21 months into the future … long after the end of the series…

The day of his son’s first birthday, Mal’s lair was in total chaos.

Guests weren’t due until 2 PM. His mother would arrive soon after.

His forearms prickled with nerves.

He loaded his tiny paintbrush with iridescent paint and tried to focus.

As an early first birthday present, Uncle Flint had gifted a paint-it-yourself star map of Draconis, and Mal was currently dotting the ceiling with two hundred billion perfectly sized specks so they could show his mother they were raising a well-educated dragonlet.

“Art!”

Cheryl raced out of the bedroom after their little one. She was soaking wet; her soft shirt clung to her gorgeous, full breasts and outlined the dark, mouth-watering nipples normally hidden beneath layers of hoodie.

“Arthur Stone Onyx, get back to your bath!”

Art’s bright eyes focused on Mal at the ceiling. He launched into the air, flying recklessly for the ceiling as he screamed. “Aaahd-aaahd-aaahd-aaahd!”

Aaahd was as close as he could get to Dad.

Cheryl snatched his ankle out of the air. Art wiggled unhappily. Pale green dragon scales burst over the pink human skin of his chubby arms. Little claws darted from his fingernails.

“No claws. No claws!”

Their baby retracted his claws into his fingers.

“It’s okay.” Mal opened his arms. “I’ve got him.”

Cheryl let go.

The sweet, rambunctious, fearless little ball of scales floated up, out-of-control but undaunted, into Mal’s safe embrace. Mal held him tight.

Art wiggled. His claws slashed Mal’s paint-dotted T-shirt.

“Another shirt ruined.” Cheryl sighed from below, tugging her own in ways that made her lush curves more enticing. “And he’s not supposed to fly so unpredictably…”

“Listen to your mother, Art.”

Their son gooed.

“When he sees you, there’s no arguing with him.” Cheryl shook her wet head and smiled. Her shy cheeks colored pink and her brown eyes sparkled.

The one-year-old was so warm and eager and small. Fierce, protective waves of love washed over Mal and he hugged Art tighter, forgetting about the slashed shirt.

To think how much had changed in a year … no, much longer than that. Twenty-one months ago. The day Mal called Cheryl into his office and demanded she become his wife, he’d never foreseen how much his life would change. How much he would change, first because of Cheryl, and then because of the miracle birth of their son.

Art discovered splotches of twinkling paint stuck to Mal’s cheeks. He peeled one up and stuck it into his gummy mouth.

Mal prized it out. The paint was non-toxic. Probably. But he wouldn’t allow anything less than the safest foods in his son’s diet.

“Bring him down when you’re done.” Cheryl’s mouth quirked to the side. Her jeans hem dripped on the stone floor; notably, their son was not wet. “We have to finish his bath before Grandma Dee arrives. Has the cake been picked up yet?”

“It is cooling.”

“I thought you ordered one.”

It was Art’s first birthday. “He must have the best cake.”

“Were you baking all night? I wondered why you never came to bed.”

He scrubbed his face to clear the exhaustion and then he stroked his son’s dark head. “I will frost it now.”

“You’re working yourself to death.” She crossed her arms over her damp chest. “Did you get any sleep?”

Mal floated down to her. With a wiggly Art sandwiched between them, he eased her worried disapproval with a tender kiss. “I’ll sleep when he’s two.”

She softened, her gaze full of kindness, and stroked his taut shoulders. The sensitive shoulder blades twinged where they concealed his wings. “Today will go well. Our marriage will become official. Your mother will recognize your son.”

His scales jumped close to the surface of his skin as they always did when he was nervous. Art picked at the scaly green pattern on Mal’s forearm with intense dedication.

His son was Mal’s whole world. A world denied his own father, and mother as well, until long after Mal had reached adulthood.

He would not allow the same to happen to his son.

Mal’s stomach twinged. He held his baby close. “I must check the cake.”

“Art, we have to finish your bath.” She tried to pull their baby into her arms.

