I had no idea how that had happened. No idea at all. One minute, I was nursing a hangover, then trying not to kiss that dominant asshole, then—poof!—I was out of a job.

And now I had a new job.

For that dominant asshole.

“You’re growling.” The asshole in question flicked his eyes to me, then away again to watch the humans disembarking the small mini-bus that had pulled up outside the packhouse. Feet braced wide, muscular thighs straining his jeans, back ramrod straight and arms folded across his chest, he glowered in their general direction, but his attention was still on me. I could feel it pressing against me, teasing my already shredded nerves.

“So,” I snapped back, tugging a hairband out of my pocket and scooping my hair up into a ponytail.

He chuckled, low and deep. “Wolves growl.”

I made a rude noise, giving him the side eye. “What? Did you think dragons purred?” My mental groan almost deafened me. Seriously, what was I thinking with Mr. One-Track-Mind over there?

He seemed to take his time considering my answer, a dimple appearing in his right cheek as he gave me a sexy smirk, eyes hooded.

I cut his witty comeback off, “Nope. Don’t go there.”

He held his hands up, biceps flexing. On purpose. The bastard. “I thought dragons screeched.”

I ignored him. Maybe he’d disappear.

The humans streamed off the bus, stretching and looking around them before grabbing their bags and hauling ass in our direction. I counted five; three men and two women. Two of the men’s eyes slid straight over Owen to rest on me, their smiles brightening.

Huh. I thought humans were meant to be intelligent?

Mentally squashing them like bugs, I pushed away from the fence, dusting my hands off. “You’re right, wolves do growl.”

The sound coming from next to me cut off, strangled into submission. Golden eyes narrowed as the humans approached us. “Give me the strength not to kill the lot of them.”

“Who are you talking to?” I whispered.

The look he gave me was full of sarcasm. “Right then, who’ve we got?” He addressed the crowd, who apparently hadn’t realized they’d been surrounded. Grant, Dylan, Tom, and Tiny had taken up position behind them, towering over the humans.

One of the human men stepped forward, the only one who hadn’t been making cow eyes at me. Broad shoulders squared and brown eyes assessing, his arms hung loosely at his sides, only the tension that was visible in his jaw betraying his discomfort. “The name’s Lieutenant Keelin Murphy and this here is my squad.” His eyes slid to the side to rest on Tom, then Dylan, before coming back to Owen. Not a flicker of surprise registered on his face and he didn’t turn around to check his back. The man had nerves of steel, I’d give him that. He rattled off the names of his squad members, each raising a hand or stepping forward in turn. All signs of weakness had been erased, their game faces were on.

Maybe this would work after all.

“Army?” I murmured.

Owen’s answer was low, his mouth barely moving. “No, cops.” Striding forward, he shook the other man’s hand, a slight grin twitching his lips when Lieutenant Murphy tried to hide his wince. “Trust me, we’re stronger than you. Faster. Harder to kill.”

“But you can be killed?”

Owen’s attention zeroed in on the man who’d spoken, his eyes narrowing. “You have something against shifters?”

The man—Carl or Chris, hell, I’d already forgotten—blanched at the low growl aimed in his direction. “No, Sir. I like shifters.” At least one of his colleagues groaned, the sound cutting off short and sharp.

Grant eased forward, his movements a slow prowl. “Know many shifters, Chris?”

Chris slowly turned, angling his body to meet the oncoming threat. His stance widened, knees softening in preparation to meet the challenge.

I nodded in silent approval. At least this one had some training.

Chris nodded. “I know a couple of shifters, they’re nice people.”

Owen had taken a step back, content to let Grant deal with the situation.

Grant tilted his head to the side, silver flashing in his eyes. “Well, okay then.” He grinned at the poor human, then slapped him on the shoulder, giving him a half shove that sent him staggering back a couple of steps. “I like this one, he’s got some fucking brass balls on him.” He grabbed his own crotch, giving his goods a quick squeeze.

As if we really needed the visual aid.

I rolled my eyes, catching the two female humans doing exactly the same thing. That was wolf shifters for you—no better than teenage boys when it came to talking smack.

But, just like that, the tension was broken and everyone relaxed.

After the humans had been shown their rooms, we regrouped in the barn. Owen gave a quick rundown on the training program, which was kind of like a week-long boot camp, and Lieutenant Murphy—or Kel to his friends—gave him the lowdown on his squad. Strengths and weaknesses, specialties, that kind of thing.

Then we threw them in the deep end.

“Pair off for sparring,” Owen barked out, pointing at people and flicking his fingers in silent command as he split us up. Dylan looked disappointed not to be assigned a partner, but didn’t comment, settling against the wall to watch with feigned nonchalance.

Okay. Looked like it was time for me to complete my first task as an enforcer. Yay. My enthusiasm was dubious, even inside my own head.

“What are the rules?” My partner, Don, was looking like he’d swallowed a lemon. He glanced at me, his eyes catching on my chest, before returning to my face, but he didn’t ask for a swap.

It was like reading an open book, the way his dick warred with his inherent need to protect and coddle the poor little woman. Probably daydreaming about pinning me to the ground.

I answered for Owen, “No rules, honeybuns.” Crooking a finger, I led him over to the far side of the barn. “If you’re worried, I’ll even let you use your gun.”

