Something cracks open in my chest—something warm and aching that has nothing to do with the pain of labor. My dragoness rumbles with approval, the sound vibrating through the surrounding water. He built this while I hid. While I pushed them all away. He gathered and wove and created, pouring his love into every branch and feather because he couldn’t pour it into me.
I swim past the nest to the largest section of black sand and climb up onto it, water streaming off my scales in rivulets that carve temporary rivers in the dark grains. The sand is warm beneath my claws, heated by the geothermal energy pulsing through the earth below. Each grain presses into the softer hide of my underbelly as I settle, countless tiny points of grounding pressure that anchor me to this moment.
The guys cross the sand slowly, giving me space, their footsteps careful and deliberate. I can smell their anxiety—sharp and acridbeneath their individual scents. Solaris carries the deep scent of sandalwood. Corvus smells of baked bread and honey, warm and comforting despite the war drake’s deadly nature. Hemlocke’s scent is meadow flowers, wild and untamed. Keir carries the scent of hot chocolate. And Finlay—Finlay smells of wood smoke and bonfire and the first spark of a new fire.
Beneath the fear, I smell love. Determination. The fierce protectiveness of mates who would burn the world down for me if I asked.
And hope. So much hope it almost chokes me.
Solaris moves toward my tail, and every instinct in my body screams at me to clamp it close. To hide. To protect. My scales ripple with tension, rising slightly along my haunches, each one a tiny blade ready to defend what’s mine.
“Lass, I need tae see if yer scales have changed colours tae know how close tae deliverin’ ye are.” His voice is calm, that rolling brogue steady and soothing despite the gravity of his words. I hear the slight catch in his breath, the careful control he’s exerting to keep his voice even. “The scales’ll change tae a different colour. In yer case, the skin between the scales’ll turn red.”
He moves to stand in front of me, his amber eyes meeting my sapphire ones. I can see the concern etched into the lines of his face, the slight tremor in his jaw that betrays his fear. This ancient dragon, who has lived for centuries and seen more than I can imagine, is terrified for me.
But beneath the fear, I see it—that flicker of hope. The way his gaze keeps dropping to my swollen belly, then back to my face. He wants this child to be his. He’d never say it, never voice thedesire aloud, but I see it burning in those ancient amber eyes. His first child, after centuries of solitude. The thought must be terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
I stretch my tail out so he can see everything.
It goes against every instinct I possess. My dragoness snarls in the back of my mind, furious at the vulnerability, but I force her down. These are my mates. They need to help me. I need to let them.
Corvus moves with Solaris toward my hindquarters, his silver hair catching the bioluminescent glow of the cavern. His silver eyes are fixed on my scales with clinical precision—the same focus he brings to a battlefield, assessing, calculating. But I catch the way his jaw tightens, the slight flare of his nostrils. The war drake is struggling to maintain his composure. I roll my eyes, heat flushing beneath my scales as I try to suppress the absurdity of this moment. Five males, all staring at my most intimate places. This is not how I had imagined this moment.
But I catch the way Corvus’s hands tremble at his sides. The way his throat bobs as he swallows hard. He’s trying so hard to be detached, helpful—but I see the way his silver eyes keep flicking to my belly, softening in a way they never do outside this circle. For his enemies, those eyes are icy death. For me, and for his brothers, they hold something precious. Something he guards as fiercely as he guards our lives.
“The skin is red.” Corvus’s voice echoes through the chamber, slightly hoarse. He clears his throat, visibly pulling his war drake discipline back into place. “Do we know if your water has broken yet?”
I shake my massive head; the motion sending ripples through the muscles of my neck. Then another cramp seizes me—harder than before, a vice grip around my lower belly that makes my vision white at the edges—and I lower my head to rest on my forelegs, panting through the pain. Each exhale fogs the air in front of my snout, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts that rustle the sand beneath me.
Finlay moves close to my maw, his footsteps soft on the sand. He rests his hands on my face, his palms warm—almost hot—against the white bone plates of my skull. His touch is gentle, reverent; his fingers tracing the ridges above my eyes with the care of someone handling something infinitely precious.
Suddenly, the pain is less.
It doesn’t disappear—I still feel the pressure, the cramping, the relentless squeeze of my body working to expel the egg—but the sharp edges blur. The fear that had been clawing at my chest loosens its grip. I feel warmth spreading from his palms into my scales, a soothing heat that sinks through bone and muscle and sinew, wrapping around the pain like a blanket smothering flames.
“I can only help so much, my flame.” His voice is soft, meant only for me. His ember-bright eyes burn with unshed tears, the flames within them flickering erratically with his emotion. “I would endure all the pain for you if I could.”
I see it in his face—the desperate wish that this child carries his fire. Not because he needs an heir, but because he wants this connection. Wants to give me a piece of himself that will live on, that will grow and thrive and carry both our spirits into the future. His hands shake against my scales, and I realize he’safraid. Afraid of wanting too much. Afraid of the disappointment that might come.
Another wave of pain crashes through me—worse than before, a searing pressure that steals my breath and locks my muscles—and I growl low in my throat. The sound rumbles through the chamber, shaking loose pebbles from the ceiling, sending ripples across the surface of the hot spring.
Hemlocke’s feet stamp against the sand, an involuntary reaction to my distress. I hear him make a soft sound of concern, his body tensing with the need to move, to help, to dosomething. Through the haze of pain, I catch his pink eyes fixed on me, wide and worried.
He wants this too. Wants it with a ferocity that surprises even him, I think. A black unicorn’s child. A legacy that proves his worth beyond his body, beyond the stamina he was bred for. Something pure and good to counter the darkness of his kind’s history.
Then I hear the splash from somewhere behind me, down by my tail.
“The egg is coming!” Corvus yells, his voice sharp with urgency, the war drake’s composure cracking under the weight of this moment.
Hemlocke and Keir rush to join him and Solaris, their footsteps pounding against the sand. I hear their sharp intakes of breath, feel the shift in the air as they crowd around my haunches. Their combined scents intensified—anxiety and hope and fierce, protective love swirling together until I can barely distinguish one from another.
Keir drops to his knees beside Solaris, his stormy gray eyes locked on the space beneath my tail. His face is pale, his chest heaving with rapid breaths. I feel his bond pulse against mine—even dampened, I can sense the desperate plea echoing through it.Let it be mine. Please. Let me have this.
He’s never asked for anything. Never demanded. He’s spent his whole life taking whatever scraps the universe threw at him and being grateful. But now, in this moment, he’s hoping with every fiber of his being. A child would mean a pack. Family. Everything he lost when he was just a pup. Everything he’s been searching for ever since.
I try to nudge Finlay with my snout, pushing him toward the others. He should be there. He should see this.
“No, my flame.” He doesn’t move, his hands still pressed against my face, still channeling that steady stream of soothing warmth into my body. “I’m needed here.”
