2. LOOSE ENDS

The bad news about having a finite timeline was that the nerves about the uncertainty of the entire process returned. I still didn't know what I needed to do. I spent two evenings with Cynthia and Zenya making preparations — calling different restaurants for food and confirming days we'd be using the hotel ballroom. I still had no clue what the moot even was for or what the other dragons intended to accomplish, so I went to Aisling to try and find out.

She was resistant when I tried to pry information from her, seemingly offended by my mere presence. To a certain degree, I understood. Given how everyone reacted to me alone, having all of the other dragons come here couldn't be a particularly fortuitous happening. She eventually relented, telling me that she wasn't precisely sure what the dragons wanted but that she believed that they were merely establishing a rapport with me and taking my measure. What she left unsaid was that, much like the evaluation she had given me when I first arrived in the city, there were potential consequences based on how these mysterious figures felt about me. I was being graded and I wasn't even given a rubric to predict my success with first.

Which was obnoxious because I was under the impression that I had just finished that part of my life. I had done it as a child, and then I had done it at university, and then I had done it again as a dragon in a new world. Now, I had to do it again for a bunch of foreign dragons who everyone was terrified of. Of course, despite the strides I had made to try and make some connections here, the population at large was still wary of me. I was a status symbol if I solicited your business, but, like a heavyweight boxer, I wasn't one you'd invite to dinner except to be seen with. So, I wasn't receiving any assistance from the locals here. They simply wanted it to go well so the other dragons would fuck off back to their homes.

The good news about having a finite timeline was that it did light a fire under me to cross a handful of things off my plate. The limited bandwidth I had for completing things actually made me more determined to get done what I could, at least when combined with the knowledge that I didn't want them to remain. I left my concern about a potential future where the other dragons found me wanting and disposed of me unsaid and simply tried to complete what I could.

The first thing I completed in that mindset wasn't exactly a productive enterprise, at least, not for me personally. It was, actually, a way to blow off some steam and have a relaxing day with my partners while simultaneously announcing that I was ready to do something out in the world. So, a day after I scrambled with Cynthia and Zenya to try and finalize plans without nearly enough of a lead-up for them to be reasonable, I found myself relaxing at Marjorie's boutique as the girls tried on a variety of dresses and other upscale outfits. We were participating in a promotional photoshoot for her establishment.

I was intrigued by how the magical world did advertising, unsure exactly how removed it would be from the world I knew. Thankfully, Marjorie explained that her advertising budget wasn't particularly grand and that she had a very, very basic plan, one that was only even possible because of Sam's newly malleable talents and my energy generation. She would take two photos of each of us in a variety of outfits, first as the garment came off the shelf and then a second after she had used her talents to tailor the clothes to us specifically. The advertising run she would have on FaeBook would combine the two images, allowing users to slide back and forth between the views, emphasizing that while Marjorie could sell you an entirely new wardrobe of wondrously lavish garments, she could also modify, repair, and tailor your existing clothes to give them the exact appearance you were looking for.

I was initially intrigued by the idea of participating in a magical advertising campaign, thinking that perhaps I could reflavor some of my education and find a productive path forward there, but the end result was so terribly mundane and left me feeling as though pursuing it would be abandoning my draconic talents. So, it ended up being a day where I got to try on several suits and a variety of less slovenly streetwear than my typical gym fare as I watched my partners try on various outfits themselves rather than any instruction towards a potential future endeavor. That was fine. It certainly would've been nice to have something I could build with, but not everything would be.

Of course, to fit it all in one day, Marjorie was practically chugging mana potions. Or, well, actually, she was sipping an iced green tea and having me hold all of her charging crystals. The photographer she hired was so baffled by seeing the translucent, dim gemstones brightening and clarifying in real time that she spent five minutes watching me instead of setting up her backdrop and lighting for the photo shoot. Given that we were planning on doing all of the shots in a single day, Marjorie wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the admittedly trivial delay, but she rapidly came around when she realized I had filled three of the stones already. As Marjorie prepared the first few ensembles, Sam talked with the embarrassed photographer and broke out her makeup kit. That provided another slight delay, as the photographer was surprised to hear that Sam, one of the subjects for the day, was also going to fill in as the makeup artist. She was initially doubtful that Sam's little travel kit would actually suffice to get the different looks Marjorie wanted. Of course, over the last two months, Sam had been practicing — both getting more and more familiar with different techniques on Beth (and eventually, after some cajoling, Zoey) and incorporating her newly flexible magical skills to add even more to her mundane cosmetic artistry.

We settled into a conveyor belt sort of process to get through the process for the day. Marjorie would work with someone to pick out an outfit; though, with the exception of Sam, it was primarily working with our bodies as we stood there quietly as she found something that was initially unflattering but would eventually be rather appealing. Then she would talk with the photographer to ensure she was getting the focus she wanted — changing the intensity and temperature of the lighting, how she wanted us posed to emphasize the parts of us and the outfit she wanted, and a dozen other things that were just noise to me. Sam would apply makeup to support the outfit's aesthetic, usually requiring a minor change that left the photographer astounded as Sam did it simply with magic half the time. Then, the photographer would work with the person, getting a bunch of shots in a variety of poses. Marjorie would return, hand me a drained gem in exchange for a charged one, and then tailor the outfit on the subject. The photographer would go through a second round of photos, and then that outfit would be done.

The four of us subjects worked in a staggered sort of loop. One of us would be getting photographed, one of us would be getting a new outfit with Marjorie, and one of us would be getting makeup applied with Sam. It didn't exactly work because Sam was the one doing makeup, and Marjorie was also needed in multiple places at once, but it largely kept things moving. The one upside was that the three women in my life all gravitated towards differing selections from Marjorie's offerings, which made keeping the outfits moving along somewhat easy.

