His Scorching Desire: Real Men of Wildridge

CHAPTER ONE

Grizz Magna dug his fingers under the tight metal collar strapped around his throat and scratched the stubbly flesh at the edge of his thick beard. The breakfast line took a single step forward. The tattooed walls of muscle in front of and behind him moved another step closer to the least appetizing slop he’d ever seen—something the prison passed off as scrambled eggs. Thankfully, he didn’t see any moldy patches in the serving dishes this time, so by the Los Angeles Shifter Holding Center’s standards, this was a treat for the inmates.

He glanced at one of the curved mirrors that loomed over the line of prisoners and caught a glimpse of his own blurry reflection. His light brown hair was longer than he normally liked, mainly because he never could be bothered to figure out how to tame it. Of course no one else in the place looked much better. The dark brown of his eyes only made the circles under them appear worse than they were. Or maybe not. He certainly felt as exhausted as he looked. If it weren’t for the full beard covering the lower half of his face, Grizz wouldn’t have been able to pick himself out of a line-up.

None of that really mattered, but seeing his human shape made him realize how much he missed his dragon form. Every now and then the powdered dragonsbane in his hollow metal collar shifted, bringing with it a twinge of bitterness toward the clever asshole who’d invented the damn thing, whoever it was.

The collars were a part of everyday life in the holding center. Dragon shifters who ended up on the wrong side of the law found themselves collared and unable to shift because there was no other way to control them as safely as other shifters. A full-sized dragon was nearly impossible to contain, but a collared human was another thing entirely.

Grizz’s collar seemed heavier every day but soon the weight would be lifted. He stole a glance at his inside contact up ahead. Roger—the grey-haired, squat man in his sixties wearing a hairnet and apron while he doled out ladles full of eggs—was his one and only line of contact to the outside world. He was a reliable guy who had been in the system most of his life, and he didn’t deal with short-timers and new fish who were liable to cause him more headaches than they were worth.

Fortunately, Grizz was from a different cut. He knew the ropes as well as the most experienced inmates and knew how to carry himself to avoid trouble. He kept his expression hollow and his eyes downcast. Shuffling and a slouchy posture gave the impression he’d accepted his fate. Guards would think he was depressed, just waiting to be processed so he could get out of purgatory like most prisoners, but he kept his frame strong so other inmates would think twice before trying to overpower him.

So far so good.

Finally, the line moved him into place directly in front of Roger, and a thick glob of gelatinous yellow stuff splatted onto his plate. Grizz’s gaze drifted up to Roger’s. To anyone watching, it was just a glance. But Grizz caught the subtle shake of Roger’s head before the man turned his attention away and served the next inmate in line without a word.

Grizz’s stomach clenched. He stood in line longer than he should have, long enough that Roger shot him a hard glare and gestured for him to keep moving. That told Grizz everything he needed to know…but it was no less confusing, and a great deal more distressing than he’d expected.

A guard glanced in Grizz’s direction. That finally got his ass in gear and he looked for an open seat. The sea of bodies dressed in orange jumpsuits blurred into a giant blob as his heart raced and his mind tried to make sense of what just happened.

That was not how the breakfast line was supposed to go.

He should have heard from his boss by now. Harlow had promised to send word through Roger before Grizz’s sentencing, but every day Roger gave him the same almost imperceptible head-shake. That was bad news made even worse because his sentencing hearing was just hours away. It seemed unthinkable that Harlow would simply kick an asset like Grizz to the curb after everything he’d done, which led him down a dark path as he settled into a seat between a hulking bear shifter said to have killed his own brother in a jealous rage and a panther shifter in for burglary.

Had Harlow set him up?

That was hard to believe, but he was flying blind now. All he knew was that his draconic instincts were giving him a bad feeling in his gut.

Later that afternoon, when the guard removed Grizz’s shackles in the courtroom, he flexed his hands and smiled his gratitude at the man, hiding the fact that his heart felt like it might explode right out of his chest. His little dose of freedom came with a much bigger dose of anxiety, making him feel more caged than ever.

The courtroom was a din of shuffling papers, men and women in sharp suits bustling around, and a conspicuous lack of Harlow anywhere in sight. Grizz gulped a deep breath, trying to remain calm—or at least appear that way. Harlow would show. He had to. If he didn’t…

The back of Grizz’s neck itched as everyone in the gallery watched him take his seat next to his court-appointed attorney. The man barely acknowledged his presence. He didn’t matter anyway—only Harlow mattered—so Grizz kept his gaze fixed on the door he knew the judge would walk through any moment. Surely Harlow was with the judge at that very moment, telling him the way things were and that the next defendant should be released immediately.

