I’m not obsessive compulsive as a rule. I get that in any business things will get out of order. A storeroom, for instance, will sooner or later end up in a bit of a controlled mess.

That time is not now.

Treasured Ink is finally open for business and it is important to me, as well as my business partners, that we make a good first impression. That means the mirrored surfaces are without blemish and our machines are fastidiously clean.

Nyve, the cheeky bastard, has his feet propped in my chair. With a light tap, I get him to drop his feet so I can sit at my own damn station. A quick catalog of supplies for the thousandth time makes sure I’m ready for our first customer once we unlock the doors to open to the public.

“You know,” Nyve says, not looking up from his sketch book, “one of us is going to move something out of place, just to give you something to do.”

“Touching my station can result in bodily harm,” I shoot back.

“You’d have to figure out who did it.” Varos looks up from texting on his phone to wiggle it at me. “Although, one of us might have evidence, but we’d need compelling enticement to give up one of our bros.”

Fine. I take the subtle rebuke to chill out with a chuckle and close the cabinet doors. My chair creaks softly beneath my weight when I recline in my seat. “I’d catch his scent.”

“Yeah, right.”

A loud sneeze echoes through the shop.

“Gods damn it, Sako.” Bronaz lifts his machine away from the young dragon’s arm. “If you keep wiggling around, your Japanese koi is going to look like Cthulhu.”

Sako rubs at his nose before settling down. “It’s the cleaning shit Taran’s squirted on every damn surface for the past hour. So good luck figuring out who touches your shit. And what is Cthulhu?”

“What is—” Bronaz shakes his head. He adjusts the light and ducks in to pick up his work again. “Youth is wasted on the young.”

“I’m not that young.”

“You’re younger than most. Shut up and quit moving around.”

The soft buzzing of the tattoo machine is calming, and I close my eyes to soak in the sound.

Treasured Ink is the culmination of a dream, not only for me, but for the four dragons I consider my closest friends. After having won the first place pot for Masters of the Ink Gun, season four, I decided to throw in my lot with Nyve, Sako, Bronaz, and Varos to start our own business.

Tattoos.

It’s the perfect marriage of our unique talents, and we can give customers a complete selection of styles and experiences.

That is, if we get any customers.

“I’m calling time,” Varos said. He shoves his phone in his back pocket and strides to the door to unlock the bolt and disengage the digital lock. He flicks a switch to flip on the neon sign. It flickers and buzzes to life to advertise TATTOO in the front window in bright rainbow colors.

The sounds of heavy metal, which Sako puts on for “ambience,” as he calls it, drown out the buzz of Bronaz’ machine.

Even with no customers, the shop is filled with an infusion of energy.

Since I’m so restless I head to the coffee machine. The freshly brewed aroma is strongest in the waiting area and I fill my mug, then sip lightly at the hot liquid.

Nyve joins me at the pot.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

Nyve pours himself a cup and turns to stare out the ceiling to floor window at the front of the shop. “That is the question, isn’t it? Nerves, I guess.”

“You? Nervous? That’s a first.” I snort lightly. “What’s to be nervous about?”

“Usual shit,” Nyve says. “We poured a hell of a lot of money into this shop. If people don’t show up—”

“Oh for fu—” I settle my hand on Nyve’s shoulder. “You pick the weirdest shit to be worried about. Jesus, man. I just had an article and a full page spread in Masters of Ink. I pimped the hell out of the shop. Once people figure out where we are, they’ll be lined up around the block.”

Being featured in the premier tattoo magazine is a coveted experience among tattoo artists. It was a fairly large notch on my belt.

I shake Nyve heartily before giving him a playful push to knock him off balance. Of all my friends, Nyve is the only one larger than me. Pushing the man off balance isn’t all that easy, unless one knows how to read him. “Give it time. Varos just unlocked the doors and I’m sure he’s been texting everyone he knows—”

“Just about!” Varos chimes from his comfortable position in his chair.

“See? The flyers were distributed earlier this week and even the president of the Stell business improvement district was impressed by the vast array of talent we have in the shop.” I give Nyve a nudge with my elbow. “And he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. If you want to network for the shop…”

Nyve takes the playful nudge with a good-natured smile. “I leave shop business to you and suck up detail to Varos.”