Art clawed on, stabbing Mal’s tender human skin with little pin-pricks that made him jump, dance, and then work together with Cheryl to un-peel the sticker bush. Eventually, Mal flexed his torso to dragon. The transformation shredded his T-shirt and hardened his skin into impervious scales that pushed his son’s claws out.

He gave the baby a strip of soft T-shirt.

Art put it in his mouth and chewed.

“He’s so determined, just like his father.” She shook her head and carried Art to the bath.

Mal’s stomach twinged again.

He returned to human, pulled on a button-up shirt, strode to the kitchen, and rested his human-again palm on the spongy surface of the espresso cake. Still warm. Jasper had offered to bake but Mal tested a recipe he thought would appeal to his mother’s tastes. He didn’t want anything to go wrong today of all days.

“Yoo-hoo!”

He left the cake on the counter and walked into the main room.

Inside from the landing pad, Cheryl’s mother, Grandma Dee, stomped off the March snow swirling around Mt. Hood and removed her thick wool jacket. Amber and Darcy ambled behind her unloading baskets, bags, and the rest of the things Amber had flown to Mal’s mountain lair.

Grandma Dee waved at Mal and called out, “Where’s our proud little dragon man?”

Art toddled out of the bedroom and across the wide stone living room floor. A white baby bodysuit flapped, unbuttoned at his crotch. He wore one sock. “Gaaaah!”

“Artie.” She knelt and enfolded him in a warm hug.

Cheryl hurried after him in a mussed bathrobe and disheveled hair. She held up the second sock.

“He’s a wild dragon,” she warned. “He couldn’t sleep a wink last night. Just like his father.”

Art wiggled free, tripped, and flew face-down for the hard stone. Before he smacked the ground with his big head, he abruptly began rising to the cathedral ceiling.

Cheryl ran forward to catch him.

Grandma Dee was faster. She leaped and caught the flapping end of his bodysuit. Pulling him down again, she fitted his tether around his ankle and securely fastened the other end to her wrist.

The risk of dragon babies wasn’t that they would fall and hit the floor, but that they would over-compensate and knock into the ceiling.

Art bounced on the end of the tether. He rolled in the air and giggled at his gran.

She pulled him down and teased him, wiggling her fingers over his ticklish body. “Are you a wild man? Are you a silly dragon? Let’s get you some breakfast so your mom and dad can get dressed.”

Cheryl watched them go to the kitchen. She turned to Amber and Darcy, welcoming them and showing them where to stow the food, presents, and party supplies.

Amber followed Mal to the kitchen. “I’ve brought special frosting.”

He growled. “This is my cake.”

She hesitated. Her tone remained mild; she was trying not to challenge him. “Our mother is sure to enjoy it.”

His roar died in his throat. “The cake is nearly cooled.”

It was a testament to his growth that he didn’t roar her out of the kitchen for daring to offer assistance on the most important day of his son’s life. It was a testament to her caring that she came earlier than she was supposed to, brought Cheryl’s mother in addition to her other burdens, and had created a special frosting.

She opened the tub. The special frosting sparkled.

“Brimstone?” he asked.

She nodded. “A taste of home, I thought. And no one is now pregnant.”

Brimstone only affected humans who were pregnant with dragonlets. When Cheryl had been kidnapped by their arch rival, Sard Carnelian had made the mistake of feeding her brimstone candy. She had been unaware of the effects – or her pregnancy – and had accidentally totaled his office with fire damage.

The memory made Mal almost misty-eyed with pride.

Their brother Pyro sauntered into the kitchen, the last flakes melting on his conservative, wild-tattoo-concealing business suit. “Hey. You look wrecked.”

Mal yawned. “It’s to be expected.”

“Why don’t you grab a nap?” The bad boy cracked open the top on the six-tray stack of veggies Amber had brought, dipped a carrot into creamy spread, and crunched. He grinned at her quiet disapproval. “We’ll watch your back.”

“We?” he repeated, giving into a growl. Pyro’s irresponsibility had nearly destroyed their company during Mal’s honeymoon. “I’m not leaving you in charge all alone.”

