The Dino Whisperer (The Dino Uprising #2)

Chapter 1

1

AUSTYN

A man—barely four feet tall and dressed like a pirate—jumps from the sales counter of my store, brandishing a swashbuckling sword in one hand and a wad of hundred-dollar bills in the other, making me wish I grabbed my gun instead of my knife. Wisps of black tendrils escape from his hair tie as his equally dark eyes glitter with excitement. “Whatcha gonna do with that? Eh?”

My knife swishes through the air, stabs his stupid garish hat, and pins it to the wooden accent wall behind him. “You woke me from a good dream, Walter. Come back when it’s daylight.”

“That’s me favorite hat, jackass,” he says, baring his overly white teeth. Then he chuckles, sheathes his sword, and starts counting out the cash.

“Don’t bother.” I fold my arms across my chest and glare. “The answer is no.”

“Now, Austyn. Don’t be like that. Just take the cash, and we’ll call this a done deal. And I won’t mention your sass to Mr. Jacobs.”

“What does he want this time?” This has become a quarterly thing. Not always the same messenger—muscle? Asswipe?—but it’s been Walter more and more as of late. I resisted at first. Years ago, I still had morals. Now, I’m lucky if I have an ounce of give-a-shit. And there’s safety in numbers, and with so few of us left, we have to stick together.

“That’s more like it.” A wide smile breaks out as he shoves the cash at me. I accept it, holding it between my fingers and thumb as if it’s dirty. And isn’t it? It certainly skirts the law. But whose laws? Human’s? I’m not technically human, so do those rules apply to me? Justifying dealing with the likes of Victor Jacobs has become second nature, and I truly hate it.

I also hate losing sleep. And Walter is stalling. Never a good sign. “What does he want?” I ask again through gritted teeth.

“It’s nothing too taxing. You’ll have a visitor. He’ll be looking for clothes.”

“This is a clothing store. Maybe you could be more specific?”

Walter cackles and slaps his leg a bit dramatically. “Mr. Jacobs might not enjoy your sass, but I love it. This scallywag is new to the area. Just got into town, I think. He’s also a little clueless .”

“No.” Clutching the money, less firmly this time, I try to give it back.

Walter sticks his hands in the air. “No takesie-backsies.”

“I don’t— I’m not. God, isn’t there anyone else?”

“That’s what ye get for being the best.”

“The last time almost killed me, remember?” I’m not being dramatic. I specialize in making clothes for creatures. Beasts. Dinosaur shifters, to be exact. Clothes that almost breathe with them—durable but easy to remove when the need arises.

Those are the assignments I enjoy. But the other jobs I get from Jacobs center around assisting the newbies. Dinosaur shifters in human form who’ve never shifted. The last one overreacted to the pain of the shift and tried to tear my head off.

Walter shrugs. “You’re still here, aye? And he apologized.”

My frustration rises to alarming levels, wanting to be released. I flex my arms, trying to keep some control. We both know I’ll do this, no matter how much I protest. Walter watches my struggle a little too closely. Another thing we both know? How this meeting will end.

“D’ya wanna go?” He eyes me with something akin to hunger. I know that feeling well.

I clasp my hands together and stretch them over my head. I told myself I wasn’t going to give in again. But my resolve never lasts—with Jacobs or Walter. He watches me, bouncing from foot to foot with barely contained excitement. I finally nod. “Usual place?”

“Aye.” The light in his eyes is predatory. Familiar. Before I met Walter, it had been years since I’d found someone who could keep up with me. About sixty-five million of them.

“All right.” Striding past Walter, I retrieve his hat and my knife. “Let’s play, motherfucker.”

I arch my back and stretch my arms behind me. My muscles ache in a good way. Sparring with Walter last night—letting my Troodon out—helped me work off my pent-up energy. Now I’m ready for the day.

Until Tate Goodman walks into my store, and my resolve crumbles like the loose boulders at the base of Diamond Peak. I steel myself to do what’s necessary—look Tate in his sweet brown eyes and tell him this isn’t happening. Ever. And for me, ever is a long fucking time.

My clothing shop is in Hope, Idaho, a small town in the northern part of the state with less than five thousand people, not counting the almost constant influx of tourists. It’s close to Diamond Peak, the highest peak in the Lemhi Range, which works perfectly for sparring and staying hidden from outsiders. The shop itself is located off the normal path of the day-to-day traffic. By design. I don’t need or want a lot of visitors to my store. I cater to a certain clientele but still get the odd customers wandering in, and by odd, I mean those under a million years old.

