"I'll have a shot of tequila. Save the training wheels, and keep them coming."

Mina stared expectantly at the young male bartender, who couldn't seem to shake himself out of the stupor he was in as he gawked at her, motionless.

God save her from college-aged human males. She didn't know how they got through the day half the time. Like one, giant hormone, ready to explode. The scent of this one's attraction mingled with the smell of stale beer and the Axe Body Spray he'd doused himself with, and she willed herself to ignore it.

"Are you all right?" she asked as politely as she could manage, which wasn't very. Luckily, it seemed to jar him back to real life.

"Yeah, uh, yeah, sure. Tequila, you said, right?"

She nodded and blew out a relieved sigh as he sprung into action, plucking out a shot glass and glancing over at the jewel-toned bottles in search of her particular poison.

To be fair to the kid, it couldn't have come fast enough for her.

Jesus, it had been a hell of a few days. One shit-storm after another, really. She'd gone from having to force her way into Etienne's chateau and pissing him off by trying to whisk away his lover, to getting into a massive, bloody battle with a band of shifter assassins.

And that wasn't even accounting for the fact that she'd essentially strapped a giant bull's eye to her back when she'd defied the Council by eventually turning Etienne's mate Taya into one of Mina's kind, a Valkyrie.

While she had saved Etienne and Taya's ass, she put hers into the fire. Because the European Council was desperate for Etienne to mate and produce a dragon shifter heir, they grudgingly accepted Taya now that she was a shifter.

But they were furious that their agent, Mina, had broken their laws to accomplish it.

She wasn't given to sentiment, but the dragon was the closest thing she had to a brother. It tore her heart to shreds to see his pain at the real possibility, hell, near certainty, of losing Taya. When she saw the haunted look in his eyes she knew that the loss of his recently found mate would result in one less dragon shifter in the world. So she'd done what she had to do.

She'd more than earned a few drinks.

"One shot of tequila for the lady." The sandy-haired bartender gave her a shy smile as he set the golden liquid in front of her.

She tossed it back with zero fanfare and relished the burn as it slid down her throat. A drop escaped her lips, trickling from the corner of her mouth, and she caught it with the tip of her tongue.

The poor boy's throat worked soundlessly as he watched, and Mina barely held back a weary groan. Better nip this in the bud and set him straight before he spontaneously combusted. Then she could get back to what she'd come here to do.

Drink.

She leaned on the bar and crooked her finger at him until he dipped his head low enough for his eyes to come level to the swell of her cleavage. She pulled his chin up with two fingers until his gaze locked with hers.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Lance." His voice cracked as he spoke and then cleared his throat before repeating it again with double the bass.

"Look, Lance. I know that not a lot of women come in here. In fact, there probably aren't even a lot of women in this town. Especially ones who dress like me. But if I let you take me home, I'd break you in half. Trust me. You don't want any part of this."

His kind, hazel eyes went wide and his cheeks flamed crimson. He moved to draw back but she laid a staying hand on his forearm.

"That said, I've got a lot of cash in my pocket and I plan on spending it, so what we can do tonight is be friends. You keep filling up that glass, I'll keep tipping you, and you'll have a fat wad of green yourself when you leave tonight. More than enough to take some pretty girl on a nice date. Do we have a deal?"

The flush in his cheeks subsided and he nodded, his aura going from a riot of confused colors to a pleasant yellow as he poured her another shot.

Excellent outcome.

Now everyone who mattered was on board with plan "Get Mina Drunk, ASAP".

Huzzah.

She held up her glass in salute to him and took the next shot down like a champ. Twenty or thirty more of those, they'd be in business.

The shifter metabolism was a blessing and a curse, but never more the latter when a girl just needed to get her drink on. And man, did she ever.

She set the glass down and realized her hand had started to tremble.

Woman up, Mina, she scolded herself sternly. She'd made the choice to help Taya and Etienne, knowing the potential consequences. There was no point in lamenting now. She had to make the best of the situation and figure out where to go from here.