“All alone?” Jasper entered the kitchen with bottles of wine. “No Onyx will be left all alone.”

His brothers had arrived early too. Their babies played in the living room, gooing and growling, with Grandma Dee and the human mates.

Mal swallowed.

Once, the siblings had barely spoken. It had taken all his will to rally them together to come to Earth. Now, they filled his lair voluntarily and spoke with closeness. They had become what few dragons had ever accomplished. They had become a real family.

“You must rest so you do not collapse when our mother arrives,” Jasper told him.

“I can handle it,” Mal growled. Although, he was so tired his eyes crossed. He blinked harshly to clear the confusion.

The other dragons regarded him with unreserved skepticism.

“I will!”

Pyro flexed his sledgehammer fist. “I can make you lie down.”

Scarred security officer Kyan crossed the kitchen and put a quelling hand on the VP. “Mal needs his strength.”

“And we are over-stepping.” Alex raised one arched brow. Impeccable, as always, the exotic turquoise and lavender dragon smiled with a twist of irony. “Cheryl must convince him .”

Amber disappeared and returned a moment later, ushering a still-disheveled, robe-clad Cheryl into the kitchen. “Tell Mal he must rest. Use your feminine wiles.”

Cheryl reddened.

“Feminine wiles?” Mal raised his brows at Darcy. “Is this your influence?”

Darcy grinned. “Don’t change the subject.”

Mal’s blushing wife stood in the center of the kitchen, surrounded by dragons, all eyes on her. She hugged herself, cheeks an adorable fiery red. “Mal. Rest. P-please.”

He refused her nothing.

“Fine.” He scooped her into his arms like a princess and glared at the others. “Get me the instant something goes wrong.”

“Goes wrong?” Pyro’s dangerous lips twisted. “You won’t recognize this lair when you get back.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Mal.” Cheryl pinched Mal’s forearm, her embarrassment rising the longer her forced her to remain in the public eye. “Let’s go.”

He stomped into the bedroom. Shutting out the noise via the impenetrable stone walls and locking the door, he placed her gently on the bed and turned away. “You rest. I have no time.”

“You can barely see straight.” Cheryl snagged his belt loop, arresting him. “Lie with me.”

He looked over his shoulder, down at her. “Are these your feminine wiles?”

Her lips parted and then she flushed. “Ah … You didn’t come to bed last night. So, I wouldn’t mind…”

His cock pulsed with heat. “Do not tempt me.”

“No?” She tugged him toward her playfully, her lips parting and her eyes sparkling. “You’ve been working so hard.”

“I must work harder.”

“Are you sure?” She teased the front of his trousers, caressing his semi-hard length. “I think you’ll, uh, be more productive after you rest.”

Her terrycloth robe parted to reveal a comfy cotton nightshirt. The points of her nipples, just visible through the soft fabric, made him stifle a groan.

She hesitated, doubt betrayed in her tone. “Unless you don’t want me. I mean, to.”

Her provocative invitation cracked his self-control.

Even after nearly two years, she doubted her power over him?

He pounced on top of her and covered her mouth in a melting, hot kiss.

She returned it with a sigh of delicious enthusiasm.

Cupping her cheeks, he thrust his tongue into her hungry mouth. They tangled, taking each other desperately, needing what only the other could give.

His cock hardened to full prowess. He kneed between her soft thighs and ground against her soft feminine heat so she would know just how hotly she stoked his desire.

Cheryl whimpered and twined her legs around the backs of his knees. Her clever fingers worked the buttons on his shirt.

He flexed his broad shoulders to dragon. The cloth shredded.

She freed her mouth long enough to murmur. “Buttons?”

“This is more expedient.”

He flexed a claw and sliced her nightshirt down the center.

“Mal…”

He flexed back to human hands and parted the cotton, baring her to hungry gaze.

Her fingers twitched and she clenched the bedspread. “But … it’s a waste…”

Even after all they had shared, she felt shy revealing herself to him.

