Chapter 24
Tane
Kirion was alluring. Glowing. His stomach round with the egg. I wanted to touch him all the time, feel that hard roundness inside him knowing I’d put it there. I’d given him my seed and this was the result. Our egg. Our child.
Our baby with Kirion should be named Royal. Kirion is, after all, a prince.
We’d been having this argument for over a week. Tanekan came up with the name but neither I nor Kirion liked it.
“It’s not the right name.”
You haven’t come up with anything better. It will be Royal.
Tanekan was stubborn. He never gave up.
Kirion was polite when I told him what Tanekan had said, knowing Tanekan could listen in on our conversations at any time. And Tanekan did. He’d been silent for thirteen long years. Now, the only time he made himself scarce these days was when we made love.
“I think maybe we could do Royal as a middle name,” was Kirion’s concession. “Maybe.”
But we both disliked it. We didn’t want our baby to end up being called Roy.
We made a baby room next to our bedroom. There had been a walk-in storage closet there and we had builders come in and remodel it into a real room. The house had plenty of spare rooms, but we wanted our child close to us for his early years.
Malin’s rooms on the other side of the stairs remained empty. I never looked in that direction. Kirion respected that and we both ignored that side of the second floor. Maybe someday that would change, but not now.
In the new room, Kirion made a nest.
We spent hours every day lying on the nest of baby blankets, stuffed animals, soft pillows and diapers. I would rub his belly bump and we would talk until we lost track of time. We loved to talk. No subject was off limits. I wanted to know everything about him and he felt the same in return.
“I like the name Remington,” he said one day.
“Remington?”
“Yeah. And if he wants to be called Remy, that’s okay, too.”
“Hmm.”
I like it better than all the ones you’ve discussed. Please don’t name our baby Mortimer.
“That was a joke,” I said out loud.
When Kirion gave me a confused look, I clarified.
“Tanekan likes that one. He brought up Mortimer as a dealbreaker again.”
Kirion laughed. “I love him. He’s funny. You’re both so wonderful.”
“He thinks you’re wonderful.”
Tanekan also loved Kirion’s nest and commented that the set omega’s instincts were dragon-like. It wasn’t only my bond with Kirion that grew, but Tanekan’s as well.
“So do you like Remington?” Kirion asked.
“I do. It’s the best one yet.”
Kirion smiled and lay back on soft pillows. As I stroked his stomach, he took a short nap.
Kirion’s contractions began after two months of being pregnant.
Live births could go nine months but not egg laying.
After he laid it, the egg would need to be kept warm and well-guarded for about eight weeks.
Then we could look for pips. It was a fairly quick process compared to mammals of the shifter world.
But dragons weren’t mammals strictly speaking, though in our human form we had warm blood and nursed our young.
Kirion went straight to the nest and stripped.
He lay down with a light blanket, his favorite, and let the contractions take over.
He was brave. I was not. I was on the phone to the baby doctor every hour.
Unless something was abnormal with the pregnancy or Kirion seemed distressed, this was a very natural process.
I had to hear those words over and over from the doctor before I believed them.
Kirion lay on his side watching me. “Put down that phone and get over here. I’m having an egg.”
“Laying. We call it laying.”
“Right. But I’m having it and I need you to be here and hold my hand or something.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked for the twelfth time.
“It’s contractions. It feels a bit overwhelming, and it hurts for the duration of the contraction, but I’m fine. I’m not sick. It’s all happening. Now.”
When he turned his back to me so I could massage it, the blanket fell away a little.
I saw his backside, beautifully firm, and his spread cheeks showing me his hole.
It was slowly spreading open. I thought it might be difficult to watch, but now I changed my mind.
Kirion was so handsome. Everything about him was lovely and I was amazed by him every day.
Now I was watching a miracle. A set omega wolf was laying my egg.
“Kirion, I think I see something.”
“Maybe just massage my lower back without looking. It’s sort of gross, right?”
“No. It’s beautiful. You’re a gift to me and so is this child.”
“I think I want to kneel now.”
I helped him to his hands and knees while rubbing at his lower back.
He spread his knees and crouched almost like his breeding pose when he’d been in heat, but not quite.
He kept his knees forward and wide, his hips canted down.
The blanket fell forward toward his neck, keeping him warm and secure as he strained with each contraction.
I kept up a litany of encouragement.
“There you go, that’s right, push into it but stop when it lets up.” I’d read a couple of books about it, and about how to help my husband, how to keep him calm and steady.
I’d never experienced this with Rupert. When egg time came, he had wanted to go to a private clinic and have the egg there.
I was to sit in the waiting room and try not to fret.
When Malin hatched we were both there but Rupert swept him up and kept him close for months so he could nurse him.
I only got to hold Malin when Rupert slept.
No wonder I hadn’t bonded with our son. I’d been kept away.
This wasn’t going to happen here. Kirion insisted we would co-parent. He wanted me there alongside him every step of the way. I didn’t have to worry about being left out, left behind.
Kirion and had already made plans to tend the egg together. He wanted me there. He wanted me close.
Our bond flared at my thoughts of the egg.
I held Kirion as he strained. I put lubricating gel around the rim of his hole, though he was creating slick, as well. I wanted him comfortable and would risk nothing to keep him that way.
“That’s cold. And it tickles.” He wasn’t complaining, just trying to keep from laughing.
