Etienne ignored the puke and stared at the round, pale face of the girl before him, trying to rein in his fury. The last thing she needed to see was his rage when she was already clearly shaken to the core. But as he took in her appearance, it wasn’t easy to contain.

Her frilly peach prom dress was torn from ankle to waist, her glasses were broken and askew and the topknot that had clearly been a painstaking creation was now a tangled dark mess dotted with twigs and leaves.

But it was the look in her soft brown eyes that made him want to break shit.

He looked at her, and then peered through the trees into the darkness where her attackers ran like the cowards they were.

Decisions, decisions.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered miserably, swiping a trembling hand over her mouth as she tried to push herself to her feet. Her knees gave out instantly and he caught her a second before she crumbled back to the ground.

He slid an arm around her shoulders and lifted her effortlessly into his arms, vowing then and there that the men responsible for this would pay. Maybe not tonight—at least, not with more than a broken arm and a pair of shit-stained underwear—but soon. This little one needed his support more than she needed revenge right now.

Vengeance would come, though.

Shifters like those two gave all shifters a bad name and, while he wasn’t one to butt into other people’s business, he also wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night if he’d turned the other cheek when he’d heard that terrified scream.

Even now, thinking back on it, so primal and raw and full of fear, he wished he could delete it from his memory. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be human. Especially a human woman or child. Mortal. Fragile. So often they wound up as prey to the monsters in the darkness, both human and otherwise.

Not this one, though. Not this time.

It was a cold comfort as he glanced down at her drawn and battered face.

What kind of animals would attack a girl on the way home from her prom to rape her and possibly worse?

Wolves.

He’d only been in Montana for six months and already he’d had some run-ins with the cocky, brash breed and most of them hadn’t been pleasant. Aside from his friend Drake’s mate, Willa, the whole lot of them could die in a fire and he wouldn’t shed a tear.

The girl in his arms tightened around his neck as she sucked in a shuddering breath and then she froze. The shock was fading and the realization that she might still not be safe must have hit her, because he could smell her renewed fear, sharp and metallic.

“Shh,” he murmured. “It’s okay, ma petit. I would never hurt you. I only want to help you get home.”

His words, or maybe his tone, seemed to soothe her and she stilled in his arms.

“Which way down the path?”

“To the left,” she murmured softly. He could feel her whole body trembling now and it took everything he had to silence his inner dragon. The beast was prowling inside him, a roar at his lips, fire in his belly, thirsty for vengeance. He made a mental note to stop by Willa and Drake’s on his way home to see if he could find out more about these bastard wolves.

He crunched through the forest with ease, slowing to a stop as he reached the edge. “Which way is your house from here?”

This time, she didn’t bother to pick up her head and just pointed. “Fifth one down. The white, picket fence.”

He focused on the little cottage-style house in the distance, and picked up his pace.

“I know this is none of my business, and I’m not suggesting any of this was your fault, but where was your date?” He was telling the straight up truth. He didn’t blame her in any way, but if there was a young man who’d abandoned her in the face of those attackers, then he needed to make a stop on the way home. Boys needed to know how to treat a girl, and letting her walk home alone would have been bad enough. If he’d run at the first sign of trouble? He needed some lessons in chivalry, and Etienne would be only too happy to give them to him.

His companion lifted her head to peer up at him. She wrinkled her brow and reached up to adjust her glasses, which promptly broke in half.

“Crap,” she mumbled, clutching the remaining piece tight in her fist before blowing out a sigh. “Uhm, I didn’t bring a date.”

“You went to your prom solo?” he asked, puzzled at the idea. She was cute in a nerdy sort of way, and a bit plump maybe—at least for high school boys who were too dumb to recognize the upside of all those curves and all that softness—but surely she wasn’t the type that couldn’t find a date at all.

“Staff isn’t allowed to bring a date.”

“Staff?” he asked, slowing to a stop just outside the little, picket fence.

“Yeah. Like, the teachers and the parent chaperones had to go alone. They were worried they’d run out of punch and spinach dip.”

Judging by the mess on his Ferragamo’s, it was a valid concern. He was wearing at least two pints of pink punch, and at least as much green dip. But that thought came and went as the rest of her words hit home.

Chaperones.

Staff.

Which meant she wasn’t a child at all. She was a woman. A soft, plump, sweet woman.

His dragon let out another silent roar as all synapses fired at once but he shut them down on a dime. This was clearly not the time. In fact, whether she was woman or child made no difference to him at all. He was her protector regardless, and would be until this matter was dealt with from top to bottom.

But she really did smell lovely.

He put a pin in that thought as he toed open the gate and stepped through, letting it swing closed behind him. He strode up the path to her front door and set her gently on her feet.

“Do you still have your keys?”

She nodded and fished through the purse she had clutched in one hand. A minute later, she pulled out a set of keys on a purple, stretchy keychain. She stepped up to the door and tried to slip the key into the lock, but her hands were shaking so badly, it wasn’t happening.

He took them gently from her unresisting grasp and unlocked the door before stepping back.

“What’s your name?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as low and comforting as possible.

“Taya. Taya Briarcroft.”

“Well, Taya. My name is Etienne Beauchamp, and you have some decisions to make, all right?”

She nodded slowly and moistened her lips, clearly unnerved at the thought of decision-making right now.

“I can let you go ahead in, and wait while you lock the doors and check your windows and whatnot. Then, you can call the police, and if you get afraid or anything later, you can call me and I will come right back. Or, I can come in, call the police and put on a pot of tea while you clean up.”

He’d hoped that putting her in a position of control would make her feel more secure, and apparently, it worked. She considered his words carefully and looked up at him through dark eyes that seemed much clearer than even a moment before.

“I trust you. I don’t think you would’ve helped me if you planned to hurt me.” She turned, and shoved the door open before turning back and pinning him with a sad little smile. “Plus you have kind eyes. You look…sweet.”

The words hit him straight in the gut, and he cleared his throat, suddenly wishing he was anywhere else.

He’d never been told he had kind eyes before and, considering his scandalous lifestyle, he’d sure as hell never thought of himself as sweet. He wondered if she would think the same if she knew the only reason he’d even been flying overhead to hear her screams was because he was on his way back from spending a rousing evening with four of his favorite ladies at The Dungeon, Montana’s only BDSM club. Or that he had a veritable harem waiting for him back at his keep. He’d always been open and unapologetic about his sex life, but now, under the scrutiny of this round-faced innocent, he found himself glad she couldn’t read his thoughts.

“Come on in,” she murmured, scratching at her nose before gesturing for him to follow her into the hallway. Once they were in full light, he wondered how he could possibly have thought she was a child. She was all woman, and lovely in a quiet way that reminded him of a gently rolling stream.

He cleared his throat and shook off that ludicrous thought. “Want me to call the police while you change?”

She looked down at her gaping trench coat and torn gown and then blinked up at him owlishly. “I think I’d like to sit for just a minute first so I can gather my thoughts. I don’t think those guys will be dumb enough to still be out on the prowl, and the one is pretty seriously injured. Did you get a look at them? I think I can describe them both pretty well. Maybe we can get a sketch artist so we can hang pictures up around town?”

He liked that she was thinking ahead and didn’t plan to just let the bastards slide or curl up into a ball of denial. It showed a wealth of strength that he admired deeply. If she wanted to talk to a sketch artist, he’d find her one.

But sketches or no, there would be no police, despite what he’d told her. Whatever detective work happened from here on out would be for his benefit. Because, even on the off chance the cops could catch up with them, prison was too good for these bastards.

Someone needed to string them up and make them wish they’d never laid a finger on Taya Briarcroft.

And he knew just the dragon to do it.