Chapter One
Rain hammered the streets, turning the cobblestones slick and treacherous. Malik’s boots splashed through puddles as he shot down another alley, his lungs burning from the sustained sprint. His cheetah prowled inside him, demanding release, but the image of appearing nude in the middle of this small town kept him locked in human form.
He rounded another corner and found himself on Main Street. Quaint shops lined both sides, their windows glowing warm against the storm’s gloom.
A glance over his shoulder showed nothing, but Malik knew better. The demons wouldn’t stop. They never did.
He needed shelter, somewhere to catch his breath and figure out his next move. The rain soaked through his jacket, plastering his dark hair to his forehead. Water dripped into his eyes as he scanned the storefronts.
A flower shop sat nestled between a pet store and what appeared to be an antique shop. Petals and Thorns, the painted sign declared in curling script. Through the window, he could see blooms in every color imaginable, their petals catching the light.
Malik pushed through the door, the rain trying to follow him inside. The scent hit him immediately—roses and lilies and something sweeter, earthier. Soil and green growing things. The warmth wrapped around him like a physical embrace after the cold rain outside.
“Welcome to—oh wow, you look like you went swimming with your clothes on.”
Malik’s head snapped toward the voice.
A young man stood behind the counter, pruning shears in one hand, a bundle of lavender in the other. He was small, maybe five-foot-three, with delicate features and auburn hair that fell across his forehead. His eyes were an unusual shade of violet-blue, currently widened in surprise. He wore an oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder and jeans that hugged slender legs.
Something inside Malik went completely still.
Then his cat surged forward, pressing against his skin, demanding he claim the fox. The scent of the flowers faded, overwhelmed by something infinitely more compelling. Honey and vanilla and rain-soaked earth.
Mine.
The word echoed through every cell in his body. This slip of a human with his quick smile and gentle hands was his. The universe had dropped his mate directly in front of him while he was running for his life from demon assassins.
The shittiest timing imaginable.
This could not be happening. Not now. Not like this.
This small fox was his mate. His to protect. His to keep safe from demons and everything else that might hurt him.
And Malik had just brought danger directly to his door.
“So, um, do you need help with something? Or are you just using my shop as a rain shelter? Because, honestly, either is fine, but you’re dripping all over my floor.” The guy set down the lavender and tilted his head. “I’m Indy, by the way. Owner, operator, and apparently towel service.”
He grabbed a cloth from beneath the counter and walked around it toward Malik. As he grew closer, his steps faltered. His pupils dilated, and his lips parted on a soft inhale. The cloth slipped from his fingers.
“Oh,” Indy whispered.
Malik growled, low and soft, the sound barely human. His cheetah wanted out. Wanted to rub against this beautiful creature until he smelled like Malik.
Indy took a step back, then another. His hand found the counter edge, gripping it. “You’re—I don’t—what—”
Movement outside the window caught Malik’s attention. Two figures stood on the sidewalk across the street, rain sliding off them like they existed in a different reality than everyone else. They looked human enough—one tall with dark hair, one shorter with blond—but Malik knew better. He could see the wrongness in the way they moved, the predatory stillness as they scanned the street.
“Hide me,” Malik said, voice rough. “Now.”
Indy followed his gaze, and he must’ve felt the danger in the demons stances. “Behind the cooler. There’s a room back there.”
His mate moved quickly despite his obvious confusion, leading Malik through a doorway behind the refrigerated display case. The room was small, cramped with supplies and buckets of flowers in various stages of arrangement. It smelled like Indy, that honey-vanilla scent mixed with the green freshness of stems and leaves.
“Stay quiet,” Indy murmured, then slipped back out to the main shop.
Malik pressed himself against the wall, muscles coiled tight. His cat paced inside him, furious at being separated from their mate. Through the gap in the doorway, he could hear them enter.
“Afternoon,” one of the demons said, their voice pleasant and utterly false. “We’re looking for someone. Tall, dark hair, probably soaking wet. Have you seen anyone like that?”
