Chapter One

EZRA GAVE his sports car more gas as he sped down the abandoned country road. The moon was full, illuminating the way, but it wasn't needed. His vision was enhanced, as were all of his other senses. It was a byproduct of his kind—men who could shape-shift into dragons. The stuff of myths and legends.

He rubbed his freshly-shaved chin, still not used to the clean-cut look. He'd also recently shaved off all his hair, something he regretted and planned to grow back out.

He popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and fidgeted in the driver's seat, the craving for a cigarette all-consuming. Smoking was a dirty habit he'd had since long before the Surgeon General began issuing warnings about its dangers.

He'd attended medical school more times than he could actually recall, each time learning new techniques that had come along with a refresher of the old. He'd also fought in too many wars to count, serving as everything from a field medic to a physician. Whatever the time needed, he provided.

He'd once made it his life's work to help others —to try to heal the sick and injured. He'd been the type of guy others could respect. Nowadays, he walked a fine line between good and evil. There were days he didn't even recognize himself when he looked in the mirror.

Right now, he didn't much care.

He just wanted a smoke.

He knew the dangers of it, but they didn't affect him. He'd been smoking for over a hundred years. As a supernatural, he was immune to human diseases. That being said, he was trying to cut back. His smoking had reached chain-level status. As he chomped on the peppermint-flavored gum, he began to second-guess his newfound urge to quit. The gum really wasn't a great substitute. He'd have given in and lit up, but his pack of cigarettes was in his jacket pocket that was currently in the trunk. He'd purposely put it back there in hopes he'd think twice about pulling over to retrieve it.

A flicker of orange light grabbed his attention out of the corner of his eye a second before he caught the faint whiff of smoke. Someone was probably having a bonfire or campfire in the heavily wooded area.

Shifting gears, he continued to drive at a speed most stunt car drivers would avoid. He glanced to the right and did a double take when he realized what the orange glow was—a full-blown fire. He was on a time crunch, having just checked in with his handler at Paranormal Security and Intelligence (PSI). And he had a meeting with the bad guys soon that he couldn't miss. The mission depended on it.

As a Shadow Agent, he didn't keep anything close to regular hours, nor did he appear in PSI's records. It was important that his identity as an operative with the organization remain as secret as possible. Not that PSI was publishing a list of employees or anything. No. Outside of the world of supernaturals, PSI wasn't known. Humans were to be kept ignorant of the supernatural and for good reason.

They had zero ability to handle the truth.

Each time in the past that supernaturals had tried to bring humans into the fold, they'd failed epically. In the time of Ancient Greece, supernaturals were worshiped as gods when they were anything but. In the Middle Ages, they were thought to be witches, demons, and sorcerers. While some were all of those things and more, ignorant humans had painted all supernaturals with the same brush of evil and burned many at the stake. History was steeped with incidents of humans reacting poorly to that which they could not understand.

Humans are stupid, he thought as he continued to drive, the smell of smoke increasing enough for him to confirm the fire was quite large.

Already behind schedule because of his check- in with his handler, Ezra intended to keep going. As cold as it sounded, he'd learned long ago to stay out of human affairs unless ordered to intervene for work. He'd been a Shadow Agent for so long that the lines between right and wrong often blurred for him. He knew that, so did his handler, and the few close friends he had.

He smelled more smoke, and was about to ignore it and punch the car into top speed, when the strangest of feelings came over him. Unable to disregard it, he looked for a turnoff. He spotted a road ahead on the right and slowed enough to take the turn safely. In his sports car, that meant he could still go very fast.

The car fishtailed for a moment as the road went from pavement to stone. He decreased his speed, more to protect his car than anything else. The road twisted and turned, narrowing to one lane as it cut deeper into the woods. There were no signs of anyone living this far out, but the feeling that someone needed his help forced him to continue onward. This feeling, this sense of…urgency for him—he'd never had anything close to this happen to him before. He couldn't have ignored the urge to seek out the person if he'd tried.

"I'm going to regret this," he said, rolling down his window and spitting out his gum. The flavor was gone.

He came around a bend and his breath caught as he saw what he was fairly sure used to be a farmhouse now totally engulfed in flames. As he drew the car to a stop, he caught the scent of burning flesh and death. The dragon side of him wanted to rise and take control. It was totally fine with carnage and burning humans to a crisp. In fact, he'd done so more than once in his fifteen hundred- plus years. All of the humans he'd roasted had deserved it, so he didn't harbor any guilt.

As he took in the smell of death, panic began to fill him. He wasn't sure why. He leaped from his car after barely remembering to throw it into park and cut the engine, left his door standing open wide, and rushed at the burning home. He was almost to it when he caught sight of a human male lying on the ground, to the left of the home. The man was burned badly on one side, but still very much alive. Ezra went right for him and bent to check on him. Old habits kicked in and Ezra assessed the man's state, rapidly assessing the amount of trauma.