“No. Time is a waste.” He rose over her trembling body again and nipped her berry-soft lips. “I must be closer to you.”

Her vulnerable smile warmed him like a sun. He paused, his heart swelling for a second time as he looked down upon his lover, his champion, his wife.

Her smile widened. They connected not only in their bodies, but also in their souls.

He nuzzled her. “You are my life.”

She rewarded him with a generous kiss that left them both gasping with hunger. He struggled to control himself, nibbling sweet words into her sensitive neck.

And then he honored her bravery by worshipping her body.

First, he palmed the breasts he had admired. She moaned, her protests melted into pleasure.

Although she no longer nursed Art, her breasts filled his hands with gentle magnificence. He nuzzled the soft orbs that had sustained his son and sucked the dark jewel tips into his mouth.

She knotted her hands in his dark hair. “Thank you.”

No, he was the one consumed by gratitude.

He feasted on the soft scoops of her creamy breasts topped by dusky nipples, and then he trailed his loving mouth across the gentle curve of her belly that had once safely borne his dragonlet, and finally treated himself to the arousing feminine heat at her slick, silken vee.

He tongued her with the long, powerful strokes she loved. She gasped at his domination and opened wider. He could lose himself in her scent, her heat, her flavor, but she tugged on his hair, wanting the hard girth of his cock.

Mal gave in to her desire, rising over her body and positioning his throbbing cock head between her trembling thighs.

She was more than ready for him.

Twining her legs around his once more, she drew his hard cock into her channel. They fit together, lock and key, and both groaned with the rightness.

He pulled out and thrust again, deeper, and a third time, burying his cock all the way to the hilt.

She sighed, soaking in the pleasure of their connection. Then, she gripped his buttocks, pulling him taut against her, and rocking him against her hottest spot.

Pleasure flooded his senses.

He tightened his abdomen so the base of his cock ground against her swollen feminine lips with every pounding thrust. This too he had learned during their marriage. And he looked forward to the years in which he could learn how to please her even more.

She arched and gripped him more urgently, her passion rising. He followed her cues, thrusting home as all his senses fought the hot, wet release shuddering in his iron-hard cock.

Suddenly, her back arched and her channel desperately milked him. “Mal!”

Her release pulled his trigger.

Passion whipped through him. He roared and poured his male seed deep into her feminine heat.

She collapsed, stroking his back.

That soft gesture meant as much as the intimacy they’d just shared. She accepted, recognized, loved him. An imperfect, growly, too-demanding male who had somehow lucked into her for his wife.

He rolled carefully to his side, positioned his forearm under her head to give her a firm pillow, and closed his eyes.

Cheryl was still the most intoxicating force in his life. The urge to lock her away was surpassed only by his fierce need to protect their son, and Art only took precedence because he was so fragile and helpless. Luckily, Cheryl was an introvert and frequently gave in to Mal’s demands to hide from company and devote herself to him.

After a short time, she groaned and stirred. “I have to check on Art…”

Mal tugged her into his arms and kissed her deeply, thoroughly, filling her with all the words he couldn’t say but which she well understood.

When their lips moved apart, her eyes glowed on him with love.

“Don’t tempt me again.” He nuzzled her. “We have no time.”

“For once, I agree.” She gave him a small kiss and rose. “I’m going to get dressed. Lie down a little longer.”

Now that he had given in once, the bed seemed to exert a strange force of gravity he struggled to overcome.

Mal grumbled. “I won’t sleep.”

“You don’t have to sleep.” She climbed out, grabbed her robe off the floor, and echoed the words she had started saying to Art when trying to coax him into a second nap. “You just have to lie there for a few minutes, close your eyes, and pretend.”

Mal growled and closed his eyes.

“…Mal?” Cheryl’s soft hands stroked his shoulders. “Mal.”

He jerked. A snore—from his lips?—cut off mid-snort. “Huh?”

“Your mother’s ship has reached our atmosphere.” Her attractive chest rose and fell in a sapphire fifties housewife pinup dress with white polka dot insets. “It’s time.”

