I found her.

The crazy woman with moonbeam hair sat with her knees tucked under her chin, perched on the roof of a house—if, by house, something with a few wings and more square footage than a mall counted.

He’d wondered if he had the right place when he saw it during his first pass overhead. It wasn’t as if the woman he’d met on the rooftop had given him an address, just a name. Aimi Silvergrace, a name both beautiful and suiting. A name he’d used to track down information—a quick swoop across a balcony, swiping a smartphone as he passed, gave him access to internet search.

There wasn’t a ton of information about her. Moonbeam didn’t belong to social media. However, she didn’t entirely escape the news, given she was an heiress of a very old, aristocratic family. She attended things like fundraisers and opera events. One article described her family as “filthy rich.” And snobby. The bluest blood you could imagine—-and yet she’d been rooftop slumming when she’d found him.

Found me and claimed I was a dragon. She also claimed I am hers.

Because she isss mine. The coldness of his heart couldn’t help him from thinking it. Feeling it. It was utter nonsense, of course.

Dragons didn’t exist, and no one wanted a monster. She played games with him, obviously. But why? He wanted to know. Wanted to know why she lied. Why she tortured him.

Just like a tiny spark of hope within wanted to know if, perhaps, she spoke the truth. Were there others like him?

To find out, he’d have to see her again. He didn’t question the urgency of this need. He forgot for a moment the plight of his sister. Only one thing mattered: finding Aimi.

So he located her, and without calling first or warning, he sought her out. He hovered far overhead, a tiny speck in the grand scheme of things, yet she spotted him. She peered upward and looked right at him.

How did she know he was there? The same way I knew where to go. Much like a homing pigeon—super tasty when basted over a coal-driven fire—he just knew where she was. He dipped a little lower, allowing her to see him clearly. He remained aloft, though, not sure if he dared come within reach.

Showoff.

The voice wasn’t his own, and yet…it was in his head, and distinctly feminine. He whirled around to look, but he remained alone in the sky.

Can you hear me? She spoke; not aloud, but inside his head again. If you can, then you might want to get down here before they set them loose.

“Set what loose?” he spoke the words he thought aloud.

The perimeter drones. You set off an alarm as soon as you entered our airspace.

What alarm? He’d not touched a damned thing. His wings flapped, slow and steady as he peered around. “I don’t see anything.” Did she screw with the yokel from the swamp?

Again with the stubborn not listening. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The spoken thought had barely finished when he heard the hum of a small engine. Whipping from the west perimeter, the matte-painted drone zipped quickly toward Brandon, the only true indication of its presence a pinprick of red light, a laser sight locked on his chest.

Shit.

He flapped his wings and drew himself higher, yet the drone’s aim remained locked to his body. He’d have to prove trickier if he were to stay out of harm’s way.

Flattening, he arrowed toward it. The red dot hit him in the forehead. Brandon stretched his arms wide.

What are you doing? She sounded curious rather than worried.

Doing what any boy did when presented with a cool toy. He wanted to play.

The drone didn’t seem sure what to do. Good news, though, it didn’t fire. Which meant it wasn’t really interested in killing him.

The whirring machine didn’t move as he reached out to snag it.

Zap, a hot streak of fire kissed a wing at his back, and he hissed.

Fuckers had a second one on the move. The first one played dead as a decoy.

There’s a third one coming in from above.

The warning sounded amused. He, on the other hand, wasn’t. He wasn’t used to being challenged in the sky. Bittech never truly taught their experiments any avian tactics. It was considered enough that they could fly.

But now, as Brandon zipped back and forth, up and down, dodging streaks of fire, he really wished he had a gun and had learned to shoot.

Alas, all he had was himself. And an audience.

Way to impress the girl. Nothing screamed, “I’m a stud” like getting harassed by small robots.

The good news about the bots, which now swarmed him—a dozen by his last count—was they still seemed to be more intent on herding him down to the courtyard than actually killing him.

Of course, they’re not going to kill you. Yet.

“Not reassuring,” he muttered aloud.

Then you should have come with me earlier. We could have avoided some of this.

“Can’t you call them off?

Nope. The defense system is automated. Just land in the courtyard. But don’t let anyone touch you. I’ll be there in a minute.

The words registered, but he didn’t reply, given the drones harried him, urging him to the massive roundabout area at the front of the mansion.

