Hera carried a tray of drinks high over her head and rushed to the dreaded table of rowdy businessmen.

“Where are our drinks?”

“Hey, we’re getting thirsty over here.”

Unfortunately, the table was in the corner of the tavern with little room for maneuverability, given the wooden banister on one side and the wall on the other. Her Scottish wench uniform stuck to her clammy skin, and her feet ached in her high-heeled boots. She pasted on a smile that barely hid the frustration brewing inside her. She hated being a waitress, but she didn’t have any other skills.

Or at least, she didn’t think so.

Three months ago, she’d woken up in a snowy park–hungry and freezing–with absolutely no memory. Those first few weeks had been horrible–pimps trying to force her to turn tricks and street gangs roughing her up for money. Every night, she’d been desperate to find a warm, safe place to sleep without fear of being robbed or raped.

She never wanted to live on Denver’s hostile streets again, and the happiest day of her life was when she got this job. But she was two hundred-fifty-two dollars short of her current rent and was still another hundred-fifty-dollars short from last month. Her landlady made it clear–pay everything or get out. She desperately needed tips, or tomorrow night, she’d be reliving the terror.

One of the businessmen patted his leg. “Hey, sweet thing, why don’t you rest here?”

He looked like he was barely out of college. He leered down her low-cut peasant-style blouse that threatened to let her breasts tumble out. She’d been putting up with their disgusting comments, hoping they’d leave her a nice tip. She ignored him as she lowered the tray and stuck another beer in front of him, instead of dumping it over his dark head.

Cold fingers slipped up her hiked skirt and pinched her butt hard. She squealed and jerked away. She dropped the tray of green beer, sloshing foam onto the dark wooden table.

“You’ve got a sweet ass,” he slurred.

She rubbed the back of her throbbing behind. “Great balls of fire, don’t touch me!”

“Pinched by a Leprechaun.” He chuckled. “You should have been wearing green.”

“I am, you idiot.” She motioned toward her green plaid skirt.

“How about a kiss for good luck?” He puckered his green-stained lips.

“No!”

“You say no, Red, but you know you want it. I think you’d like it fast and hard.”

She gasped, gripping the tray so hard her knuckles turned white.

His friends all whistled and clapped.

“Way to go, Desmond!”

One of them raised a half-empty beer glass. “You know she wants you!” He tossed it back and burped loudly.

She looked at all their young, stupid, drunken faces. No heroes here.

Hot anger flushed over her face.

“I bet you blush all the way down to your pretty toes.” Desmond reached to touch her arm. “Why don’t you warm my lap?”

She jerked away fast, the tips of his fingers brushing her skin, making her shudder. “If you don’t keep your claws to yourself, I’ll jerk you bald.”

Her deadly voice failed to stop him or his cheering friends.

“I’d like to see you try, Red.”

He licked his lips, which tempted her to bash the tray over his head.

She shoved the drinks in front of the other three drunken men; more green liquor spilled onto the cluttered table. She looked for Mike Hull, the hulking bouncer, but he was busy tangling with a group of rowdy bikers–no help there. Thanks to the cheapskate owner, there was only one bouncer tonight, and she was on her own. She quickly filled her tray with their garbage, trying to remain calm, but her hands shook, betraying her fury that threatened to burst.

She whirled around to go back to the bar for more drinks only to find Desmond blocking her path. He was taller than expected, and his large frame prevented her from darting around him. It was an unusually busy Saturday night, and all the other tables were filled with patrons. Unfortunately, Desmond’s table was in the corner, and she had no way to escape.

“Now, was that very nice? You spilled my friends’ drinks. I think you need to make up for this.” He edged closer, forcing her to back into the wall.

His beer breath made her gag. Her butt cheek still throbbed where he’d pinched her. “Get out of my way.”

Despite the fear pumping through her, her voice was amazingly strong.

“Kiss me, and I will.”

She was breathing hard, wishing for a miracle, but like always, she was on her own.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a man that dwarfed Desmond’s frame emerged behind him. He put his hand on Desmond’s shoulder and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back.

“The lady said no.”

“Hey!” Desmond squirmed like a frightened mouse caught by a sabertooth tiger. “Let go of me!”

