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“Let’s go meet our dragon, my little love!”
THEY WERE RACING ACROSSthe flower-strewn meadow that spread out before the entrance of his cave when Sorin landed.
It was a hard, rough landing, a poorly-timed one since he’d started his shift mid-plummet and the winds didn’t make for the smoothest kind of landings on a good day.
But he didn’t care if he’d broken every bone in his legs.
They’d heal.
Running toward Gia, he caught her in one arm, the other spread wide for Wyn who leaped at him in the next second.
He slammed his mouth down hers but she jerked back and hissed. “Clothes!”
He went to roll his eyes but she narrowed hers. Then a whisper of magic slid along his skin. Looking down, he frowned, saw what looked like clothes laying against his frame even if they didn’t feel like them.
“Glamouring me, witchling?” he asked, lifting his head to smile at her.
“You’re to be a father to the boy now, dragon.” She gave him a prim smile.
Something nudged his arm and he looked over, saw the shade.
She held a pair of folded trousers and this time, he did roll his eyes, but he put both the boy and Gia down, then turned his back and pulled the trousers on. Once they were fastened, he turned back and caught Gia’s face in his hands, kissed her hard and fast. “Witchling mine.”
“Dragon mine.”
Wyn, happy to just be there, to be safe, waited politely for several seconds as they kissed, but then he caught Sorin’s arm and shook him. “Sorin.”
With a groan, he ended the kiss, then went and hunkered in front of the boy. “Yes, Wyn?”
“Is it done?”
Sorin smiled. “Yes, boy. It’s done. And it’s rather magnificent work, if I do say so myself.”
“His dragonly arrogance demands he say so,” Gia informed Wyn.
Wyn smiled, but the smile was dimmer, quieter. “You’ll take me to see it?”
Sorin nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow. I’m weary.”
He wasn’t. He could have flown around the world ten times over.
But he wanted a night to hold his witchling tight, to make love to her in his bed, their bed. To know she’d stay with him.
Darting a look at her, suddenly feeling nervous, he said, “I see you found my home. What do you think of it?”
“It’s rather lovely, although it was Wyn and my shade who found it. I just followed.” Her lips curved. “It’s an incredible place for a boy to grow up. We had to show ourselves around. I hope that’s okay.”
Wyn piped up. “I love it. It’s so cool!”
One of the bands around Sorin’s heart eased. “And what about a witchling Fae, Gia? Is it an adequate home for a witchling Fae?”
“Well...” She moved in closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I don’t know about just any witchling Fae. But this one? The one meant to be a dragon’s bride? It’s absolutely perfect.”
Melt the Heart of Stone
2026
Wyn Bitterbirch stoodin front of the dragonstone monument the dragon had carved in honor of his mother.
The statue was clearly a clearly feminine form, her arms curved protectively around a smaller figure before her. She stood atop a base that was carved with a language nobody had ever been able to translate.
Some yards back was another marker of dragonstone, this one carved into the earth in a long, unyielding line, the stone resistant to all attempts to mark it.
Across it, in English, French, Spanish, Latin, Russian, German, Chinese, Japanese and seven other languages, it read:
?
Below lie the bodies of those who hunted and killed men, women and children simply because they were not human.
They died by magic or fire, some felled by a young witch intent on protecting her son, the rest falling prey to the wrath of the Dragon of the Ozarks.
Let their deaths be a warning. The Dragon doesn’t tolerate those who victimize others.
?
The mother’s memorial, though, remained a mystery. Even to Wyn hadn’t known what was written there for a long time.
It had taken years, but the dragon had eventually told him the meaning of the words carved into the base.
?
Here rests Amy Bitterbirch, mother, mortal, warrior.
She helped melt a heart of stone.
?
Right now, the dragon, the male who had become his father, and Gia, his other mother, were in Europe, convening with the United Reformed Nations as they helped in the Reformation.
The war had been over for almost twenty years. But with millions of lives lost and entire cities laid to waste, those like Gia felt it would take decades before their world had any semblance of normalcy.
Wyn didn’t even know what normal was supposed to look like.
He’d spent most of his life either running in fear with his mortal mother or watching as his adoptive mother prepared to go into war to help those who couldn’t fight for themselves.
He was so fucking proud of both of them.
Touching a hand to the glittering black stone with its undertones of brilliant red, he said, “You’re still with me, mum.”
Then he looked back over his shoulder to the flitting shadow who’d started trailing after him of late. “Alright, you pest. We can go now. I promised Mum we’d take this dagger to Delhi, so let’s get it done.”
