"As are you. We will make gloriously stubborn children."

He sighed. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Nope. Neither should you because I am the ultimate prize."

More like an impossible dream, but he clamped that thought down tightly, lest she slap him.

The limo headed toward their destination, or so he assumed, and he didn't know what to think. Having Aimi by his side proved distracting, but even worse, he couldn't hide the fact that he headed into enemy territory. More than ever he questioned the wisdom of waltzing in.

The lights of the city were left behind as they drove into suburbia. Wide streets, towering trees, actual sidewalks, and lawns lit with strategic emphasis to showcase trees and shrubbery, manicured to within an inch of its verdant green life.

They slowed down at a gate, the wide archway spanning the lanes entering and exiting. There was a very ornate welcoming sign and even a guardhouse where someone with a tablet briefly spoke to the driver before letting them enter. It appeared they entered a gated community for the wealthy, a place where the rich went to live and remain separated from the masses.

This was where Parker lived? It seemed too lavish even for his uncle. "Are we going to the right place?" he asked.

"It's what the invitation said."

The location might be right. However, it seemed wrong because, when Brand thought of a birthday party, what came to mind were the celebrations of his youth. The backyard decked in Christmas lights strung among the trees, the multi-colored bulbs seeming suspended in midair once darkness fell. The several picnic tables-the wood spongy with age and mildewed by time-covered by plastic covers with balloons and Happy Birthday emblazoned upon it. For added decoration, a few colored balloons on strings taped to the house and branches. The simple decor went well with the menu of barbecued burgers, hot dogs, and macaroni salad followed by dessert; a slab cake his ma made from scratch, smeared in icing with candles of varying heights staggered all over it. In their house, even little things like candle stubs were reused to save money.

The tight budget also meant it was only close family and the very best of friends invited because, as his mother often said, "We aren't feeding the whole damned neighborhood." It might have sounded harsh and uncaring, but that was the reality of living on a budget. Despite the restrictions, no Mercer ever felt forgotten, even if some of the presents arrived still in a plastic bag, with tags, and possibly five-fingered instead of bought.

But it was the thought that counted.

So was it any wonder when he heard the celebration was for his sister's birthday that Brand kind of expected something intimate and familiar? The hoity-toity houses in the area with their tall gates and stone-walled fences said otherwise.

I should have guessed by the tuxedo and limo. The suit Aimi had made him wear was anything but simple, but he assumed she'd ordered them because that was what rich girls did.

He tugged at the collar of the button-down shirt. "Damned thing is choking me."

"Don't play with it. It's perfect."

No, she was perfect in the shimmering gown of mauve, threaded with silver. Aimi's hair fell in a silky curtain and tickled the top of her ass.

My ass. Funny how he'd fallen into her habit of thinking of her as his.

How on earth was he going to walk away from her when this surely failed mission was done?

"Why the grim face? Tonight we get your sister back."

"Or everything goes to hell."

"If Parker touches a hair on my head, my mother will have his balls for breakfast, with a dash of salt and covered in a Bearnaise sauce."

"That's if there's anything left after I'm done with him." The very idea of Aimi getting hurt chilled the blood in his veins, but it didn't bother him. More and more he noticed the line between him and his other self fading. What am I saying? I don't even think there's a separation anymore. His thoughts, emotions, everything seemed to come from him, with a new twist.

"You'd kill someone for me?" she asked.

"In a heartbeat."

"You say the sweetest things."

Ignoring the passing mansions, he turned to her. "Can I ask you something? If I'm not a gold dragon, hell, if it turns out you're wrong and I'm not dragon at all, would you still want me?"

"You forget, I claimed you even before we knew you might be gold."

"Because you thought I was a dragon. What if I'm not?"

She leaned forward, the scent of her an intoxicating perfume that wrapped around his senses. "My mother might disown me, but I don't really care what you are. Gator, dragon, or just a man. I think it's past time we paired with who we're meant to be with and not just because our genes are a perfect match."

"You think we're a perfect match?" The very idea stretched credulity.

"Don't you?"

He wanted to say, "No, hell no," but he couldn't because, damn it all, he wanted to be her perfect mate. Wanted her grace to temper his rough edges, wanted his strength to be her shield, wanted her soft words to soothe the beast inside.

