The furious fire flared through the apartment complex, destroying everything in its path–withering wood, melting metal, scorching cement stones. The blazing heat beat down on Griff Reese like fiery fists. Sweat dropped down his face. He shielded his eyes with his arm and choked on the smell of ash.

Sirens screamed in the distance.

“My babies, my babies!” a blonde woman screamed. “They’re inside.” She ran toward the building, but two men grabbed her.

“You can’t go in there,” one of them said.

“No, let me go.” She struggled to free herself.

Griff looked up at the fourth-floor apartment. His heart did a wheelie. A teenage girl and a younger girl beat on the window. Shit, they were going to be burned alive.

Without a second thought, he transformed into a tiger and leapt onto a first story balcony.

“Hey, buddy, no.” Someone yelled from below.

The flickering flames leaped out the window, singeing his fur. He snarled, pulling his ears back.

“Mom, help us!” a terrified female voice called.

He jumped up on the second balcony and then to the third.

Hothothothothothot.

Snarling, he vaulted to the fourth balcony. Fumes clogged his lungs. Flames burned through the apartment, eating stuffed and wooden furniture. A thick gray fog rolled over the small apartment, but his tiger eyes could penetrate through the veil of smoke.

The flames had forced the girls to move away from the window. They were against the opposite wall. A blond teenage girl, her eyes huge and a younger one were huddled together. The younger girl clung to a cocker spaniel puppy that was crying.

Fire was cutting him off from the two girls. Adrenaline spurred him to move. He burst through the glass patio door. Bits of glass cut into his flesh and sparks ignited his fur. He hissed and jumped, kicking his hind legs back.

Smoke stung his eyes.

The girls screamed and the dog yelped.

Curtains curled up into burning balls. The ceiling crashed to the floor. Sparks and wires flew into the air.

The girls hugged each other and buried their faces in their hair.

Crap, he couldn't breathe. He leaped over the debris, and in an instant, changed into a man. He coughed. His chest tightened. Tears rolled down his eyes. He grabbed the older girl by the shoulders. She looked at him with pure terror.

“It’s okay. I’m a shifter. Get on my back when I change. Hold on tight to my fur or neck. Don’t let go.”

The crackling flames blocked out his loud voice, but the girl nodded wordlessly.

He immediately transformed back into the tiger. The girls climbed onto his back. Arms wrapped around his neck nearly choking him while fingers pinched his fur.

Flames and smoke thickened. He panted, his lungs straining for air. The smoke swirled around him like a tunnel.

Don’t pass out.

He pulled back his ears and snarled. The floor cracked and the sofa slid inside a hole thick with flames. He sat on his haunches and flew through the air. His front paws hit the edge of the patio, and he dangled, his claws scrapping the walls.

“Please, please don’t drop us,” the older girl whispered into his ear.

They both clung to him like a second skin.

Drawing on his strength, his muscles straining, he climbed up onto the patio and gasped for breath.

Pain…pain…pain.

He hopped down the same path down as he came.

Swirling red lights flashed below.

Firemen, policemen, and the crowd waited. He could practically hear them sucking in their breaths.

“My babies. He’s got my babies.”

Griff woke up drenched with sweat. He kicked off the blanket and rolled to the edge of the bunk. He plopped his legs over the side and sat up, taking deep breaths. He ran his trembling hand through his damp hair.

Same damn dream.

Since he’d been in this hell hole, he hadn’t gotten one good night of sleep. But then, who did in prison?

He staggered over to the small rusty sink and splashed water onto his flushed face. He rested his shaking arms on the edge of the sink until the terror slowly subsided.

God, he was tired.

So damn tired.

He shouldn’t be the one in here. It should be Grant Sellars.

When he found him…And he would find him…he’d make him pay, pay for all the years lost.

Other prisoners were waking up, staring into his cell. Some of them were in gangs. Shifter-haters. His heart thudded in his ears. Adrenaline sped through him, quickening his steps in his six-by-eight jail cell. He stood straighter and braced his feet apart. He hardened his face. Fear and tiredness weren’t something he could show.

