by Fel Fern
“Who is this?” Oh no. Now Toby sounded suspicious.
“I’m Striker, Smoke’s best friend. You know, we partied together in BeastWorld.”
“Oh!” Toby’s voice warmed. “I didn’t realize you and Smoke were that close.”
They really weren’t. “So listen, I’m having PC problems and I can’t afford to get a new one, so I’m hoping your mate can help me,” he said.
“Actually, if yours is broken, we have a spare laptop here that can probably run most applications.”
Striker blinked, not realizing Smoke’s mate was generous. Then again, Toby wouldn’t be Ron’s best friend if he was selfish or self-serving. “It can run BeastWorld?”
“Uh, I think so—oh, hey baby, I’m talking to your best friend.”
Smoke must have snatched his phone, because a growl tickled through. “You’re calling yourself my what?”
“I need your help, buddy.”
“Buddy?”
“What’s gotten you in such a bad mood? I need you to help me fix my PC, but your mate offered me a spare laptop.”
“For work? You haven’t found a job yet?” Smoke seemed more sympathetic now.
“Yeah, well.” Striker ran a hand through his hair. “With my track record in breaking shit, no one would hire me.”
“I’ll be right over, and I’ll bring the laptop, too, just in case.”
“I have cold beers, and I can heat up frozen pizzas,” he said quickly. Striker never really had a guy friend before. Dragon shifters were truly isolated individuals, but his dragon seemed to accept Smoke was an ally. “So, what do you say?”
“Well, I kind of have a romantic evening planned,” Smoke complained. “You know, it’s date night.”
Date night? Striker envisioned taking Ron out on the town, maybe they could do some couple shit, the things he read on his gay romance novels, his guilty pleasure. No one in town would dare look suspiciously at him, not with Ron on his arm. He didn’t even know what Ron looked like, but he didn’t care. Ron was probably amazing in real life.
“Just go,” Striker heard Toby said in the background.
“I rather have you,” Smoke grumbled.
“Gag,” he muttered. “So, you’re helping me or not?”
Smoke sighed on the other end. “I’ll fly over there in an hour.”
His phone rang a couple of minutes later. Good thing he checked who was calling first.
Carl Bennett. Sheriff. Potential trouble. Striker and the local law enforcement around these parts didn’t exactly have the best relationship. No one could kick a dragon out of his chosen territory, so Striker had formed a kind of truce with both the human authorities and the shifter groups living around the town of Horn and the lands surrounding it.
Unfortunately, Striker had some incidents where he’d lost his temper and was responsible for a couple of property damages. No one was seriously harmed, only foolish shifters who wanted to find out what it felt like, challenging a dragon shifter. It never ended well for them.
Striker looked at his black computer screen and silenced his phone. He had no patience or time to deal with Bennett. Besides, Striker was pretty sure he hadn’t caused any trouble in town lately. Striker had other more important things on his mind.
If his computer didn’t break down, would Ron agree to meeting him face-to-face, or would Ron blow him off? No, Ron didn’t strike him as the type who gave excuses just to avoid him. A plan formed in Striker’s head. He’d get Smoke stone-drunk, not an easy feat, but he’d act all depressed so Smoke would drink with him. Then he’d eventually find out from Smoke’s lips where exactly his potential mate lived.
Chapter 3
Ron closed his fridge and opened it again, as if that would magically fill it with food. His stomach growled. Ron had two choices, order pizza or head across the street to the grocer. Maybe he could make something passably healthy for a change. Besides, most of the delivery guys probably knew his face by now, and it wouldn’t hurt to head outside for some actual sun.
He grimaced. Three days after losing his job and his social anxiety had already gotten worse. Ron changed into jeans, grabbed his favorite dark green hoodie, and headed outside. He hurried to the grocer, his thoughts scattered. Ron grabbed a basket and surveyed the store. This early in the morning, only a couple of moms were doing their morning shopping. Good. Ron didn’t do well with crowds, so he never did any shopping on the weekends.
