It couldn’t be. They’d not seen one of his kind in centuries. Not since the purge. That line was thought to be dead. Wiped out.

And yet, there was no mistaking the color of the fluid.

“He’s royalty?” she queried. “Are you sure?”

“We could run it again to be certain,” said her aunt.

“And here comes the scam. You know,” Brand said as he moved away from them, chastising with the shake of his head, “I might have been born on the wrong side of the bayou, and I might look like a dumb beast, but I am not a complete fucking moron. You’re trying to pull one over on me. First trying to convince me that I’m a dragon and, now, supposed royalty. And even better, long-lost royalty.” He made a sound of disgust. “You should have stuck to something more believable.” He moved to the door, but Aimi stood in front of it.

“We are not fucking with you.”

“Aimi! Language.”

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Can you get your priorities straight? I am trying to stop him from killing me here, Auntie.”

“I am not going to kill you.” The words spat forth, and their steely chill matched that in his eyes. “I might be a monster, but I’m not a murderer.”

“I know you won’t kill me. Dragons don’t kill their mates.”

“I’m not a fucking dragon!” he yelled.

“Language!” hollered Aimi’s aunt.

“Fuck your language. I am not falling for this.”

“Falling for what, the truth?”

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit.” For once, her aunt didn’t say anything. Aimi held out her hands, a calming gesture, at least she hoped, given she had a pretty tall hybrid bulking himself and glaring. “You are a dragon. Or, at least, your genetics indicate you are.”

“The test is wrong.”

“That is possible.” Aimi shrugged. “There are surely exceptions.”

“Not really. It’s never happened before,” her aunt interjected.

“Well, it failed just now because I guarantee you, I am not a dragon. And even if by some messed-up fucking chance I am, no way am I descended from royalty.”

“Are you sure you were not born like this?” Xylia paced around him.

“Like I told moonbeam, I’m a gator. Just a regular ol’ swamp variety. It’s the experiments that changed me and gave me wings and the look of a T-rex with longer arms.”

“Even if the test failed, your scent also claims it.”

“Wouldn’t know. I can’t smell myself.” A weird shifter trait. They could scent others with ease, but when it came to their own scent, a pure blank spot.

“You claim experimentation, which given today’s science could account for some mutations, but there must have been something there to trigger. Perhaps a recessive gene. What is your family name again?”

“Mercer.”

Aunt Xylia shook her head. “Never heard of them.”

“Surprising, given we’re often in the news for misdemeanors.” His lips quirked, and Aimi stifled a giggle at her aunt’s face.

“Your family is criminal? Your mother won’t like that, Aimi,” Xylia said.

“Mother will find a way to spin it. By the time our first child is born, she’ll have the Mercers portrayed as some kind of prevailing mob family and use the scandal of it to have fabulous parties.”

“The fantasy world you live in is fascinating and, apparently, hereditary.” His glance bounced between Aimi and her aunt.

“How does he keep denying what he is? How can one deny being a dragon? Were you dropped on your head as a child?” her aunt asked him.

“Probably. But the number of times still won’t change the fact that I’m not a dragon, unless we’re talking the one in my pants.”

Aimi fired a fist to his gut for his impertinent reply and hit a wall. She managed to keep a stoic face.

“You can fly,” Aimi pointed out.

“But I can’t spit fire.”

“Fire is overrated. So very uncontrollable. Why anyone would want to spit at anything instead of fighting claw to claw is beyond me.” Xylia’s lips twisted.

“She prefers the personal touch,” Aimi confided. “According to Adi—”

“Who’s Adi?”

“My sister. Anyhow, her theory is that my mother and aunts brawl in human shape to keep the laundry services in business. Auntie likes to wear white. It takes a special touch to get the blood out of silk.”

He pinched his nose and closed his eyes. “Why are you telling me this? I mean, who admits to having a homicidal aunt?”

“Who said I killed anyone? Show me a body. Does someone need to disappear?” Xylia narrowed her gaze on Brand, and Aimi snapped her fingers.

“No threatening my mate, Auntie. He’s my ticket out of here.”

“I am not going anywhere with you, and I really think I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Don’t start with the I’m-gonna-leave shit—”

“Aimi!”

“Fine, the I’m-gonna-leave fucking bullshit,” she shouted with a roll of her eyes. His lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. “You want to know what you are. I’ll tell you what are, and I don’t even need a potion to do it.” She stepped closer to him, close enough that she had to tilt her head to still see his face. “You are mine.”

“You can’t be serious about that.” He turned away and to Xylia added, “Whatever you think I am, I’m not. And you can’t allow her to bind herself to me. I am not a dragon.”

“Have you seriously never pondered the fact that dragons might exist? Heard a rumor?” Curiosity lilted her words.

“Never. Why?”

“Because your uncle, Parker, knows.”

“I highly doubt that. If he knew, he would have blabbed.”

“By all accounts, your uncle is wily, and is probably saving that information for a time he thinks it will benefit him.” Aunt Xylia pointed to his wings. “If your uncle did this, then perhaps it was only possible because he knows something about your family. Do you have any unexplained bastards in your family? Were you perhaps born from an unwed mother or by an unknown father?”