Not if he wanted to survive.

He transformed into a tiger and did his usual pacing back and forth in his cage and snarling.

The men turned away.

He was tired of the dirty lime green cement walls, the stained toilet, and hard as a rock slab that posed as a bed.

It was less than a week until his parole hearing. His brother, Seth, had come to visit him and had wanted Griff to get an attorney to represent him.

Fat chance.

His last dumb ass attorney convinced him to take a plea, and said he’d be out in six months.

Fucking liar.

That had been four long years ago. He was innocent and never should have been here in the first place. He’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

But what the hell? Every jail bird sang that song.

In his case, it was true.

Heavy footsteps approached his cell. Griff released a warning snarl and pulled back his upper lip.

Deputy Mason Henry, the only guard who wasn’t afraid of him, stood in front of his cell. He was taller and bulkier than Griff, but that was because Mason was a dragon and dragons trump tigers.

“Easy tiger.” He pulled out his keys. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Shit, Seth again. Why couldn’t his little brother stay out of this crap? It was safer this way. The last thing Griff wanted was for his brother to get hurt. This was his mess. He’d fix his own shambled life.

Griff growled, turning his upper lip into a nasty sneer.

“Don’t give me that, Reese.” Smoke puffed out of Henry’s nostrils. “I’m not going to take any of your shit. You’re your own worst enemy. You’ve got a parole hearing coming up. I’d suggest you behave.”

Griff transformed back into his humanoid form. “It’s 7:00 AM. Who’s here?”

“An attorney.”

“I don’t want a damn attorney.”

“Look, Reese, if you want to get out of here, I’d suggest you talk with her. Talking with her doesn’t mean you have to hire her.”

“My attorney’s a woman?”

Mason shrugged. “Your last one was a man who didn’t do shit for you. Maybe try a woman.”

“Fine. I’ll meet with her. Then, I’ll fire her ass.”

He stuck the key in the lock. “You know the drill.”

“Yeah, I know it.” Griff put his hands on the wall and spread his legs apart.

The door slid open.

Mason took one of Griff’s wrists and snapped a handcuff over it then did the other. He clasped Griff’s arm and escorted him down the corridor. His cell block was unusually quiet. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. They were watching, looking for a weakness, planning something.

Griff met their challenging stares.

They walked in silence to the interview rooms. Mason unlocked the door and escorted Griff into the sterile room with a metal table and two chairs.

He was expecting an underpaid skinny bitch attorney from the public defender’s office.

But he was wrong.

A voluptuous red-headed woman flashed him a smile that sent his heart racing. Her suit hugged her curvy body and made his cock grow hard. His tiger went berserk growling and howling.

Never in a thousand and one years did he think his would-be-attorney would be his mate. This wasn’t what he needed. Revenge was on the ticket, not love.

She looked at Mason. “Are those handcuffs necessary? Is he dangerous?”

He couldn’t resist smiling––something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. “Depends what you think dangerous is.”

“Reese.” Mason dug his fingers deeper into Griff’s arm. “It’s up to you, Ms. Black. But the silver keeps him from changing into a tiger.”

She bit her lip and ruffled papers as if she were going over the pluses and minuses in letting him be unshackled.

Griff took pity on her. “I promise I won’t bite.”

She gave him a hard stare that made him lose his smile. “This is a serious matter, Mr. Reese. I hope you don’t plan on biting the hand that could save you.”

His fists tightened and every muscle bunched up, but his tiger couldn’t burst through the restraints. “Save me?” He looked at Mason. “This won’t take long.”

Mason shrugged. “It’s your parole hearing.” He motioned toward the door. “If you need me, I’ll be right outside.”

“Thank you, Deputy.”

Griff gritted his teeth. He hated being talked about as if he weren’t there.

Mason closed the door.

She had his legal file, a yellow legal pad, and an iPad.

“So, Mr. Reese, are you going to stand or sit while we discuss your case?” Her voice was as warm as ice.

