Dragons Can’t Date

Chapter One

Rux

“Of course I’m the dragon who has to haul the bloody groceries,” Rux muttered, hefting a ten-pound bag of flour into his cart with more force than strictly necessary. The bag landed with a satisfying thud against the metal basket.

He turned down the baking aisle, his boots squeaking against the pristine linoleum. Harrison kept the place spotless - almost aggressively so. It was probably why half the town treated it like a damn social club.

A jar of vanilla extract joined the flour. Then cinnamon. Then nutmeg, because the Crème Brulé he’d attempted last week had been missing something, and Mabon had been too polite to say what. Urien, on the other hand, had helpfully suggested it tasted like “sweet, scrambled eggs.”

Dragon shifter and ancient protector of the realm, reduced to grocery shopping on a Tuesday afternoon.

Meanwhile, Mabon was probably curled up in his favorite chair by the library fire, reading one of those leather-bound tomes he loved so much. And Urien? Urien was definitely still in bed, the lazy bastard, claiming he needed to “conserve his energy” after last night’s patrol.

Which hadn’t really been a patrol, because they had no attackers to bother them, but when ancient dragons need a good excuse to stretch their wings, calling it “patrol” was a good enough reason. Rux had been on the same patrol. He’d gotten up at dawn anyway.

“Rux! Is that you?”

He didn’t need to turn around to recognize Mrs. Channing’s voice. The woman had a talent for appearing whenever he hoped to slip through town unnoticed.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Channing.” He grabbed a bag of brown sugar and studied the nutrition label.

“I haven’t seen you in weeks. How are Mabon and Urien?”

“Alive. Consuming my cooking. The usual.” They could make these labels more interesting.

“You’re such a dear, always taking care of them.” She patted his arm, her shopping basket bumping against his elbow. “My Harold never cooks. He won’t even boil water for tea.”

Rux grunted something noncommittal. His cart was looking good now - eggs, cream, and butter were the beginnings of something ambitious. Maybe a chocolate torte, something rich enough to make Urien groan in that particular way that meant Rux had outdone himself.

Worth the trek into town? Maybe.

Worth missing the comfortable sprawl of home, where he could’ve been doing literally anything else? Debatable.

“Are you making something special?” Mrs. Channing peered into his cart like a curious cat.

“Torte.”

“How lovely! You know, my nephew is visiting next week, and he’s single…”

“Taken. Very taken. Extremely taken.” Rux steered his cart around her, heading toward the dairy section before she could launch into her nephew’s credentials – something she’d done at least a dozen times before.

The cream selection was pathetic. Harrison’s stocked exactly two brands, and one of them was the ultra-pasteurized nonsense that barely qualified as cream. Rux grabbed four containers of the decent stuff, already calculating ratios in his head.

Two eggs per cup of cream. Dark chocolate, not milk. Maybe some espresso powder to deepen the flavor.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Rux pulled it out.

Don’t forget bread, Mabon’s text read.

Then, three seconds later: The good kind

Rux stared at the screen and then typed out a response.

Getting ingredients for torte. You want bread, too?

Please? Urien ate the last of it this morning

Of course he did

Rux shoved the phone back in his pocket and headed for the bakery section, his cart now overflowing with supplies. At least the torte would be worth it. His mates would appreciate the effort, even if they’d sent him out here alone while they lounged around like a pair of house cats.

“Rux, one more thing.”

He closed his eyes and counted to five before opening them again...and then his eyes widened. Mrs. Channing was going to have to wait.

A man walked past the window, coffee cup in one hand, phone in the other.

He had brown hair that looked soft and wavy, the way it caught the afternoon light.

The man wasn’t very tall – at least not by dragon standards - maybe five and a half feet.

Rux noted the soft middle under a cable-knit sweater and glasses that kept sliding down his nose as he tilted his head to laugh at whatever was on his screen.

Just another random guy, in other words. But not this time.

Everything stopped. Not metaphorically, or in some romantic, time-slows-down bullshit way.

It just stopped. Rux’s heart stuttered. His breath caught.

The grocery store - the fluorescent lights, the music, Mrs. Channing’s persistent chatter about her nephew’s excellent dental hygiene - all of it dissolved into static as heat bloomed in his chest.

No, not heat...fire. A sudden and very unexpected burning brand right over his sternum…

“Oh, hell.”

Rux dropped his gaze. Through the fabric of his Henley, a warm golden light pulsed. Absolutely unmistakable. His heart stone. It hadn’t just appeared - it ignited his whole being.

