Chapter One

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Hot flame scorched the caretaker’s black-furred fingers. He yanked them back with a hiss, balancing the squirming drakeling on his hip. “Yuejun, take this one–I’m not fireproof like you are.” His voice carried through the disarrayed playroom, scattered toys burned and torn through the seams by sharp teeth. Children clung to a massive lung, shining scales lining his white stomach, while his antlers, from the tip of his tail, were covered in thick fur. “You fret too much, Hel.” he raised his head, blue eyes playful and long whiskers twitching. He accepted the drakeling but passed another over.

“Oh, you’re the one to talk,” Hel replied aptly, “You make me discipline the kids because you don’t have the heart to be disliked by anyone.” A sharp giggle–then pointed dragon teeth bit down, hard, onto his fingers. “Stop that!” He hissed, “You could cut your tongue on my claws.” The drakeling batted at him with cold, azure wings, forcing him to release her to the cavern floor. “When I’m a full-grown frost dragon,” she grinned with sharp teeth, “I’m gonna come back and freeze you to death with my breath.” Hel sighed and shrugged, giving up. “You do that.”

“You’ve been high-strung since the accident,” Yuejun pointed out, lowering his hackles as the arctic drakeling clambered up his fur and pouted. When will your adventurous nature return?" Hel stared down at his twisted brown leg, revealing the curl of horns behind his black tufted ears. “I was a striker dragon–” he reminded the lung-drake, “Born to kill, now forced to watch… Hey, put that down!” Hel rushed to snatch a shed eggtooth horn from a lyndwyrm, wielding it like a knife against his littermate.

“Exactly,” Yuejun’s form shifted back into a man, the drakelings sliding down his tail as he rushed to the bawling wyrm. A mane of long hair framed his soft, yet toughened expression, the right side of his face marred with fierce burn scars. “Dragonesses would adore you, and then you’d have your drakelings running around.” Hel’s face turned furiously red. “Don’t project your desires onto me,” he hissed, crossing his slim arms, “The disfigured can’t wed, and you’ve been disfigured far longer than me.”

Yuejun’s blue eyes narrowed, but rather than raise his flame, his expression only softened again–a rare act of dragon mercy. “You’ll learn to deal with it,” he smiled empathetically, “I was royal once, you know?” Hel wouldn’t hear it. “You were a cross-nephew!” He protested. “Still,” Yuejun persisted, “With that leg, you’d be lucky to hunt a rat. Have you even tried shifting back yet?” Hels’ hip-wings shrugged, and he crossed his arms, staring away at a quibbling knucker. No point, he persisted.