It went against the grain to stay put when she knew she was being hunted, but the best thing about Montana was the massive amount of land and open space. Could be a great place to get lost for a while. Plus, the Council would expect her to leave. They'd probably start their search in bordering states and then spread out--hell, they were probably already doing that--but if her assessment were correct, it would be days before they sent anyone back here to Montana.

At least, she hoped that was how it played out. Because as it stood, she was too emotionally drained and physically exhausted to figure out another plan right now.

She let out a short, bitter laugh.

Plan.

Now there was a novel idea. Had she had even a kernel of one when she'd followed Taya outside the night before, she wouldn't be on the Council's Most Wanted list right now.

You turned a human woman into a shifter.

A woman you've known for less than a week now. And for what?

The answer to that came, swift and sure.

True love. True fucking love.

Her childhood friend had found it, and Taya Briarcroft had returned it to him wholeheartedly. The thought of them losing something so precious and rare because of bullshit red tape and bureaucracy had made her physically ill. So she'd turned the female into a Valkyrie.

And in doing so, she'd effectively crowned herself the Queen of Clusterfuck.

The Countess of Catastrophe.

The Duchess of Disaster.

The Princess of P--

A clink of glass against glass had her looking up to see Lance keeping his end of the bargain, topping off her drink again without being asked.

Perfect.

So she'd slam down another couple dozen of these, walk back to her motel room across the street and possibly even pass out for a few blissful hours. Then she'd get serious and figure her way out of this mess, just like she always did. This certainly wasn't the first time she'd bucked authority, and she'd make damned sure it wouldn't be the last.

She straightened the brim of the black baseball cap she'd donned in a half-hearted attempt to blend in and reached for her drink.

"Mind if I join you?" a loud, cocky voice sounded over her shoulder.

She wasn't a bit surprised when the stranger didn't wait for her answer, instead pulling back the barstool beside her and taking a seat.

She bit back her irritation and offered him a clipped nod before tossing back her shot.

"Nice. I love to see a little lady who can handle her liquor. Happy to get you another, if you're game," he said with a chuckle and stuck out a hand. "Chuck Peters. I own the mill down the road."

She guessed by the way he puffed up his already puffy chest when he said it that owning the mill down the road was something people around these parts were impressed with.

Maybe if she cranked her Bitch-o-Matic Five Thousand up to eleven, he'd leave this "little lady" alone.

"Well, congratulations. I'm sure the cobbler, the tanner, and the blacksmith are green with envy over your achievements."

To his credit, his ruddy face cracked with a wide smile.

"Ah, funny too. I love a woman with a smart mouth."

Interesting. Because, judging by where his gaze had been since she'd turned to face him, she'd have pegged him as more of a tits guy.

Lance silently poured her another, and she sent him a wink in thanks.

"Chuck, was it?" she asked as she turned to face the newcomer again.

"Yep."

"I'm here to get drunk, Chuck. If you want to donate to the cause and buy me a drink, great." She jerked a thumb toward the bartender. "Make sure you tip Lance here when you do because he's saving up for a splashy date with a special someone. But if you're hoping you're going to get me drunk enough that I'll leave here with you tonight and do something reckless?" She snicked her tongue and shook her head. "You're wasting your time. When I do something reckless, I do it way bigger than that."

Like turning a woman into a shifter, thereby bringing down the wrath of dozens of real-life monsters that would make Chuck here wish he'd never left the mill.

But Chuck just smiled again. When he opened his mouth to speak, she cut in.

"Let me guess. You love a seriously reckless woman?"

His patented chuckle became a genuine guffaw this time, and she found herself smiling back grudgingly.

"Actually, I do," he admitted with a rueful grimace. "Just ask all four of my ex-wives. Soon to be five, according to the papers I was served at lunchtime."

Mina, hit by the sudden admission, looked him in the eyes. Big mistake. Never look them in the eyes. They just weren't the windows to the soul, they were the god damned highway to it. It was the second-long crack in that cheery, blowhard veneer...an instant of sad vulnerability that got her.

Her empathic senses connected then roiled with his churning emotions. Sadness, vulnerability, and abandonment rolled off him in waves, and they twisted her gut.

His actions weren't those of a predatory hunter looking for sex. They were the actions of a man desperate for a kind word and to prove he wasn't the loser his exes had convinced him he was.