He landed a few paces in front of a spouting fountain, a massive one featuring—no surprise—sculpted dragons that spewed water from their mouths. Very cool looking and much less daunting than the welcoming committee.

The tips of his scarf weren’t enough to cover his shirtless torso from the avid stares of the women gathered, their ages varying, and yet many of them sported the same silvery hair as Aimi. They also all had freakish eyes, the vertical slits glowing with green fire as they unabashedly eyed him head to toe.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared, daring them to do something: scream, panic, call him a monster, shoot.

Instead, one of the younger girls with her hair cut in a short, wispy style exclaimed, “It’s a boy.”

“Don’t you mean a man?” The woman wearing dark eyeliner and hair in platinum curls smiled. “A very yummy and strong man.”

“Who do you belong to?” asked an older woman, her silvery strands bound up in a chignon that drew emphasis to the lean column of her neck.

“He belongs to me!” The claim came from Aimi, who emerged from the house in a quick walk. He couldn’t deny being happy to see her again—she was intriguing. What he didn’t understand was the spurt of warmth her words caused.

I belong to no one. Not Bittech. Not his uncle. And most certainly not this slip of a girl.

“Moonbeam. Fancy seeing you again.” When in doubt, pretend extreme nonchalance. He’d learned that lesson from a big cat in captivity at Bittech. The felines had insouciance down to an art.

“This is your mate? The one you told me about?” The woman with the bun laughed. “I’ll be damned. You weren’t lying. He is strong.”

“And mine.” Aimi moved to stand between the women and Brandon. “So claws off, or I’ll eat your face.”

“Don’t I get a say?” he asked.

“No.” The word met laughter.

“He speaks!”

“He can fly!”

“I say we tackle her and snare him,” whispered another.

“Touch my sister, and I’ll wipe out your bank accounts,” said another girl, her hair punked out, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Moonbeam,” he murmured, leaning close. “What the hell is going on here? Who are these people?”

“Family. I warned you they’d eat you alive. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe. I just need to make your status clear.”

“My status?”

“As my soon-to-be mate. Trust me. It’s best this way.”

“Best for whom? What do I get out of this?”

She smiled, and he would have agreed to anything to keep her smiling at him forever. “You get me.”

That worked, too. As soon as he felt himself falling under her crazy spell, he snapped out of it. “What’s the alternative? One of them?” He indicated the horde still eyeing him and, in some cases, still discussing whether or not to steal him.

Aimi turned her head to peek at him over her shoulder. “You’re mine. If they touch you, family or not, I will have to maim them.”

“And what if I touch them? What happens to me?”

“Why would you touch them when you have this?” She let her hands skim her frame. “I’m not worried. Have you so soon forgotten your world now revolves around me?”

Would that be such a bad thing? Just being with her so far had been the best thing to happen to Brandon in what seemed like forever. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so adrenalized and warm and happy; a true happy that came from within and not a heated chimneystack.

At the same time, with his fascination for Aimi, came a dereliction in his quest. Look at where he was because he’d chased a moonbeam. He’d not left town as planned. Not gone looking for clues about his sister but rather put all his efforts in tracking down a crazy woman.

A crazy woman who wants me.

He tried to distract himself from her and return to the situation at hand. “So you’re related to all these women.”

“Was it the hair that gave it away?” stated a girl wearing a no-nonsense pantsuit and glasses.

“Ah, look at that, he’s pretty and not completely stupid,” snickered another in the crowd.

Funny, because he felt pretty damned dumb, and confused. Why did they call him pretty? Were they all blind to the fact that he wore the face and body of a monster?

“I guess I should do introductions.” Aimi returned to his side and tucked her hand on his bicep—causing him to suck in a breath—and pointed with the other. “That’s my Aunt Xylia wearing the bun. And Aunties Valda and Vanna at the back.” She pointed to a pair of women wearing glasses and cardigans who nodded at him. “Then there’s my sister Adrianne with the funky hair. And those are my cousins, Deka and Babette.”

“You all live here?”

“Yes. There’s more of us actually. But you can meet them later.”

“You still haven’t told us who this handsome man is,” Deka said, batting her lashes in his direction.

“Claws off, or I’ll pull them for you. This is Brand, and he’s mine.”

“I don’t see a mark,” noted Babette.

“Because I was waiting for witnesses.”

“We can witness.”

Aimi shook her head. “I want Mother here to see it.”