He’d slept.

“Why didn’t you awaken me earlier!”

“You were exhausted. Your health—”

“My health is of no importance.” He flew to the closet, pulled on his white tux with sapphire pocket square, and raced to the public areas.

She chased after him. “Your collar is crooked. Mal!”

The lair was transformed—and not into the disaster zone he’d feared.

Blue and yellow balloons bounced against the ceiling, buffering it against any dragonlet disasters. Presents piled high at one end of the giant dining table. A feast spread across the side board, culminating with a sparkling blue and gold cake. Someone had written across it in fancy frosted calligraphy, “Happy 1st Birthday Art Stone Onyx.”

Grandma Dee had finished dressing Art in his blue suit, which was no mean feat, and she kept him distracted with the other dragonlets by watching their fathers and uncles paint the ceiling.

“Come down,” Mal called up to his siblings while Cheryl fixed his collar. “We can’t finish the galaxy tonight.”

“Sure?” Darcy grinned cheekily. “I’m pretty sure we only have nine hundred thousand specks to go.”

Alex floated to the stone floor. Sparkles flecked his usually impeccable gray suit. “Flint calculated that if we all work every night for ten hours, it will take approximately forty-two years to complete.”

Darcy snorted. As a human, he was the only one climbing down a ladder. “How’s that for a long-term gift?”

Alex closed up the paints as the rest descended. “We completed the important section of the Outer Rim. Mother will know we’re educating our dragonlets.”

“So we’ll have to start soon to finish the next lair before their first birthday?” Darcy teased, making a point of how the siblings’ dragonlets were mere weeks apart.

Pyro clapped an arm around Darcy’s shoulder. “Where do you think we’re holding the after-party?”

The human laughed awkwardly. “For the first time, I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”

“He cannot tell either,” Jasper said, cleaning brushes. “Or more accurately he’s sharing his true wish in the form of a joke.”

“You’re all in the same boat,” Pyro told them. “Unless you like pulling all-nighters like Mal, we have to get rowing.”

Jasper eyed him. “Rowing boats has nothing to do with painting a ceiling.”

“I think you’ll find the sinking feeling and threat of death if you fail is similar.”

Darcy rubbed his head. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Cheryl passed by the males, her gaze on their dragonlets playing quietly with foam blocks and scaly dolls on the living room floor. “Good work, Mom.”

Grandma Dee smiled. She looked tired but a healthy glow filled her cheeks. It was much different from when Mal had first met her. Now, like him, she was surrounded by her loved ones and revitalized.

She tapped Art on the shoulder to get his attention. “There are your parents.”

Art saw Cheryl and Mal and squeaked. Grandma Dee undid the tether, and he flew to Mal, then jumped to Cheryl, and tumbled back to Mal again. But he obediently remained in human form so as not to destroy his special white-and-blue suit.

He was such a good baby.

The living room filled with the sounds of dragons, humans, and babies.

Mal’s heart swelled. This noise was right. Being surrounded by loved ones was what he had always worked for, from the moment he’d decided they should leave their unrecognized, lower class, bastard lives behind and strike out to make their futures matter.

“Mother’s arrived,” Jasper called from his vantage point nearest the landing pad.

Mal’s spine stiffened.

Art fussed.

Cheryl soothed Art and, resting him on her hip, slipped her hand into Mal’s. “No matter what happens, you still have us as your family.”

It was true.

His father and mother hadn’t had that chance. When Mal’s aristocratic grandmother refused to acknowledge Mal as an Onyx heir, his parents’ dragon marriage had been dissolved. Mal’s mother had been forced to give him up. As matriarch, his grandmother’s rule was absolute.

His father hadn’t been able afford to keep Mal at the brimstone mine, either, so he’d gone straight into orphan care.

Their parents had tried seven times to present a legitimate heir, and his grandmother had rejected all of Mal’s siblings as well. Mal’s father finally died in a workplace accident never knowing the love of family. And by the time Mal’s mother finally ascended to the matriarchal seat, her dragonlets were all grown up and spread across the Empire, adults on their own quests.