Striker had been offline for three days now. He bit his lip as he looked over the bread display. Sandwiches were easy enough to make, so he grabbed some bread and moved on to the dairy section for some cheese.
What do you think about meeting me in real life?
Striker’s question kept floating in his head, but the guy suddenly went offline. Strange. Was that supposed to be a practical joke? Ron didn’t think so, or hoped his instincts were right. Toby met Smoke in real life, too. Ron had accompanied his friend to their first meeting. Smoke turned out to be his drop-dead gorgeous dragon shifter in real life.
Nah. Ron laughed to himself and shook his head. Good things like that never happened to him.
“Hey, Ron. Is that you?” a familiar female voice called.
Slowly, he turned and grimaced seeing Sandy Miller, the receptionist at his old office and a huge gossip. What was she doing here? Sandy was in a sleek black dress and had what looked like a designer bag slung over one arm. He spotted the bag of kiwis in her hand and remembered the big boss, Ian, liked his fruit shakes. She was probably running an errand for him.
Should he walk away and pretend he never heard her? Burrell was a small town, so eventually, Ron knew he’d bumped into someone he used to know from work. The click-clack of her heels on the floor told him she had closed the distance between them while he was debating whether to flee or confront her.
“Sandy, hey,” he said, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He needed a shave, for one, and he must have looked like a bum to her.
“Still don’t have a job, huh?” She gave him a look of pity.
“Ron, there you are,” a voice suddenly interrupted. Will, the Alpha of the local wolf pack, headed their way, his grocery basket stacked high with steaks. The only reason Ron knew the Alpha was because Toby and he had trouble with two werewolves in the past, and if it weren’t for Will and Smoke, Toby and he might no longer be standing.
He didn’t miss the way Sandy licked her lips at the sight of Will. He didn’t blame her. Will won the town’s most eligible bachelor or something, he read that on the town’s online newsletter. Most of the time, the paranormals kept to their side of the fence, but Will had some kind of ability that made him get along with the human occupants in town.
“Will, hey,” he muttered.
“I wanted to personally thank you for helping design the pack’s website,” Will told him.
He blinked. “Oh, no problem.”
Sandy looked from Will then to him. “Oh, who are you working for now, Ron?”
“Freelancing,” he said.
“This guy’s pretty talented, too,” Will said, flashing her a fanged smile.
Thank God, Sandy’s phone rang and she had to excuse herself. Before she left, she flashed the Alpha a wink, then said, “I hope to bump into you again, Alpha.”
Once she was no longer within earshot, he told Will, “Thanks.”
Will raised his eyebrows. “For what?”
“You know what,” he mumbled. “Maybe you saw I was uncomfortable and came to my aid or something.”
“Must be your imagination.”
“Yeah, probably.” Embarrassed now, he coughed. “So, anyway, I’ve got to go.”
He walked quickly to the nearest check-out counter, although he only had cheeses and bread in his basket. Ron heard quick footsteps behind him. No surprise the werewolf caught up to him easily.
“Can you please hurry up and scan my stuff?” he told the cashier. Great. Story of his life. Ron constantly made a fool of himself. Will was really a nice
guy. They only met once, when Will intervened from stopping Smoke in turning those two werewolf bullies to ash. After that, he only communicated with Will through emails, because the Alpha wanted some graphic work done on their pack website.
“Ron, wait. You’re right,” Will said.
“Cash or credit,” the cashier asked in a bored-sounding voice.
He took out his card from his wallet and handed it over, wishing he could speed up time.
“I overheard you two talking, so I decided to butt in,” Will said.
“What? Oh, then thanks. I guess.” He took his groceries.
“You busy? Want to get coffee?”
Woah. He slowly spun, watching the cashier ring up Will’s purchases. Ron couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked him on a date. Maybe never, because what did his dating experience amount to? Random matches on online dating apps that turned out to be duds. Here was a real, handsome guy, a total catch, asking him for coffee. Except Ron didn’t really feel any sparks, not the way he got all excited to chat with Striker online.
