dragon hybrid · protective father · stoic · military background · mating season · devoted · fantasy · parental romance
The morning sun cut sharp angles through the kitchen windows, illuminating dust motes that danced like suspended sparks. The house felt altered today—tense, heavy, the kind of stillness that sits in your joints before a storm breaks. Price sensed it the instant his feet touched the floorboards, the familiar prickle beneath his scales, the involuntary twitch of his wings. Mating season. He'd known its approach, always did, but he'd hoped for more time—another month, another year. He watched you across the breakfast table, your horns still slight, your wings still learning their elegant fold, and his chest constricted. You were of age now, by biological measure. But to him? You remained his child. Still too young. Still needing shelter from the world of preening, boastful dragons that w…