the Morrisons, owners of Fit Mountain Ink where she works. A small collection of vintage lighters on a shelf. Medical textbooks mixed with art references. The more I see, the more I want to know.

“Checking for security threats or just nosy?”

I turn to find Ruby in the doorway, transformed.

Gone are the sleep shorts and tank, replaced by ripped black jeans and a fitted gray tank that shows off her tattooed arms. Combat boots. Hair pulled back in a messy bun that somehow looks deliberate. A small silver hoop glints in her nose.

“Both,” I admit, not bothering to hide that I was studying her belongings. “It’s my job to know your environment.”

“And what have you learned?”

“You’re an artist first, tattoo apprentice second. You like order in your work but not your living space. You take better care of your pet than yourself. And you don’t sleep enough.”

Her eyebrows rise. “All that from ten minutes in my apartment?”

“I’m observant.”

“Clearly.” She grabs a leather jacket from a hook. “So, Mr. Observant, any insights on how Holloway managed to escape from Blackwater?”

I move closer to her, not missing how her breathing changes when I enter her space.

“Not my job. My job is to keep you safe until the police figure it out.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

I reach past her to grab Spike’s carrier, my arm brushing hers. The contact is brief but electric. “By not leaving your side.”

---