The man seized hold of Ezra's wrist with his unburned hand, his gaze darting around wildly. "She did this."

It was clear to see the man was in a state of shock. His injuries were severe.

"The demon did this. Kill her. Send her back to hell," the man said, grimacing in pain as he clung tighter to Ezra's wrist.

Unsure what the man was going on about, Ezra pried the man's hand from his wrist. Head tilted, his sensitive hearing picked up on the telltale sounds of whimpering in the distance, over the noise of the fire blazing.

The sound of the soft cries struck him as solidly as a kick to the gut. The panic he'd felt moments prior increased tenfold. He stood, no longer concerned with the man on the ground. Facing the home, he listened, trying to figure out which direction the crying was coming from. It was female, that much he was sure of, and it sounded like she was young.

Very young.

Demon?

The man was blaming a child for the fire?

Ezra considered stomping on the man's windpipe and ending him then and there, but his worry for the child outweighed his need to kill the man. He looked to the side of the home and zeroed in on the cries.

It took him a moment to wrap his mind around the fact they were coming from within the burning inferno, not outside of it.

No one could survive a blaze like that. No one human, anyway. And the man on the ground was certainly human. Ezra ran in the direction of the back of the home, ignoring the flames as they shot out a window at him. Shards of glass pierced his exposed skin, but he paid them little mind. The wounds would heal quickly. His only worry was for the child.

The sounds of the screams grew louder, seeming to emanate from the broken window. The child couldn't possibly be in the house, could it? That was impossible. The home was totally engulfed in flames. No one could've withstood that heat. Well, no one except him. His breath caught as he heard additional cries. This time, he was sure they were coming from within the home.

Ezra lowered his head, allowed a partial shift to take place, and then looked out through the eyes of his dragon. He leapt directly through the window into the inferno. Heat rolled over him. In non- shifted form, he could withstand heat levels much greater than a human, but partially or fully shifted, he had no issues with fire or heat. In fact, his type of dragon preferred hot to cold.

It was hard to see through the flames and the smoke, even with his dragon near the surface. Tapping into his sensitive hearing, he listened for the cries once more. They came from his left, seemingly increasing over the sounds of splintering wood. He hurried in that direction.

As he took a step forward, the floor beneath him gave way, and he plummeted.

Reaching out, Ezra snatched hold of the first thing he could grip. He permitted his talons to emerge from his fingertips, helping him to dig into the beam he'd only just managed to catch. He held firm, his feet dangling. With one fluid motion, he yanked himself up, assured his footing, and then continued in the direction he'd heard the cries originating from.

Suddenly, there were no flames, no smoke, nothing in one tiny pocket of the room. A small child, no more than five or six, sat there, her head bent, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

He couldn't make sense of why the fire wasn't touching her. Everything else around her was engulfed. There was no logical reason why the small child was unscathed, but the relief he felt was enough for him to not care.

He made a move to go for her and her tiny head snapped up, her dark brown gaze locking on him and then widening.

For some reason, he'd thought the moment would be like in the movies, that she would throw her small arms open, he'd lift her and rush her to safety—being the hero, of course.

That was not what happened.

The little girl who wasn't burned, with long, unruly black hair, took one look at him and proceeded to scream her head off. She tried to scramble away, but ran out of wall space and shrieked louder.

Ezra realized he was still partially shifted and quickly resumed his human form. Putting his hands out, he bent slowly, hoping the small movements would set her mind at ease. Flames licked at his back, but he ignored them. The magiks his kind carried kept the flames from burning his clothing, something he was thankful for at the moment. Not all dragon-shifters came with magik. Some came with a great deal. He didn't. He had just enough. No more.

"I won't hurt you," he said. He tried to take another step toward her, but it was painfully clear she wanted nothing to do with him. He sighed. "Listen, kid, it's not safe for you to stay here. I'm here to help. Let me get you to safety."

She shook her head. "I have to stay," she said, her voice so tiny it broke his heart. "He said I was bad. He said the bad had to burn. But I don't burn. Why don't I burn? Why didn't you burn, either?"

Ezra's thoughts went to the man on the lawn outside. The man who had spoken of the demon. And as he bent, staring down at the small child, he smelled it—the scent of gasoline. The little girl was covered in it. It soaked her white nightgown, the ends of her hair, and pooled around her on the floor. By rights, she should have been engulfed in flames.

She wasn't.

He didn't know the reason why she hadn't burst into flames, and he didn't care. His only concern was for her and her safety. He also very much wanted to walk outside and kill the man responsible for this. But first, he had to ensure the girl was safe.

He went to his knees, knowing that whatever was keeping the girl from burning wouldn't last forever, and soon the house would collapse upon them both. He wasn't sure even he could withstand that.

"Listen, Sweet Pea, you're not bad. You're not a demon. You do not have to burn. The guy who said that was an asshole."

Her eyes widened more. "You said a bad word."