“Then you’ll have to wait, as your mother is out of town until tomorrow sometime,” Xylia noted.

“Good. That gives us time to deal with a few issues.”

“You mean like the one where you keep trying to claim me?” He ducked low enough to whisper it against her ear, feeling the silken brush of her hair against his lips.

“Would you prefer me or someone else?”

“You’d give me a choice?”

“No. And now, do you mind waiting to discuss this later? We have an audience.” An audience that was smirking.

“I want to know what’s going on.” Because he felt as if he’d walked into a different dimension. Nothing since he’d met Aimi had unfolded as expected.

“You’re an unclaimed male, and I want you as my mate. That’s all there is to it.”

“I’d say there’s a bit more, such as my consent.”

“You do know I don’t need it, right?”

“I disagree.”

“Then find a way to rewrite the laws. As it stands, my claiming you is the way of the dragon.” The enigmatic reply didn’t get expanded as she began to walk towards the house, the other women having already turned around to return inside.

He hesitated, not having been specifically invited to follow, and yet, at the same time, still in need of answers, such as why all these women seemed to regard him as normal. Did they not notice the scales and the wings?

And why did they keep calling him a hybrid? Were there others who’d been spliced and diced into something new like him?

Aimi stopped at the top step of the porch—if a grand staircase of stone tiered with precision could have such a banal name. She peeked over her shoulder at him. “Are you going to stand there all night, or are you coming inside?”

“What happens inside?”

“Come in and find out.” She stepped through the front door, leaving him alone.

What to do? His body still stung from the nicks of fire the drones had inflicted. He was hungry, his last stolen meal over a day ago. Fatigue pulled at every single one of his muscles. It had taken a lot to find moonbeam. She lived well outside the city limits, which meant lots of flight time. All the ailments of his body, though, paled before the most insistent thing: his curiosity.

It was curiosity—and a strange need to see Aimi again—that had driven him to locate her and then come find her. Now that he was here, would he let a simple thing like uncertainty stop him?

Hell, no. He’d survived worse than a few silver-haired women.

So he followed, but he managed only one step over the threshold when a voice barked, “You can drop the hybrid shape now. You and Aimi have made your point. You’re strong. But we wear our human shapes in the house. It’s easier on the hardwood floors.”

Aimi came to his defense before he could explain. “So, we have a teeny-tiny problem. Brand over here is having a bit of an issue switching back. We were hoping you could give him a hand with that, Aunt Xylia.”

“Stuck?” Xylia’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Not all that unusual. It happens to shifters who’ve lost touch with their humanity.” Dressed bohemian style with a beaded necklace—comprised of tiny skulls—a new woman came into view.

Before he could open his mouth and explain his situation, Aimi elbowed him. He clamped his lips shut and glared at her, not that she noticed, given she faced her aunt.

Aimi shrugged. “Maybe he ate something he shouldn’t have. I was hoping Aunt Xylia had something in her apothecary to help?”

“Or I could take him home with me.” The hippy lady eyed him.

Aimi shook her head. “No thanks. We’re good, Aunt Waida. Aunt Xylia surely has something right here.”

The lady with the bun nodded. “I might. Come with me.”

“Yeah, better get him fixed, or your honeymoon is gonna be rough,” snickered one of the cousins.

“Your jealousy warms me,” Aimi sassed back. “Later.” A benign reply punctuated with a pair of raised middle fingers over her shoulders as she followed the swaying skirt of her aunt.

“I saw that,” said Xylia. “What have we told you about language in the house?”

“It’s the twenty-first century. Don’t you think it’s time we loosened the girdle?”

“No, and we should never have let our skirts go above our ankles either.”

As the aunt and niece squabbled over new-generation values versus old, he found himself taking in the mansion he’d entered. It intimidated, reminding him that he was just a small-town boy. A poor one at that, from the wrong side of the swamp.

I don’t belong here.

He’d seen wealth during his time incarcerated at Bittech, knew what kind of privilege came with money. The men who flaunted it—Andrew and Parker and the other scum running the Bittech scam—were paupers compared to the lavish lifestyle displayed here.

White marble floors lined the massive hallway, a hallway that should have had a map, given it had branches going off left and right and, in between those branches, opulent rooms, at least from what he could see through open doors.