Beth thoroughly enjoyed donning garments that I would politely call risqué. Several brightly colored dresses that, after she talked with Marjorie about the modifications to fit her, seemed to go from a hair's width above her nipples to a millimeter beneath the crease of her shapely behind. I was intrigued as I watched her pose and move that she somehow managed to not reveal anything, the dress staying put precisely where it needed to be. I was sure that if I were a prospective viewer seeing her in an advertisement, I would very much doubt that any of her clothes could be worn without being a public indecency charge waiting to happen, but the demonstration suggested they could.

As the day went on, she switched from club dresses to strangely unseasonal attire — adding tiny, frilly tennis skirts paired with floral crop tops, pastel button-up sundresses, a denim shirt that tied off in the front to expose hints of her otherwise bare chest, several bikinis, and finally a navy one piece that appeared more akin to a ribbon wrapped around her body than a standard swimsuit to her collection for the day. As I watched Beth pose in the variety of summer clothes, I found myself thinking something that had me reconsidering a lot of preconceptions about models: Beth seemed to be perfect for this task of modeling clothes because, even with as much skin as she was showing, she still seemed to sink beneath the outfit when the camera's lens was focused on her. I thought she was eminently attractive, but in the photo proofs the photographer had ready for Marjorie during the process, the clothes popped while Beth faded into the background.

Zoey didn't have quite the same issue. After all, she was more along the lines of a conventionally attractive modern model — tall; blonde; legs for days; an even, golden tan across her entire body; stormy, brooding, light colored eyes that told stories of things she'd seen. She obviously carried more muscle than your typical model, but given that she hadn't worked out prior to coming here today to get a pump to emphasize that fact, she really did look the most traditional photoshoot subject matter of the four of us.

She looked right at home in the professional line of clothes she was tasked with. When I saw how intimidating she appeared with the power she projected from the grey pantsuit ensemble she started in, nearly matching my height in her heels, I contemplated asking her to accompany Zenya and me to any business meetings. After all, if we framed her as if she were Zenya's assistant, it might give more credence to whatever Zenya and I were trying to accomplish.

That thought, and any others I might've had at the time, faded from my mind when Zoey came out, and her fifth outfit was straight-up lingerie. The stark white stockings flowed directly into a white leather corset, covered in black lace details, with white gloves and a pair of white framed glasses completing the outfit. She wrapped up the day wearing a front-clasping lavender babydoll, with matching stockings and nothing else, that really made her eyes pop, carefully posing to provide a bunch of implied nude shots.

Marjorie watched me closely while Zoey was posing, and I could smell that the seamstress was nervous about how I felt about Zoey being so exposed for everyone to see. I definitely understood her concern, but something had changed in the last two months. I didn't have any qualms about Zoey posing here in the safety of the boutique, as the only person here I didn't really know was the photographer, and I trusted Marjorie enough to have hired someone professional for the task. Online, other people could certainly view her and, reasonably, lust for her. But she was mine. That wasn't a question in my mind. It wasn't that I had matured out of my possessive streak that wanted to keep her body for myself; the dragon had actually expanded that specific trait. Instead, I knew, with absolute certainty in a way that no mortal human could have, that Zoey was mine and that there was nothing in the world that would change that. She would definitely tease me, pushing my boundaries and acting out when her wolf needed attention, but she almost couldn't delve into areas that I would find truly reprehensible. Her wolf knew where my dragon would draw the line, what would get her disciplined as a form of foreplay, and what would get her disciplined as a genuine punishment. At some point, I knew she would poke a toe an inch over that line, as her wolf needed to know unequivocally that the steel behind my words was weighty indeed, but it wouldn't be in a way that would hurt our family.

Sam, of course, didn't have any of those concerns. She was, after all, so wholly interested in only being seen by me that the idea of showing off for others wasn't just not an appealing endeavor; she found it actively repulsive. That was easily remedied by giving Sam the fall and winter-oriented sections. Knit sweaters and hats, scarves, cardigans, full-length coats, a black and red plaid wool skirt with tights underneath, and long boots with almost every outfit — Sam managed to look incredibly cozy in every ensemble she presented.

While you certainly couldn't hide her womanly curves even with the less form-fitting winter clothes, Beth and Zoey found it amusing that they were both stripping down while Sam added more layers. When Sam came out in a puffy winter coat, Zoey shook her head in exasperation, and everyone in the room heard her say, "I can't believe she isn't showing off what she's got even a little bit."

I growled, "Behave," before I'd even internalized what Zoey had said.

She pouted at me as she pointed one arm at Beth and cupped her breast with the other hand, "But, James! Just imagine if Sam was the one wearing the corset. Her tits would pop right off the page, and the flare from her waist into her hips would—"

"Enough, little wolf. She doesn't want to. Leave her be."

"But—"

"Enough," I said with finality. Zoey chewed on her lip, contemplating speaking out again just to test me before Beth interrupted her.

"Just get James to give her a foot massage," my auburn-haired love told the blonde.

"What?" Zoey asked, spinning to look at the other lean, less-than-greatly-endowed woman.

"Don't let Sam's standoffish attitude and reserved dress confuse you, Zoey," Beth stage whispered so that Sam and I could hear her, too. "Get James to give her a foot rub, and she'll show her true colors."

Zoey locked eyes with Sam, who blushed furiously, before turning back to raise an eyebrow at Beth in curiosity.

"He does this thing with mana that I can't feel, pulling it into his fingertips. It drives her nuts. He gets his hands on her, and she spins from the demure, polite lady you see here who thinks sex should only happen behind closed doors and shouldn't ever be discussed in public to a needy, panting, wanton slut desperate for James to crack her open."