That had to be it. After he was released, Grizz would make Harlow buy him a stiff drink at their favorite neighborhood watering hole and they’d laugh over how worried he’d been.

When the judge swept into the courtroom, Grizz tried to read the woman’s expression, but it was inscrutable. Either she’d been educated by Harlow and was pissed off about the state of affairs, or she had a terminal case of resting bitch face. One last glance back at the gallery confirmed Harlow was nowhere to be seen. Grizz swallowed hard, hoping against hope his boss had made good on his promise.

Mr. Magna, please rise, the judge instructed as she scanned a folder in front of her. Based upon the evidence presented during your trial and the nature and circumstances of the events described in those proceedings, I conclude that a just punishment for your actions is as follows. On the first count—murder in the first degree—you are hereby sentenced to serve the rest of your natural life in Los Angeles Maximum Security Prison without the possibility of parole. On the second count…

The judge’s voice droned on as the color drained from Grizz’s face. The stir of the crowd behind him seemed pleased.

Life.

In prison.

Human prison. Shifters sentenced to human prisons wore their restraint collars twenty-four-seven, and with a life sentence ahead of him…

Grizz would never be able to shift again, as long as he lived.

No, he murmured, looking to his attorney. This isn’t right.

His attorney looked at him blandly as the gavel crashed down. That’s what they all say, man. Sorry.

Had Grizz ever bothered to remember the man’s name, he might have called him out as a shitty excuse for a lawyer instead of watching him saunter out of the courtroom—toward freedom! A hand on his shoulder made him jump. The guard loomed over him as Grizz scanned the room again, desperate for a glimpse of his boss, or anyone who might have been sent by him. Only a handful of people met his gaze, and they certainly didn’t look like friendlies.

Before he even realized what was happening, two guards were leading him out the back of the courtroom. They would take him back to the transport and he’d be sent to a human prison forever. This couldn’t be happening! But it was, and no one would save him. No one but himself. Time for Plan B.

A lifetime of experience calmed the raging waters inside of him as he formulated a quick-and-dirty plan. The three men walked in a single file line—Grizz in the middle—down a dingy hallway that led to the loading area where the prison transport van waited. As they approached the back door of the courthouse, Grizz heard the guard behind him pulling the shackles from his belt.

Sorry, sport, the guy said as the guard in the lead pulled out his keys to unlock the door. You’re a good guy, but rules are rules.

Grizz had played the compliant prisoner from the moment he’d entered the system. He knew how to play the game, and now he was entering the end zone. If ever there was a time for a Hail Mary, it was now.

He smiled at the guard with the shackles, letting him know there were no hard feelings. The guard was just doing his job, but Grizz listened hard for the moment that would either spell his freedom or his demise. I get it, boss. Thanks for letting me have a few final minutes.

Well, it’s not like you can do much damage with that thing on your neck, but like I said, rules are rules.

He gestured with the shackles for Grizz to turn around and put his arms behind his back.

Hurry the fuck up, Grizz thought, turning as slowly as he could get away with.

Just as the first guard came back into view, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard echoed in the lonely hallway. The tumblers inside the door lock clanked and the guard pulled his key free. Without pausing, without even taking the time to think, Grizz reached his right hand back and gripped the back of the second guard’s head before the man could process what he was doing. Then he pulled him forward with every ounce of strength he possessed—which was pathetic compared to his unhindered dragon strength. But it was enough to smash the second guard’s face hard into the face of the first guard with a sickening crunch.

Grizz didn’t wait around to watch the bloodbath that was surely happening with two busted noses. Without a glance behind him, he bolted out of the courthouse’s back door and into the sweet, sweet sunlight.

A dusky shape darted among the vegetation, diving deep within the forest of lush green trees and overgrown bushes with their curling ivy fingers and thorny talons pulling at the hair and skin of any creature who might pass.

Every now and then her incredible agility was displayed in flashes and bursts, sending furry little animals at the lower end of the food chain scrambling and skittering away from the predator’s path. They dove under bushes with a squeal or a territorial chirp, barely dodging the heavy-hitting thump of the woman’s footsteps.

She was barefoot, the bottoms of her feet appropriately calloused by years of dashing across fields of spurs and thorns. They kept her protected from the rough terrain as she raced faster and faster, her