There had been a point in his unnaturally long life when he'd been what some would consider very good with children. Evidently, that point was long gone. Ezra hid his laugh at her logic. "Sorry, won't happen again. Now let me carry you out of here."

She tipped her head. "What are you? Are you a demon?"

"Some would call me that. But no. I'm not a demon. I'm special. So are you."

"I'm special?" she questioned, her big brown eyes widening more.

He wanted to hug her, but didn't dare move, worried he'd scare her more. "Yes, Sweet Pea, you are very special. What do you say we blow this Popsicle stand and get out of here before the house falls down on our heads?"

"Like the house that killed the bad witch?" she asked.

He wasn't sure he was following. "Uh, yeah, like that one."

He ripped a portion off the lower part of his T- shirt. He wanted water to soak the material in, but there was none. It would have to do for now. "Sweet Pea, I want you to hold this over your mouth and nose, okay?"

"How come?"

He wondered if all children asked so many questions, or if it was just this one in particular. "I don't want you breathing in any more smoke."

He honestly wasn't sure how she was still alive with the amount of it rolling around within the home—well, everywhere but where she sat.

"Don't need it," she protested.

He gave her a stern look. "Did that witch with the house have her nose covered?"

"No," she said, her eyes widening as she clearly began to follow his train of thought.

"And a house fell on her, right?"

Gasping, she blinked and put the material to her nose. She then opened one arm wide. He wasted no time in scooping her up and turning to assess the situation. It was grim. He knew his shifter form scared her, so he didn't want to do a partial shift again, but he wasn't sure how to walk through the flames without one.

"Sweet Pea, what I'm about to do is going to scare you. Don't cry. I won't hurt you."

She nodded, wiping the tears from her cheeks before putting her head on his shoulder and the cloth to her nose and mouth. "I trust you."

For some reason, her trust meant the world to him. He couldn't have explained it if he'd tried. Closing his eyes a moment, Ezra did a partial shift. The little girl gasped, but pressed tighter to him.

She whispered, "Are you a lizard?"

He couldn't hold back his laugh. Despite everything she'd been through, she was talking to him and being very brave. Ezra held her tighter to his chest, bent slightly, and did a silent prayer to his ancestors that the magiks running through his blood would also protect the child—just in case whatever it was that had been shielding her from the flames up until now stopped working. He tapped into his supernatural speed and ran through the flames, leaping into the air at the spot he last remembered there being no floor, hoping beyond hope that the rest of the flooring hadn't crumbled as well. When he landed on solid flooring, he exhaled and kept going.

The upper floor gave way, crashing down and blocking the window he'd entered through. He had to find a new way out. A downed support beam made it difficult to continue in the direction he'd first selected, leaving him no choice but to change course.

The little girl coughed, and he worried about her inhaling the smoke. Fear overtook him and he decided to make his own damn way out of the fiery inferno. He kicked the outer wall, knocking a hole in it that was big enough for him to walk through. As he stepped out, he took in a deep breath, moving away from the burning home as quickly as possible.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking down at the small girl in his arms.

Coughing a few more times, she nodded, and then stared around with wild eyes. "You're the fastest lizard I've ever seen. I'm gonna call you Newt."

Newt?

He couldn't help but smile. Ezra carried the child to his car and placed her gently on the passenger seat, taking the time to buckle her in as well. He shut the door, turned, and set his attention on the man on the front lawn who was writhing in agony.

Good.

Ezra planned to cause him even more pain. Unable to stop the beast side of his nature, Ezra charged the man in a haze of rage. When he reached him, he bent, snatching hold of the man and lifting him by the tattered remnants of his shirt.

Ezra snarled. "How dare you do that to her! How dare you fucking think to try to hurt her!"

Coughing up blood, the man shook his head before smiling. His teeth were stained red. "She's a demon. She should burn. But demons don't burn, do they? You should know—you didn't burn, either."

Ezra let his eyes change back into dragon form as he held the man. The man shrieked and Ezra smiled. "To you, hell yeah, I'm a demon. And I'm the last damn thing you're ever going to see on this earth."

The man began to say some other form of rhetoric, but Ezra heard none of it. He snapped the man's neck and let his body fall to the ground. With that, he turned to find the little girl looking at him from within his car.

"Shit." He took a calming breath, trying to figure out what he would say to the small child. She'd just watched him kill a man, and she'd already seen him shift forms. He was batting a thousand with her. If being doused in gasoline and left in a burning building didn't mess her up for life, being around him surely would.

He returned to his vehicle, took a seat behind the wheel, and started it once more. He glanced over at the child, expecting her to be scared of him —again. "I, uh, made him go to sleep. He was bad. It was his bedtime," he said, knowing he sounded ridiculous.

She wore a very serious expression. "The asshole can't hurt anyone again, can he? Cause he's dead, huh?" she asked, shocking Ezra.

He cleared his throat and began to pull away from the home. "Sweet Pea, you can't call people assholes."

