The late afternoon sun glinted off the chrome of Dragon's motorcycle as he idled at the entrance to St. Magnus High School. Leather jacket, tight jeans, combat boots - he looked like a storm about to break over this picture-perfect slice of American privilege. His gaze scanned the crowd of students dispersing for the day, dangerous and deliberate.

He'd ridden all night to get here, the mayor's daughter's last letter burning a hole in his pocket - the one where she'd tried to hide her fear behind polite phrases about 'difficulties adjusting.' Dragon didn't do polite. Dragon didn't do hiding.

A group emerged from the main entrance - and there she was. The girl who haunted his dreams and fueled his darkest desires. Her hair caught the sunlight as she walked, just like she'd described in her letters, but there was something wrong in the way she held herself - tense, guarded.

She was flanked by preppy students in matching sweaters, but Dragon saw how they positioned themselves - not as friends, but as captors. One tall, blond jock draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close in a possessive gesture that made Dragon's jaw clench.

His motorcycle roared to life again, drawing every eye in the courtyard as he gunned the engine and pulled up beside the group. Conversations died. Faces turned toward the dangerous intruder in their midst.

Time seemed to slow as Dragon dismounted, his movements economical and coiled with threat. He ignored the whispered comments and pointed fingers, his focus locked on her.

Then it happened. The blond jock said something under his breath, too low for Dragon to hear, and shoved her hard. She stumbled backward, books scattering across the pavement. The group erupted in laughter as a couple of girls produced a bucket of bright red paint.

Dragon moved before they could act - but not fast enough. Red paint splattered across her white sweater, dripping down her face like blood as the crowd howled with amusement.

"Happy vacation, slut!" the jock shouted triumphantly.

Something snapped in Dragon. Not just anger - something primal and violent. In three strides he was there, grabbing the jock by the throat and slamming him against the brick wall. The laughter died instantly.

"You. Touch. Her. Again." Each word was a threat, spoken through clenched teeth, "And I'll break every bone in your pretty white boy body." His fingers tightened around the jock's windpipe as the boy's face turned purple.

He felt her hand on his arm, gentle but firm. "Dragon, stop..." she whispered, her voice trembling from a mixture of fear and something else - something that made his blood heat even hotter.

Slowly, reluctantly, he released the jock, who collapsed to the ground gasping for air. Dragon turned toward her, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of rage and possessiveness. "You think I'd let them do this to you?" he growled, reaching out to brush a strand of paint-stained hair from her face with surprising tenderness.

The gesture didn't match his words or the dangerous energy radiating from him. "You belong to me, princess. And nobody hurts what's mine."