He smirked, hands flexing as he rolled his head from side to side. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I tapped a finger to my lips, looking him up and down. “Aw, sweetheart, your gun isn’t big enough to hurt me.”

“Bree,” Owen’s voice cut through Don’s colorful reply. “Quit playing with the human.” He sounded amused and I could feel his eyes on me.

I winked in his direction. “Why? You’re playing with yours.” I took a second look. And a third. Holy firesparks, was he ever. Sinuous and graceful, Owen moved around the poor lieutenant without breaking a sweat. He wasn’t even giving the man his full attention, and his opponent knew it, his punches growing more aggressive and desperate as he failed to land even one hit.

I sidestepped the sweep of arms heading my way, sticking my foot out and yanking hard. Leaning down, I yanked Don back up, twisting his hands behind his back and forcing him to his knees, keeping him off balance. “You sounded like a herd of goddamned elephants.”

He grunted, pain tightening his mouth. Eventually he realized he wasn’t moving anytime soon and he relaxed.

“Good. That’s the first step.” I patted him on the shoulder. “If you want to get out from under one of us, you have two options. First, you could try and kick or head butt your opponent, that’s the least painful and might possibly work, depending on how much training they’ve had.”

He tilted his head back, so he could see me. “And the other option?”

“You go with the hold.” I tugged on his hands, straining his shoulders. “See how I’m keeping you at breaking point? In a real situation, that would never happen. I’d secure you and then you’d be dead. Or infected.”

He swallowed hard. “You mean bitten.”

“Yep.” I leaned closer, so my breath fanned his neck. He shivered, and this time it wasn’t lust. The scent of his fear was bitter on my tongue. “But we have to be in our animal form to try and change someone.”

“And if you bit me now?”

I let him go and he fell forward, hands digging into the dirt. He surprised me by rolling straight back up to his feet, his eyes filled with a wariness that hadn’t been there five minutes ago. Well, whoop-de-doo, a man that could actually learn from his mistakes. I flashed him a smile, this time a genuine one. “Then that would be all about fucking.” I gave him a blank stare, freezing the smirk that was sliding back onto his face. “And you’re definitely not my type.”

“Because I’m not a shifter or because I’m not a wolf?” He sounded genuinely curious, had to give him props for that. Damn, the guy was growing on me. Like some kind of irritating fungus that never quit.

I ignored the whole species thing. Honestly, I’d never given it a thought until I came to Heartsridge and met Leona and Heather, human women who were the fated mate of bear shifters. If my fated mate turned out to be human, then so be it. “Honey, I’m not a wolf.”

His confusion grew, especially when I motioned him to come a little closer, but an asshole beat me to the punchline.

“She’s a motherfucking dragon and she’s off the menu.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know that Owen was glaring at Don, I could see it in the other man’s face. I also could pinpoint the exact moment the lightbulb went off, Owen’s not so subtle growl underlying his point. Damn, was he going to piss on me next?

So Don’s reply came as something of a surprise. He grinned, shaking his head, looking more than a little awestruck. “That is so fucking cool!”

Laughter bubbled out of me. “No. Hot, sweetheart. I’m hot.” Giving Owen a not so gentle nudge out of the way, I squared my shoulders. “Now, pull a gun on me.”

Don held his hand up, waving it in the air. “Wait. How do I, what did you call it, go with the hold?”

Owen answered for me. Again. “You ignore the pain, even if it means breaking a bone or dislocating a joint.”

Gritting my teeth, I took over the explanation, “You’re most likely dead already, so what have you got to lose? You fight in any way you can … until you can’t.”

Don stayed silent, seeming to absorb my words, then grunted. “Okay, got it.”

Thankfully, Owen wandered off, back to his own partner, but not without giving me a heated look that had my knees shaking. Yep, they were shaking, not liquefying. Or trembling. Annoying man. “Pull your gun on me.”

Don’s hand went to his holster, and he paused. “Really?”

I hummed under my breath, fighting a smile. “Okay, try and pull a gun on me.”

He reached for it. “Like—”

I spun the firearm between my thumb and index finger. “Lesson number two: we’re fast. Really fast. If you want to shoot a shifter, you’d better already be armed.” I handed the gun back to him, and, after checking the safety, he shoved it back into his holster. “And you’d better be aiming for the head. Anything else will just piss us off. We’ll heal and then you’ll be dead.”

As if triggered, visions of blood cascaded through my mind, of Owen lying in the street, gunned down and unable to find cover. It was as if a ghost passed through me, goosebumps erupting on my skin as an icy fingertip traced down my spine. “Multiple shots work well enough to slow a shifter down, enough that you might stand a chance of finishing them.”

Around us, people had paused, catching their breath. Across from us, one of the women was eyeing Tiny like she didn’t know whether she wanted to strangle him or straddle him.

Owen and Kel’s heads were bent together, their low voices traveling on the air as they planned our next little training session.

Don whistled under his breath, fingers massaging his temple. “So, basically, we’re screwed?”

He looked so pained, I couldn’t help but rub it in. “You were screwed.”

He squinted. “Were?”

“Yep, were.” We made our way over to Owen, who was giving Kel a rundown on how to identify a shifter. Nudging Don with my elbow to get his attention, I added in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “Lucky for you guys, apparently we’re your new best friends.”