“Hey!”

Sako guffaws loudly from Bronaz’ chair, beat only in volume to the sound of Bronaz cursing. “You move one more time, whelp, and I’ll chain you to the damn seat.”

Even over the din of music and Bronaz arguing with Sako, the doorbell is easily heard. I turn to see a young man with blindingly blond hair and eyes so light as to be inhuman.

I glance at Nyve before I set my cup to the side and head for the counter. “Hey.”

Blondie is slight of build. His hand is shoved in his jacket pockets. It does little to hide his nervousness as his gaze flits around the shop before responding to my greeting.

“Hi, um,” the newcomer fights with his pocket to get a hand free before thumbing over his shoulder. “Sign says you’re open?”

“We are.” I tilt my head to silently invite the guy closer. He is a cute little thing, shorter than me, although that isn’t hard. Most people (other than Nyve) are shorter than I am.

His features are fine boned, with high cheekbones and damn near perfect pink lips.

The guy chews on his lower lip as he pulls his second hand free, clutching a folded piece of paper. He smooths it out and pushes it in front of me.

It is a print out of a comment off an internet forum for shifters.

Shifters in general are a secretive lot, dragons more so than the garden variety of them. Very few humans know of our existence, as we reserve our ‘outing’ to those who have been heavily vetted and can be trusted.

The comment announces the opening of Treasured Ink, indicating it is a trusted shop for shifters.

“Interesting company you keep,” I say.

“I’ve been a member for a few years. Ever since I was at college. That is your shop, isn’t it?”

“This your work, Varos?” I ask, pulling the paper close to read it.

Varos strides up to the counter and cranes his head to look over my shoulder. “Probably. I don’t get on that forum much but I know one of the moderators.” His eyebrow lifts in question to the customer. “Not an easy community to find.”

The blondie shrugs his shoulders with a quick motion. “I have a vested interest in staying in safe places.”

Sounds like another shifter to me. I don’t immediately recognize his breed. His eyes are the thing that’s throwing me. Most Red Skulls, like me, have eyes the color of the outdoors. Greens, and browns. They typically don’t have eyes so light they’re almost translucent. It’s sexy in that exotic sort of way.

Varos taps the paper. “Kolos runs a secure board.”

I nod in understanding. “So, what brings you to Treasured Ink?”

“I want to get a tattoo.”

“That follows.”

“I’d hope so. Otherwise your sign is wrong.”

“Did you have something in mind or did you want to take a look at what we can do?” I gesture to draw his attention to the art hanging on the walls.

“It’s specific, actually. I want a particular dragon on my arm. My grandmother’s flight form.” Blondie pats on his forearm. “If it will fit.”

“Do you have a photo, or are we designing it from scratch?”

“I’d kind of like to have someone come up with the art for it. I figure it would have more meaning if it’s something unique and not copied from a photo.”

I duck behind the counter and drag out my sketch pad and pencils. “Come on back and let’s talk about it. I’m Taran, by the way.”

Blondie hesitates for a moment before following me to my station. “Nosko.”

“Alright, Nosko,” I point to my chair and wait for Nosko got comfortable before I pull my rolling stool close. “Let’s talk about your grandmother.”

Nosko shifts in the chair to stare over the arm at my pad. It puts us close enough I can smell his shampoo. It’s a clean scent, like a mountain stream, and underneath it, I can get a subtle whiff of his own, crisp and warm.

“She’s a Whiptail,” Nosko says.

That explains his looks, then. I start with broad strokes over my page to get a basic figure started. “Do you want her static, in a pose, or in motion?”

“Like in flight?”

“Yeah.”

Nosko sits back and chews on his lip in thought. “I don’t know. What would look better?”

I extend my arm. “Whether it’s on the inner or outer arm, we only have the narrow width of your arm to work with. I think it’d look better with her perched on a mountain top. But I can come up with a rough draft for you to approve before we start work.”

“Sure. When should I come back?”

I set my pad aside. “Give me a couple of days. You can call the shop before you come out if you like.”

Nosko slides from the chair to land on light feet.