Soon his hole was bigger than I’d ever seen it. The eggshell was blue. It looked strong but I worried about it cracking as it emerged from his opening. The doctor had assured me it was made to withstand being laid through a sphincter.
It all still seemed so impossible.
“Tane, I can feel it slipping out. Is it coming? Is it out yet?”
I looked down at him. The oval end of the egg was protruding.
“Not yet, sweetie. Keep pushing with every contraction. I’m here to catch it.”
As I spoke, another contraction shuddered through him. The egg progressed. Inch by inch, it slowly made its way outside his body.
“It’s coming. It’s beautiful. So big. And you’re doing it.”
“It’s slipping. It feels like it’s falling. Don’t let it fall.”
“My hands are right here. I’m touching it. Push once more and I’ll have it.”
He obeyed and the egg slid silently from his stretched hole. It was shiny with slick, perfect, and so blue. No cracks.
“I’ve got it. It’s beautiful. No flaws. You did so well, my love.”
Kirion collapsed onto his stomach. “Wow, it feels so good to get that out of me.”
I used towels to clean Kirion and the egg. We had a special heated egg basket ready to hold it. Kirion turned onto his side to help me steer the egg into its warm new environment.
Once, long ago in the wild, dragons made nests in trees. They would shift to dragon form to lay and then sit on the nest for weeks as their mate hunted and brought food to them. In modern times, we had heated baskets. Some still shifted to lay. Kirion didn’t have that choice.
We both sighed loudly at our egg, stroking it gently, our eyes filled with wonder. The egg was warm and a definite presence resonated from it. We had a baby growing inside it. No question now.
“You did that so perfectly,” I said.
“It was weird, but I feel okay.”
“Good.”
We spent several hours sitting by the basket, watching the egg. Finally, Kirion was feeling better. He showered, then returned to the nest demanding food.
Being a good alpha hunter, I brought him trays of food. I had help, cooks and a devoted butler, but I was the one who fetched whatever Kirion wanted.
I delegated most of my business work to my teams and took paternity leave. For days at a time, I turned off my phone and email and devoted myself to Kirion and the egg. We slept and ate with the egg. We made love by the egg but covered the basket whenever that happened.
When the hatching day arrived, we were on the lookout for pips. Those were small dents in the eggshell that would alert us to the impending hatch.
We stared for hours. We held hands. We ate our meals barely noticing the food.
Finally, at nine o’clock that night, I saw something. “Look. I think I see a dot.”
“Where?” Kirion bent his head toward mine.
I pointed, not touching. Hatching needed to be unassisted or the baby could suffer from various maladies, including never being able to fly.
Kirion squinted. “That’s a dent for sure.” He grinned. “It won’t be long now.”
I shrugged. “It might take all night.”
“I’m not tired.”
Over the next few hours, cracks formed. Little openings. Through them, we could see the movement of our dragon baby. He would be born a dragon, then abruptly shift to human form to nurse and grow. He might not shift again until he was two or three years old.
“He’s busy in there,” Kirion said.
“He’s a strong one.”
Our little one fought hard to come into the world. Sometimes the egg would move, other times it was still for an hour while he rested. Breaking through the membrane and shell was hard work for a tiny, brand-new being.
Finally, a big crack grew across the center of the egg. The crack we’d been waiting for. A sky-blue dragon showed us the edge of a wing before a big amber eye peered out at us.
“Look at him. He’s so perfect. He’s ours,” Kirion breathed.
Just as he spoke, more of the eggshell broke.
The cutest baby dragon ever to exist pushed up.
The egg broke in half and now he wore the top part on his head like a hat.
His bottom half was still inside the shell but he kicked and kicked until it broke free.
Then, with the shell still sitting on his head, he looked at both of us and let out a noise like a creaky door-hinge.
“Hi, Remington.” Kirion reached out.
The baby dragon put his mouth on Kirion’s hand as if in a kiss, then puffed. The tiniest spark flew into the air.
“He’s adorable,” I said.
“Understatement.” Kirion laughed. “When does he shift?”
I watched the baby dragon curl away from the shell and stretch. “Right now.”
As we watched, toes and fingers formed beneath the receding claws. Legs and arms formed, then a body, then the crest on the head and neck was replaced by hair of sunlight and a beautiful human baby face. He opened his mouth and let out a wail.
“Now can I pick him up?” Kirion asked.
“He’ll be mad if you don’t.”
We took turns holding our new son. Then Kirion put him to his breast and attempted to feed him. He hadn’t grown actual breasts, but his nipples had enlarged and the baby latched on and began to drink. Milk was obviously coming because Remington suckled for a long while before falling asleep.
“His first nap,” I said.
“I love him already.”
Me, too. He’s a sky-blue dragon. He’ll be a beautiful alpha.
“Tanekan says he’s an alpha.”
“Our alpha.” Kirion looked up at me. “I’m so happy right now. Thank you for this gift.”
“Thank you, my love,” I said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Together, we took our newborn to our bed and continued to take turns holding him all night.
My world had changed since last year. Kirion had brought light and life back into my house and made it a home again.
Our love had come fast and strong, the kind of love some people never found.
Ours was special and it would last. I knew we would have long lives together.
That was how it worked. Dragons were long lived, but when they mated, if their mates were another type of shifter, they would grow old at the same rate as their long-lived bondmate.
We had a long time ahead of us to experience our love and everything that meant for us. We were two of the lucky ones.