Come here.

He didn't say the words aloud, but she heard him and didn't move. "Not now. Later."

"Fuck that." Who knew if there would be a later? He reached over and pulled her onto his lap.

A shocked gasp parted her lips, and she only put up a small fight. "Brand, we shouldn't, my makeup."

He didn't care about her makeup. She looked just as good, and he personally thought better, without it. Besides, he wanted to taste those perfect pink lips. "It's not cherry flavored," he murmured as he slanted his mouth over hers, noting the bland taste.

"I'll make sure to buy some for you then for next time."

Because there would be a next time. Many of them. He grabbed her hair in his fist, luxuriating in the silken feel of it. She moaned against his mouth, and she opened the link between them enough that he could feel her excitement at his slightly rough handling of her. His moonbeam might appear prim and dainty on the outside, but inside, she was a wild thing who liked to get dirty.

With me. And only me.

The slit in the skirt of her dress meant his hand could move to caress the flesh of her thigh then upward until he encountered the lacy barrier of her panties.

Rip.

"Brand!"

"You don't need these."

"I can't go in public not wearing underpants. It's not done." She huffed it, and yet he could sense the thread of excitement at the thought.

"I don't want anything in my way when I take you later." Because he was going to take a page out of her book and assume they would prevail. His luck was changing. He was no longer a victim. The time had come for him to be the hero.

And heroes always got the girl.

A shiver went through her. "You are a tease."

"Why, because I like to do this?" He fingered her, feeling the honey on his finger and wishing it were his tongue.

"Because I know we don't have time to do this right now."

"You're right. We don't." But he wanted to. He withdrew his hand and licked the finger. As if he'd let that ambrosia go to waste.

She growled. "I swear, if you keep teasing, I might just claim you in front of everyone and to hell with the media." Her violet eyes slitted and flashed with fire, a sign he'd come to recognize that meant strong emotions rode her.

"I'm almost to the point I might just let you do that, moonbeam." Because she wasn't the only one tired of this game they played.

"Do you like me, Brand?" she asked with the most serious mien.

"More than I should, moonbeam."

The limo slowed as they turned, and Aimi slid off his lap, grumbling about needing to "Fix my lipstick and hair." But the bond connecting them let him know the grumbling was just a facade; inside, she practically burst with happiness.

I did that. He'd made her happy. Brandon wasn't sure if he'd ever done that before for someone other than his mother, but he knew he sure as heck liked it. After he saved his sister, maybe he should rethink his decision to leave.

He peeked out the window as Aimi pouted her lips to reapply her gloss. They were passing a long, fenced stretch of land, each of the houses in this area occupying large plots of property. Anxiety gripped him. He tugged at the damned choking collar. "My sister won't recognize me in this monkey suit."

"Stop complaining. We can't just show up in street clothes. They'll never even let us past the gate."

"Gates and guards and fences. What is this, Fort Knox?"

"More like the wolf's den."

And she meant that quite literally. It had taken some digging, but according to Aimi, her sister Adi had discovered that Parker owned the property they were going to tonight. Hidden beneath layers of shell companies, they'd found three locations directly linked to Parker. Tonight, they would visit the West Coast mansion, but his uncle also owned two other properties. One a simple townhouse on the East Coast in New York itself, and the other, down in Texas, was a several-hundred-hectare estate that not only boasted a house that could have fit a decent chunk of the Mercer family but also a series of outbuildings because the property doubled as a ranch.

"My Uncle Parker is a farmer?" That didn't seem right.

"On paper he is. Although, he doesn't seem to sell much cattle. This is his entertaining house we are going to tonight. The one he's been using to kiss up to government officials."

"And you're sure Sue-Ellen is going to be there?"

"Where else would the birthday girl be for her party?"

It occurred to him in that moment that, while he'd done lots of bitching and moaning-in a manly fashion, of course-about everything that'd happened, he'd yet to do one really important thing. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For doing all this. For finding out where my sister is."

"I can't take all the credit. My sister helped a little." At his arched brow, she laughed. "Okay, a lot. But you shouldn't thank me for that. What your uncle did to your sister is wrong, and now we're going to make it right."

"I don't know what I did to deserve this, but thank you."