Lord, she was a sucker. Empathy was the curse of her kind, and no matter how much armor she donned, the feelings of others never failed to penetrate it. Now she was stuck with Sad-sack Chuck and Hormone Lance, for better or worse.

She downed the shot before her and slid the empty glass toward Lance. "I'll take one on Chuck. If he'll have one too."

Chuck brightened visibly and she braced herself for a long night.

An hour and ten shots later, though, she was feeling much more philosophical about the whole thing.

In fact, she was feeling goooood.

Muddy Waters wailed from the jukebox about love and losing and she swayed in her seat, a pleasant hum running through her body as the last of the tension drained out of her.

"The thing about the blues is it gets you right here." She thumped on her chest with her fist and then leaned in to do the same to Chuck. He wasn't as stable as he looked, though, and listed to the side from the blow, nearly toppling in his seat before she grabbed him by the lapel at the last second.

"Almost lost you there, buddy," she murmured as she righted him on his stool. She took a quick glance around to see if anyone had taken note of her unnatural speed and then let out a hiccup-laugh.

No one had seen anything, because the bar was still empty save the three of them. She was safe.

For now.

The ping of fear that came with the thought left just as quickly, thanks to Jose Cuervo, bless his golden-colored heart.

"I agree with you totally," Chuck murmured, his voice slurred. "This was when music was music." He grabbed hold of her arm and used it to play an air guitar solo as Lance doubled over with laughter behind the bar.

Better. This was better. Her problems seemed fuzzy and vague, and she wasn't alone.

Maybe that was the real reason she'd come here tonight. She could've gone to her motel and gotten drunk all by herself. But as much as she tried to tell herself otherwise?

God, was she tired of being alone.

A cool draft washed over her and the sound of the bar door closing had her freezing in place. Heavy footfalls thudded across the wooden floor but she kept her gaze trained on Lance.

The kid's body language spoke of comfort and ease, which in turn reassured her.

He recognized the newcomer.

"Hey, Dan," Lance said, eyes locked on a spot over her shoulder as he swiped a white towel at some crumbs on the bar.

Mina glanced in the mirror behind him to see the vague outline of a massive wall of a man standing a few feet away from her, hands on hips.

"Everyone doing all right here?" he asked in a low baritone.

Chuck, who'd been oblivious to his arrival before then, dropped her guitar arm and wheeled around, letting out a groan.

"Aw, Christ, McCafferty. What do you want?"

"What I want is to make sure there's no trouble brewing here tonight. Any trouble brewing tonight, Chuck?"

Maybe it was all the drinks, but something about that slow, thoughtful drawl and that deep, husky voice sent a wave of heat through her, warming her from head to toe, which irritated her to no end. He was messing with her new friend, Sad-sack Chuck The Miller, and she wasn't about to stand for it.

She was nothing if not loyal.

"There's no trouble," she assured him as she turned in her chair to lock eyes with the newcomer. It was a bad move. He looked even better than he sounded, and that was saying something.

Not that he was pretty. His face had too many hard planes and sharp edges for that, and its fair share of scars. A white line bisected one dark brow, another right across his cheekbone and a third from his chin up to his bottom lip. She closed one eye and focused on that lip. It was a good one. Full but firm. The kind that made you want to suck and bite and trace with the tip of one finger.

Pretty?

No.

But he was a real panty-melter.

She let out a low hiss and shook her head to clear it. She wasn't here to find a Montana man to play with. She was here to drink herself into oblivion. And she was halfway there if only this wannabe Boy Scout would let her get back to it.

"I appreciate the concern, stranger, but I can handle myself, thanks. Chuck is my friend. Me, him and Lance go way back," she lied smoothly. Didn't matter if he believed her, so long as he went away.

"Well, if that's true, then you know Chuck here got some tough news today. I just wanted to make sure there wasn't anyone in the wings waiting to take advantage of his well-known generosity when he's in a bad place. Get my drift?"

She closed one eye, mulling that new tidbit over, when she saw him take a pointed glance at her clothes. She was dressed head to toe in black leather besides the satin, red bustier beneath her kick-ass, take-names jacket. Her knee-high boots rocked four-inch stilettos and metal studs dotted the seams.