Rux had heard the stories his entire life, had listened to bonded dragons describe the same moment with awe and overwhelming joy, but nothing prepared him for the reality.

It felt like swallowing starlight, like his chest had cracked open to make room for something impossibly vast. A hundred years of searching, of watching other triads find their fourths while he and his mates learned to be content with three, of slowly accepting they might be one of the unlucky ones - all of it crystallized into one single, perfect moment.

And then the terror hit. What if he couldn’t reach him? What if his mate - his Treasure - walked away before Rux found the courage to speak?

His dragon, the beast that usually slumbered quietly in his bones, surged with a roar that rattled through every nerve ending. TREASURE.

The word wasn’t thought so much as felt. Recognized at a level deeper than consciousness, older than reason.

OURS. OURS. CLAIM HIM. PROTECT HIM. KEEP HIM. MINE. OURS. WHY ARE WE STILL STANDING HERE? GO. NOW. OURS.

“Rux? Are you quite alright? You’ve gone very red.”

Mrs. Channing’s voice pierced the haze, concerned and far too close. Rux could feel his dragon pressing against his skin, demanding release, demanding he shift right there in the middle of Harrison’s and claim what was theirs.

Which would be bad. Very bad. The kind of bad that involved council tribunals, memory wipes, and possibly being banned from grocery stores for eternity.

“Fine.” His voice came out as a growl. An actual growl, that made Mrs. Channing take a step back. “I’m fine. Just fine. Very fine. Extremely fine.”

He wasn’t fine. Rux’s hands gripped the cart handle hard enough that the metal creaked and then bent, followed by a concerning crunching sound as the steel frame crumpled under his fingers like aluminum foil.

OURS. Look at him. PERFECT. We should tell him. Right now. Go tell him he’s ours. MOVE YOUR LEGS. What’s wrong with your legs? Why are we still talking to this human female when OUR TREASURE is RIGHT THERE?

The man outside had stopped walking. He’d lowered his phone, now peering at something in a shop window with that same soft smile. The way the sunlight caught his hair made it shine like…like…

Treasure, his dragon supplied helpfully. It shines like treasure because he IS treasure. OUR treasure. Go. GO. What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? MOVE.

Rux’s vision sharpened, every detail suddenly, impossibly vivid.

The freckles across his nose - he could count them from here, every single adorable one.

The way his sweater bunched slightly at his waist. The scuff on his left shoe.

The exact angle of his jawline when he smiled at whatever had caught his attention.

Their Treasure was flawless.

“I have to go.”

The words came out strangled. Rux released the mangled cart - it immediately listed to one side, one wheel spinning uselessly - and took a step toward the exit.

Mrs. Channing blinked at him. “But we were just discussing Derek’s excellent flossing routine, and I wanted to give you his number…”

“Can’t. Emergency. Important emergency. Very important.” Rux was already moving, already shoving past his cart with enough force that it rolled backward and crashed into a display of cereal boxes. “Tell Derek his teeth sound wonderful.”

“Rux, your groceries. What about the eggs?”

“Don’t need them. I don’t need anything except…” He cut himself off before he could say “our Treasure” and settled for, “…to go. Right now. Immediately. Bye.”

He didn’t run. Running would draw attention. But his walk was perhaps more aggressive than strictly necessary, his strides long enough that he nearly took out a woman examining the organic produce section.

Faster. FASTER. He’s getting away. What if he leaves? What if we never find him again? What if he gets hit by a car? What if someone else sees him? What if another dragon…NO. NO OTHER DRAGONS. OURS.

“He’s human,” Rux hissed under his breath. “Other dragons won’t…”

OURS.

The automatic doors seemed to take seventeen years to open. Rux squeezed through the gap before they’d fully parted, his shoulder clipping the frame with enough force that the plastic cracked with a sharp snap.

He burst onto the sidewalk and… Nothing. The street stretched before him. Afternoon shoppers. Parked cars. A woman walking a small, yappy dog that immediately started barking at him like it could sense the dragon barely restrained beneath his skin.

No sign at all of the man with wavy brown hair, glasses, and a smile that made Rux’s entire chest feel like someone had lit a bonfire inside it.

“No.”

Rux spun in a circle, nearly colliding with a teenager on a skateboard.

“Watch it, dude!”

“Sorry. Sorry.” Rux barely heard him. His gaze tracked left, then right, then left again because maybe he’d somehow missed… But no, their Treasure was gone.