They walked for a while alongside fluted archways that framed the interior of a conservatory lush with plants and the tinkling sound of a water feature. Then there was the corridor that flanked the dining hall. He’d never imagined a table could stretch so long or host so many chairs.

“Do you ever eat in there?”

Aimi didn’t even glance to the side. “That’s the formal dining room. We use it about three or four times a year when we receive visitors or are celebrating a mating.”

“And you fill those seats?”

“Easily and with spillover. We usually have the young ones using the regular dining chamber that sits fifty more.”

“How big is your family?”

“You’ll see. We probably won’t have time to gather them for our ceremony, but I’m sure Mother will have the invitations out to a reception before the week’s end to introduce you to the Sept families.”

She spoke as if he’d stick around. Not likely. A monster like him would bring too much attention. The world was a place gone mad. The last thing he wanted to do was bring the monster hunters here.

If they dare to strike, then I’ll protect. Crunch some bones. Break some necks.

His cold, inner self had no qualms about doing what had to be done. But Brandon didn’t want to give in. Giving in to the cold meant losing what was left of him: the brother who just wanted to do the right thing. The boy from the swamp, who had plans to not follow in family footsteps and end up in jail but to go to community college and learn a trade.

Instead, he’d learned pain, subterfuge, and intimidation as Bittech forced him to do their bidding. A command that usually involved doing nasty things to others.

That was then. This is now.

Aimi’s voice tickled at him, and he ignored it, trying to pretend she hadn’t just read his mind.

“Where exactly are we going?” And should he leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind, a valid wonder as they wound down some stairs, the distance a few levels at least underground?

“Auntie keeps her lab down here.”

“A lab.” He froze. “She’s a doctor?” Someone who liked to poke people with needles and inject them with liquid fire? Oh, hell no.

“Don’t insult me, boy. Humans use doctors. I am a true alchemist.”

“Which, in today’s world, would be known as a drug dealer,” Aimi sagely advised.

Smack.

The cuff by her aunt caused Aimi to glare. “Don’t slap me for telling the truth. You do peddle drugs, just not only the hallucinogenic kind. She does medicines, too.”

He refused to budge, and his lips flattened. “I don’t do drugs.”

The violet eyes of the aunt perused him, the slitted part of her orbs flashing with green fire. “No drugs? Then am I to assume you are content remaining in your hybrid shape?”

Of course, he fucking wasn’t. But what she asked of him… “You don’t understand. Drugs and doctors playing with my DNA are what got me into this mess.”

“Then perhaps drugs can get you out.”

Doubtful. The damage had occurred at a cellular level. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” He turned around and made to retrace his steps. “I should leave.”

“I am ashamed of you, niece. You chose a coward as a mate.” The disdain shone in the words.

“He’s not a coward,” Aimi retorted. “Just wary.”

“Hesitation is for the weak. Your children will rank low in the Sept. You bring dishonor to our name.”

“He’s not a coward.”

No, he wasn’t, but he wouldn’t deny the thought of letting someone inject him with drugs gave him the chills. Why the fuck should he trust these strangers with his life and health? Why should he take them at face value?

This is my body they’re talking about using for experiments.

Supposedly, they could help him. What if they lied? What if they wanted to continue where Bittech started?

Don’t trust.

Never trust.

Coward.

He couldn’t be sure who spoke the word, and yet it hung with almost visible presence. Fuck. And this was why mostly men held the Darwin award titles.

Because we are fucking stupid, that’s why. A sigh left him as he turned around. “What is this obsession you all have with kids?”

Adopting a pose his teacher had—minus the ruler—Xylia explained. “The lines that survived must be preserved. We lost too many lineages when the purge happened. We must ensure it doesn’t happen again. But we do the bloodline little favor when we mix it with weak cowards.” Her gaze didn’t shy from meeting his, labeling him with her derision.

Hell no. He might be a giant fucking lizard, but he still had some goddamned pride. He stalked toward the aunt. “You know nothing about me. Nothing. I didn’t ask to be like this. You have no idea what it’s like to have to hide because your appearance causes screaming chaos.” High-pitched shrieks that were funny to his cold side. “It’s not cowardly to say no to strangers when it comes to drugs.”

“Medicine.”

“Still from a stranger. Would you let just anyone inject something into your body?”

“He’s not completely stupid.” The aunt addressed this to Aimi, ignoring him completely.

“You are unbelievably rude,” he snapped.