Sam interjected, her face matching her hair. "I can't help it," she exclaimed breathily. "He brushes against me, just grazes my arm, and my body goes, 'Oh, J's here. Better start another great flood.' I see him out of the corner of my eye and I'm ready to go. I smell him; waterfalls. Been like that forever and it certainly hasn't gotten better now that I've felt what he can actually do to me. The first week we were here, I almost carried a towel around with me to sit on wherever we went. He cheated and gave me more magic, so now I just clean up a little more aggressively."

"But, a foot massage?" Zoey questioned.

Sam covered her face with the scarf she had wrapped around herself, mumbling a defence through it. "It was a joke! It was a joke, at first. My ankles were sore after Beth tried to kill me at the gym, and then James and I went skating and then walked around the city. So, I suggested he rub them for me."

"Uh huh," Zoey replied, unconvinced.

"And he did. And a couple minutes later, I needed the towel and a change of clothes because I had just made a mess of the ones I had on."

"That good?"

"I was boneless and brainless and dripping, and neither of us had taken our clothes off. Well, he took my socks off. But, yeah. Oh, yeah. He stroked my arches, and I went full heart pupils, cross-eyed, tongue out puddle of girl goo. He rolled that into loving on me so much more. Didn't let me recover like I asked for and pushed to give me what I needed instead. I felt so spoiled, just wrapped up in a big nest of love. Feeling how much he wanted me, how much he treasured being with me, I felt like I was the center of the goddamn universe. Nothing besides us existed. It was tender and gentle and everything I'd ever wanted because it was him, you know?"

Zoey didn't. Not precisely, anyway. She understood the idea of getting what she wanted, but that wasn't a quietly intimate moment just between the two of us. Not that it mattered to her that she didn't understand — her wolf still praised my dragon for giving my other mate what she needed. In fact, the whole process of teasing Sam for her unprovocative clothing selections had been a dance between the three of us. In hindsight, it felt almost choreographed. Zoey knew beforehand that her mildly inflammatory words would make me come to Sam's defense, something that Sam loved and that made me feel better while potentially leading to a playful consequence for her. Despite it appearing on the surface that she was criticizing Sam, she was actually pushing all of us toward things we wanted, so I couldn't be too upset about the process.

As the day came to a close, after Marjorie and the photographer looked over the proofs to confirm they had all the shots they needed, the seamstress came to talk to me nervously.

"So, what's the going rate for draconic advertising, James?" she asked, trying to be humorous, but the waver in her voice and the smell in the air revealed that she was genuinely concerned about what our services would cost. We hadn't discussed it beforehand. I had tried to stall by telling her I wasn't sure exactly what it entailed, so I couldn't estimate how much work it would be, which she had accepted, but I now regretted it because of the position it put us in.

As I opened my mouth to explain that I didn't actually intend to collect from her, Sam intercepted me. "Shush, you," she whispered before turning to a confused, concerned Marjorie. "We'd prefer payment in services, if that is acceptable with you."

That didn't seem to reduce Marjorie's anxiety any. "What services are you looking for? Tailoring for outfits you already have? New garments? How many? What kind of work done to them?"

"An outfit each, tailored for us. James will replenish the mana for the alterations. Including one for Zenya and one for my mother, because she deserves to have something nice, as well."

"Six outfits," Marjorie added up. "Including shoes?"

"One pair, for my mother, because the pair of heels she has has probably been repaired a dozen times, and I'm not sure any of the original sole is even left."

"Six outfits, one pair of heels. Adjustments as needed, mana reimbursed because the dragon seemingly has an infinite amount."

"I can charge anything else you've got hanging around if you need me to. I imagine that the girls will want to explore and find outfits for themselves but that they'll also insist on deciding for me, too, so I won't have much to do," I offered.

Marjorie seemed even less enthused that I offered that. "How much debt do you intend to pile on my name, dragon? At least using my own mana, we could pretend it was a fair exchange. If you're recharging what I use on your garments and filling my other vessels, how am I supposed to feel comfortable with this? How am I not supposed to feel like you're positioning yourself for future favors that I don't know I can accommodate?"

"There's no debt," I answered quickly. "I'm not trying to force you into anything, okay? You have paying clients—"

"You're a paying client, James," she insisted. "The whole advertising project is you paying."

I shrugged. "I'm not doing anything that will cost me. If it's effortless and helps, I want to do it. Especially for you."

Her eyes furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I wavered for a moment; my words caught in my mouth for a second before I found them and spoke. "You've been a supportive, caring, motherly friend and mentor to Evgenia. One of the only people in the entire world she's spoken of positively. The only person she seeks out on her own. I wanted to thank you for doing that, but saying it out loud makes it feel tainted. So, I wanted to support your endeavors because I'm a dragon and I can. And if providing some mana reduces your stress in the future, if it makes it easier to do your job and capitalize on the buzz from the advertising, or if it increases your profit margin, that's great. I want you to flourish here. Zenya trusts you and she doesn't even trust me, not really. If you've passed her threshold, you're someone I want to thrive, not merely survive."

I scratched my head as I rambled my way to a conclusion. "That's all I meant by it. I like you and you do good work. It costs me nothing. So, I'd like to support you because I haven't seen much else around here worth fighting for outside my own house. There's no debt. I won't be calling for any favors because of this. Feel kinda like I still owe you, and this is shorting you. Felt that way the first time, too."

"The strangest dragon I've ever interacted with," Marjorie mumbled as she exhaled. She looked me in the eye as she continued. "Only dragon, of course, but I can't imagine any of the others are like you. Paying me a fortune in energy in compensation for a job that benefits me and asking for a favor I was already doing."

I shrugged. "The energy doesn't cost me anything. Feels wrong not to share it when I have an infinite amount just kind of dripping off of me. It's not like I have any use for it at the moment. Sam uses more of it cooking than I do, really."