The first time Tate visited my shop was six months ago. A giant teddy bear of a guy. I shiver at the memory. I’d had an immediate response to him, which was unusual for me. I’d chalked it up to the fact that I hadn’t had sex in a while. My last hookup was unsatisfying, to say the least.

He barely touches the clothes. A dead giveaway. I catch his gaze on me more than once as I discuss material choices with another patron.

“This is gorgeous.” The woman slides her fingers over the silk and frowns. She moves on to a pair of slacks, and the furrow between her brow deepens. She’s never going to find what she wants here. But I can’t tell her that. Humans notice my fabulous clothes and wander in to shop. No reason for me to be modest. I have what no human tailor can give them. Something original with vibrant colors and exotic materials. But the fabric has something special weaved in that non-shifters don’t like. The woman quickly departs, and I make my move, afraid the big guy will leave the store before I get to hear his voice.

“Can I help you?” My sparkly assistant slips in next to him. “You look lost.”

I curse Rad for getting there first. Not that I’ll tell him that. Sometimes, it’s a struggle to get him to do his job. Still, he moves fast for a guy wearing harem pants and combat boots.

“No. I’m fine,” the big guy says, glancing at me. Rad smirks.

My glare has no effect on my assistant, so I physically push him out of the way. “I’ve got this Rad.”

“Are you sure?”

I bite my lip, my eyes glued to the man before me, as I wave my hand absently at Rad. This close, the man looks even bigger. Oh my. “Hi. I’m Austyn. How can I help you today?”

A red blush creeps up his skin. He rubs the back of his neck, and I imagine his large hand around my nape. Would his touch be soft and gentle? Or strong and rough? “I need…I mean, I was told ? —”

Rad clears his throat, bringing me back to the present. He’d interrupted me that day too. When I’d turned back, the big guy was walking out the door.

But Tate has come back. Many times. Hence, my current situation.

I’ve never had a human visit my store several times a month for six months. And then every single day for a week. None except Tate.

Sweetness isn’t here for clothes. He’s here for me.

I nod at Rad to be ready. My sales assistant reminds me of a sparkly ninja. Stunning and dangerous. Today, his outfit consists of a transparent lavender blouse over a black chamise and paired with tight skinny jeans. His silver eyeshadow contrasts with his military-grade combat boots—perfect for guarding the merch and marching cute wannabee suitors out of my store.

“Good morning, Tate,” I say, fixing a sock display that an eager shopper destroyed. Damned Eoraptors think they own the world. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“Morning, Aus.” His voice is deep but soft, like a rich, sweet chocolate that melts in your mouth.

“I hope you find something you like today. Let me know if I can help.” I smile because it’s difficult not to around Tate.

His face turns a dark shade of pink, and damn, I love a guy who blushes. How does Tate push all my buttons? Big, but not overly muscular, with sandy-brown hair and dark eyes. Shy and adorable. And sweet, like he’ll give up the world for me.

I can dream all I want about Tate wrapping me in his big arms, telling me I’m beautiful, caring for me. Slowly. With purpose. But none of that is remotely possible.

After another smile, Tate wanders toward the back of the store, browsing the winter wear. The bell over the door rings, announcing another customer, and I dash behind the sales counter to hide my predicament. The shop is empty except for Tate and a pair of Eoraptors, in human form, chittering by women’s shoes. And now, Mrs. Goulda and her dog, Poppy. Great. A flyer announcing an all-town garage sale doubles as a fan as I take a deep breath and try to cool down.

Rad chuckles. I give him the finger and nod toward Tate. He snickers again, shaking his head, but he dutifully complies. A second later, the display mannequin tumbles over and crashes to the floor. Tate almost goes down with it, but Rad grabs his arm just in time.

Holding the flyer to my face, I hide my grin. I should be frustrated by this hot mess of a guy causing chaos in my store, especially since he can’t wear my clothes. But for some reason, I’m charmed.

Tate tries to help Rad straighten the mannequin and backs into the tie rack. This time, he goes down, grabbing at the ties as if they could slow his descent.