"You did."

"And you corrected me for it, remember?" he asked, starting down the road.

"You have lizard eyes again. That's neat, Newt."

Ezra kept his gaze on the road. "Listen, kid, I'm going to take you somewhere safe and get you some help from good people. But you can't tell anyone about my lizard eyes. And you probably shouldn't mention that you don't burn. And don't talk about demons. Okay?"

"They assholes, too, Newt?"

He groaned. No one would ever allow him around a small child again, that much was for sure. "Seriously, you cannot say bad words. I shouldn't have said it."

She shrugged. "Okay, but we demons got to stick together, Newt."

"We're not demons, Sweet Pea." He grinned. "Got a name?"

"I do," she said, but she didn't offer it.

He continued down the road, working out a plan on what to do with her. He had to get back to his job—back in time for a huge meeting taking place with drug kingpins who had been pushing drugs containing supernatural blood out into the general population. It was serious, and he was already late enough as it was. He couldn't risk the mission any more than he already had.

With a heavy heart, he knew the best thing he could do for the little girl was to drop her off at a neighboring hospital. He'd put a call in to his handler and get someone from PSI to go there to retrieve her. From the way she'd not burned in a fire so hot that it required him to shift forms, he felt pretty secure in saying she wasn't human. That, or he'd just witnessed a real live miracle. PSI would be sure she was placed with a good family. One who would understand she was special.

He grabbed for his pack of gum, needing a smoke now more than ever. The little girl eyed him, and he held the pack out to her. "Want one?"

She took a piece. "Thanks."

"Sure."

She pinched her nose. "Smells like smoke in here."

He arched a brow. "Kid, we just walked out of a burning house. Of course we smell like smoke."

"Not us," she said, looking him over. "You."

"Hey, you're not smelling so great, either," he said, before thinking better of it. She smelled like she'd bathed in gasoline. That was no fault of her own. He wanted to go back and torture the man some more. He shouldn't have made his death so quick. First, he needed to get her somewhere safe and get the gasoline off her skin. It would harm a human with prolonged exposure—yet the child didn't seem to be displaying any signs it was an issue for her.

He took another deep breath, attempting to see if he could pick up on any supernatural markers on her. The gasoline was simply too overpowering for his senses. She smelled human to him, nothing more. Though, she didn't smell like the man he'd killed. He had to wonder who the man was to her— he certainly wasn't her father or a biological relative.

She leaned forward and then opened his ashtray, exposing all the butts and ash. "Eww, gross."

With a groan, Ezra took the ashtray, opened his window and dumped the contents. The little girl yelled, and he slammed on the brakes. "What?"

She pointed at him. "Newt, it's bad to litter. Go pick it up."

He blinked. "You're joking, right? Did you miss what I did to the guy back there?" With a groan, he tapped the steering wheel. "When I, erm, put him to sleep."

"He was bad. And I'm not a baby. I know he's dead. I also know that littering is wrong. And smoking is gross."

He grunted. "I'm quitting."

"Good. And you're also gonna clean up your litter, Newt. Don't be a litter-lizard." She folded her arms and gave him a look that said she didn't find the matter funny.

He put the car in reverse, backed up to where he'd dumped the contents of his ashtray, and then put the car in park.

She's like, five, and I'm wrapped around her little finger, he thought, shaking his head as he got out to clean up his mess.

Chapter Two

SHITTY MUSIC PLAYED over the sound system, and Ezra curled his lip in irritation. He was finding it harder and harder to see the artistry in modern music, missing the days when Auto-Tune didn't exist, and when everyone and their brother didn't sample endlessly from other music. He'd been a fan of classic rock before it was considered classic and didn't see the need for change. It wasn't broken, so it didn't need to be fixed. And it certainly didn't need to make way for the crap playing in the New York nightclub he was presently in.

He didn't want to be there.

It was part of his current mission. He was undercover, posing as hired muscle for a bigwig shifter who was into arms trading. It was always something with PSI. There was never a shortage of people doing bad things. At least this wasn't end-of- the-world type of stuff. He'd bumped into that more than once in his long life.

I'm getting too old for this shit.

PSI rarely gave him any downtime. As it was, he'd gone from one undercover mission to another nonstop for almost twenty years. Some downtime sounded great, and he'd be taking some whether or not PSI minded as soon as he gathered enough intel to help bring down the assholes who were supplying the arms dealer he was working for now.

He nearly laughed at the idea he'd actually take personal time. He'd basically thrown himself into work and not looked back.

You're a workaholic.

Ezra tried to think of the last occasion he took personal time, and when he realized it had been since before he'd found the little girl in the burning house, he paused. He wasn't sure how long ago that was, but he knew that meant he had a hell of a lot of vacation days built up.

He slipped back into thinking about the little black-haired girl who didn't burn. His thoughts drifted to the night he'd found her. How long had it been—a year or two?