Sam smiled, and Marjorie shook her head at the absurdity. Zoey's professional instincts kicked in, though, and she quietly murmured through our bond that I shouldn't be going around shouting out that Sam could use my mana. Of course, I replied that anyone outside our circle would think that I was simply charging gems for Sam to use and that I was more worried about her agency and their thoughts on my unique charged connection with the redhead. They already knew, or should, anyway, so it was essentially a moot point. Zoey still urged caution — at least in regard to the information I revealed. The long-sleeved lavender tinted lace bustier she was picking out as her choice of garment from Marjorie certainly left all caution behind. I wasn't the least bit surprised she picked out lingerie.

While the photoshoot wasn't productive in terms of sustainable income that I could plan for moving forward, it was at least a step in the right direction. It was an announcement to the world that I was open to the idea of being used in promotional pieces, and I was sure that in a month's time, after Marjorie and the photographer worked to assemble the actual advertising pieces and began running them online, I would be once again inundated with requests for appearances. Zenya would, undoubtedly, be invaluable in sorting through them. Zoey, too, would have opinions on local businesses — which ones had practices I would feel comfortable appearing to support, which ones had products that were good enough that we would buy on our own, and so on.

But I wasn't really interested in being a celebrity like that. If there were businesses that I genuinely liked and wanted to support, like Marjorie's boutique, I wouldn't mind doing it, but I didn't want to be beholden to my own brand image for income.

Which is why I brought it up with Antonin when we had our next meeting.

"I don't know what I can even do for a living, Antonin," I grumbled. "I don't know how I'm supposed to support my family and, ironically, having the ability to do anything with my magic has actually made the prospect of finding a singular job I can make a career more challenging."

The elf watched me quietly for several moments before catching me completely off-guard with a question I never would have predicted. "Why do you need to do anything?" he asked genuinely.

"Because I can't rely on Aisling's goodwill to finance my life forever. I want to have a house that's mine, not a bargaining piece hanging over my head the Seat can use to influence me. I want to support my family. I want Sam to be able to work with her mother in the best-stocked kitchen in the city. I want Beth to go back to school if she wants to. I want Zoey's baby to have the best possible experience growing up, to have support from her parents, and to be able to pursue any opportunity she wants."

He nodded appraisingly. "And why do you think you must do anything to achieve that?"

I furrowed my brow as I replied, "Because, even for a magical dragon who doesn't need to eat to stay alive, existing costs money? I suppose I could just go lay down somewhere up in the mountains and let time pass around me, but I want to experience things with my family. I want to share the benefits of my sudden change in life with my loves, but I don't know how to capitalize on these new talents. Your instruction has been incredible in terms of getting acclimated to my abilities and understanding some of the world around me, but, much like a significant chunk of the mundane education I sat through as a child, it's been somewhat lacking in the practical application department. I don't know how to monetize what I've learned."

"I dare say, dragon," Antonin replied smugly, "that you likely haven't been closely monitoring your financial information these past months."

"I can't say that I have," I freely admitted. "That was one of the things I could actually have Zenya do, and she seemed to be significantly more comfortable having a task, even as boring and monotonous as informing me of when my expenses became untenable given my income."

"I presume Miss Popov hasn't yet signaled a warning."

"That's correct."

"I suggest you go take a closer look at your income, drakeling. I think that what you find will surprise you."

"Why?" I asked. "What could possibly change the situation?"

"Not interested in seeing for yourself?" He asked. I shook my head. "Aisling's apartment complex has a similar shroud to the grotto we train in. Not to the same magnitude, of course, but enough to absorb energy from a wayward child practicing at home."

"I haven't done much practicing at home. A few conjurations when I've played with Beth and Zoey, and some culinaromancy with Sam, but nothing that would've escaped my control."

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Ahh, but you didn't need to lose control for the passive matrix to collect your energy, drakeling. If you recall, when I talked about investigating your history to see how it was possible that we missed your emergence, I mentioned that we had tracked the energy around your hometown. To prevent spikes like that from disrupting anything around the city, the apartment's matrix also modulates the amount released from those inside. The ring does a good job of preventing your aura from oppressively announcing your presence, but it does nothing for the actual energy.

"We've still received a number of complaints because of our misunderstanding about how you work. We believed, after all, you needed wealth stored in your abode to recover, and therefore, you'd only be overcharging while resting at home, and therefore, the passive absorption there would be enough. We were wrong. It is what it is. Regardless, we've still siphoned a ton of energy from you and appropriately compensated your accounts. I suspect that you could live on that alone. Perhaps you could install a more efficient dynamo to actively charge the network rather than our passive absorption system if you feel the current income isn't enough. I would suggest you look into it either way. For now, we have a lesson to return to."

Annoyingly, the lesson was in illusions — Antonin's specialty and something that I struggled with. It didn't help that I now had something to think about. It didn't last much longer before he dismissed me, telling me to go clear my mind of distractions and to come back in two days.

Back at the apartment, I pulled Zenya aside and had her show me the money. She hadn't said anything because I had only asked her to let me know when I dipped toward consuming the savings. She showed me that we weren't yet using the entirety of the stipend Aisling was paying me to remain docile and nearby and was, therefore, slightly confused about what I was concerned about.

The fact that I had made more than twice the stipend in energy refunds during October and November hadn't been worth mentioning because, in her mind, I had only been concerned about running out of money. The idea that I'd be making more without lifting a finger never crossed my mind. How could it have?

I was curious, though, and so I dug a little deeper, looking into the website for the energy provider. Signing in was a mess of multiple-factor authentication, including a set with the mana imprint dongle I had used to access FaeBook that I was only prompted for when I tried to access that information.

