Page 25 of Knotted by the Mountain Man Dragon

“She smells like you,” he observes.

“Yes.”

“Prominently.”

“Yes.”

The corner of Silas’s mouth lifts. It’s not quite a smile. It’s more like a glacier considering whether to be amused. “Congratulations.”

The friendlier one shoulders past Silas with a grin so wide it practically lights up the coffee shop. He sticks his hand out toward me.

“Beck. Ignore Silas, he’s like this with everyone. You must be…”

“Mara.”

“Mara.” He beams. “Welcome to Blackridge. Cage has been an absolute nightmare for the last few weeks, so thanks for showing up and fixing that.”

“I’ve been fine,” Cage says flatly.

“You threw a wrench through your shop wall on Tuesday.”

“It slipped.”

“Wrenches don’t slip through sheet metal, Cage.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Cage notices. His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s heat in them, not irritation. Heat and something like wonder, like he’s filing away the image of me trying not to laugh at a table in a coffee shop like it’s something he wants to keep.

Beck slides into the chair across from me without waiting for an invitation. Silas remains standing, elegant and remote, observing from a safe aristocratic distance.

“So,” Beck says cheerfully. “True mate, huh? That’s incredible. That’s… God, when was the last time it happened around here? Silas, when was the last one?”

“My parents,” Silas says. “1847.”

The coffee shop goes quiet. Even Jess pauses behind the counter.

1847.

Almost two hundred years since the last true mating in Blackridge.

I look at Cage. He’s looking at me. His expression hasn’t changed. Granite and gold.

I reach out under the table and find his hand. Lace my fingers through his. Squeeze.

He squeezes back. Hard. Like he’s never letting go.

Beck is still talking, something about territory and dragon history and how the community works, and I’m nodding and responding in mostly the right places, but most of my attention is on Cage’s fingers wrapped around mine, rough and warm, holding on like I’m an anchor he’s been looking for his whole life.

Then a guy I don’t know walks in as I get up to grab a napkin.

He’s human, I think. Beta. Mid-thirties, flannel and jeans, the kind of casually handsome that works in small mountain towns. He orders a coffee, turns around, sees me, and does a little double take.

“Hey there. Don’t think I’ve seen you around. You new?”

He’s being friendly. Just friendly. Normal small-town curiosity.

Cage rises and stands beside me.

The temperature in the coffee shop changes. I don’t mean emotionally. I mean the actual ambient temperature ticks up two degrees. The air gets thicker. Heavier. Like standing too close to an open oven.