And I want—
I don't let myself finish the thought.
The third beer is a mistake and I drink it anyway. Tomorrow is the gun range. Tomorrow I get to see Jason again, in a space that's mine, doing something I'm actually good at. Tomorrow I get to try again.
Tonight is just getting through until morning.
I fall asleep on the couch, too tired to make it to the bedroom, the beer bottles lined up on the coffee table.
Tomorrow I'll do better.
I have to.
Chapter 9
Jason
Friday morning. The gun range.
I've never been to a gun range in my life. Never held a gun, never wanted to, never saw the point. I'm a lion—if I need to hurt someone, I have claws that can shred steel and teeth that can crush bone. Guns always seemed like a human thing, a tool for people who don't have natural weapons built into their bodies.
But Ash invited me. Ash, who's trying. Who made my popcorn from a recipe he found pinned to my corkboard. Who touched my ankle in the dark like it meant something. Who said stay and meant it.
So here I am, pulling into a gravel parking lot at 8:45 in the morning, trying not to be nervous about spending time alone with a man who tied my stomach in knots just by existing.
The range is in an industrial area on the edge of town—warehouses and auto shops and the kind of businesses that don't need foot traffic. Neutral territory, technically, but just barely. The building itself is nondescript, just a long low concrete structure with a sign that says "Delgado's Range" in faded letters. The parking lot is half-full, mostly trucks and a few motorcycles.
I park my bike next to Ash's Kawasaki—that matte black monster looking even more intimidating in the morning light—and head inside.
The smell hits me before I'm through the door.
Lion.
Different pride. Older male, established territory. The scent is everywhere, soaked into the walls and floor and furniture, years of it layered on top of itself. This isn't neutralground at all—this is someone else's space. Someone else's claim.
Fuck. I should have called ahead. I should have asked Knox. I need permission to be here, and I walked in like I had every right to be here, and that's a serious breach of protocol.
Ash is at the counter, leaning casually against it while talking to the owner—a man in his sixties with graying hair pulled back in a short ponytail and the kind of weathered face that comes from decades of sun exposure. He's human-shaped, but now that I'm looking, really looking, I can see it. The way he holds himself, loose but ready. The predator awareness in his eyes when they flick toward the door. The subtle dominance in his posture that says this is his territory and everyone in it exists by his permission.
Ash sees me and smiles. Actually smiles, warm and genuine, his whole face transforming into something softer.
Then his smile falters. He must see something in my expression, my posture. "Hey. You okay?"
"I need a moment with—" I look at the owner, trying to figure out the protocol here. Different prides have different rules, and I have no idea what applies in this situation. "I should have called ahead. I need to ask permission to be in your territory."
The owner's eyebrows rise slightly. He nods toward the back. "Office is—"
But Ash puts his hand on my arm, stopping me. His grip is firm but not painful, his eyes suddenly sharp. "Permission for what? What's going on?"
"It's a shifter thing. Territory protocol. He's a lion, different pride, and I should have asked before—"
"Wait." Ash turns to the owner, and his voice goes cold in a way I've never heard from him. Military cold. Mission cold. The voice of someone who has made life and death decisions andwill do it again without hesitation. "If there's an issue. If for any reason Jason isn't welcome here, I want to know now. I've been coming here since I was a teenager. Twenty years of business, three generations of my family. But if he's not welcome, I'll take it elsewhere."
The owner laughs—a genuine, surprised sound that breaks the tension. "Relax, soldier boy. Your lion's welcome here. Him and his whole pride, as long as they don't cause trouble."
"Your lion?" Ash repeats, blinking.
"Never thought I'd see the day when Ashley Martinez would defend a shifter so quickly." The owner's eyes are amused, crinkling at the corners. "It's refreshing. Your daddy would've had a heart attack."