Eventually, I was able to access the details, and I saw that I had actually been refunded for September and October, which made way, way more sense once I saw it. It would be hard for them to refund me halfway through November for energy that hadn't been finalized yet. The payment I was due for November's balance was just over $20,000, which felt insane, but I certainly wasn't going to reject it.

I dug deeper into the information, looking to see if there was anything more I could learn from the website. An epiphany occurred when I stumbled upon reading the hour-by-hour historical data. For most people, that would probably be a pretty dull graph that had peaks in usage when they first got up in the morning and then later in the evening when they returned home from work, but for us, the graph inverted during the night, plunging massively into the negatives. That was pretty much what I expected to see — when I was home, I was essentially charging the entire building. Even during the morning and evenings, when we were using the electricity and a little mana here and there, the graph remained comfortably in the negative area before we left the building.

The nugget of information came from further inspecting the areas when I was home. It varied, bouncing between a half dozen or so ranges. It seemed strange to me that it would constantly fall in such a finite number of recurring ranges rather than jumping around in a distributed spread. It seemed to mean something. I mean, obviously, it seemed like it had to mean something, right? There had to be a reason for why it would move between what appeared like a permanent set of lanes.

It eventually struck me when I was comparing the nights. I should've been sleeping and there shouldn't have been any difference between any given night. I was asleep, right? What would possibly change the energy generation? I wasn't doing anything different, that was sure. So why was almost every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night deeper into the negatives than most of the other nights?

Because those were the nights Zoey slept here with us.

It made me pull up a calendar and double-check things, but every night Zoey slept in my arms, the energy refund was bigger. When she stopped by for dinner, the number was more negative. When she came back with me after the gym, the number was bigger.

I looked closer. When Sam spent a day actually doing some of the training toward her official position? It ticked toward zero. When Beth stepped out to go to the book club with Rosa? Ticked toward zero. The week Cynthia was gone, right after we arrived? Ticked toward zero. Zenya was in the office getting paperwork for something I wanted to do? Ticked toward zero.

Somehow, being around my family multiplied my energy generation. With everyone here in the apartment, the charging was the highest. As they departed, it moved one notch at a time towards the lowest value.

Now, it didn't answer the why or how of it all, but it certainly did align with what I had learned from playing with my magic with Antonin. The most powerful I had ever been was with Sam at my side. Doing lessons on my own, I had found myself capable of fatiguing, though only when I really pushed for it. I just hadn't recognized it until I had an undeniable graph sitting in front of me with the data laid bare.

When I showed the information to Antonin, he didn't seem surprised at all. He gave me an intrigued "Hmm" before acknowledging that we would endeavor to uncover the truth at a later time. He wasn't confident that my knowledge was widespread, and encouraged me to keep it to myself for now, but assured me that it was a possibility he had been entertaining for the past few weeks. In going through his own memories and the memoirs of those he trusted, he realized that there weren't any recorded isolated dragons. Even the notably infrequent bachelors seemed to collect an entourage of close friends and followers. Of course, they also collected large quantities of material wealth and kept it accessible in their personal domiciles, so that was unlikely to be entirely unrelated, even if I was surviving without doing so yet.

In short, we had a piece of the puzzle, but we still couldn't see the whole picture on the back of the box. It also didn't exactly solve the conundrum of what I was going to do with my life. Being a living nuclear reactor was sweet in that it set a pretty high floor for my income, regardless of what I did. But hanging out at the apartment charging the electromagic meter out front wasn't a productive enterprise. It wasn't something I could master or be proud of, even if it would ensure that Beth would never go hungry again, Sam could bake every single dessert under the sun, and Zoey's child would never want for anything.

That was still running through my mind when we decided to tackle the other dangling problem in our lives: the unfortunate persistence of Beth's existing family.

Beth's cousin messaged her relentlessly, though not quite obnoxiously. Two or three times a week, Beth would get a message from Amber telling her that she wanted to get together and that Beth's mom wanted to see her. For the first few weeks, Beth simply rolled her eyes, mumbling to the rest of us about how her mother could've tried reaching out at any point in the last five years had she wanted to have any contact.

At some point, though, Amber's dogged insistence broke through to something in Beth. Perhaps my absent-minded commentary about crossing things off the list so as to not have them hanging over us at the same time as the other dragons were here unintentionally swayed her into accepting an invitation. Maybe having a foundation she felt she could rely on here made her more open to reconnecting with her mother from a position of relative strength. The positive growth she had seen from bonding with Cynthia conceivably could have contributed to her decision. Or, it could have all been down to Amber's regular text messages and nothing more. In hindsight, it was obvious that it wasn't a great decision. Beth didn't actually intend to go to see her biological family with any optimism in her heart. She clearly expected to be let down one final time before she moved on permanently, the coincidence of them being in the city obligating her to be hurt one more time. Had I been of sound mind, I would've encouraged her to postpone a visit, if not outright reject it. But she said the right words, even if they were hesitant and devoid of the emotion that should've been there to get me to conclude seeing her mom was a good idea.

But she had talked with me about doing it before the dragons arrived. I wasn't confident about the decision, but I wanted to support her if she felt she needed to do this. When Amber called one Saturday morning, Beth answered and allowed herself to be induced into a meeting. I was brought along, more to support Beth than under the delusion that I would actually be making a first impression with future in-laws, while Sam and Zoey were encouraged to just go about their regular routines. We all felt the anxiety swelling in Beth and hoped the meeting would alleviate some of it.

Which led to what was undeniably, unequivocally the least comfortable meeting of my entire life. Being brought before Aisling for the first time was a walk in the park by comparison. Even the confusing first interaction with Zoey was relatively painless if this was the measuring stick. Everything from start to finish made me exceptionally uncomfortable, and I came away thinking that no matter what decision we made, I was going to feel unclean about the entire encounter.