No.

Longer than that even.

He gasped as he realized it had been sixteen years to the day, if his memory served correctly. The time had gone by in the blink of an eye. It seemed like only yesterday he'd come upon the fire, rushed in to save the little girl, killed an asshole, and then had gotten the little girl to safety.

He'd left her at a hospital several counties over from where he'd found her. Shit had hit the fan with the drug deal he'd been late for, and his cell phone and pager had blown up. He'd had no choice but to leave the child at the hospital. Everything at the drug deal that could have gone wrong did. Before Ezra knew it, two days had passed, and he'd not had a chance to see to the welfare of the child.

By the time he'd finished busting the drug lord who had been pimping supernatural blood to the masses, he'd phoned PSI to have them send someone over to the hospital, only to be told later that the little girl was nowhere to be found.

Ezra had searched for her, but no one knew where she'd gone. Two nights after he'd dropped her off, bad weather had come through and flooded the area, taking with it the hospital records. No one had any paper or electronic trail as to where she'd gone after the hospital.

No one even had her name.

He regretted that—leaving her alone at the hospital, the way she'd looked at him with big brown eyes before begging him not to go. He remembered having to pry her little hand from his finger, and then trying to ignore the sounds of her cries as he left the hospital. His heart had shattered that night.

To this day, his chest still felt tight simply remembering the events of that day.

He'd done his best to not think about her over the years because she served as a reminder of the man he could never be again—the good guy, the hero. Now he was all kinds of fucked up. Though he had kicked the habit of smoking. She'd have been pleased to hear that.

Newt.

He inwardly chuckled, thinking of the nickname the little girl had given him. Even though he didn't want to dwell on the past, it was hard not to, especially with the night marking sixteen years since the incident.

He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her. Where was she now? Was she still in the area where he'd left her, several counties over? Had she grown up, moved far away, started a new life? He thought harder upon it. She'd be around the age of twenty-one or twenty-two now.

Old enough to be a wife.

The very idea she could be married, that she could be someone's wife, left him feeling uneasy, but he wasn't sure why. It should have given him great joy. The goal back then had been to save her so she could grow up and have a life.

So why the hell did it bother him so much now?

The more he thought about it, the more agitated he became. It made no sense to him. He didn't even know her name. All he knew was that she was the little girl who didn't burn. He had no right to be jealous at the idea she'd grown up and found someone—not that he was even sure she had.

She could be dead, he internalized, and then cringed at the notion. No. She's alive.

He knew it deep in his bones.

Another sure thing was that the DJ at the club seriously needed to go missing. Ezra groaned as yet another crappy song began to play. He caught sight of several of the hired bodyguards there to make sure the arms dealer stayed safe and sound. Ezra snorted. He could kill the assholes before any of the men could react. It didn't matter that they were supernaturals, too. They were easy pickings and nothing more than punks.

The shifter who dealt arms owned the nightclub —one of many he had—and Ezra found himself having to spend yet another evening in the place. Others seemed to enjoy it greatly. He couldn't make sense of the attraction.

The drinks were overpriced, the music sucked, and the people who frequented it tended to be high- rolling dickheads. He had more money than he could ever spend, but he wasn't an entitled asshole like the men who showed up at the club.

The place was filled to capacity nightly. It lacked the charm of the clubs of the Roaring Twenties that he'd liked greatly. The youth today made no sense to him. A sure sign he'd been alive too long.

Ready to call it a night, he glanced at the entrance of the club. He wasn't alone on this mission. A fellow PSI-Op had joined him undercover. Bhaltair, a vampire who had a good number of years under his belt, was there, greeting patrons as they entered. His long dark hair was pulled back, and he wore a high-end suit—fitting in with the dickheads perfectly. Ezra was happy he hadn't pulled that short straw. He preferred to be comfortable, not dressed to the nines. But his fellow operative did not share his views.

To each his own.

Bhaltair was a member of the Crimson Ops Division of PSI, or Fang Gang, depending on whom you asked, as the division was comprised mostly of vampires. When word had come down the line that the arms dealer's right-hand man— who was also a vampire—had been taken out by the competition, the decision was made to send Bhaltair in to gain the trust of the shifter and work his way up to principal confidante. The vamp had done a damn fine job in a relatively short period of time. Bhaltair was already basically running the club—one of the dealer's favorites.

The vampire lacked a sense of humor, but he was an all right guy. Someone Ezra would label loosely as a friend. Ezra had worked with him more than once over the past decade in regards to PSI, but he'd known him for much longer. Bhaltair hadn't always played on the side of good. Neither had Ezra, so they'd gotten along well enough. Ezra just hoped Bhaltair, who didn't like the music either and had mentioned making the DJ disappear too, didn't decide to use any of the patrons as walking bloodmobiles. He didn't want to deal with that paperwork later.