“I see you took your cheerful pills.”

“May we please proceed?”

Her hands were shaking. God, was he that scary?

He sat down in the metal chair that was as cold as everything else in this miserable place. “I don’t need an attorney. I plan on representing myself.”

She looked through her turquoise glasses that framed beautiful blue eyes. “Mr. Reese, I would advise you not take that route. I have reviewed your case. Currently, you have been convicted of first degree arson, which is a class three felony in the State of Colorado.”

“So?”

She lifted a delicate eyebrow. “Did you start the fire?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

“According to the police report, rubber cement, grain alcohol and box of matches were found in your panniers.” Her condemning voice made the white walls close in on him, the light dimmer, his hope muddier.

His mouth went dry and the awful feeling of the mounting evidence weighed heavy on his chest. “Like I’ve said before, except no believes me, I didn’t put any of those damn things there.”

She placed her hands on the tables. “Then who did?”

Her well-manicured nails clicked on the table, matching the tick-tock of his heartbeat. The same old haunting argument that followed him around like a dark cloud tripped his temper.

“Don’t play games with me, honey. I told the cops it was Grant Sellars.”

“Mr. Reese, Mr. Sellars wasn’t anywhere near Graystone Manor.”

His gut hardened into a rock. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to stay calm, and gritted his teeth. “You’re telling me things as if I hadn’t heard them before.”

“I realize that, Mr. Reese, but these are the same questions you’ll be asked at the parole hearing.”

He shook his head. “This is pointless. I realize…wait I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m Lara Black, attorney at law at Buckley and Hartley.”

He frowned as a distant memory tugged at his memory. “Wait a minute. You’re a friend of Cora Amici’s, aren’t you?” But that wasn’t it. He’d heard the name Hartley before, but couldn’t place where.

“Yes, I am.” She glanced at her watch. “Now, back to your case.”

“Are you in a hurry?”

She cleared her throat. “As a matter of fact I am. This is why we had to meet so early.”

“So sorry to inconvenience you.”

She took off her glasses. “You didn’t. Now back to what happened.”

“Look I told the cops I went with Sellars to Graystone Manor––”

“Because why?”

“To buy weed.”

“I see.” She scribbled something on a yellow legal pad.

He couldn't resist grinning at her. She was a woman he could get used to teasing. “Do I look like someone who doesn’t smoke pot?”

She didn’t look up. “You do look like a ski bum or a surfer.”

Not the first time he’d heard that comment.

“Whose apartment did you go to?” The woman was an ice queen. Not even the smallest smile.

“Like this isn’t in the record.”

“Please answer my question.”

“Brown. Kevin Brown.”

“He was a dealer?”

“Obviously.”

She glared up at him through her glasses. “Lose your attitude, Mr. Reese. It won’t set well with the parole board.”

“I won’t have an attitude with them.”

She put down her pencil. “Highly unlikely, Mr. Reese.” Her needling tone made him want to shake her or kiss her.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to hear my side or not?”

“Yes, I do.” There wasn’t even a glimmer of fear in her eyes.

“Brown was there.”

She frowned, scanning a piece of paper in his damn file. “Mr. Reese, there was no record of a Mr. Kevin Brown residing at Graystone Manor.”

“I realize that now, Ms. Black. I didn’t know him. Grant did. We rode our motorcycles to Graystone and went to his apartment.”

Griff could still remember Brown’s apartment. Dim lamps barely offered any light. Hardly any furniture. Just a card table with pills, weed, and bags of heroin. It had been strange that there were only folding chairs.

No sofa. No TV. No computer.

“We went inside…”

“Do you remember the number of his apartment?”

“How can I forget? It was two twenty-two.”

Lara immediately scribbled the number down on her legal pad. “Then what happened?”

“Kevin offered us both a joint. I took a hit and that was the last thing I remember until I smelled smoke.”

“Were either Mr. Sellars or Mr. Brown still present in the apartment?”

He shook his head. “No. They were long gone. Smoke filled the apartment.”