The man turned his head toward Desmond’s ear. “Sit.” He shoved him into his chair so hard that the chair almost hit the floor.

Desmond’s friends’ stopped cheering, and their faces paled.

He made a move to get up.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the man said. “I really wouldn’t.” His low tone promised violence.

Desmond slowly slumped into his chair and put his hands in the air. “I don’t want any trouble.”

His friends looked nervously at each other, not making a move to help.

Hera stopped breathing, not able to take her eyes off her hero. He was literally the tallest man she’d ever seen and definitely the most handsome with his long, thick, blond hair, but it was his golden tiger eyes that held her captivate. He reminded her of a rugged Viking or a Norse God.

He stretched out his hand, and the slight gesture opened up his shirt, revealing a chiseled chest that would make men green with envy and women pant with lust. “This way, my lady.”

She exhaled, then found her voice. “Thank you.”

With his Thor size, she wasn’t sure how she could have missed such a hunk. Noisy customers were crammed around her on all sides, blocking even the slightest path for her to escape, and she was forced to squeeze past him. Her body brushed against his, sending shivers down her spine.

He gazed down at her. “Are you all right?”

His husky voice rumbled in his chest. He smelled of smoldering embers, as if he’d just come from sitting around a campfire.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She edged around him.

He gently clasped her arm, but she could sense the power hidden within him. He could break her arm if he wanted.

“They will not hurt you. I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt what is mine.” He glowered at Desmond and his minions, who all huddled whispering among themselves.

She jerked her arm free. “Yours? Fiddle-dee-dee, I belonged to no man.”

“You’re right. You don’t.” He lifted the corner of his lips into a gorgeous smile that would make even a leprechaun give up his gold.

Pretending not to notice, she lifted her chin. “If you’ll excuse me, Thor, I have work to do.”

He blinked. “Thor?”

“Sorry. Called you my boyfriend’s nick-name. And he’s watching us right now.” A total lie, but Mr. Universe wouldn’t know this. She was only step above being destitute again, and dallying with a man was out of the question.

Her rescuer scanned the bar, as if trying to figure out who his would-be rival was. As if any man in his right mind would lay claim to her with Superman declaring ownership.

She glanced over her shoulder at Thor as she hurried toward the bar. “If you don’t want a fight, you’ll keep your distance. Excuse me.”

But her little scheme of having a boyfriend failed to faze him. He followed so close behind her she could feel his warmth breath on the back of her neck. Adrenaline pumped faster through her body, as if she were going into flight or fight mode. But by the size and muscles of her rescuer, she doubted she’d get very far if she ran. Slapping him across the face would even be a worse idea, but she wasn’t going to play victim, either.

Surprisingly, there was an empty seat at the bar, and he slid into it. He ordered a beer, but he followed her with those golden eyes like a tiger waiting for the right moment to pounce on its prey.

She pretended not to notice, but she noted the exits in case she had to run.

When she reached the waitress station, she exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Hera, are you okay?” Cindy put more drinks on her tray, the light glittering off her green fingernails.

Fine strands of hair escaped from her ponytail and plastered to her face. Every month, Cindy changed the color of her hair, and since it was Saint Patrick’s Day, it was obviously green.

“You looked like you were in trouble. I was about to get Mike when that hot guy rescued you.”

But Mike was busy with some young-looking frat boys, who seemed to be hassling Brenda, whose Scottish outfit was two sizes too small and emphasized her curves.

“Poor Brenda,” Hera said. “Seems like every night she’s in trouble.”

“Yeah, but tonight’s been the worst.” Cindy leaned closer. “If only Bob-The-Troll would get her a new uniform…”

Bob Troy was the owner and very tight with his purse strings. He would only buy new uniforms when skirts or shirts were unraveling and permanently stained. Unfortunately for Brenda, hers was brand new.

“I know.” Hera quickly put her Guinnesses on her tray and glanced at the clock. Thirty more minutes until last call and she could get out of here.

