Travis James stumbled into the empty staff house, dropping his toolbox just inside the door, where he also took off his sodden shoes and shrugged the work gloves off his hands to flop onto the floor like small dead things.

His lynx stirred at the idea of small dead things, twitching metaphorical ears in interest, then expressing disdain. Living things are more fun, Lynx told him.

That eliminates us as “fun,” Travis told him in return.

He felt like a zombie, limbs numb with exhaustion. Only shifter strength kept him stumbling forward at this point, and only hunger made him stagger into the kitchen instead of immediately finding his bed.

The harvest gold fridge revealed a treasure trove of food; cold cuts, fruit, deviled eggs, cold grilled fish, and even a few legs of crab standing guard over the bottom shelf, all of it leftover from the resort buffet. A cling-wrapped slice of cake said “Breck’s. Eat at your own risk.” Someone had left a sticky note on it in different handwriting: “I licked it.”

“Don’t eat Breck’s cake,” a voice behind him startled him, and only Travis’ shifter-quick reflexes kept him from banging his head into the refrigerator door.

Bastian was standing at the door to the kitchen, and it took Travis a moment to realize that he looked strange because he was wearing something other than his bright-colored lifeguard uniform. The resort polo shirt was unexpected over the dragon-shifter’s chest, and the khaki pants made Travis realize he’d never seen Bastian out of shorts.

“At this point, spit doesn’t scare me,” Travis told him with a tired grin.

“You look like hell,” Bastian told him frankly.

“Feel like it, too,” Travis said briefly. “Been a long couple of weeks.”

That was an understatement.

It had been an insane, demanding several weeks, as Shifting Sands Resort hosted the World Mr. Shifter male pageant.

Booked to capacity, as Travis suspected it had never been, the resort had performed well for a facility built in the eighties. Even though Scarlet had modernized most of it over the past several years following its long period of abandonment, it had required a flurry of last minute upgrades and Travis had spent the weeks leading up to the event putting cottages back into service, checking and monitoring the aging septic system, and upgrading the wiring and water heaters in anticipation of the influx of guests.

Considering how many people had descended on the resort, it had all gone very smoothly, Travis thought.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t been a lot of very long days, running from task to task. The air conditioner in the hotel was down as much as it was up, and there wasn’t a day that there wasn’t some minor plumbing emergency. The laundry load had been higher than anyone had anticipated, and though Breck was able to help with some of the mechanical work, and most of the staff knew how to respond to blown fuses, Travis had been required to do any of the finesse work on the wiring, and troubleshoot the inevitable problems you had with generators run at full capacity for so long. Only he could do work that required welding or pipe replacement.

“You should get some sleep,” Bastian advised.

“Oh, I plan to,” Travis said. “Scarlet told me that if I showed my face before noon, she’d fire me. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t kidding.” The red-haired owner of the resort was not one to be trifled with.

“You’ll miss a helluva party,” Bastian laughed. “And I’ve got to get down to it now. Tex isn’t back, so I’ve got to run the beach bar.”

“Better you than me,” Travis told him.

“You going to need any help?” Bastian asked, concerned.

Travis realized that he’d been staring blankly, standing with the fridge open and the cold air swirling over his feet. He shook his head. “Nah, I got it. Just going to have some food and then sleep until noon, as commanded.”

“You do that,” Bastian agreed, and he disappeared from the doorway. The front door slammed, and Travis could hear footsteps crunching away in the gravel through the open windows.

Travis left the cake alone, and went for a pile of meat. A slice of bread from the sealed loaf bin on the counter folded around it to complete the sandwich; he didn’t bother with condiments or a plate. By the time he made it back to his bedroom, it was gone, all the crumbs inhaled, and he felt full enough to sleep.

He shucked off the filthy staff polo shirt, making his shoulders ache in new ways, and unbuttoned his heavy canvas pants.

The bed had been made up, though Travis was sure he had left it in disarray after too few hours of sleep far too many hours before. He was touched. The staff was usually self-sufficient about their own housekeeping, so one of his co-workers must have done it for him as a personal favor. The sheets even smelled clean, and Travis sighed. There was no way he was going to put his filthy body in those linens.

Not bothering with a bathrobe, Travis slipped his briefs off to join the grime-stiff pants and walked naked back out into the hall to the shared bathroom.

The marble and tile room that greeted him was more like a Greek steamhouse than what would be expected for a mere staff bathroom, even at an upscale resort like Shifting Sands Resort. It had not only a shower and separate tub, but also a steam room and a completely private water closet. The vanity had three separate sinks below an expanse of framed mirror.

Travis caught a glimpse of himself and grimaced.

He looked like a zombie as well as feeling like one. Fast-healing bruises from crawling under the cottages fixing plumbing problems showed purple through his golden skin along one flank. There was a scratch along one arm from a stray wire while fixing the circuitry for the ailing air conditioner in the hotel. The circles beneath his eyes were distinctly unflattering, and his short dark hair was stiff and wild with sweat and grease.

He turned away, and pulled the shower control to full heat and full strength, standing in the stream even before the heat from the tank had reached the shower. The rest of the staff would be away for hours; the World Mr. Shifter event was in its final, glorious throes, and the wrap-up party on the beach would keep the rest of the staff busy until morning. Travis didn’t have to worry about saving any of the precious hot water for anyone else.

The water was running scalding hot now, and Travis lay his brow against the steamy tile and let it beat the stiffness out of his tired muscles.

There was a tremendous amount of satisfaction from the work. He took pride in keeping Shifting Sands running smoothly, and the staff was more like family than simply co-workers. The perks of the job included a beautiful place to live, all of the gourmet food he could eat, and most of the time, the workload was minimal. Scarlet listened to his advice when it came to remodeling and buying new equipment, and was fair and clear in her expectations.

It wasn’t the work that was leaving Travis feeling hollow. He loved Shifting Sands, from the persnickety power grid to the steep, sprawling gravel paths. The resort was home, in a bone-deep way that even his native village in Alaska had never been, and he was proud of how beautiful and functional it was, and how much it had improved in the past few years.

Maybe it was just exhaustion, making him feel like like something was missing.

Travis leaned against the shower control to turn it off, and stood there a weary moment, dripping.

The empty house felt unexpectedly lonely.

It took a ridiculous amount of time to reach for a towel and give himself a cursory pat-down. Scarlet didn’t skimp on towels, so the thick, fluffy terrycloth absorbed most of the water even with halfhearted application. Travis barely got it back onto the towel hook before staggering back to his bedroom.

Even the fireworks couldn’t keep him awake after that.