Bhaltair's dark gaze found Ezra from across the club filled with people dancing, smelling of liquor, sweat, and sex. The vampire gave a slight nod, and Ezra returned the gesture. Neither one of them was much for the nightclub scene. However, Bhaltair certainly appeared more comfortable in the setting —he also looked relieved not to have to dress as the commoners. In jeans, a black T-shirt, and a leather jacket, Ezra was woefully underdressed in the sea of high-end fashion. Bhaltair had lectured Ezra for a good fifteen minutes earlier in the evening for his choice of attire.

A young man walked past Bhaltair, wearing sparkly pants that were so tight, Ezra wasn't sure how the man's lower region was getting anything in the way of blood flow. Bhaltair lifted a brow, his eyes widening in horror at the fashion nightmare.

Ezra laughed.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a hair tie and used it to pull his long hair into a loose bun. Liking to wear it just below his shoulders, he'd grown it out years ago, and had no plans to cut it all off again. He didn't give a shit if it was fashionable or not and he knew he looked unkempt with his long beard and loosely tied-up hair. He'd been hired to be muscle and protection, not to look like a fucking model and greet people at the door.

He'd leave that up to the vampire.

The song changed to something with a techno beat, and it somehow managed to sound worse than the last one. Ezra wasn't even sure how that was possible. The people partying seemed to like it. They had no taste. A large number of them were just shy of having sex on the dance floor. And people called shifters animals….

He snorted.

Ezra wondered how many of the people in the club were even old enough to drink legally, let alone partake of intercourse in public. The older he got, the more everyone looked barely legal.

It's hell getting old.

Two women approached, each dressed in barely-there outfits. One of them had on a dress that was slit in the front all the way down to below her navel. He wasn't sure what black magik was keeping her breasts in place; oddly, he wasn't impressed by the show of skin, and he was a boob guy. He'd been suffering from lack of a libido for just over fifteen years now, but he kept that tidbit to himself. He didn't need his PSI buddies razzing him about his dick not working properly.

Maybe he'd try skintight sparkly pants to see if that did anything to help—seemed to be the new craze.

On second thought, I'd rather my dick just not work.

"Mmm, you're sexy," said the woman with the breasts barely contained in her dress. She tried to run her hand through his hair, but Ezra caught her wrist. With his height, he tended to tower over most humans. This one was no exception.

He stared down at her, still unable to believe he couldn't find it in himself to be aroused by her. By any man's standards she was sexy. But he felt nothing. No stirrings of lust. Not even a flicker of interest.

I'm fucking broken.

"Excuse me, ladies," he said, trying to step away from them.

The one who tried to touch him wasn't having it. "Buy me a drink."

Sparkle-pants walked by, and Ezra grabbed him, turning the man to face the woman. "Buy the lady and her friend a drink."

Sparkle-pants looked ecstatic, and Ezra used the moment to make his escape. He headed in the direction of Bhaltair. He was partway to the entrance of the club when he caught the scent of something new and different.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Ezra glanced around, trying to find the source of the scent.

His body responded, coming alive fully for the first time in ages. His cock began to harden and he damn near unzipped his jeans and whipped his dick out just to be sure he wasn't hallucinating. The dragon within him also woke, interested in the scent as well. He wasn't sure how he felt about his dragon being curious.

That never ended well for him.

The dragon drew closer to the surface, forcing him to concentrate to keep from shifting. He went to take another step and the new scent washed over him once more, this time stronger.

With a growl, his dragon seemed to take the lead on his thought process for a moment. "Mine."

Taken aback by his proclamation, Ezra nearly tripped as he continued in the direction of the scent and the entrance. It was not one of his finer alpha male moments.

He had to collect himself a second, still thrown by the behavior of his shifter side. His dragon was behaving like he'd seen other alphas who had found their mates tended to. But that was absurd. He was far older than most supernaturals he knew. The odds of him having a mate, which was rare in itself, were slim. With as old as he was, he'd have run into her long before. It wouldn't have taken over fifteen hundred years for their paths to cross.

Would it?

No, it can't be. You're just happy your dick started working again. You'd claim a cardboard cutout right now if it managed to get you off. You've been without sex for that long.

A group of young women were just inside the club near Bhaltair. Ezra didn't need to be told the owner of the scent causing him to act like a dumbass, and making his dick hard, was in that group. He went straight for the pack of females. There were eight of them in total and they moved like a well-oiled unit. He'd seen surgical strike teams with less coordinated group engagements than these ladies.

PSI could use a few pointers from them.

They finally broke apart enough for Ezra to get closer. A sexy redhead did a rather dramatic hair flip, and pursed her lips as she locked gazes with him. He couldn't stop himself as he pushed past her, the scent still driving his inner beast.

A brunette was draped over Bhaltair, who looked about as pleased as Ezra had been with the woman he'd pawned off on Sparkle-pants. Bhaltair never seemed to notice any of the women at the club, either. It had been years since Ezra recalled the vampire dating anyone, and even then, the women he'd seen Bhaltair with hadn't lasted long.

