When the Dust Settles

Over the decades, however, hundreds of us have found a way to make it our home. We’ve learned to deal with the many bumps along the way with colorful cussing and a dash of humor—often roused by one too many at the saloon—and we’ve embraced the spell that turns us all into honky-tonk cowgirls and -boys.

The Den might be more bizarre magical theme park than anything else, but hey, it’s ours. What’s ours, we Denners protect. To the death. We might have better things to do than showing up to work on time, but tell us there’s a shootout? Darn tootin’, we’ll be there. With bells on. Whatever cray-cray happens in our town, we’ll find a way to fix it—or at least, shoot it till it’s as fixed as it gets.

But what in Sam Hill are we supposed to do with a hole in the sky, where a hole sure as shitfire doesn’t belong, that’s letting dragons into our no-exit portal town? I’m not talking cute baby dragons like Sawyer Zane. Full grown, mean as sin, adult dragons. Who are on this one-way trip to kill lucky ol’ me. Just dandy.

Since there’s nowhere to run, we do what we do best: we fight.

One way or another, there can only be one sheriff in town. When the dust settles, I’m betting it will be me. I’m hoping, anyhow, because I’m all in. And so is everyone I love, including the gorgeous half vampire and two hunky shifters who’ve gone ahead and claimed me. As they say, where there’s smoke there’s fire, and honey, in Traitor’s Den, something’s always smokin’ hot.