I’ve never met a Whiptail before. I’ve only heard about them. Now that I get a good look at Nosko, he does show the signs of his heritage.

Nosko sticks a hand out and I take it in a firm grip.

The moment our hands touch, I feel it down to the soles of my feet. It’s like a vibration, snaking through my body, and all the air’s been sucked from the room.

That’s never happened to me before. I’ve had many lovers throughout my life but none has ever affected me this way before.

It’s more than physical. It’s the sort of deep reaching understanding, on a soul level, that makes my dragon come alive within me.

Some among dragonkind speak in reverence of discovering your fated mate. I guess since I’ve never experienced it before, I wasn’t sure it was real. Do I want to believe it can happen? Yes.

Do I actually believe?

Until taking Nosko’s hand, that would have been a no.

Now, I’m staring deep into the ice-colored eyes of someone I’ve never met and feeling the visceral tug deep within my gut. My dragon stirs restlessly, winding around my spine and fastening his teeth deep into my skull. My dragon’s voice whispers in my ear the deep language of my ancestors, triggering instinct and visceral reaction. It makes me dizzy. My entire world tunnels in on the one person in front of me.

The music in the shop shifts to the background, a dull roar, and the blood pounding in my ears is all I hear. The one point of contact, a hand held in an impersonal handshake, narrows down to my one focal point.

Watching Nosko, it’s clear he’s going through a similar experience. Nosko’s cheeks stain with a pink blush, his pupils contracting to mere pinpoints. His breath quickens to shallow pants.

Or is that my breath? The wall between us grow paper thin, a fragile thing that would easily give beneath the most gentle of nudges.

Whether it is Nosko or me who breaks connection first, I can’t be sure, but the difference is like stepping into frigid weather. I gasp and force my eyes to blink to clear my wildly cascading thoughts.

The moment our hands release, Nosko staggers back. “Um, I should… go. You know.” His brow crinkles with his frown and my dragon rises in aggression, tinged with fear. I can’t let Nosko just walk out.

A part of me fears Nosko will back out of getting the tattoo and I will lose this. Whatever this is, it is real and I need more.

“Right. Let me get you our card.” That is not what I want to say. Gods, when did I turn into such an idiot?

“Sure.” Nosko hesitates before hurrying to the counter.

Now that I have a little space, I can gather myself. I square my shoulders and take a deep breath. I notice the entire shop is staring at him. I frown. “What?” I demand gruffly.

“Felt that from here, bro,” Nyve says, doing a poor job of hiding his smile.

Irritated, I wave him off and head for the counter.

“Don’t be an idiot—” Bronaz says to my back with a laugh.

Searching under the counter, I find my box of brand new cards. “Looks like you’re getting my cherry card,” I joke.

Nosko laughs awkwardly. “Do you need my number, too?”

Teasing out a couple of cards, I thumb one and hold it out to Nosko. “I do.”

“Okay.” Nosko tucks the card in his back pocket and glances around for a pen. The pens must still be in their box as well.

I’ll look for them later. Now that I have some distance from the shock of having possibly met my fated mate in a completely chance encounter, I am able to pull my reserve around me again. “You can give it to me over coffee.”

Nosko’s lips part with a small gasp. “Coffee? Now?”

“Why not now?” I ask. I lean to rest my elbows on the counter. It brings me close to Nosko again.

“Well…” Nosko’s smile is uncertain. Guarded. “You have a job?”

“Please,” I look around. “It’s not like I’m busy. The guys can hold it down for a few hours.”

“We got it, Taran,” Bronaz calls from his station.

I lift my eyebrows in agreement. “They got it.”

“Okay, but I don’t drink that cheap commercial crap.”

Nosko isn’t kidding when he says he doesn’t like the coffee bar chain coffee. We grab our brews and settle on a bench in the park across the street from the trendy, independent coffee shop.

I sit comfortably on the bench, winging one arm across the back of it so it’s draped behind Nosko’s shoulders. I sip at my coffee and hum in satisfaction. “I’m doubly glad that I offered coffee and you don’t drink crap. I suspect that cafe is going to get all my business.”

“They roast their own beans,” Nosko says. He sips delicately at his cup, eyes closing to savor the taste. Now that is a good look on Nosko. He looks relaxed. Ever since he stepped foot in my shop, Nosko has been wound tight.