Mal’s dream of creating a successful company to prove their worth had, strangely, united them to one purpose. And now they were all here, gathered together with their children to greet Mal’s mother officially for the first time.

If Mal’s mother rejected Art, then Mal and Cheryl still had their human marriage to fall back on and Grandma Dee to help raise him. Art would never go into orphan care. But he would also never be a dragon of the Empire. Not officially. The first birthday recognition ceremony was his only chance.

Aristocracy could skip generations.

Mal’s mother was a recognized aristocrat. She had the power to bestow aristocracy upon her new progeny on their first birthday—or never.

Mal was a dragon. Illegitimate and low caste, but a dragon still. His son was as well. Cheryl was a worthy woman. Their marriage deserved the recognition of dragons as well as of humans. His son should be able to choose his destiny.

Mal wanted to give Art the full opportunities that had been denied to him and his siblings. He wanted his son to have the best possible chance to forge a good life.

The landing pad doors opened.

Mal straightened.

His mother swept in. She was in rare human form. An imperious female with a long nose, pinched lips, and narrow face, even as a human she was taller and her chest was broader than most men. She wore a floor-length red gown glistening with rubies and pearls.

The party fell silent. Even the babies stopped crying as though the chill of a dominant female dragon out-competed the glacier’s icy snow.

She crossed the stone floor. Her jewel-tone gaze cast judgment over all. “Malachite. This is your ‘well-provisioned’ lair?”

He swallowed convulsively. “It is.”

Her harsh gaze crossed the food, the presents, the cake. “What is this?”

“Human birthday traditions.”

She frowned.

Cheryl trembled and stepped forward. “W-welcome. You’re in time to watch Art open the presents. We’ll serve cake and then have the recognition ceremony if that’s okay. We wanted you to join us in celebrating both sides of Art’s heritage.”

Her voice quavered.

The other siblings stared at her, shocked by her bravery.

First, because she’d spoken confidently to their mother. As an imposing female dragon with life-or-death control over their lives, they’d always been required to give the dragon observances of distance and respect. Cheryl spoke like a friend. She had become more comfortable with Mal’s mother during their honeymoon at her aristocratic estate and had even told Mal that she thought his mother was actually a sweet, well-intentioned dragon lady who didn’t understand how to communicate with her dragonlets, and therefore might be lonely.

But second, and perhaps more importantly, because Cheryl just assumed recognition would occur. She didn’t understand how easily it could be withheld or how devastating it would be for Art not to receive it.

Mal’s mother stared at the table. Her lip curled.

Acid burned the back of Mal’s tongue. This was too much stress. He was going to throw up.

His mother lifted an imperious brow and sat herself in the largest throne-sized seat Cheryl had intended for Art. But no one was going to tell his mother to move.

“Begin,” she ordered.

Everyone hurried to obey, moving like she had fired a shot. Art smooshed onto Cheryl’s lap in a smaller chair. He quickly bored of presents, preferring to shred the paper than to enjoy the contents. But he was adorably bubbly and attentive and so, so good.

After presents, Cheryl changed him out of his suit and into a white onesie with “1” written on the front. She gave Art a special blue-frosted miniature cake she had made Mal bake separately—without the coffee. Art smashed it with his flat hand. Blue frosting smeared across his face and hair. The humans all giggled and clapped like he had accomplished something impressive.

The dragons remained frozen with fear.

Their mother’s expression crossed between irritation and indigestion. Mal really should have cleared the schedule in advance with Cheryl. Now was not the time to introduce his mother to human traditions.

His mother had seemed perfectly friendly twenty-one months ago when she and Cheryl first met on the honeymoon. But then she had been eager for dragonlets. Now she had many to choose from. She no longer had to accept his son.

Or any of them.

She’d been matriarch for years now. Perhaps she saw Mal’s flaws and was glad he had never been recognized. Perhaps she would withhold recognition from her grand dragonlets as well.

