Chapter 24 #2
Riordan’s hands were gripping the edge of the table. Wilmer covered one of them with his own. Jermon’s hand was still on his knee.
“Go ahead,” Riordan said.
Sando opened the folder. “Based on my analysis—comparing dragon biological markers with wolf biology, cross-referencing with the data I’ve compiled on omega and alpha dragon physiology—Harley presents as what we would classify in wolf terms as a beta.”
“A beta,” Jermon repeated. “But dragons don’t have betas.”
“They didn’t. Until now.” Sando’s eyes were kind.
“Biologically, Harley possesses characteristics of both alpha and omega dragon physiology. They’re carrying markers from both presentations in a combination that doesn’t match either classification.
In wolves, this presentation is uncommon but documented.
In dragons, there’s no precedent. I believe it’s the result of the cross-species conception—Riordan’s wolf genetics introducing biological patterns into the dragon offspring that have never occurred in a pure dragon clutch. ”
Riordan’s vision blurred. He blinked hard, but the tears came anyway—silent, hot, rolling down his cheeks before he could stop them. Not sadness. Not fear. Something more complicated than either, a cocktail of emotions too mixed to separate.
“Is that why they’re blue?” Wilmer asked, his practical mind cutting straight to specifics.
“Possibly. If Harley’s status doesn’t fit the existing alpha-omega dragon binary, it stands to reason their coloring wouldn’t either. Baby-blue may represent something entirely new—a color and classification that dragon society has never seen because a beta dragon has never existed before.”
“Their abilities?” Jermon leaned forward, the researcher in him fully engaged. “Dragon abilities are tied to color. If Harley’s hatchling color is new—”
“Then their abilities may be new as well. I can’t predict what those will look like.
But based on the magical signature readings you’ve shared with me, Jermon, Harley’s magical potential is significant, and Fallon has confirmed this with his own readings.
Whatever their gift turns out to be, it’s not going to be small. ”
Riordan wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Is this because of me? Because I’m a wolf?”
The question came out smaller than he intended, carrying the weight of a fear he’d been nursing since Harley hatched—that his wolf genes had done this, that his biology had deviated his child from the norm, that he was somehow responsible for making Harley’s life harder than it needed to be.
“Riordan.” Wilmer’s voice was sharp enough to cut through the guilt spiral. “Don’t.”
“He’s right,” Jermon said from his other side, his hand tightening on Riordan’s knee. “This isn’t something you did to Harley. This is something you gave Harley. You gave them wolf biology, and that biology created something that has never existed before. That’s not a deficiency. It’s a gift.”
“An unprecedented one,” Sando added gently.
“Riordan, your child is going to be studied and discussed and marveled over for generations. Not because something went wrong, but because something entirely new went right. You created a bridge between two species that haven’t shared biology in this way before. ”
Riordan looked at the nesting basket where four hatchlings slept in a pile. Harley’s blue scales caught the afternoon light, shimmering with that subtle responsiveness that was theirs alone. Beautiful. Unique. New.
“And their sex?” Jermon asked.
Riordan all but held his breath.
“They’re intersex,” Sando said softly. “As we expected. As Harley develops, as they grow and begin to communicate preferences, they may identify as male, female, both, neither, or something else entirely. That’s something that will emerge over time.”
Riordan breathed out. Intersex. Yes, they had expected that.
And yet it was still a shock to hear Sando say it.
Not a bad shock. It wasn’t like Riordan attached value to a specific sex, as if he’d preferred Harley to be either male or female.
But it was one more aspect that would be different for Harley, that would make life so much more complicated.
“They’re growing up in the most accepting, understanding environment,” Wilmer said. “They’ll have all the time and space to figure out who they are.”
Jermon nodded. “Enar and Lev are great examples. No one gives them a hard time about who they are. And the most important thing is that Harley is healthy.”
He was right. Their child was healthy. The rest, they’d figure out.
After Sando left, Riordan sat on the living room floor with Harley in his lap. The hatchling had woken from their nap and was curled against his chest, warm and blue and making the small, contented sounds that meant they felt safe.
Wilmer and Jermon flanked him on the couch, their legs bracketing him on either side. It was a familiar configuration of comfort that they’d developed in the early weeks of parenthood, when Riordan had been too exhausted to sit on actual furniture and his mates had simply come to wherever he was.
“We’re going to need to figure out what to tell the pack,” Wilmer said, practical as ever. “Just so everyone knows how to treat Harley.”
“We can share it at the next pack meeting,” Jermon suggested. “Maybe bring the hatchlings to show them to everyone? We’ve limited visitors, so most haven’t even seen them.”
Riordan stroked Harley’s scales—the blue warming under his touch, deepening to something almost violet before lightening again. Responsive. Alive. Beautiful in a way no classification system could capture.
And then a thought struck him, and he almost gasped with the clarity it brought. “Remember the day they all hatched? How the other three came out on their own, but Harley waited. And then Fallon said the baby was waiting for a name. That they wouldn’t come out until they had one.”
“I remember,” Jermon said softly. “Not something I’ll ever forget.”
“A baby who refused to enter the world without an identity. Who insisted on being named—being known—before they’d take their first breath.
” Riordan pressed his lips to the top of Harley’s head.
“That’s not a child who’s going to struggle with who they are.
That’s a child who knew who they were before any of us did. We just have to catch up.”
Harley looked up at him with those watchful, ancient eyes and chirped once—a small, definitive sound that seemed to say, quite clearly, “Obviously. Duh.”
Riordan laughed. It was wet and shaky and full of the fierce, complicated love of a parent who didn’t know what the future held but who knew, with unshakable certainty, that his child would face it with three parents at their back and a whole pack around them and a world that was slowly, imperfectly, stubbornly learning to make room for people who didn’t fit in boxes.
“Obviously,” Riordan whispered and held his baby-blue dragon close.