Striker got him, understood his lame jokes, and he felt like he could talk to Striker about anything. Except Striker wasn’t real, at least not the way Will was. Could he even afford to be picky, given the dismal state of his dating life? What if Will was playing a joke on him? Then why did Will come to his rescue, as if the Alpha knew he was awkward in social situations?
“At least let me walk you home,” Will added. “If you don’t want that coffee.”
“No, it’s not that. I don’t have an answer for you yet,” he blurted, unsure why they started walking side-by-side.
“So, that’s not an outright rejection. I can work with that.”
“How’s Benny and Ray?” he asked unthinkingly. Oh great. Bringing up the two werewolves who caused Toby and him trouble wasn’t a great conversation starter. It might imply that he, a human, was doubting Will’s abilities as the Alpha of his own wolf pack or something.
“I cut them off from the pack.”
This was news. He widened his eyes. “Really?”
“I’ve discussed the issue with other pack members and we’ve come to same conclusion. Any werewolf who breaks the rules, who wants to start fights they can’t win with other paranormals, would only bring trouble to our pack,” Will said with a shrug.
They entered his apartment building now and into the lift.
“You didn’t need to walk me,” he said. “It’s not like anyone will come attack me, and what about your steaks?”
“I wanted to. Besides, I didn’t realize you live so close. I thought we could talk more and I could convince you to change your mind about that coffee.”
The elevator pinged and the doors opened to his floor.
Any guy would want to date Will, would feel lucky Will asked them out in the first place. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like anyone was lining up at his door, and Striker suddenly went all MIA on him three days ago. Striker was faceless, some stranger he played BeastWorld with—except to Ron, all the time they spent together was so much more.
He stepped out of the lift, then halted. Someone stood right in front of his door, a tall, buffed guy with striking golden hair, who peered at a tiny piece of paper clutched in his hand. Then the guy turned, and he froze up. Ron didn’t understand why every muscle in his body locked up in place.
Slitted golden eyes set in a bearded, roughly handsome face stared at him. This stranger wore a plain white tee and black jeans that hugged every hard plane and muscle. His dick stirred. Oh crap. This wasn’t the most appropriate reaction, Ron knew that, and he also understood that Will, being a shifter, could probably smell his—
Then the stranger narrowed his eyes and let out a strange sound. Not exactly a growl, but some kind of brassy sounding rumble that sounded like thunder. He heard that noise before. From a silver dragon, perched on the roof of Toby’s apartment building. A dragon shifter. Actual thunder rumbled outside. A moment ago, it was sunny, and the weather app on his phone told him the chances of rain were zero.
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my town?” Will demanded with a growl.
“Me? I’m Striker. Ron’s husband.”
“Husband?” Will practically croaked out the words, before slowly looking at him. “You’re married?”
Ron took a couple of seconds to process both Will and Striker’s words.
Striker? His Striker from BeastWorld? Oh wow. Striker kind of looked like his toon in-game, all golden and well. Big. Had Ron fallen into some alternative dimension? Because suddenly, there seemed to be two very Alpha males fighting over him.
Yeah. That was probably it. This must be some kind of dream, because in real life, he could barely hang onto a date. Ron wasn’t sure if he wanted to wake up or stay to find out what would happen next. His palms started to sweat as the tension mounted. Ron was human, so he didn’t know what was happening, but he swore, the corridor suddenly turned hot, like he was in a sauna.
“I—” Ron had no idea what to say in a situation like this. Nothing in life ever prepared him for two shifters who looked ready to rip out each other’s throats.
Chapter 4
Who was this prick? The moment the cute human with the brown hair and big, expressive, chocolate brown eyes behind thick black glasses exited the lift, certainty filled Striker. This human, with the most alluring scent that drew his dragon close to the surface, this was Ron. Ron was the one. His mate. For some reason, this stupid mutt got in his way.
“You never mentioned,” the werewolf was telling Ron, “that you have a husband.”