Nerves stabbed Mal.

At last, Cheryl cleaned the frosting and cake bits off Art and changed him back into his suit.

It was time.

So now, of all times, Mal’s son began to break down.

Art was sugar-juiced and over-excited. His red eyes begged for a second nap. He fought and fussed and cried about his fancy clothes and pulled Cheryl’s hair.

“Ow.” She untangled her hair from his grip. “Be good. Just a little bit more.”

With an apologetic look at Mal’s mother, she set Art on the ground in front of the stiffly seated dragon lady. Mal stood directly behind Art. Cheryl stepped back two strides behind Mal. They had practiced this arrangement twenty times.

Art knew what they wanted. He’d done it perfectly in practice.

But now was the real thing.

He cried, turned away from his grand dragon, put his arms up, and floated for Cheryl.

“No, baby, stay here in front of Mal. It’s time to be recognized.” She disentangled him and passed him to Mal.

Mal was stiff as the rock he put Art back on the ground in front of his mother and straightened.

Art dropped quiet for a moment. He knew something was wrong.

Then, his little lips curved down and his eyes made sorrowful crescents. He opened his mouth and cried.

Mal’s mother frowned darkly.

Cheryl tried to shush Art, sing to him, and rock him. But every single time she put him back into place in front of his grand dragon, Art sobbed.

“Won’t he calm?” Mal’s mother huffed. “Very well. Malachite. Bring the dragonlet here.”

Mal picked Art up and carried him close.

She reached out her arms to take him.

Art didn’t know her. Not in human form. He fought and cried and clawed onto Mal.

Did he know she held his whole future in her hands? Could Art sense that this was his one defining moment?

Mal released his son to his mother’s arms and walked back to Cheryl’s side. His stomach felt heavy as lead. They stood united in judgment before the Onyx matriarch.

She held Art—Mal’s fragile, beloved, kicking little human son—suspended in front of her.

He screamed.

She frowned deeply. Her eyes crackled and her hair did too. Smoke came out of her mouth. Fire flickered in her jaw.

His siblings all took several steps back.

Mal fought the urge to do so. He remained stiff as a stone beside Cheryl.

Art stopped crying.

Mal’s mother returned to normal human form. “Well. That’s better. Let me get a look at you.” She rotated Art one way and the other. “Art Stone. He is quite human.”

“He can transform.” Cheryl’s fingers dug into Mal’s bicep. Despite saying that everything would be fine, she was as nervous as he was. “I’ve been thinking at him this whole party not to shred his birthday clothes.”

“Well. That explains it.”

She studied Art for several more moments. Long enough that guests coughed uncomfortably and babies wailed.

This interminable moment would define all of their families. If the Onyx matriarch didn’t acknowledge Mal’s son, then what of any others?

Finally, Mal’s mother shook her head and tsked. “I can’t do it. I just can’t do it.”

Mal’s stomach dropped.

“Can’t do what?” Cheryl asked faintly.

“I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I don’t think it’s good.” His mother focused on Cheryl. “Release his mind.”

“Huh? Okay.”

Art thrashed. His little boy body shimmered blue and his pudgy arms and legs fattened into dragon limbs. His neck elongated to a teeny little snout and adorable ears. His eyes gleamed deep blue flecked with gold.

“There we go,” his grand dragon said.

His suit dug into his limbs. He clawed at the tight spots.

“No claws,” Cheryl reminded him. “You’ll hurt your grand dragon.”

“Oh, never mind about claws.” She peered at him. “You are my number one grand dragonlet. Did you know that? Let’s have some fun.”

Mal sucked in a long breath.

You are my number one grand dragonlet.

She acknowledged Art.

Mal’s marriage.

His son.

Emotion thrust for his throat. He swallowed the hard lump. His heart swelled to three times the size of his chest. He heard it thumping off the ceiling like the blue and gold balloons.

The recognition he and his siblings had never received was bestowed upon his son.

Cheryl was his official wife now on Earth and on Draconis.