She turned around. Desmond and his party headed for the door. He saluted her as he disappeared. She delivered her drinks to more thirsty, rowdy customers, but at least none of them had been as handsy as Desmond. Hoping for a big tip after they hogged her table all night, she hurried over, but bitter disappointment bit her in the ass. The bastards had stiffed her. She blinked back tears, wishing she’d have dumped Desmond’s beer over his thick skull.

Based on her tips, she was still seventy-seven dollars short for rent. She quickly gathered all the glasses on her tray, trying to come up with an excuse to convince her landlord not to evict her.

But she was fresh out of ideas.

She thought about asking the other girls for money, but they were as strapped for cash as she was. She hurried back over to the bar desperate for options, but pride kept her from begging for help.

Despite her throbbing feet and aching arms, she eagerly glanced at the door, hoping more drunken St. Patrick’s patrons would stumble inside and fill up her empty table, but it was a half hour to closing.

Cindy leaned against the bar. “Thank God, Mike just got rid of Brenda’s tormentors and locked the front doors. My feet are about to fall off.”

“Blasted horny toads!” Hera slammed the tray down on the bar.

Mike guarded the glass front doors. No one would be coming into Murphy’s tonight.

Cindy frowned. “What’s wrong? You’ve been wanting to be off your feet all night.”

“That’s before I knew the horny businessmen were going to stiff me.”

Cindy shook her head. “Cheap bastards.”

“My rent’s due tomorrow.”

“And you’re short?” Her gentle voice irritated Hera.

“You’re lucky. You’re married, and you don’t have to worry about getting thrown out on your ass in the middle of the night.” She lashed out, unleashing her frustration and fear.

Cindy gasped.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be a bitch.” Hera avoided looking at her, not wanting to see the pity and hurt in her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me.”

She quickly filled her empty tray with more stouts and ales, then hurried to her yelling customers. But even if they left her a generous amount of money, she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

The bar soon shut down. Hera’s customers had left her some awesome tips, and she quickly pocketed the money, but it wasn’t enough. She bustled the tables, trying not to cry. Because of Saint Patrick’s Day, Bob had decided not to take his normal ten percent, but she still had to give the bartender ten percent of her tips, which left her fifty-two dollars short of the rent.

Cindy put on her jacket as she followed Hera out of the tavern.

“You might try going to St. Louis Catholic Church,” she said. “Father Damico is very generous and might be able to help you.”

Hera wrapped her threadbare jeans jacket tighter around her. “I don’t take charity.”

Cindy shrugged. “Then plan on sleeping on the streets. But if you change your mind, the church is open all night, although the rectory doesn’t open until ten.”

A beat-up red truck pulled into the parking lot.

She grinned. “Johnny’s here. I gotta go.”

Johnny got out of the Jeep, then kissed Cindy deeply.

She broke away. “Let’s go home.”

He opened the passenger door and helped her inside. He hurried around, then the Jeep puffed and rolled out of the parking lot, leaving Hera alone.

She sighed heavily, then frowned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d kissed a man. Or if she’d ever been kissed. God, not remembering crap sucked.

She shook her head. Fiddlesticks! She couldn’t dwell on this. Survival, once again, had raised its ugly head. Dallying with a guy was the last thing she needed. Despite her stiff pride, she needed to persuade Father Damico to give her enough money to pay off her landlady. Fifty-two dollars didn’t seem like a lot of money, but in this neighborhood, it could just as easily have been a million.

Damn Desmond, the cheapskate! This was all his fault. She walked briskly through the brightly lit parking lot, clenching her fists.

The wind blew plastic cups and discarded newspapers around the pavement. Beer bottles were scattered around a dark blue SUV. Tinted windows prevented Hera from seeing whether the occupants were inside. But she had an uneasy feeling the SUV wasn’t empty. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, and she quickened her step.

The driver’s door opened, and she groaned.

Desmond staggered out. “Well, if it isn’t my hard-to-get waitress.” He chugged a beer.

Hera stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Thanks for the big tip.” She couldn’t contain her bitterness.

Three of his friends got out of the car.

He threw the bottle onto the ground, and it shattered, making her jump.

“You want a tip? You gotta earn it. How about each of us take turns with you?”

Was he serious?

His friends chuckled, and one of them actually grabbed his cock.

