17. Nicholas

"Awww, look at this baby pic of George." Damon sat on the floor of his son's room, surrounded by the last remnants of his son's possessions.

Most everything was packed and ready to go. The movers had packed most rooms, but George and his dad did the young boy's. They trawled through old toys, games, clothes, and books, and George, having saved what he wanted and tossed or donated the rest, was bored. Damon, on the other hand, was lost in memories of his son's early years.

There was no hurrying him; these were his treasured items, the cat was staying at the kennel until we had everything moved over, and there was no looming deadline for getting out of here.

"We can take all of them, and you can go through them at home."

His head snapped up, and he focused his eyes on me. "Home? Our new home. I could, yes. I'm not sure why I'm so emotional."

Each upheaval in our lives, whether good or bad, gave us pause. People cried happy tears at weddings.

"Let's take them with us. We have plenty of space." We'd bought a second shipping container to use as Damon's office and were considering a third for George's art studio.

"Thank you."

I hauled him up into my arms, and he wiped his wet cheeks on my shirt.

"Ready?" I leaned back and looked into his eyes.

"Ready."

With George's help, we packed the last few boxes, and the movers placed them in the truck. Damon took George's hand, and they walked through the empty rooms, pointing out the height chart on the kitchen door frame.

I went outside because this was their time; I didn't share their memories. When they emerged, George bounded into the car and his car seat.

"Nicholas, can I paint my room?"

"Sure. Today?"

He yawned. "Maybe another day. Moving is tiring."

"I agree with that." Damon placed a hand on my thigh and dozed for the thirty-minute drive.

As the boxes were labeled, they were placed in the correct rooms, but when the truck drove off and we surveyed the chaos, we agreed going out for lunch was the perfect antidote to an afternoon and evening of unpacking.

Being surrounded by a lot of stuff was a new experience for me. Not only was I a minimalist, but I gave away or tried to recycle anything I no longer used. Little boys had a lot of stuff, and I made a note to buy that new shipping container. When I peeked in George's room, the wooden floor was covered in boxes with items spilling out.

Wow! Why do humans need so many of the same things?My dragon was studying George's toys.

I didn't have an answer to that, so I closed the door and the mess vanished.

Damon had fallen asleep on the sofa, exhausted by the move and the unpacking. He was more advanced than George, and what he hadn't unpacked were duplicates of what I had, such as kitchenware and bedding.

"Nicholas, I've been thinking." I'd sunk into an armchair with a book, and George clamored into my lap. "I'd like to paint a dragon on the wall of my room."

"That would look cool."

He snuggled into me. "But there's a problem.'

Paint we could get easily. And we had time. The rest of our lives, though I was hoping it wouldn't take that long.

"I want to paint your dragon, and I haven't seen him."

We'd been waiting until Damon and George moved in before showing the boy my beast. I told him his dad would have to be with him.

"But you're my dad too now, right?" The gleam in eye told me he was trying to get around waiting for Damon to wake up.

"I'd like to be." He jumped off my lap. "But you still have to wait for your other father."

He pushed out his bottom lip, and the hangdog expression had me muffling a smirk. He was good at this but not good enough.

George sat on the floor beside Damon, his head resting in his hands, and stared. His face an inch from his dad's. My mate didn't stand a chance.

"Oh, Dad, you're awake."

Damon opened one eye. "I am now." George climbed onto the couch and into his father's arms. "What do you want?" He ruffled his son's hair.

"Other Dad says you have to be awake so I can see his dragon."

"Other Dad." Damon's eyes were awash in tears, and his bottom lip trembled. "That's so sweet."

"Mmmm, but can we do it now? Please."

"Sure."

George raced out into the garden, yelling at us to follow but then tore into his room to grab his art supplies.

"Not sure how he can find anything in there," I grumbled.

"That's what doors are for." Damon pecked my lips.

"So I discovered." I returned his kiss.

We walked outside, arm in arm. George had planted himself beside my dragon's "landing pad." Unlike his father's first time, instinct told him to stay clear of my beast.

"I'm ready."

Damon lay on the grass beside his son and plucked a grass stalk as I undressed.

George couldn't sit still, saying how excited he was and how fast did my dragon fly and what was his wing span. I didn't have the answers, but he continued and asked me to burn something, but Damon told him he liked our new house and didn't want it burnt to a crisp.

But as I undressed and stood in the middle of the flattened earth, I spread out my arms and the young boy went quiet. Arms became wings, covered in the green and yellow scales, and the spikes erupted on his back. My beast leaned over George who was now speechless and nudged him before stepping back and swooping upward.

He circled the house and skimmed over the treetops, before spying an old log on the edge of the woods. If he aimed well, only the log would go up in flames. If not, it would be a big oops, and as an environmentalist, I couldn't have "started a forest fire" on my resume.

My beast plunged downward, and George raced to the fence, urging his father to hold him up so he could see.

I closed my eyes as my dragon aimed. There was no advantage to having them open, as I couldn't take over or direct him. But they were jolted open as a stream of fire poured from his mouth. The log erupted in flames as my beast flew over the top, the heat from below tingling his tail.

He landed in the usual spot, and I took my skin and put on my pants.

Instead of being animated and talking a mile a minute, George didn't say a word.

Is he disappointed?My dragon loved George and was on the verge of dragon-y steamy tears.

I doubt it, but I can't read the boy's thoughts.

Not the boy. Your son, my dragon reminded me.

I stand corrected.

"Are you going to thank Nicholas?" Damon nudged George.

"That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen." He stood in front of me, staring into my eyes and waving. I allowed my beast to come to the forefront of my gaze, and George gasped. "I see him, I see your dragon."

I see him too.

"Would you like a special place in the garden to use as your studio?" I pointed to the two shipping containers. "One just like those?"

"Yes, please." George threw himself into my arms and smothered me with kisses.

We strolled back to the house, me holding our son, but as we entered the house, he jumped down and began sketching my beast.

"That was a success." Damon lounged on the couch, his eyes closing.

I held up the phone. "Our son's studio has been ordered." We'd have to outfit the inside, but I'd done it with my own and was in the process of completing Damon's. My wolf shifter electrician friend would do the electrical work.

With George in his room sketching and Damon asleep, I wandered into the garden, collecting ingredients for a salad. I reflected on how my life had changed since Damon called the wrong number. Turned out, it was the right number after all. Not only did I get a mate but also a son.

"Dad." George came into the kitchen, and Damon roused himself from the sofa.

"Yes."

"Other Dad." George giggled.

"Maybe I need a different name other than Dad?"

"What do you want me to call you?" George slid onto a stool while I washed the lettuce.

"Let's decide together." I shredded the lettuce and grabbed three tomatoes.

"Dragon Dad?" he suggested.

"You could." I hoped he wouldn't because we'd get questions as to why he called me that, but I could deflect and say because I was very protective of my family, though humans might think I had a fiery temper.

"What if you combined the two?" Damon took a seat beside our son. "And made it Drad."

"Drad. Drad. I like it. Dad and Drad."

"Okay. I am a very proud Drad." I puffed out my chest.

"I love you, Drad, and you too, Dad."