“Come, my grand dragonlet.” His mother shimmered. Her human form collapsed and her dragon form burst through her dress, shattering the fabric. Gemstones showered the floor. She stretched, a huge sinuous dragon body that filled the cathedral ceilings of Mal’s stone lair.

“Ah, that’s better.” She lumbered into the living room. “Come with me, little one.”

Art calmed now that his grand dragon was in the form he was most familiar with. He picked up a sparkling ruby in his claws and stuffed it in his small dragon mouth.

Cheryl swept it from his sharp teeth quickly. “No eating your grand dragon’s precious gemstones.”

“Come to me, my dragonlets!” she called. “Play with your grand dragon the way dragons are meant to play.”

Art looked up at Cheryl. He rose a few feet off the ground to test her.

Cheryl smoothed his scaly cheeks and patted his naked butt, careful of his little tail. “Okay, let’s go.”

The other mothers carried their babies into the living room and watched over the festivities. The proper, prestigious aristocrat tumbled ever so gently with the grand dragonlets she had so dearly desired.

Darcy clapped a hand on Mal’s shoulder. “So. How does it feel to be legit?”

Tears slammed into him.

He scrubbed his face, trying to disguise the sudden reality in exhaustion. “It’s damned hard work.”

The human male smiled gently. The disguise fooled no one. “Yeah, I can see that. Getting everything we ever wanted. Improving human-dragon relations. Changing the world.”

“All the worlds,” Amber corrected, standing beside them.

Considering the war they’d barely avoided after Kyan’s marriage, it was good to improve their relations.

Mal thanked Darcy and moved to the living room to join his family.

Cheryl stumbled for him, a troubled expression on her face. “What was in that cake you made?”

“The normal ingredients,” Mal said. “Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Artisan-roasted Sumatran dark bean-infused milk.”

She shook her head as he recited the recipe. “Nothing unusual in the cake? Or the frosting?”

Oh.

He jerked his thumb at his sister. “Amber brought brimstone frosting.”

“Brimstone?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Uh oh.”

“What?”

She scrambled for a trash basket and folded over with a groan.

Instead of normal sickness, flames poured out her throat.

“Excuse me.” Jasper poured a crystal bowl full of punch onto the basket, putting out the fire and soaking the floor. “Please use an inflammable metal bucket. I will bring you one in a moment. Also, congratulations on your second pregnancy. Art will soon have a sibling.”

“Oh my goodness.” Grandma Dee stared at Cheryl. “Morning sickness already?”

Cheryl wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. “I just had a baby dragon!”

“Congratulations.” Darcy clapped Mal on the back again.

The rest of his siblings and extended family gathered around talking and laughing. Two dragonlets already! Mal was well on his way to making another big family of seven.

Mal’s mother moved her huge dragon head around the corner of the living room, easily tolerating the babies gnawing on her neck folds and pouncing on her switching tail. “Mal, you are an excellent son. I am very pleased. You selected a worthy wife and your fortunes will swell as you both deserve.”

Her heartfelt sentiment caught him by surprise.

“Thank you,” Cheryl told her, through the hand covering her mouth.

“You are the one who holds my gratitude,” his mother said.

With that blessing on their burgeoning family, she retreated into the living room to frolic with her young.

Art dove into Mal’s arms. “Aaahd! Aaahd! Aaahd!”

“I love you too.” He held his baby and also rubbed Cheryl’s back.

She burped smoke.

This day couldn’t hold any more rightness. Mal kissed his son’s forehead and then his wife’s.

“Cheryl, the inflammable waste basket is behind you.” Jasper held up a camera. “Okay, everyone. Say a word with a long-e.”

A chorus of eeee’s emerged from the group.

The photo they later printed showed Mal grinning boldly, Art’s tiny dragon mouth poised to bite Mal’s unguarded shoulder, and Cheryl bent over, erupting flames into the metal waste basket behind them.

A perfect memory of a perfect first human-dragon birthday party.

* * *

Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this short story, please . See you in the next book!

STARLA