He wasn't checking up on her.

He was checking up on Chuck to make sure she wasn't taking him for a ride on the heels of his breakup.

She eyed her accuser speculatively, more curious than offended.

"I can't tell if you're insinuating that I'm a hooker, a gold-digger, or a thief. So which is it?" She gave him a smile that had instilled icy fear into the hearts of countless beings, humans and shifters alike.

Apparently not this guy, though. He just held her gaze with his chocolate brown eyes and shrugged. "You tell me."

"Anyone ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover, Mr. McCafferty?" she asked, leaning toward him just far enough to flash the mother lode of cleavage.

He cocked his head and eyed her for a long moment. She found herself resisting the urge to squirm in her seat.

"You're right about that, and I apologize," he finally conceded with a nod. "But we watch out for each other in this town, and one thing I can tell just by looking is that you're both drunk and likely not in good shape for decision-making. Now Chuck here lives close enough, he can walk home, but what about you, ma'am?" Dan crossed his arms over his wide chest and leveled her with a disapproving stare. "You staying close by or have a ride?"

Ma'am? Jesus, did she look old enough that this guy was seriously calling her ma'am?

"Well, sir," she said, sliding off her barstool to stand. "Since you're so worried about everyone's safety, do you think it would be prudent of me to tell you that? What if you tried to follow me home and take advantage of me?"

She couldn't help it. The devil must've gotten her tongue because she leaned in and pressed a hand against his chest, craning her neck so she could look into eyes.

"Is that what this is about? Do you want to take advantage of me, mister?" she whispered.

It was supposed to be a joke. A yank on his chain to set him back in his place, which was somewhere far out of her business.

Instead, it turned into something else. Something hot and needy and totally unexpected. His eyes went from chocolate brown to almost black as they narrowed in on her mouth. His aura, which had been a steady, dark green indicating calm and control, suddenly went white hot.

"Don't toy with me, woman," he muttered, before gripping her wrist in his strong fingers and pulling her hand from his chest. "I've had a rough day."

"Hey Dan, you want a beer?" Lance called to him from behind the bar, breaking the tension. "Since you're off duty and all?"

Off duty.

She should've spotted it a mile away. The way he carried himself, the aura of confidence and authority. He was a cop. She'd just accused a law enforcement official of wanting to molest her.

Lovely. Way to fly under the radar.

The silence stretched between them until she finally broke it. "Look, Officer, I'm staying right across the street, so I won't be driving. And I can handle myself, I promise. Go enjoy your beer."

He released her arm and those lips quirked into a crooked, half-smile. "It's Sheriff. And roger that, ma'am. But in case you haven't been paying attention to the news, we've had one murder and a few mysterious disappearances around these parts. So take a little extra precaution, would you?"

She kept her expression neutral as she took in that tidbit and filed it away for later examination when her head was clearer. Could be unrelated to her kind, but then again, could be all the discord between the Montana shifters of late at the root of those “mysterious disappearances.”

"Will do,” she said with a nod. “You have a good night."

She wanted to turn around and go back to waxing poetic about the blues with Chuck, but she couldn't take her eyes off the lawman as he walked away. He wore his jeans slung low on lean hips, and his gray fleece sweatshirt seemed to hug every glorious inch of that muscled back.

How long had it been since she'd dug her fingernails into a back like that?

Hell, any back at all?

She settled into her stool and whirled around to face the bar again, just in time to hear Chuck and Lance arguing about whether beer nuts were better than standard variety peanuts. She opted not to weigh in, focusing instead on the shot glass her new favorite bartender had refilled when she wasn't looking.

Focus, Mina.

She was here to drink and forget her worries for a while, not fall in lust with a stranger. Especially one that looked like him.

Because as easy on the eyes as the Sheriff was, he had an edge to him...a hardness in his gaze. One that she only saw in the most dangerous of men. Men who had seen some serious shit and had come out the other side of it tortured. He was trouble, all caps, and she'd do well to forget she ever laid eyes on him.

Now if someone would just share that memo with her raging, tequila-infused hormones?

She'd be golden.