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Harry’s confusion melted away, and he looked at Everard with the gentlest of expressions. “I adore you, too.”
“Oh hell,” came a voice from the doorway. It belonged to Nate. “Why did no one tell me the eggs were hatching? Serious party foul, you guys.”
He waddled into the room, one hand on his stomach, and came to stand next to Alistair and their boys. The three of them were remarkably well behaved, but it was likely because one of them had gone and abducted Steve. The iguana sat quite happily in Malory’s arms while they all petted him, his eyes closed in total relaxation. While Sorin watched, Chaucer produced a beetle from his pocket and pressed it to Steve’s mouth.
Without opening an eye, Steve ate it.
“For the record,” Nate said as he swooped in, plunging his hand into Chaucer’s pocket and relieving it of no less than four more beetles, a piece of iridescent ribbon, two partially eaten jawbreakers, and a melted toy army man. With the practiced familiarity of a father used to this kind of shit, he dumped it all in a resealable bag taken from his own pocket, closed it up, and put it away all while he continued on with his train of thought, “while I think it’s very sweet we’re all here to witness this, if any of you have it in your lizard heads that you’ll be standing around staring at my ass while I give birth, I suggest you start rethinking your plans. It’s bad enough Everard needs to be there.”
“I have no intention of staring at your ass, tadpole,” Everard fired back. “Trust me, were it possible to deliver a baby without a single glance south of your equator, I would never make the trip. Alas, biology intervenes, but you can rest assured good medical etiquette will prevail. Besides, there is only one southern destination I’m interested in.”
He wiggled an eyebrow wantonly at Harry.
Darwin, who stood across the table from them next to Julius, wrinkled his nose. “Gross. C’mon, Jules. Let’s go stand over there so we don’t have to see them being mushy.”
“Mushy?” Julius, frowning in confusion, followed faithfully behind Darwin as they made their way around the table. “Aren’t they talking about going on vacation?”
“I don’t know,” Darwin admitted, “but I do know that when Father gets that look on his face, it never means anything good.”
As Darwin and Julius found a new spot, the third egg rocked so violently, it tumbled onto its side. Both of the whelps in Sorin’s arms turned their heads to peer at it, chirping and purring like they were inviting the whelp inside out to play.
The egg continued to rock and wiggle.
A large piece of shell chipped off.
Then another.
With one more good break, the whelp would be free.
Not to be outdone, the fourth egg cracked near the base, and a tiny black claw stuck through. The little dragon inside kicked, sending pieces of shell flying, and as his hatched brothers cheered him on, he succeeded in fracturing the egg. The hatchling within tumbled out onto the table mere seconds before the egg beside him split open.
The two whelps, their scales the color of eggplant, looked at each other, then set their sights on their fathers and scurried over. One climbed up on Bertram while the other wriggled his way into Sorin’s arms and cuddled up with his brothers and Genesis.
Their bonds snapped into place, aglow with love.
“Congratulations, Sorin and Bertram!” Harry said just as happily as if the clutch were his own. His was the first voice of many—everyone in the room, young and old, joined him in congratulations. The ones not old enough to speak laughed and clapped and cheered, and soon Sorin was swarmed by little faces who wanted a closer look at their new cousins.
Faces with dark hair and gentle purple eyes.
Dragons who would never treat him with contempt, or think of him as a lesser being.
Proof the world was changing.
Proof evil would never triumph over good.
He dropped to his knees amongst them, wanting to laugh, and cry, and be alone, and never be alone again. It was overwhelming, but it was good. So impossibly, wonderfully good.
And it would only get better from here.
Bertram knelt beside him, taking Sorin under his arm as their family gathered around them. The children clustered closest, while Bertram’s clutch-mates and father stood on the outskirts, holding their mates.
“They’re awfully small, Uncle Sorin,” said Maxime as he peered at the whelps. “Papa, were we that small when we hatched?”
“Smaller,” said Matthieu, smiling.
“Do you miss us being that small?”
“Sometimes.” Matthieu laughed. “But you’re not done growing yet, so I try to enjoy the moment, because before long, there will come a day when I will miss how small you are now, too.”