Is he hurt? I crane my neck to see, ignoring the urge to go to him. Tate is on the floor, partially covered in a mountain of colorful ties.

The Eoraptors roll on the ground, laughing like a pair of hyenas. Poppy yaps at them from the safety of Mrs. Goulda’s purse, and Rad raises his hands in defeat. Time to take charge.

The Eoraptors aren’t going to buy anything, so I shoo them out of the store. Mrs. Goulda and Poppy return to their shopping while Rad helps Tate to his feet.

“I’ve got this, sugar.” Rad pats his arm. “You’re good. Just don’t move. M’kay?”

Tate nods, his eyes darting to the door as Rad cleans up the mess.

Is he thinking of leaving? That would be for the best. But what if he doesn’t return? I ignore the twinge in my heart. What I want doesn’t matter.

Tate rolls his neck but manages to keep the rest of his body still. He’s trying so hard. Then Rad gives him a thumbs-up, and Tate visibly relaxes, flashing a tiny smile.

I straighten the stack of flyers on the counter, trying to ignore Tate and the annoying twinges in my heart. Once everything is in place, I restock the candy display. We have plenty of Jolly Ranchers, but I might need to reorder more soon. As I replenish the business cards, I feel Tate’s eyes on me, but I don’t look up.

I need to let this fantasy go. It’s been eons since I’ve been interested in a guy, but Tate and I have no chance. I need to be like Rad or Walter and just hook up with someone. But the few times I have left me feeling unsatisfied.

Tate isn’t and will never be hookup material. He’s keep-around-and-never-let-go material. And I desperately want that. But being part of a secret society of dinosaur shifters isn’t conducive to having a meaningful relationship with a human. Especially when Jacobs, our self-appointed gatekeeper, has apparently watched The Godfather one too many times. But I can’t complain because he manages to keep us safe and free from being hunted like wild animals.

Thankfully, I’m distracted by Mrs. Goulda, who’s ready to be checked out. It’s ten minutes before closing, according to the clock on the wall. We usually have a last-minute rush, but today, there’s only Mrs. Goulda and her puppy. And Tate still lingering in the back.

“Could I get a pack of the Gold Mini Cigarillos?”

We keep a few essentials. Our clients don’t always like to go to human stores, so I help them out as much as I can. I grab the cigars for her. “Those will kill you, you know,” I say, winking at her. I make the same stupid joke every time.

And she still laughs. Every time. “We’re all dying, Mr. Burkes. See you next week.”

Then Tate is the only customer in the store. I chew my thumb as an uneasy feeling skitters down my spine. This isn’t his usual loitering. This is purposeful. He wants me alone.

I practiced this. It’s only five little words. Sorry, Tate, I’m not interested. Can I say them? I glance around for backup. Rad has fucked off to somewhere. Traitor.

Tate grabs a bag of Jolly Ranchers and places it on the counter. Does he go through them all in a day or just pick out his favorite—green apple? Will he taste like apples if I kiss him? I push those thoughts away and ring him up, steeling myself against beautiful brown eyes I can’t resist. But Tate doesn’t look up. Is he purposefully avoiding my gaze? That should make it easier, but his shyness—his vulnerability—tugs on my heart.

He doesn’t say anything. Or move. He takes several deep breaths and then shakes his head.

“Tate?”

“I need you, Aus,” he says in a soft voice, then blushes and shakes his head. His words start a fire in my body. A want I didn’t know could exist at this intensity. To be needed by this man. Wanted. Fuck.

“Tate, I…” The words I’ve rehearsed are gone. Lost in my overwhelming need to have him.

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant to say.” His eyes dart to mine and then settle on my left shoulder. “I need…your help.”

“My help? I don’t understand.” It’s the way he says it that confuses me. This isn’t about a pair of pants or new socks. After a moment of silence, I grab his hand—only to encourage him—but it’s like knocking over a domino in one of those elaborate setups Rad enjoys watching on YouTube . An electric current runs through my fingers at the contact. Not the feeling of an electric current but an actual zap of electricity. I quickly let go. His eyes snap to mine simultaneously, and I gasp, stumbling back. What the fuck? Primal energy flashes in his eyes, trying to get out. How did I miss it?

Tate is a dinosaur.

And more importantly, does he know? But those thoughts take a backseat when he speaks.

“Mr. Jacobs sent me.”