by Starla Night
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 w
anted 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.”