Kind of like the women in your life, he reminded himself.

When he used to date, if one could even call it that, he'd normally spend only one night with the woman. He didn't sleep over at their homes, and he'd never taken any of them to any of his homes. He wasn't even a fan of kissing. It was too intimate for his tastes.

No.

He liked to just fuck and sate his needs.

No emotions.

No extras.

A short, petite girl pushed through the group of women, dragging a voluptuous woman with long jet-black hair behind her. The one with the black hair wore a blindfold and was using her free hand to keep the blindfold in place.

She was stunning.

He nearly shouted "mine" once more.

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes a moment, realizing just how broken he truly was. The first woman who turned him on in years was becoming the main focus of his dragon side and his dick.

The two rarely interacted.

"Sammy," said the sexy black-haired beauty, her voice husky, making his cock twitch instantly at the sound of it. "Can I take this off yet?"

Ezra knew then and there the one with the black hair was the owner of the scent he'd caught. He froze, his dragon trying its best to break free and surface fully in the middle of a crowded bar.

That would be bad.

Very bad.

Already his dragon wanted to go nuts and lay verbal claim to a woman who couldn't possibly be his mate. He didn't have a mate. He'd given up that dream around the age of three hundred. Not every supernatural was blessed. Truth be told, only a fraction of them were granted the gift of a mate.

That didn't mean he had no interest in bedding the woman. He did, and he fully intended to fuck her before the night was out.

Sammy, the petite young woman guiding her, had turned and was walking backwards, not looking where she was going.

"No peeking, Holland," said Sammy.

Holland.

Ezra committed the name to memory, his dragon still fighting to be free. Gulping, he felt his entire body tense. The cords in his neck popped as he strained, his throat constricted as he fought for control.

Holland wasn't dressed as the majority of the women in the club were. Her dress only left a glimpse of her pale cleavage showing. Yet she presented a picture so enticing that she made him want to unwrap the prize under it all. The material of the dress hugged her curves in all the right places, calling to him. His mouth watered with the need to sample every one of those alluring curves. It was all too easy to visualize himself licking his way down her body, before burying his head between her thighs.

The woman who was in the barely-there dress returned, without Sparkle-pants. She had a different man in tow—this one smelled of drugs, liquor, and evil. Ezra had seen him at the club before. Often photographers followed him around, though Ezra couldn't figure out why. The guy tended to have several women draped over him at once, and was clearly wealthy. The last woman Ezra had seen him with had been so high, she could barely stay upright. While Ezra had been unable to prove it, he suspected she'd been slipped something. He and Bhaltair had intervened, calling her a cab, ensuring she made it to one of the clinics they trusted in the area.

They'd not seen the male again—until tonight. The woman paraded the man right past Ezra, casting him a seductive look as she did. She pushed the man toward Sammy and mouthed, "This is Holland's blind date for the night."

Like fucking hell!

Ezra had to fight the urge to let his mouth shift forms just so he could roast the man. There was no way that pathetic excuse for a male was getting close to Holland. With a snarl, Ezra glared at the human male, knowing if he dared to touch him at that second, he'd snap the man like a twig.

Sammy bumped into Ezra, glanced back at him, and did a double-take, dropping Holland's hand in the process. "Uh, um, wow."

The human male attempted to get closer to Holland. Ezra stepped in his path, blocking both Sammy and Holland from him. He puffed his chest, knowing he already looked intimidating, but not caring. He wanted to shift and really give the asshole something to be scared of.

The man stared him over, a tiny bead of sweat forming on his brow. The guy tried to look tough, lifting a hand as if to touch Ezra. He stopped just shy. "Excuse me."

Ezra glanced at the man's hand and then the man—daring him to make contact. "You're excused."

"What's going on?" asked Dickhead.

The woman in the barely-there dress touched Ezra's arm lightly, and then tried to rub against him. He stiffened, his attention snapping to Holland. He then looked down at Sammy. A knowing smile touched her lips, as if she was reading his intentions —that he wasn't letting the dickhead near Holland.

"You'll work," she said, grabbing Ezra's hand and placing it in Holland's.

Heat flared up his arm, and he nearly dropped her hand, fearful his dragon side had gotten away from him and he'd hurt her. She showed no signs of injury, and he was relieved because he wasn't sure he actually could release her hand, even if he wanted to.

Which he did not.

Sammy touched Holland's forearm. "No peeking!"

"My, my, Sammy, what big hands you suddenly have," Holland said, quirking her full lips. "What gives? I swear you've already made me drink my weight in alcohol tonight. If you've hired a male stripper, I'm so over celebrating my birthday."

It was her birthday?

Ezra grinned down at her, her hand still in his.

Sammy glanced at him but spoke to Holland. "Change of plans. The next stage of your twenty- first birthday bash is you have to dance with a stranger. No peeking just yet. I know you. If you look, you'll ruin it."