"Don't thank me." She leaned forward and touched his knee, and said softly, "From here on out, even if you don't believe it yet, we are one. What affects you, affects me. Those you care about are also now under my charge, my protection."

That kind of partnership, the very idea of it, damn near took his breath away. Looking at her, her platinum perfection with her slender elegance contrasted with his darker appearance, and even darker, colder blood. Over and over he kept seeing reasons why she deserved better than him. A mere lowly Mercer thinking he could be with this gorgeous beauty? Except she looked just right by his side, her silvery hair a complement to his dark, her slim and graceful beauty emphasizing his bulk.

And he was going to bring her into possible danger?

Not for the first time, he tried to talk her out of it. "I don't think-" She wasn't interested in his arguments, so she muffled his protest with a kiss. Which made him wonder if he'd protested on purpose.

Duh. Him or his other half talking? He couldn't tell anymore.

The limo pulled to a stop, and he peered out at the crazy-big mansion with its stone columns and massive banks of windows. Lights streamed from all of them, and he could almost hear his mother yell, "Turn off the damned lights. You're just burning money."

The driver opened the door for them and stood to the side. It was then that Brandon noticed that, while the face wasn't familiar, edges of silver hair peeked from the cap. More reinforcements.

He slid out of the car and then held out his hand as he'd seen the actors do when they tread the red carpet-and he and his buddies mocked them over a few beers. They only watched it to see the hot actresses in their revealing dresses.

Aimi stepped out, a ray of moonlight that stole all argument and breath from him.

"Ready?" she asked, linking her hand through his arm and resting it on his bicep.

"No."

The tinkle of her laughter washed over him, soothing some of his nerves. "Let us go fetch your sister, that we might make better use of that hotel room tonight."

"That confident, are you?"

"Losing is never an option."

That had never been truer than tonight. Still, though, he couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into, given that he felt completely out of his element. Sure, he wore the damned suit, with its choking tie, and looked the part, but he was convinced everyone around him could see he was swamp-born.

It's all about attitude, at least according to the dragon ladies. So he faked it. He held his head high, his shoulders back, put on a scowl for anyone who dared look at him-and a deadly promising glare for anyone who stared at his moonbeam.

Within, his cold half didn't say a word, maybe because it no longer had to. Was Aimi right? Had he and his beast somehow, in all the turmoil, become one entity?

Tonight wasn't the night to ponder it. He had to concentrate on his mission: saving Sue-Ellen and getting both her and Aimi back out, alive. He wouldn't make the same promise for his uncle. As far as he was concerned, the world would be a better place without Theo.

The good thing about attending a public event, as Aimi had explained before their first aborted flight, was the fact that Parker couldn't try anything overt. There would be people in attendance, humans and dignitaries, as well as some media. There would be cameras everywhere, the eyes of the world on them as Parker pretended for the masses that shifters were normal, that he was normal. If by normal, psychopaths counted.

As their limo pulled away, he glanced back and noted a line of cars, luxury ones along with more limos, crawled up the drive, disgorging passengers at the tiered front stoop.

He tugged at his collar again, noting all the guys wore suits while the ladies glittered and wowed with their rainbow-colored gowns and teetering heels.

"Remember, no punching your uncle," she admonished just before they reached the front door and the people checking the guests against lists on their handheld tablets.

But he deserves it. A thought pushed instead of spoken aloud where security could hear him and escort him out. Uncle Theo had earned more than a good fist to the face. Every breath the man took was a waste, and Brandon intended to be the one to put a stop to it.

The guy in the dark suit manning the entrance tapped his screen. "Welcome, Ms. Silvergrace. Might I inquire as to whom your guest is?"

Brandon expected many things but not her, "This is Brandon Mercer, Mr. Parker's missing nephew and the birthday girl's brother. But I do hope you'll keep it a surprise."

Highly unlikely, and he had to wonder why she'd announced it as they were waved into the house. He immediately pulled her aside to hiss, "Are you out of your fucking mind? Are you trying to fail this endeavor before we begin?"

"On the contrary, we've just made it harder for Parker to screw with us. We've just publicly announced who we are, thus making it harder for you to just disappear, or hadn't you noticed the people behind us eavesdropping?"

A glance behind showed him a couple whispering excitedly.