Amber had let us into their apartment after Beth had called her, and it quickly became apparent that all four of them lived there. Beth's mom, aunt, cousin, and cousin's son all lived in the one-bedroom apartment. Within minutes of showing up and starting to talk to them, it was apparent what they wanted to me. That only made Beth even more disappointed. It was also evident where Beth's height, or lack thereof, came from. Moving inside their apartment reminded me of Sir Ian McKellen in The Hobbit's Hole; everything was too small for me, designed for a different scale.

Beth's family wanted money. They didn't know how much Beth had, who I was, or how I had money. They could just look at us and tell that we had more than them, and since they were Beth's family, she was obligated to help regardless of the past. To be fair to them, it was apparent that Beth had money, or at the very least, I was sharing mine with her. She was no longer dressed in stained, deteriorating, off-brand clothing. She no longer wore the stress of hard living in the lines on her face or in a limp in her step. She looked alive and thriving for probably the first time, and the dragon was quite smug about our role in that.

When we didn't immediately capitulate and agree to financially support Amber's child (at least, that was the implication), they pulled some of the most emotionally manipulative shit I'd ever seen. Beth's aunt couldn't work because of her bad back, and the apartment was paid for by her disability check, but there wasn't any more money coming from her. I doubted the veracity of her disability based on how she lifted and carried the heavy ceramic crock pot they were using for dinner, but I'm no IRS agent. Amber bartended, but her money supposedly went to caring for her and the kid. Which, fair, but there was a single pair of well-worn kid's shoes by the door and six different pairs of heels beside them. At the very least, I didn't trust a word from her mouth after our introduction months ago.

The coup de grâce came from Beth's mom, who couldn't work because she claimed to have cancer and had been fired from her job for missing work for medical appointments. It smelled fishy to me, but I could also see some overworked manager firing someone who couldn't stick to the schedule he wrote with the only power he had in his life. So, she needed money for doctor appointments, transportation, medication, food, and everything.

When Beth then logically suggested that we could pay for the bills if she'd let us see them, every excuse in the book came up. She didn't have the bills because she'd just paid them off; that's why she needed the money. She didn't have old bills because they were all electronic. She didn't have her medications because she had just finished them and needed to refill them, so could we also lend her the $50 for that copay?

When Beth seemed hesitant, they needled and prodded and picked at every insecurity she had, even if it was utterly insane. I was only temporary, and I would eventually leave her, but family was forever. Couldn't she see I only wanted her for her newfound money? Of course, I was only interested now that she was dolling herself up for me, and if she ever put on any weight, I would be out the door.

When no progress was made there, Amber dropped that she had seen me with Sam and Zoey at the club before she 'stumbled' on us at the takeout place. She asked Beth if she really wanted to be with a guy who made out in public with not one but two other chicks on the night we were out together. When she called Sam a 'pudgy skank,' Beth venomously retaliated by saying that Sam loved me and she knew I was there with the other girls and that they took better care of her than anyone here ever did. All her reaction did was let the other women know they had a viable avenue of attack.

And attack they did. The three women berated Beth for not being good enough to hold a man down by herself. They knew that little boyish Beth would never be able to catch a good man (which I somehow was now, despite not being 30 seconds ago), so of course, she had bought her way into another relationship with her newfound money. Didn't she see how toxic I was for her, how Sam and I were using her for her money and taking advantage of her? She needed to come home, and her mom would make everything right.

At this point, as Beth would only react to barbed comments towards Sam and Zoey, I decided it was time to go. Well past time to go, actually, but the only way to correct that was to depart now. I was tired of being openly attacked to my face, and Beth didn't deserve any of this. It was clear to me that while she was aware that almost everything out of their mouths was a bald-faced lie attempting to squeeze any drop of financial support from Beth, Beth also couldn't find it in herself to just say no and leave. We had made a mistake in coming here, and now Beth was paying for it with her sanity. I said as much when we left, unable to withhold my comments while simultaneously holding in the dragon's fury.

So, now, we were sitting in a cab on our way back to our side of town, and Beth was catatonic in the seat next to me. Completely frozen and unresponsive. She withdrew from her bond, pulling back so I only had whispers of the winds howling beneath the surface. Her thoughts and emotions were hidden from me as she battled inside, leaving me regretful of the entire day's events and wishing I had spoken against going.

Fifteen minutes passed, the cabbie having abandoned attempts at conversation long ago.

Then Beth spoke.

"I hate her. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. I know society says I should love her and forgive her for how she's hurt me, but I can't. I hate her. If she is actually dying this time, I'll be happier when she does. And every time I say that, some patronizing asshole always says, 'No, sweetie, you're just mad; you don't actually want that.' I do. I spent years dreaming of nothing else. I hope that stupid, manipulative, selfish cunt dies and no one shows up to the funeral. She moved states and didn't have the decency to tell me, only doing so eventually because she thought she might get some money out of it. How am I supposed to forgive her?"

As Beth spoke, she started to cry. Her voice became hoarse, full of emotion, and laced with every ounce of hurt and rejection and all of the feeling of abandonment that she had ever felt. I just listened and hoped she could get it out. I wished that she would reconnect to me, to allow me to help in some way, even as token as it might be.

"I was told that she was like this when she was younger. She jumped my dad's bones in the office one day in hopes of getting some extra time off, got pregnant instead, and he took responsibility. He balanced her, somehow. I never got a chance to see when she was good. I was too young to remember it. And then he died, and she went back to being a burning car wreck doing all the cliches. Gambling, drugs, booze, sex, sex for money, money for sex, sex for drugs. By the time I was twelve, the guys, plural, she would bring around, started looking at me and making suggestions about that. Mom got mad. At me. She got mad that her drug dealer had lost interest in her because he was more interested in fucking me than her. I don't trust this bullshit 'I'm dying' act, either. I've been told she had cancer four times since I moved out. It's possible she's telling the truth, but there's no way she's been to a doctor to confirm it. She wouldn't stay sober long enough for the tests to run."

