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But as I looked back at the fierce, dirty-faced woman with a mass of coal-black hair piled atop her head, watching me from the rocks, I realized Sully had already made the choice.

A century in Hell. Less than an hour back in the mortal world. And Fate had already given me a problem.

A beautiful one… but a problem I had no clue how to solve.

3

I was a lot of things. I had been alive way too long to lie to myself. “Gotta take the good with the bad… and the ugly,” I thought.

I was overworked, underpaid, and currently aggressively avoiding anything resembling pink, pastel, glitter, or Goddess forbid… sequins…

But I was not completely suicidal.

I stood frozen behind the jagged ridge of rock, my knuckles white as I gripped the stone. My dark brown eyes were wide, taking in the towering, ten-foot-tall bronze nightmare standing in the center of the ash-choked clearing. He looked like a living statue of war, steam still whistling from his nostrils, his piercing, ancient eyes locked entirely on me and my hiding spot.

“Do. Not. Move,” Neysa ordered inside my mind, her commanding Alicorn Princess voice ringing with a level of frantic authority I rarely heard… Mostly because she knew I was not about to take her ‘Your Highness’ routine. If she thought I was going to bow, she could kiss my pleasantly plump behind.

I didn’t blink. “Wasn't planning on doing the Macarena, NeyNey.”

“Good. Because if he lunges, I can’t exactly carry us away because… Well… ummm… Dammit, our ability to freakin’ Shift is playing dead.”

Before I could formulate a suitably snarky mental comeback, the air around the mammoth Dragon Warrior began to shimmer and warp. The heavy, metallic bronze scales that coated his skin like polished shields didn’t just vanish; they receded, rippling backward into his flesh with a low, Magical hum. The massive, terrifying form contracted, shrinking from a monstrous ten feet until it settled at a still-imposing six-foot-four.

The enormous, horned Dragon face melted away, revealing sharp, hyper-masculine features, a jawline that could cut glass, and a pair of intense hazel eyes that seemed to hold the weight of an entire century.

Holy Mother of Hot Dragons. The man was lethal.

I had been fully prepared to crap my pants out of fear. I had been braced for a monstrous beast straight out of the deepest pits of Hell who wanted to break me into pieces and carry me to the Underworld.

I was not, under any circumstances, prepared for gorgeous.

He still wore the bronze armor, and he looked dangerous enough to snap my neck with two fingers, but underneath the steely gaze? Pure, unadulterated eye candy.

“Well, shit," I thought, my brain short-circuiting for a fraction of a second.

“Indeed,” NeyNey muttered, sounding entirely too smug for someone currently trapped in a supernatural cage.

“Don’t you start,” I warned my alter ego.

Without waiting for a response, I took a deep breath. Then, shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I tried desperately to mask the sudden, traitorous spike of attraction with my usual shield of pure attitude and a shit-ton of sass. I refused to be one of those silly women who swooned over a pretty face, even if that face belonged to a lethal Dragon Warrior.

The silence stretched between us. It was heavy and absurd, and stupid, and it had gone on long enough. I had had enough of the staring contest. Crossing my arms, I leaned my hip against the rock.

"Are you just going to keep staring at me?" I called out, making sure my tone was direct and carried my distinct Texas drawl to cut right through the stagnant, sulfur-tinged air.

He shifted his weight, his heavy armor clinking in the quiet canyon. He blinked, genuinely caught off guard by my bluntness, before answering with total, unvarnished honesty. "Probably."

Letting out a sharp, incredulous breath, I rolled my eyes. "Well, that's not creepy at all." Shaking my head, I added, “Pfft, yeah, not at all,” for good measure.

A faint, rusty trace of amusement flickered in his gorgeous hazel eyes, though his expression remained guarded. He took a single, deliberate step toward me, his boots crunching on the gray, calcified sand, dirt, and rock.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice a low, resonant rumble that vibrated right in my chest.

"Maisie MacDonald," I stated proudly, lifting my chin despite the charcoal dust and paint grime coating my face. "Usually a singer and artist, occasionally a bartender and waitress. Currently a professional prisoner of whatever the hell this place is." I paused, raising an eyebrow. "Your turn, Creepy Dragon."

The man stopped, his jaw tightening slightly. "Knox MacAllen."

My breath hitched. The humor evaporated from my chest in an instant, replaced by a cold shock that had nothing to do with the freezing desert air.