I follow suit. “So, why a tattoo of your grandmother? Not exactly a romantic image to get, at least for your first. It is your first, right?”

“It’ll probably be my only.” Nosko holds out his forearm and tilts his head.

“Not a fan?”

“Oh, that’s not it.” Nosko drops his arm and it falls between us to press to the bench seat. “I happen to think tattoo art can be some of the most original and beautiful in the world. Like graffiti.”

It’s hard to fight my desire to scoot closer so our bodies touch. “That’s an interesting observation.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I absolutely agree. I’ve met some extremely talented artists who’ve picked up a gun and done some amazing work. Not everyone agrees about the beauty of tattoos, though. It’s still a stigma in our society.”

Nosko turns on the bench, pulling his leg up so that it does touch me. The heat along his thigh has an amazingly calm effect on me. “It does still represent the fringe of society, sure. But the stories in the images, behind them. Of love, loss, being out of place, out of time…”

The look on Nosko’s face is fascinating. It doesn’t take a genius to see that we’re from two different worlds, dragon breeds notwithstanding. Yet there is understanding in Nosko’s pensive expression. It’s intriguing.

“So tell me about your grandmother.”

We talk until well after lunch. After the bench, we stroll through one of the city parks that extends through the center of this neighborhood, which is studded with boutiques and restaurants. Subjects we talk about range from art to owning a business, to the most recent manufacture of electric cars and whether the batteries are environmentally friendly—something very important to Nosko.

I’m listening with rapt attention and with more than just my ears. Every one of Nosko’s gestures is delicate and soft, but not weak. All telltale signs of an omega. He is soft-spoken but not a pushover. Whether we disagree on why sports figures should be compensated so highly for their job, or if it should even be considered a job or not, or if we agree that the newest design of the town hall looks like a mausoleum and not a functional business complex, the more we talk, the more passionate Nosko becomes.

Beneath it all, every light touch, every brush of our bodies as we walk, every time Nosko looks up with his amazing eyes, my dragon wiggles impatiently. He feels the need to claim Nosko just like I do.

The driving need to feel the connection between us, to test the boundaries of our attraction—and there is attraction, no doubt in my mind. The urge to feel our bodies locked together in sweat and heat and exhaustion drives me relentlessly.

The more I get to know him, the more I appreciate the full package of man Nosko presents.

As we continue to wind our way through the park, Nosko’s gestures are animated as he discusses a recent trip to a gallery. I see that we are the only ones in this world of green tucked away in the bustle of Stelline City. Background noise fades to a dull thud. I can even hear the birds, the sounds of nature. A dog barking in the distance.

Unable to hold off any longer, I hook a hand beneath Nosko’s arm and pull him from the path to duck around behind a tree.

Nosko’s expression registers surprise at being manhandled, but he shows no fear with being at a physical disadvantage.

Another thing that fascinates me even more.

Pressing Nosko against the trunk, I lean in, bracing my hands on either side of Nosko’s head. I think about asking for a kiss. The question is there, ready to be uttered, but the look in Nosko’s eyes says all that needs to be said.

So I duck in and take the kiss, my tongue slipping easily past Nosko’s parted lips. There is no fight, no resistance. Nosko’s hands slide up my back and draw me closer. I’m not about to fight it. With our bodies pressed together, I feel the beating of Nosko’s heart. It matches the march of my own.

When I break the kiss, Nosko pants lightly, his eyes giving him away again. It is so easy to read emotion in the young omega’s eyes. It reaches across the distance to me, dragon calling to dragon. “I’ve been waiting all morning to do that,” I whisper against Nosko’s mouth.

“I’ve been waiting all morning for you to do that.”

Good to have verbal verification, but not surprising. When our hands first touched in my shop, I knew this attraction was mutual and very, very strong.

“I want to take you home with me.”

“Don’t you have a grand opening?”

“They’ll call if they need me.” I steal several gentle kisses, brief touches of our lips, and smile when Nosko chases for more. “Say yes.”

Maybe it is only the span of a heartbeat, but the silence feels like forever before Nosko answers.

“Yes.”