The tears were pouring down now, but the hatred in her voice had morphed into self-loathing. Just the hints of the emotions I could sense burned at my insides, making my dragon want to rip open the door and carry Beth away, literally removing her from the source of her pain. I knew better. She needed this moment. The pain she had now would help in the future, as unpleasant as it was in the present.

"She can't love me. I was always a burden, in the way, ruining whatever she wanted to do. And she can't even see it. She's so convinced that no one could love me that she thinks I bought my way into your graces. The idea that I'm worth having around is so alien to her that she thinks I paid you."

Beth laughed at the absurdity, a pained, twisted, tortured gasp that sent goosebumps down my spine. The cabbie shivered.

"What did I do wrong, James? Why did I get her? Why couldn't she have died and my dad have raised me? Why did she have to show up now and insert herself into my life when I thought I had finally gotten away? She can't love me, and she never even tried, so why can't she just LEAVE ME ALONE."

Beth screamed the final sentence so loudly the entire cab vibrated. No one else even breathed until the sobs restarted. Beth fell against me, touching me for the first time since we left their apartment. Her consciousness returned to my mind, a raging storm powered by a lifetime of pain that finally had some conclusion. It had been raging for years inside her and would, undoubtedly, continue for more to come. But the fuel source had finally been removed. In some ways, we had achieved our objective of relieving some of the stress Beth was feeling. It was awful that it was more amputation than rehabilitation.

She whimpered into my chest, "Why couldn't she love me?"

I wrapped an arm around her, holding her as she cried, saying nothing. I didn't have an answer for her. I didn't have the context to try and delve into the decades of pain. All I could do was reassure her that she wasn't the issue.

Opening the front door of the apartment led to a reaction that I wasn't expecting. Sam glanced up at us as we came back inside, saw Beth's obviously distressed face, and started to quietly ask a question. Before she could get anything out, Zoey stood up and, staring at me, asked, "What did you do?"

I stammered back defensively, "Why do you think it was me?"

The blonde rolled her eyes dismissively. "Who else could even hurt her?"

"Stop. Stop!" Beth shouted, her voice still rough around the edges from earlier. When everyone in the room froze to look at her, she continued, "Okay, don't, like, stare at me, either. J and I are going to bed. I know it's only one p.m.," she added, preempting my question. "We're going to bed. Please give us at least an hour to ourselves."

With that said to a still-frozen audience, she tugged me along to the bedroom. She stripped off her clothes, leaving the garments discarded where they fell as she stumbled towards the bed. I picked them up, tossing them in the hamper with my own as I stripped down to my boxers.

Beth climbed onto my chest almost immediately after I slid into the bed. She buried her face in my neck and wrapped her arms around me before I could find a comfortable position. After a moment, she whispered, "Wings," and I wiggled on the bed, lifting up slightly so that I could sprout them and wrap them around her. Only once they overlapped around her back, enshrouding her with my body, did she let go. The tears returned, but they weren't the emotionally overtaxed blend of anger and vulnerability they were earlier. Now, she was coping with her feelings of abandonment, the resentment that was likely to never fade, and giving in to the grief. To her, the people we had met earlier in the day may as well be deceased. She had gone to them to attempt to offer an olive branch. The idea that her mother would care for her had been a fantasy for her entire life, and now that fantasy was firmly buried.

"I'm sorry," I whispered when she finally stopped crying ten minutes later.

She slammed her fist down on my chest, hard enough that I genuinely wondered if it would leave a bruise. "What the fuck do you have to be sorry about, James? What on earth from today was your fault?"

"It doesn't have to be my fault for me to be sorry about it, Beth. I'm sorry your family—"

"No. You, Sam, Cynthia are my family. Try again."

"I'm sorry your relatives treated you that way. I'm sorry you went through that today, and I wish there was more I could do to support you."

She snorted in annoyance. "As if. J, where would I be without your support? Where would I be without this family that's popped up around you? I got distracted by how idyllic everything has been. I forgot that bad things could happen. With you at my side, I figured I could go there, and they would just, I don't know, be the family I wanted for the first time. That, somehow, you being there would just fix it, like it has everything else. And now, as repayment for getting dragged along into my delusions, you're apologizing to me."

"I'm sorry I let you hurt yourself, Beth."

She laughed at the absurdity of my statement.

"I'm serious," I continued. "I feel remorse that I co-signed today. I should've thought it through more. I should've objected. I should've asked you to slow down."

She bit me. Not hard, just firmly enough to interrupt me. "Despite what your magic's done, you can't protect me from everything."

"I know. I'd like to, though."

"You know you're overprotective, right?"

"Yeah. Dragon hasn't helped."

"Really?" she asked as she wiggled her hips, adjusting how she rested on me, her hand sliding down my chest between us.

"He's reinforced the idea that you're mine. And he likes nice things. He likes taking care of things that belong to us. Not that I don't have my own desire to act like this, but he's reinforced my desire to pamper you."

I figured out what she was doing when her hand found the opening in my boxers and fished me out of them. I wasn't exactly ready to go — it turned out that, despite being in bed with one of my naked lovers, the fact that she was bawling her eyes out was a pretty wet blanket on my libido. Now, though, with her hand brushing me, the warmth of her body pressed against mine was rapidly accelerating my arousal.

"You know I'm not a lap cat, right, James? I don't want to stay cooped up in the house, even if it's safer for me."

