Drake grinned, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Easy, brother. You’ve got what, twenty-four hours as an official dad? First-time syndrome hits dragons harder than it does humans.Next thing we know, you’ll be knitting him a fireproof blanket and checking under the bed for monsters."
I scowled. "Heisthe monster under the bed."
Drake’s laugh was genuine, warm. "That’s the spirit."
Ashton’s gaze never wavered. "We’ll keep an eye on Vivienne. But you need to focus on your family. Bryce is what matters now."
I stood, restless, and circled the room. "I am focused. That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to wake up one morning and find out she’s ‘studying’ him in a lab or carting him off to some coven in the city. I want a plan."
Ashton drummed his fingers on the desk. "You let us worry about Vivienne. Your job is to make sure Bryce doesn’t explode again."
That stung, but I bit back my retort.
Drake stood, stretched, and clapped a hand on my back, almost knocking the air out of me. "Go home, Z. Spend time with your mate. Enjoy the peace while it lasts."
I shot Ashton one last look, willing him to take this seriously. His eyes softened, but only a fraction. "If Vivienne steps out of line, I’ll handle it."
I nodded, then left the room, the sound of the heavy doors closing behind me louder than any argument.
The ride back to the cottage was a blur. I replayed every word, every slight, every place where Ashton’s calm had bordered on arrogance. I didn’t like being dismissed. The mate bond made itworse, amplifying every threat and reducing every priority to a single point. Keep Bryce safe.
I parked out front, and the house looked exactly as I’d left it, humble, a little battered, but radiating the kind of warmth only a lived-in place could. I let myself in, found Krystal at the kitchen table, laptop open and papers spread everywhere. She looked up, and her smile softened the edge in me.
"Hey," she said. "How’d it go?"
I hesitated, then sat beside her, sinking into the smell of coffee and the sound of Bryce humming along to a cartoon in the next room. "They think I’m overreacting."
She closed the laptop and turned to me, her hand covering mine. "Are you?"
I wanted to say no, to rail against Ashton and Drake and everyone else who thought I was being a paranoid dad. But Krystal’s eyes, steady and kind, made me pause.
"I don’t know," I admitted. "Maybe. But it doesn’t feel like it."
She squeezed my hand. "It’s new, Zaden. For both of us. Maybe you’re seeing threats because that’s what you’re used to."
I wanted to protest, but the logic was solid. I’d spent two centuries watching my back, cataloging every way the world could go wrong. Maybe I didn’t know how to let down my guard, even when I wanted to.
"Maybe you’re right," I said in defeat.
She smiled, pulling me in for a soft, grounding kiss. "If you are, we’ll deal with it. Together."
The knot in my chest loosened a little.
Dinner at Krystal’s place felt less like a meal and more like an unspoken test. Nathan showed up five minutes early, Rissa and Elle in tow, both bearing foil-topped pans and the brittle optimism of people trying too hard. The kitchen overflowed with the scents of garlic and melted cheese, Bryce darting between the grownups like a ferret hyped up on sugar. The table, an old farm slab warped by a decade of spills and hot pans, groaned under the weight of lasagna, salad, two kinds of bread, and a huge cake.
Krystal played hostess, bustling and brisk, but her eyes tracked every movement, especially Bryce’s. The kid looked better than he had in days, color back in his cheeks, a bounce in his step, but he hovered at my side whenever the room got too loud. I didn’t blame him. Nathan still gave me the cop stare, arms folded and jaw set, like he expected me to steal the silverware or bite someone.
We sat, filled plates, and passed dishes left and right. Rissa made small talk about her new class at the elementary school. Elle, thirteen and growing into her own set of wolfish quirks, rolled her eyes and poked at her salad. Nathan held down the adult end of the conversation, talking about a recent animal control incident involving a black bear and an entire box of Pop-Tarts.
I watched Bryce the whole time, counting the seconds between every wince, every hand-to-temple move. He smiled more than I’d seen so far, but it had a jagged edge to it, like he was fighting to stay in the present.
Halfway through the meal, he launched into a story about a video game he’d played at Nathan’s house the weekend before. "So, you’re this frog, but you have to cross the road and then there’s a river, and if you land on the wrong log, you die, but ifyou get all the way, you get a new skin. Like, rainbow or ninja or zombie."
Elle perked up. "Wait, is this the one where the logs move at different speeds?"
Bryce nodded, mouth full of bread. "And there’s a hawk that tries to eat you if you stay on the edge."
Nathan, who’d been silent up to now, grunted. "The kid’s got the highest score in the house. We had to unplug the TV to get him outside last Sunday."