"Am I about to dance with a drag queen?" Holland asked.

Ezra huffed. "No."

"My, Sammy, what a deep voice you have," said Holland, easing closer to him.

Sammy laughed. "You'd have no objections dancing with a drag queen, but you always run the other way when it comes to hot guys."

"True," replied Holland.

"Trust me, Holland. Dance with this guy. I'm going to take the girls and grab drinks."

Holland touched her blindfold. "And you're leaving me with a stranger? What a great friend you are. Give me endless booze, and then hand me off to the first guy you see." She ran her hand up Ezra's arm, giving it a small squeeze. Her eyebrows rose. "Make that the first really built guy you could find. Geesh, did you bring me to a bodybuilders' convention? You should know, this convention has horrible taste in music."

Ezra beamed, liking the young woman more and more.

Sammy grunted. "Live a little, Holland. Be spontaneous. Stop always asking so many questions. I swear, you're the worst at celebrating your birthday."

"I can't help it. It's my nature," replied Holland, easing even closer to Ezra.

Sammy cast him an apologetic look. "You'll get used to her. I'm going to grab drinks with my sorority sisters. If you harm one hair on my roommate's head, I'll hunt you down like a dog, rip your man bits off, and shove them up your backside."

Ezra tried not to laugh, and failed. Sammy was tiny but fierce. And he believed she'd do as she'd threatened.

Size be damned.

He nodded. "Understood. Permission to dance with the birthday girl?"

Sammy laughed. "Granted. Show her a good time, stud."

He intended to.

Dickhead set his sights on Sammy. Ezra caught the man's gaze and held it. He let his eyes change colors quickly, knowing the man had seen the act.

Dickhead gasped, lurched back, looked around wildly, and then scrambled for the door.

Sammy tipped her head. "What was that about?"

Shrugging, Ezra grinned. "I'm sure I have no idea, but if he shows his face again, grab me or the guy greeting people near the door, okay?"

Dawning shone on her face, and she glanced at Holland, then the girl who was in the barely-there dress. "Wow, Louise, you picked a real winner, didn't you?"

"He was hot and loaded, so yes," replied the woman, sneering as she stared at Ezra holding Holland's hand.

"Someone want to tell me what is going on?" asked Holland.

"Nope," replied Sammy. She gave Ezra a thumbs-up and then she and the rest of the young women she'd arrived with headed in the direction of the bar.

Ezra glanced over Holland's head, and found Bhaltair watching him closely. Ezra smiled so wide he thought his face might break. He used his free hand to point to Holland, much like he was a fledgling and new to being around beautiful women, rather than centuries old and a seasoned pro in the art of seduction.

Bhaltair's expression spoke volumes as he drew back somewhat, as if whatever had come over Ezra might be contagious.

Holland put her free hand to his chest, and smoothed her palm down the front of his torso. Her tongue darted out and over her lower lip. Ezra's dragon unfurled, surging forward so fast, and with so much power, that his eyes burned with the change. His gums tingled a second before he felt his teeth lengthening.

Panicked at his complete loss of control, he looked up desperately to find Bhaltair suddenly there. Concern was in his friend's gaze as Bhaltair reached for Holland.

Ezra knew Bhaltair was only trying to help, but he couldn't seem to stop himself as he snarled, his breathing harsh and his pulse racing. "Mine!"

Both men froze for a fraction of time. The stunned state gave Ezra the opportunity he needed to gain control of his dragon side. With measured breaths, he eased Holland closer, and she sank against him. It was as if she knew he needed her there, needed her comfort, her touch, to soothe his dragon half.

Bhaltair slid up alongside him and lowered his voice to the point no humans could hear. "Och, are we going to have an issue, Ezra?"

As much as he wanted to tell the vampire no, he wasn't entirely sure. Instead, he merely stared at him. It was the first time in Ezra's long life that he'd ever experienced anything like this. He didn't know what the next five seconds would bring, let alone if he was going to lose his shit and shape-shift in the middle of a crowded club.

Holland inclined her head, her forehead brushing Ezra's chest. She kneaded the material of his T-shirt as she spoke. "Who's the Scottish guy? What issue? And what do you mean by 'mine'? What is an ezra?"

She'd heard Bhaltair?

Even Bhaltair appeared impressed. With the volume level of the shitty music playing, and the barely audible whisper Bhaltair had spoken in, no one, other than a fellow supernatural, should have heard. The questioning look on Bhaltair's face said he was wondering the same thing as Ezra.

Was Holland more than human?

If so, why did she only smell of human? Granted, she smelled amazing, but still, she didn't carry the scent of a supernatural. At least none Ezra had encountered, and he'd been alive long enough to meet just about everything out there at least once.

He cleared his throat. "There is no issue. The Scottish guy is Bhaltair. Ignore the 'mine' bit, and ezra isn't a what, it's a who. It's my name."