I kissed her forehead as she shimmied her hips directly over mine. "I know. I'm going to struggle with it, but I know you're almost as fierce a hunter as Zoey, even if your claws are less literal. I just don't like seeing you coming back licking your wounds."

"Good," she whispered breathily as she sank down on me, my shaft forcing a groan from her as she descended completely down its length. She shivered when her pelvis collided with mine, and I was wholly buried inside her. She held there for a moment, enjoying the feeling. Then, without opening her eyes, she said, "I wasn't joking about not being a lap cat, James. Flip over. I want you on top of me."

We shuffled. It was awkward when she wouldn't let me slide out of her to reposition and insisted on having my wings wrapped around her after we rotated, but eventually, we found a position that wasn't uncomfortable for me and still satisfied her desires.

Chiefly, being both wrapped in my wings and smothered by me. "Your wings covering me and your body over mine just make me feel safe. If I could sleep every night underneath you, tangled up in your body, with you inside me, I don't think I would ever do anything else. Wouldn't be fair to the others, though." Before I could even open my mouth, she continued, "And don't you dare say anything to them. I made my choice, and I'm happy with it."

I was somewhat surprised that, after that, she didn't want me to take her roughly. She wasn't quite as insistent as Zoey was about our couplings, but she typically made Sam look like a prudish spinster in comparison. So, her legs wrapping around mine, mirroring my wings around her as we held each other closely, was a surprise. Not an unwelcome one, given how the morning went, but definitely a surprise.

The unwelcome surprise was that she returned to crying. I tried to move to withdraw from her, but she kept her legs locked around me, pinning me in place.

"Beth, are—"

"No, I'm not okay. I will be, because of you, but I'm not right now. Just, hold me. Smother me. Let me cry."

I did.

She was definitely on the downslope of her emotions. She was no longer angry or even really sad; she was crying because that's where her emotional momentum had taken her. She was along for the ride, just letting everything out as it siphoned through her. Sam probably could've come in and helped Beth out at this point, and if I felt that Beth wanted that, I would've called our redheaded lover in. Beth didn't. She wanted to let it all out without interference. She was exhausted and numb and drained.

I knew exactly how she felt. It was how I felt after healing Zenya's back. Except, this was something that had been held over Beth's head for at least a decade. Since she was old enough to have complex concepts in her head, this was there. It was nestled in the back, hidden away in her day-to-day life by the sheer necessities that took precedence, but this had been waiting.

As she cried lying beneath me, her minute tremors providing the strangest, least erotic stimulation I had ever experienced, I decided I was content with the outcome. She had gotten a conclusion. It wasn't the one she wanted, but it was the one she was always going to get. It no longer necessitated a little kernel in the back of her mind. She had found a family that wanted her, even if her birth mother couldn't see her obvious qualities.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

I opened my mouth to try and respond, but no words came out. She got the feeling of confusion loud and clear through our bond anyway.

"I'm sorry I dragged you through today. I feel selfish. It was selfish. Delusional. I wanted her to want me. I wanted that to be the reason they kept reaching out. I wanted for her to accept me and to apologize for everything. That was insane of me to think, and I dragged you away from prepping for the dragons to do it, and now I'm a mess."

"Despite the timing, I think you needed to do it," I calmly replied.

"What? But, why? What else was ever going to happen, J? It was always going to be bullshit that hurt me. You just said so yourself, that you should've stopped me."

"I said that from my possessive, overprotective desire to keep you safe from everything, including yourself. I think you needed to go and hear it straight from them. I think that, eventually, you'll be relieved to have done this now. I think that, while it hurt a lot today, you can let go of that fantasy now. I don't want to presume anything, but I wouldn't be surprised if, in twenty years, when someone asks about your mom, you automatically start talking about the gorgeous redhead who helped you learn everything you needed to know in the kitchen without a second thought."

Beth didn't respond right away. After a few minutes, she whispered something that I didn't hear. I could feel that it was something about Sam, but I missed the words. After another minute, she repeated herself, loudly enough for me to catch.

"Is it wrong of me to treat Cynthia that way? Is Sam going to hate me for it?"

"No," Sam said from the doorway. "I'm a bit jealous, but I want that in addition to you having it, not instead of you."

"How much did you hear?" Beth asked.

Sam crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Beth's exposed thigh. "Only that. James nudged me. Said you were concerned about me and that your emotions were all over the place. I wanted to offer to help. Or, our mom could, if you'd prefer," Sam said with a morose smile on her face. She wanted to be happy about sharing her mother, but knowing the pain Beth had experienced to get here left her feeling bittersweet instead.

"No. I just want to go to bed. I want today to be over."

"I'll leave you, then."

"Are you busy? Is Zoey busy?"

"We were arguing over specifics for the spreads at the welcoming banquet. It's not important, though. Why?"

“Umm,” Beth stammered. "That kind of is fucking important, Sam. Might determine the rest of our lives or accidentally kick off World War Three, you know?"

"It's not important if you need us. It's not as important as you are," Sam replied, the same sad smile on her face.

Beth froze, her eyes watering with what must've been the final few tears in her body. She opened her mouth, and a croak came out instead of words. She closed her verdant eyes, took several deep breaths, and eventually said, "Can you stay? Can the three of you just bury me here under your love?"

"Of course, Sunshine," Sam replied. She slipped under the sheets smoothly, easily falling into place beside me, an arm winding underneath me to wrap around Beth. Only a minute later, Zoey came in. She was hesitant, and tried to apologize for her reaction earlier. Beth told her to get in the bed already and that the two of us could figure out whatever it was in the morning if either of us still felt strongly about it. She wanted to be surrounded by all of us, and almost asked if Zenya or Cynthia would be comfortable coming in before Zoey got into the bed. She didn't, though. The three of us were enough for her.