“He’s four months old,” Erwan said. “What dominance could he possibly be establishing?”
“The food-bowl kind. He’s sitting on it.” Jermon settled into a chair, adjusting both hatchlings with the practiced ease of a man who’d been wrangling four tiny dragons for months. “Riordan is handling it. Well, Riordan is negotiating with a four-month-old alpha who has zero interest in diplomacy, but he’s handling it.”
Valdis emerged last, carrying an extra glass of champagne that he handed to Jermon before dropping into the remaining chair. The youngest brother looked between them all—Nadiv glowing, Jermon juggling babies, Erwan watching it all with a full heart—and shook his head slowly.
“Remember the castle?” Valdis said quietly. “Remember when this was impossible? When we couldn’t shift, couldn’t use magic, couldn’t even imagine a life beyond those walls?”
The question settled over the porch like the pause before a sunrise, the acknowledgment of darkness that made the light more meaningful.
“I remember,” Erwan said.
“I remember thinking that was all there’d ever be,” Nadiv added, his gaze drifting to the window where Emma was visible inside, bending over the nesting basket with a smile so tender it transformed her tired face into something luminous. “That we’d grow old in that castle and never know what we were missing.”
“We were missing everything,” Jermon said. He looked down at Harley, who chirped softly and nestled closer against his chest. “We were missing all of it.”
They sat with that for a moment. Four brothers who had been kept powerless and isolated for two centuries, who had fled into the unknown because one of them had fallen in love with a wolf, who had pledged their servitude to atone for crimes that weren’t their own, and who had built—against every odd and every enemy and every expectation—lives worth living.
Rhene appeared around the corner of the cabin, Ainle on his hip. The baby was awake and alert, his small head turning to track the sound of hatchling squeaks from inside with curiosity. He was growing so fast—already bigger than last month, his features more defined, his wolf-brown eyes carrying an intelligence that made Erwan’s breath catch every time they met his own.
“How’s the celebration?” Rhene asked, dropping into the space beside Erwan and leaning into him with the easy intimacy that still, after everything, made Erwan’s heart skip.
“Nadiv’s having an existential crisis about color-coded feeding schedules.”
“Emma’s schedules are works of art. He should be grateful.” Rhene adjusted Ainle on his lap, and the baby immediately reached for Erwan with grabby hands and an imperative squawk.
Erwan took his son and settled him against his chest, and the weight of the small, warm body grounded him the way it always did—connecting him to Rhene through their child, to the future through this boy who would one day be both pack alpha and dragon prince.
“I keep thinking about Fergal,” Erwan said. “About what he and Gregor went through. About how close we came to losing them.”
“But we didn’t.” Rhene’s arm tightened around his waist. “And from what I can tell, whatever they went through broke something open between them that needed breaking. Gregor looks different. Lighter. Like a man who’s been carrying a bag of rocks up a mountain and has finally set it down.” Rhene paused. “And Fergal looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. Both of them do, actually. It’s sickeningly sweet.”
Erwan smiled. He’d noticed the same thing—the way Gregor said Fergal’s name now, easily, without the careful weight that used to accompany it. The way Fergal leaned into Gregor in public without hesitation, and Gregor didn’t stiffen or create distance. The way they held hands walking through the pack like it was the most natural thing in the world because, for them, it finally was.
“And Duff,” Valdis. “Has anyone else noticed that he’s…different?”
“Different how?” Jermon asked.
“I don’t know. More present. Less like a man watching from behind glass and more like a man who’s actually in the room.” Valdis frowned. “And his energy feels weird. Not bad weird. Just…not entirely human.”
Erwan had noticed the same—a resonance, faint but unmistakable, that vibrated at a frequency Erwan associated with dragon magic. The dampening spell at the compound had affected Duff in ways it shouldn’t have affected a human—the man himself had said it felt like it was suppressing something that was already there.
And the protection prayers. The Irish spells Duff recited every morning and evening without knowing they were spells. The “Bás instinct” that allowed him to track dragons across continents. The fire behind his sternum that he’d described to Gregor as a family gift.
“There’s something about him,” Erwan said carefully. “Something I can’t quite identify yet. But whatever it is, it’s not a threat. Not anymore.”
“He saved Fergal’s life,” Rhene said. “Followed him into that compound alone, got himself captured trying to help. Whatever else Duff Bás is or isn’t, the man has honor. And in my book, that counts for a lot.”
Jermon nodded slowly. “Harley reacts to him.”
Every head on the porch turned to Jermon. The purple dragon looked down at his baby-blue hatchling, who was watching the conversation with those unnervingly perceptive eyes. “When Duff walks by, Harley’s scales shimmer. The same way they shimmer when any of us uses magic nearby. As if Harley is picking up on something from Duff that reads as dragon.”
The porch was quiet for a moment, each of them processing that piece of information with the seriousness it deserved.
“We’ll figure it out,” Erwan said. “Whatever Duff is, wherever he comes from, we’ll help him find the answers. That’s what this clan does—we help people figure out who they are. Even when the answer is complicated.”
“Especially when it’s complicated,” Nadiv added with a grin that was pure Nadiv—warm, irreverent, finding the light in every shadow.
The door opened again, and somehow, Erwan held his breath. His magic stirred, his dragon pushing forward inside him.