“Have we gone from calling me ‘Your Grace’ to hoping I’m a bastard?” Brand had a tendency to deflect when things got uncomfortable.

“You are right about one thing. We know next to nothing about each other. Perhaps my previous address to your grace was premature.”

“So now I’m not a dragon?” he asked.

“Yes, you are,” Aimi hastened to interject. “And don’t you even try to deny it, Auntie. You and I both know what that color means.” Aimi pointed to the potion, the shade unmistakable. The colors were something they all learned at dragon school. Madame Drake’s School of Manners not only provided lessons in being a proper snob—hold your head at an angle, use this fork first, no bodily noises in public—the school also provided a crash course for dragonlings to learn their history in a more fleshed-out manner than simply via family members who may have embellished certain key historical points.

“The potion is a shitty shade of green. Not exactly exciting if you ask me.”

“You’re right. The color itself is less than exciting. It also has nothing in common with gold, just like the hue for our family test is a dull rusty color, quite atrocious, given our silver heritage. The yellows turn a very strange pink, while the seadrakes, who are blue for the most part, turn the solution clear.”

“So, what color of dragon am I then according to this?” He pointed to the test tube. “Purple? Aquamarine? How about a very cool black with gray undertones?”

“It says you’re a gold.”

He peered down at his bared torso. “Gold? Really? You have seen me, right?”

Aunt Xylia examined his wings, but when she would have touched, he flinched away. It didn’t stop her query. “You’ve never ascended, have you?”

“What’s ‘ascended?’”

“A stage most dragonlings pass in puberty. When you embrace your dragonself for the first time.”

“Does it make a difference?” Aimi asked.

“Yes, because the color he wears now is that of a youngster, not a mature hybrid.”

“So that’s not his true color?” Aimi ran a finger down his chest, and he held still for it, muscles rigid, but he didn’t move away.

“Usually, the dragonlings don’t have the strength or ability to pull their hybrid, so I’ve never seen an un-ascended half-shift before. I would imagine, should he ascend to his true dragon, that his hybrid color will change, which, if the test can be believed, is gold.”

He shook his head. “Except I can’t change. This is it.”

“Don’t be a diva,” Aimi remarked. “My aunt said she has something to try. What I’m more interested in finding out is if you’re suitable as a mate. Is he?” In other words, could her mother object and block her plan for leaving the house?

Forget leaving. She’d better not try and keep me from my mate.

“Despite his lack of ascendance, he is more than suitable. Should he truly be gold, then joining with him will greatly benefit our Sept. And should your children be golden…” Her aunt smiled.

Then Aimi would have the biggest hoard. Fist pump. “He is my ticket out of here.”

He latched on to those words. “You do realize I’m standing right here listening to you plotting to use me? Don’t I get a say?”

“No.”

Before his brow could furrow any further, Aimi tickled his chin. “Don’t frown. This will be a good thing. A fun thing,” she purred.

“I’m not looking for fun. I want to find my sister.”

“Ah, yes, the sister. I’ll have to get Adi working on that.”

“You’re going to help me?”

“Of course. Think of the return of your sister as my mating gift.” It would also ensure Parker understood that messing with Brand and his family meant messing with the Silvergraces. There was a reason no one told stories about messing with the Silver Sept. Dead men kept their mouths shut.

“You’re blackmailing me into marrying you,” he stated, a hint of incredulity in his tone.

“Blackmail, bribery, they are better options than handcuffs and a shotgun.” To this day, everyone mocked Waida’s wedding picture.

“You’re fucking nuts.”

“Language.”

To Aimi’s surprise, he respected Xylia’s admonishment. “You’re fudging nuts. But tell you what, moonbeam, you help me get my sister back, and if your aunt can turn me back into a man, I’ll marry you. Hell, if I can be me again, I’ll even give you some of those babies you keep yammering on about.”

The proposal—with benefits for them both—practically wet her panties. Sometimes a hoard grew with a simple promise. The best kind of treasure to own. “We have a deal.” She turned from Brand to her aunt. “Fix him.” Imperious demand at its best.

Mocking laughter in reply. “’Fix him,’ she says. It might not be that easy.” Xylia tapped her lower lip. “He is caught between the dragon and man. Both equally pulling. If I tip the balance one way, then the other may be forever lost.”

“What do you mean forever lost? You mean if I became a man, I might never shift again?” His wings rustled.

“Or, if you ascend to your true dragon shape, you may perhaps never walk as a man again.”

“At this point, I’d take being a man if given the choice.”

“I might have something that will work, then.” Her aunt went roaming the rows of shelves, running fingers along labels, plucking jars at random and returning them. She eventually found what she wanted on a high shelf tucked partially behind a wooden box inscribed with symbols. Setting it down, Xylia blew at it. The staff kept the jars well dusted, but given how Xylia struggled with the lid, whatever the container held, it had not been used in a while.