“Mike!” she screamed, gripping her purse strap tight.

Desmond tilted his head. “Your bouncer left five minutes ago.”

Fear squeezed her lungs tight. Not knowing what else to do, she raced back to the now–darkened tavern. Please, please, please let Bob be there. But she didn’t see his truck.

Loud footsteps pursued her, matching her thumpty-thump-thump heartbeat. She ran as fast as she could, blood roaring between her ears. The door seemed to be a million and one miles away, but she drew on every bit of energy she possessed.

But it wasn’t enough.

Stinky, hot breath huffed onto the back of her neck. Fingertips brushed over her blouse, nearly grabbing her.

Sweat trickled down her face. “Bob! Open the door!”

She grabbed the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge.

Desmond crashed into her, knocking the wind out of her. In one quick moment, she was whirled around and her back slammed against the door. A panic-bomb exploded in her heart.

She pushed on his cast iron chest and kicked his shins. “Get off me!”

He covered her mouth with his, cutting off another protest. She nearly choked on his beer-soaked tongue. His hands were everywhere, mauling, scratching her. She bit his tongue hard, blood squishing into her mouth.

He jerked his head back, then touched his lips. The tip of his finger had turned red.

She gasped for breath, her chest heaving.

“I like a woman with fire.” He sneered.

She glowered. “Then prepared to be burned.”

Vehemence dripped from her voice. It was an empty threat. Desmond was twice as tall and strong as she, but she refused to go down without a fight.

His friends slowly fanned out around him. Not one of them had pity in their eyes–only lust.

Desmond laughed as he ran the back of his hand down her face. “I don’t think so. Your would-be hero isn’t here. Who’s going to save you now?”

Her throat closed with despair.

No one would hear.

No one would care.

No one would appear.

She was alone. God, she was in real trouble.

“Please, let me go.”

Her pleading didn’t seem to penetrate his drunken mind. He squeezed her cheeks hard. “Not until my pretty little leprechaun grants me four wishes.”

She glanced at him and his friends–four burly men that only had one wish on their mind. Their cold looks froze her like a Colorado blizzard, temporarily paralyzing her legs, her heart, her lungs. How could she survive this?

Suddenly, a loud rumble frosted her bones. It sounded animal, not human. And it was coming from behind Desmond. Hera couldn’t see behind his broad back.

“Desmond,” one of his friends squeaked.

“What the hell?” Desmond glanced over his shoulder. He immediately released her and pushed himself against the door.

Hera blinked. Great balls of fire! An orange dragon with the most intense golden tiger eyes glared at them. His eyes reminded her of her earlier rescuer. The creature was bigger than Desmond’s SUV. It pulled back its lips into a snarl, revealing sharp teeth, and its tail twitched.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. She trembled uncontrollably and held on tight to her purse–the only weapon she had.

Desmond’s friends edged backward. The blood drained from their stricken faces.

“Holy shit!”

“What is that thing?”

Their voices were barely a whisper.

“It can’t be real. It can’t be real. It can’t be real,” Desmond repeated, as if saying it would make the creature disappear.

The beast took a step closer.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” one of his minions cried. Like frighten cockroaches, they fled in different directions, abandoning Desmond.

The beast snorted, and smoke puffed out its flaring nostrils.

Desmond slid across the building. “Please don’t hurt me.” His plea sounded as pitiful as hers had.

A stream of fire spurted out of the dragon’s mouth, igniting Desmond’s jacket. He ran after his friends, beating the flames and screaming.

Holy Mary of God, she was next. Hera ran, her heart beating faster than a cornered rabbit’s.

But then the beast lunged. In a split second, it transformed–scales disappearing to smooth flesh, eyes and nose changing from beast to man. Great horny toads, it was her handsome hero from the bar.

He blocked her path, then seized her shoulders, pinning her to the wall. “I told you, you’re mine.”

Hera shrieked with terror.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bottle. He squeezed it, and blue smoke swooshed out. She turned her head but inhaled something sickly sweet. Dizziness swept over her. Her legs turned into wet spaghetti, and she collapsed into strong arms. She couldn’t move or scream. The last thing she remembered was being whisked into the darkness.