“And you are overly emotional. Get a hold of yourself.”

Get a hold of himself? She’d not gone through what he had. She didn’t get it. Or understand that his life wasn’t his own. He had someone relying on him. “I can’t take any chances right now until I save my baby sister from Parker.”

“Parker? Are we talking the Parker on the SHC?”

“Yes.”

“And he has your sister?”

“He’s been holding her against me for years, forcing my family and me to do his bidding.”

“And you did not wage war upon him?” The aunt said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were a simple conclusion.

“We tried.” Got punished. More than a few Mercers had left the bayou to serve time behind bars. Others hadn’t left. They were just not seen again. It made a once strong family crumble. “We tried, and thought we had it when everything at Bittech went to hell. But we failed. We failed to get my sister. Failed to kill Parker, and now, he has outed us to the world.”

“You mean he outed shifters. Not much of a loss. They will pave the way. At least the humans know nothing of our kind yet. And given how they’ve reacted, we may never tell them dragons walk among them.” The aunt pursed her lips in disapproval.

Another one who believed they were something impossible. “Okay. I see the delusion moonbeam suffers from is a family thing. Dragons. Really? You don’t seriously think anyone will believe that.” He couldn’t stop a snicker.

Xylia blinked and for a moment seemed at a loss for words. “You don’t believe in dragons.”

“Not for a second. I’ve seen all kinds of shifters in my life. Big and small. Hairy, feathered, and scaled. No one, and I mean no one, has ever said anything about dragons.” His eyes widened as he had a sudden thought. “Unless you’re Komodo dragons. I saw some once at the zoo. The non-sentient variety, of course. They are pretty cool, even if they are just a fancier kind of gator.”

Shock rounded Xylia’s mouth. “Did your mate just imply we’re lizards?”

Aimi winced. “Yes. But in his defense, he truly seems to not know about our kind.”

“But he’s a dragon. I can smell it.”

“I know. I’ve tried telling him, but he insists otherwise.” Aimi shrugged. “Perhaps the experiments at Bittech addled his memories.”

“Or perhaps I am telling you the truth,” Brandon interjected.

“And what is the truth?” asked the aunt.

“I’m just a gator from the Everglades who had some gene splicing done, resulting in this.” He fanned his hand down his body. “This isn’t a hybrid shape as you keep calling it. This is me. And only me. Ain’t no drug gonna fix it.”

“Scientists changed your genetics, you say?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t move as Xylia approached and sniffed him. Scent was huge among shifters. Humans tended to be visual, deciphering things with their sight, but with shifters, and animals more specifically, the nose could paint an even more vivid picture. The nose didn’t lie, usually.

The aunt took a step back, her brow creased and her gaze pensive. “He smells unlike anyone I’ve come across, but despite the oddity of it, I would stake a good portion of my hoard that he’s dragon.”

“Hoard? As in treasure? Way to perpetuate the myth.”

“All dragons have a hoard,” the aunt replied as she turned around and began to walk again.

“What’s in this hoard? Treasure chests, gold coins, jewelry?”

“To a certain extent. I also collect vintage muscle cars and race horses.” Xylia waved a hand overhead. “Zahra, her mother, she is obsessed with original Star Wars toys.”

“And Aunt Yolanda collects pool boys,” Aimi muttered, tossing him a saucy grin.

“What have we told you about gossip, young lady?”

“Make it juicy.”

“I think you have me confused with your Aunt Waida.”

The constant verbal barrage proved fascinating, so much so he kind of just watched. He came back to the moment when Xylia addressed him. “This is my apothecary. Step inside.”

“Why?”

“Again with the stupid questions.” For a lady with an elegant appearance, she rolled her eyes like a champ. “Come in because I want to try something.”

Brandon frowned. “Try what? I told you it can’t be fixed.”

“So you keep saying. Let me guess, a man told you that.”

“Yes.” This was fast becoming the second strangest conversation of his life, the first being Aimi’s declaration that he was a dragon.

“Let me see if I understand. You took the word of your enemy? Because I assume you are not friends with the person who did this.” She swept her hand at him.

“No, not friends.”

“You let your enemy tell you it was irreversible, and you believed him. Did you get a second opinion?”

His lips tightened.

“Did you try any sort of treatment plan?”

He could almost feel the ghostly cuff of his mother with a muttered, “Idiot.”

Her voice softened. “Let me help you, boy.”