Striker cracked his knuckles and strode to this wolf, who was crowding his mate. Why was Ron with this werewolf? A boyfriend? No, Ron didn’t smell like wet fur, the wolf’s scent wasn’t on him. Still, Striker saw red. He didn’t like it when outsiders entered his territory without his permission, and okay, he was the stranger in this town, but Ron?
Ron had always been his.
“Wait, this is misunderstanding,” Ron said quickly, planting himself between them both. Ron placed a hand on his chest. The human swallowed and looked at him. Such a small hand, Striker thought, compared to his huge ones. Unable to help himself, he took Ron’s fingers and planted a kiss on them. That made the werewolf snarl.
Ron didn’t bat his touch away, though, and he did smell the human’s need when they locked gazes. Ron must have felt it, too, the fire coursing through his veins, through his entire body.
“This is a little hard to explain,” Ron said.
“I’m Will, the Alpha of the Burrell wolf pack, and we’re the dominant animal group around these parts,” Will said, pupils amber.
“Those words mean squat to me, wolf. Back away from my mate now, or I’ll turn you into toast.”
Will snarled, baring his fangs.
Oh. Shit. Smoke mentioned he was kind of friends with this Will, and damn it, Smoke would get mad if Striker set fire to this mutt by accident. Still, being in the same tiny corridor as another shifter put his dragon on edge.
“Funny,” Will said. “I don’t see your mate mark on Ron or a ring on his finger.”
Did this wolf seriously think he still stood a chance with his Ron? Striker could easily turn him into wolf crisps and apologize to Smoke later for barbecuing his friend. Glancing at Ron’s fuming face, he decided against it, but Will scraped at his nerves. A mate mark, huh? Well, Striker couldn’t just bite Ron here, could he?
No, while he was dead certain Ron was his forever mate, there was a proper way to do things like this. Even Smoke confided in him that it took a lot of patience not to claim Toby right away. Human mates wanted romance, although Striker couldn’t figure out why they couldn’t do that after he bit Ron. No, he told the prickly golden dragon inside him.
There was only one solution then. He met the puny wolf’s gaze and huffed. “We’re getting to that. Today. And you’re not invited, so go away before I seriously lose my temper.”
* * * *
> Striker’s answer stunned him a couple of seconds. The dragon shifter sounded completely serious, too.
“Hold on. What?” Okay, one problem at a time. Ron turned to Will. “Thank you for walking me home but—”
“He’s too nice to say it, but he wants you gone,” Striker said with a smirk. “Ron chose me, buster. So bye-bye.”
Who did this dragon shifter think he was? Oh, they definitely were about to have some serious words.
Will frowned. “Ron, you have my number. Don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you need any help.” Will didn’t take the elevator this time around and opted to take the stairs instead.
“Never thought that mutt would leave,” Striker muttered.
Now that they were alone, he walked up to Striker, gave the big shifter a push, and used his key to open the door.
“We’ll have this discussion inside, my neighbors will probably gossip about me after this,” he muttered.
“What got you so mad?” Striker asked once they were inside. “You can’t believe how happy I am to finally see you face-to-face.”
Striker was? That was kind of sweet, and real-life Striker seemed exactly like the same guy in the game—hold on a second. Ron had every right to be mad.
He pushed one finger into Striker’s massive chest, swallowing when Striker grasped his fingers in his, then tugged him close. Ron dropped his bag of groceries and squeaked as their chests, stomachs, and groins touched. Oh. God. He didn’t know dragon shifters burned this hot. His dick painfully strained against his jeans. Once more, Ron was stunned by the instantaneous spark between them.
“You did,” he said, recovering from his initial shock. “You can’t just come here and assume I’m going to marry you or something.”
Striker ran his callused fingers up his arm, planting one muscled arm around his waist. Ron could have pushed him away, could have stepped aside, but he didn’t do any of those things. He didn’t want to. It had been ages, far too long since anyone touched him intimately like this, and no one ever looked at him the way Striker did—with fierce intensity, like he wanted to swallow him all up. It was as if Striker didn’t see anything else but him, Ron, who felt invisible his entire life.
