21. Nicholas

"Do you want my toys, Dad?"

George ran in and out of the living room carrying armloads of soft toys. He dumped them in a pile in the middle of the floor. We'd pulled the furniture back to clear the space, and George was over-the-moon excited that Damon was going to lay eggs.

My mate was less enthusiastic. Yes, he wanted to meet our children, and yes, he was tired of being pregnant, but squatting and producing eggs was so unfamiliar to him, and being human, he had no one to ask other than Josie. I'd introduced him to some omega dragon friends, but they viewed it as something they'd been expecting all their lives. Their extended dragon family had visited their kin during the nesting period, and everyone brought presents and discussed the color of the eggs while their kids played. It was a community event.

But Damon had nothing in his background that resembled families rallying around the omega and their eggs.

"That would be lovely, sweetheart."

My mate was pacing the room, and I hoped he didn't decide to make the nest in his office at the bottom of the garden. Neither his office nor mine had running water, so I'd be shuffling back and forth to the house if he nested there. But as he was laying the eggs, he got to choose.

"What about a beanbag?" George shouted from his room.

Damon clapped his hands. "Perfect. Bring both."

Our son was working overtime to help his dad while I was the chief cook, cleaner, and laundry worker. Once the nest was built, George was going to provide the entertainment. He'd been lining up films, music, and books we were going to watch, read, or listen to, and it was supposed to be a secret that he'd been practicing magic tricks. I'd have to call a timeout each day or maybe every hour. Damon would be exhausted.

"More toys, George."

I poked my head into the living room. The sofa and armchairs had been divested of their cushions, and every pillow in the house was surrounding the nest. Damon was carrying a pile of duvets which I rescued because my mate couldn't see over the top, and his big belly affected his balance.

"Where do you want these?"

The bean bags were in the middle and circling them were the sofa cushions. On the outer edge were the pillows, and we were placing the duvets, blankets, and toys on top.

"May I test out the nest?" George stood at the edge, one foot in front of the other as if he was waiting for a starter gun and he could take off.

"Let's all three of us get in," Damon suggested.

I helped my mate to sit as our son rolled around and got comfortable.

"Does it get a five-star rating?" I could sleep here, but my mate had the last word.

Damon and George looked at one another. "Needs something more, right?"

"But what, Dad?" George lifted his head. "Drad, you're the dragon."

"Not sure I'll be much help. I was born in a nest of twigs, feathers, moss, leaves, and grass."

My son and mate shared a glance. They didn't turn up their noses because we'd discussed how what was acceptable to a dragon shifter might be the opposite for a human. Not only humans, a twig nest might've been environmentally friendly, but it would be ouchy.

Damon patted my hand and told me he'd love to see pics of me as an egg, and George said, "Cool."

My family might not share a dragon's love of all things nature, but they were respectful.

"What about coats?" I'd been saving my old winter ones, wanting to donate them to a charity, but hadn't gotten around to it.

Damon's face lit up. "George and I have some puffy jackets we could use." He looked at our son who nodded his permission.

We joined in a group hug, and I was pleased I could contribute to the building of our children's nest. George and I gathered the coats, and Damen arranged them.

"We need photos." My mate pointed to his phone, and George raced to get it.

Maybe this was a result of me not having any pics of my birth nest. But dragon shifters of my parents' era weren't big on taking photos, especially not of their nests.

"Selfie time," my mate announced. We put on our biggest grins, and he snapped pictures of us as a family, then individual ones, and lots of the nest itself, and finally his belly. Josie said Damon was carrying at least two eggs but couldn't be more specific.

"What if there's a basketball and a football team in there?" George jumped up and down.

I pictured me leading a flight of dragons across the sky. We'd need a bigger house, car, bigger everything.

"George, can you help me with dinner?"

"Can we eat in the nest?" I loved how excited he was for the eggs' arrival, and while I didn't want to tamp down his enthusiasm, there would be days, possibly weeks, of us eating in the nest to look forward to.

"That's up to your dad. He's the one lugging around a big belly."

"It depends on what's for dinner." Damon swayed from side to side. "I don't want to eat soup in the nest."

"Maybe we can have eggs?" George giggled, but Damon would have none of it. Ever since he'd discovered he had eggs inside him, he had refused to eat any.

"How about a chicken pasta bake?" I held up my phone and showed my family the pic.

"Yum," they both said.

Damon napped in the nest while our son was my little helper, getting a pan and spoon and measuring cups. I chopped and stirred the sauce before frying the chicken and cooking the pasta. George grated cheese to put on top, and I popped it in the oven. My mate was snoring softly, so we went into the garden to pick vegetables.

"Drad." My son put a carrot into the basket. "Are babies noisy?"

"They can be. Are you worried you won't be able to sleep or do your homework?" He had a studio he could escape to.

"No, I was thinking of Dad being alone when I was a baby and how hard it must have been." His little bottom lip wobbled. "I probably cried a lot."

I dropped the tomatoes I'd collected and brought him in for a hug. "First, you were a baby, and because they can't speak, they let us know when something is wrong by crying."

"Oh, I didn't know that."

"And secondly, your dad would do it all over again, no matter how many times you cried, spat up, or filled your diaper."

George made a face, and he put a hand over his mouth. "Do I have to help with diapers?"

I kissed his head. "Nope. That's on Dad and me."

He exhaled and grinned.

"But you do have to finish collecting the vegetables and wash them so I can make the salad."

"Okay, Drad."

Damon was awake when we walked in, and the dinner was almost ready. We ate in trays in the nest with pillows propped up behind us.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" George asked.

"Sure, as long as you shower and brush your teeth first."

Our son grumbled that the babies didn't have to brush their teeth or get clean as he stumbled to the bathroom.

"They don't have teeth." Damon looked at me. "Do they?"

"In their dragon forms they do." Even baby dragons who were visible for a few seconds at hatching had tiny fangs.

I got up to help George in the shower. "You know what Dad and I would like? A painting of the nest with the eggs. Do you know anyone who's a talented artist?"

"Me." He sprayed water over me, and we laughed, though my dragon wasn't so keen on getting wet during a shift.

I wrapped a towel around him and dried him off and sat while he did his teeth.

"I want to teach the babies stuff, but I can't fly. They'll go on adventures without me."

I explained the babies wouldn't meet their beasts for years, and he had so much to teach them.

"Like what?"

"Like how you're kind, you love Dad and me, and you're good at painting and sketching."

He nodded but pushed out his bottom lip. "But the flying. I don't have wings."

"I suspect your siblings will take you for a ride if you ask nicely."

Poor George, his rapid shallow breaths suggested he might hyperventilate, but instead he raced into the living room where Damon was watching TV.

"Drad says I can fly on a dragon!"

"What?" my mate screeched and turned off the TV. "You're taking him up there." He pointed to the ceiling. "No way is that happening."

"Not me. His brothers or sisters. He'll be grown up by then."

Damon flopped back in the nest. "Way to give me a heart attack, Nicholas."

Oops!