A hand gripped his forearm, and he didn’t have to look down to know Aimi touched him. “You can trust her.”

He wanted to say, “I don’t even know if I trust you,” but held the words inside because, oddly enough, he did trust her.

Ssshe tells the truth.

“It won’t hurt.”

“That’s what the doctors said before the agony started.” Along with the emasculating screams. Over time, even that pain failed to rouse him.

“Incompetent quacks. They try to work only modern science on what is, in many respects, ancient magic. I do a mix of the two.”

“Do it, or I’ll call you a chicken.” Aimi clucked.

“Did you just double gator dare me?”

“More like triple, which means you can’t say no now,” Aimi replied, linking her arm through his and tugging him after her aunt. “What do you have to lose?”

His life? Not much of a loss, given it wasn’t worth shit these days. What of his sister? He’d not even come close enough yet to doing anything to help her. He couldn’t do anything, the whole lizard on two legs not being conducive for moving around in public.

Most of all, though…he wanted a chance to be normal again, and he wouldn’t get that wish without taking some chances.

He took a step into the room. “Fine. Do your worst.”

The aunt’s lab reminded him of a medieval apothecary with dashes of modern convenience. Wooden shelves lined one of the walls and held hundreds of glass jars, each neatly labeled and barcoded. In contrast, another wall was all modern chrome and glass, the fridge and freezer combo holding yet more jars and vials, their contents backlit by a fluorescent light. In the middle of the room, a massive island took pride of place, split into several areas to work, the surfaces metal, granite, and more wood. On the third wall, at opposite ends, there were two archways. A peek inside showed one held an office with a massive desk and stacks of folders. The other room held beds and medical equipment, machines to read vital statistics, and other monitors that screamed hospital.

His bravado felt itself shrinking.

Leave. Now. His cold self didn’t want to stay, but he could hardly run, not with Aimi watching and answers still forthcoming.

“How long have you been in this shape?” Xylia asked as she slid a finger over the jars, snaring some at random.

“Two years. Maybe a bit longer if you’re counting from when treatment started and the changes began.”

“Two?” He could tell he’d startled her. “And during that time, did you ever ascend into your dragon form or back into your human guise?”

Ascend into a dragon? Ha. He wished. “No. This is it. I have no other shape. Not anymore.”

“No, this is the shape where you are stuck. Something in your psyche is obviously blocking you from fully transforming.”

‘Maybe because I’m not a dragon.”

“Let’s find out for sure, shall we?”

“You mean there’s a test? Do I have to like breathe fire? Or eat a princess?” He shot a sly look at Aimi, who snickered.

“Yes, there’s a test. Our race is an old one, and just like the shifters can differentiate their kind, so can we with a little help. The testing serum was developed in the Dark Ages by hunters who sought our treasures. They used to visit our courts in disguise, doing their best to oust us. We thought the formula destroyed until the Spanish Inquisition resurrected it. That was the last time it was used.”

“Given you know how to make it, I’m going to guess you didn’t destroy the recipe?” Despite himself, he found himself drawn into the imaginary narrative.

“Of course, we destroyed it. We wiped all traces of it from human annals and histories, but we kept the secret for ourselves. All knowledge is a treasure that should never be destroyed. We don’t use it often, given we can obviously tell by scent who is dragon and who is not, yet given your odd story, let us perform a proper test that will tell us if you’re dragon or not.”

“How does it work? What do I have to do?”

“Donate some blood.”

Before he could agree, Xylia poked him with a needle.

“Ouch.” He glared at the aunt.

“Don’t be a baby,” Aimi chided.

“You could warn a guy when you’re going to poke him with sharp objects.”

“Is all your line so difficult?” was the reply as the aunt dropped his blood into a beaker. She added a few drops to it from a small vial that shone bright red. Sprinkled in a pinch of silvery powder. Added a purple sprig of something and then swirled the contents together.

It sizzled then foamed. It also changed rapidly into every color of the rainbow before settling on a dull green.

A part of him couldn’t help but be disappointed. He might not believe in dragons, but for a moment, a part of him kind of hoped the test would say he was. “Guess I don’t need to say I told you so.”

Two sets of eyes perused him, and he could only ask, “What?” Why did they look at him with such shock? “Did I fail that badly?”

“On the contrary, you passed.” The aunt looked pained as she added, “Your Grace.”