With a grunt and a word Aimi would have sworn was French for fuck, her aunt opened it. Holding out her palm, Xylia tipped the jar that appeared to hold a small handful of swirled black and white beads rolling around the bottom. “This should work. They had better work since I hate wasting one, given how hard these are to come by these days now that the mermaids no longer trade with those on land.”

“Mermaids?”

He was so cute when his faced scrunched in skepticism. There was so much for Aimi to show him. Places to go and explore.

Together.

As in not alone.

Interesting…

The thought surprised her. She’d not expected to ever get married, and if she did, she assumed she’d continue living as she pleased with occasional conjugal visits. It was how her parents’ marriage worked, and she knew of others who also treated it as a business arrangement. However, it didn’t have to be that way.

Much as Aimi valued her independence, she had to admit that there were times she longed for the relationships she saw on television. Wanted a lover who made her smile and shared adventures with her. She knew a thing like that would never happen with the Harolds of this world, but then again, Harold and every other man she’d met didn’t make her pulse race when they spoke.

Humans might find Brand monstrous, and perhaps he was to the humans, but Aimi saw an attractive male. She saw the strength in his shape, the will to survive against the odds. He was cunning; cunning enough that he’d found her without all the trimmings she had at her disposal. There was bravery there, too, under the cynicism and a noble core that she coveted.

He might have been born in mud, but that did not define him as a dragon.

True dragon majesty comes from within. Unless you had the biggest hoard, which trumped all.

Pinching it between two fingers, her aunt held up the bead. “These are the unfertilized offspring of the mermaids who do not manage to mate. They spawn an egg every decade, so as you can imagine, these are rare. And rarer still since the humans forced them to retreat to the deep that they might not find themselves hunted anymore. So many species the humans have destroyed. It took generations for the dragons to rebuild, bigger and stronger than before. Our time is soon coming.”

His lip lifted in a sneer. “Now you sound like my uncle.”

“Would it surprise you if I said, in many ways, your uncle is right?”

“You’d agree with a madman?”

“He makes some valid points,” Xylia countered. “He is correct when he says we should not have to live in shadow. We should not fear being hunted into the ground by humans. Predators should rule the world, not the sheep.”

A sentiment Aimi also shared, even if she never expressed it aloud. It surprised her to hear her aunt admitting it.

“And freaky comment of the day goes your aunt.” Brand clapped and shook his head.

Aimi couldn’t help but grin. “The day isn’t quite over yet.”

“There is much about this world you don’t know, boy.”

“Back to ‘boy?’ Damn, I am really missing being called Your Grace.”

“If you want the title, then ascend. Until then, you’re just another dragonling, subject to everyone’s rules.”

“I’m almost thirty.”

“Still a baby.” Xylia’s lips quirked. “With so much to learn.”

Aimi waved a hand to stop her aunt before she started. “I’ll teach him our history later. We need to get moving on the rescue of his sister so that I might claim him. Should word get out that he’s a possible royal, then the other Septs might try and snare him.”

“Snare me for what?” He was adorably clueless.

“Breeding, of course. You are new blood, and if you truly are a gold, then everyone will want you.”

“So I’m to expect a horde of women to kidnap me to have their wicked way?” He laughed, the sound deep with a hint of decadence. “Let them.”

“Like hell,” she snarled. “No one will be putting a hand on you, or they’ll lose it.

“I won’t need your protection, moonbeam, since no one is going to chase down a monster for sex.”

“You don’t need to have sex to extract sperm. You don’t even need him conscious.”

It wasn’t just Brand who gaped at her aunt.

Xylia shrugged. “Just saying. And we’re off topic. You wanted to change him back. He needs to eat this, followed by a glass full of…” Her words tapered as she opened a refrigerated unit and returned with a brown bottle. “Drink this.”

“You want me to eat a pearl and chug what looks like piss?”

“Yes.”

“Will this make me into even more of a mutant?”

“Possibly.”

“Aunt Xylia!”

“Like I said before, it will tip him into either man or dragon, but given he’s stubborn, I’m leaning toward man. At least temporarily.”

“Will it hurt?”

“It is my job to heal things, not hurt them.”

He held out his hand, and Xylia dropped the pearl in it. He then wrapped his fingers around the cold glass with the amber liquid. He hesitated. There might have been a clucking noise, and it may or may not have come from Aimi.

With a scowl, he popped the bead in his mouth and quickly chugged from the glass.

He slapped the empty bottle down and made a face. “That was revolting. With a fishy aftertaste.”

“Castor oil.”

“Castor oil helps the change?” Aimi asked.

“It’s for his foul language. The pearl is what will fix him.”

Brand crossed his arms. “Nothing is happening.”

“Give it a moment. Men,” her aunt huffed in Aimi’s direction, “always so impatient. Especially in the bedroom. Always rushing to get to the main event.”

“Still not wor—Argh. Ugh. Irk.” The grunts contorted his features, and Brand dropped to his knees as his leathery skin rippled and his wings shuddered.

“What did you do?” he gasped. “You said it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Auntie lied.” Aimi knelt by him. “The cures almost always hurt.” Because they worked.

Knowing this, her aunt was ready with a powder that she blew into his face, whispering, “Sleep.”