“Then what happened?”

He lifted his chin high. His throat thickened as the tiger clawed to get out. “What do you think? I got the hell out of there. That’s when I heard the woman screaming.”

Pain seared into his wrists and he hissed.

“Are you all right, Mr. Reese?”

“I’m fine.” If you could call silver burning into your flesh, all right.

“Yes, I know. Mrs. Sharon Stephens. You saved her two girls and their little puppy.”

He shrugged. “No one ever remembers that.”

“I spoke to Gerri Wilder. She told me what happened.”

“Gerri Wilder? The matchmaker?”

“Yes, do you remember her being there?”

He frowned. “No.”

“Have you ever met her?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, she vividly remembers you. By the way, I thought it was very brave.” Her soft voice caught him off guard.

He looked at her to see if she was shining him on, but sincerity reflected in her eyes. His frown slowly disappeared and he smiled. “Thank you.”

She moved fingers over her iPad and stopped. “According to the court transcripts––for some odd reason––that little tidbit wasn’t presented at your trial.”

“What can I say? My attorney was a bum.”

She continued reading. “Mrs. Stephens swears if it weren’t for you, both of her girls and their dog would be dead.”

“I wasn’t going to let them die.”

She looked up and finally smiled, a smile that made her eyes crinkle. “I know.” Her husky voice made him forget that she was his attorney. She was his mate. He was drawn to her lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss them.

She quickly turned to reading the reports and he thought he saw a slight blush on her cheeks.

She cleared her throat. “According to this report, most of the other residents had gotten out when the fire started, because they smelled it.”

Back to being all facts.

“They were shifters. The Stephens weren’t.”

“Have you ever heard of an organization called PASS?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, they’re the shifter haters. All of us shifters know about them.”

“What do you know about them?”

“Their pompous humans who think they’re better than us.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Are you one of them?”

“No, of course not.” Her cheeks reddened and her voice was indignant.

He’d definitely hit a nerve.

“Why are you asking me about PASS?”

“Because I’ve uncovered evidence that they might be involved.”

He stilled and his lungs squeezed tight.

“Mr. Reese, are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Hell, no, he wasn’t. He’d always stayed cleared of PASS and now, he was finding out he hadn’t stayed clear enough.

“By the way, I’ve asked Mrs. Stephens and her oldest daughter, Jaime, to appear at your parole hearing.”

An edge of hope crept into his hard heart. He was able to take a deep breath. Maybe Lara wasn’t so bad. Hell, she was a lot better sight than his last attorney. He’d urged his previous lawyer to contact them, but the jerk had refused. “Are they coming?”

“Yes, they were adamant that you didn’t have anything to do with the fire.”

He smiled warily. “I know. No one believes them, either.”

She leaned across the table. “That’s because I wasn’t representing you or them.”

Her feminine scent made him wonder what her skin would taste like if he rolled his tongue over her flesh. She was staring at him, waiting for an answer.

Not wanting her to know she was affecting him, he chuckled and shook his head. “You actually think people will give a shit?”

“You’ve never seen me in court.”

Something about her throaty voice, the way her eyes lit up, the curve of her mouth, doused his anger. “You really think you can make a difference?”

“Yes, I do. I looked at your prison record––you’ve been a model prisoner––”

“That’s because the scumbags are afraid of me.”

“What did you do to make them afraid of you?”

He laughed bitterly. “I’m a tiger. No one messes with me.”

“Good point.” She picked up her notes. “I think I can help you.” Then gave him a stern look. “If you’ll let me.”

He lowered his head. The heavy ball in his gut grew to the size of a cannonball. His last attorney hadn’t even apologized when he’d been dragged away. He never even bothered interviewing Grant. He’d been just as much as a problem as the prosecutor had been.

He looked into her eyes. She wasn’t sweating and met his gaze. Most men in here cowered beneath his fierce stare. He sighed heavily. She was his mate and hot, damn hot. How could he say no? “Shit, I hope I’m not making a mistake.”