What are you doing? She sounded curious rather than worried.

Doing what any boy did when presented with a cool toy. He wanted to play.

The drone didn't seem sure what to do. Good news, though, it didn't fire. Which meant it wasn't really interested in killing him.

The whirring machine didn't move as he reached out to snag it.

Zap, a hot streak of fire kissed a wing at his back, and he hissed.

Fuckers had a second one on the move. The first one played dead as a decoy.

There's a third one coming in from above.

The warning sounded amused. He, on the other hand, wasn't. He wasn't used to being challenged in the sky. Bittech never truly taught their experiments any avian tactics. It was considered enough that they could fly.

But now, as Brandon zipped back and forth, up and down, dodging streaks of fire, he really wished he had a gun and had learned to shoot.

Alas, all he had was himself. And an audience.

Way to impress the girl. Nothing screamed, "I'm a stud" like getting harassed by small robots.

The good news about the bots, which now swarmed him-a dozen by his last count-was they still seemed to be more intent on herding him down to the courtyard than actually killing him.

Of course, they're not going to kill you. Yet.

"Not reassuring," he muttered aloud.

Then you should have come with me earlier. We could have avoided some of this.

"Can't you call them off?

Nope. The defense system is automated. Just land in the courtyard. But don't let anyone touch you. I'll be there in a minute.

The words registered, but he didn't reply, given the drones harried him, urging him to the massive roundabout area at the front of the mansion.

He landed a few paces in front of a spouting fountain, a massive one featuring-no surprise-sculpted dragons that spewed water from their mouths. Very cool looking and much less daunting than the welcoming committee.

The tips of his scarf weren't enough to cover his shirtless torso from the avid stares of the women gathered, their ages varying, and yet many of them sported the same silvery hair as Aimi. They also all had freakish eyes, the vertical slits glowing with green fire as they unabashedly eyed him head to toe.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared, daring them to do something: scream, panic, call him a monster, shoot.

Instead, one of the younger girls with her hair cut in a short, wispy style exclaimed, "It's a boy."

"Don't you mean a man?" The woman wearing dark eyeliner and hair in platinum curls smiled. "A very yummy and strong man."

"Who do you belong to?" asked an older woman, her silvery strands bound up in a chignon that drew emphasis to the lean column of her neck.

"He belongs to me!" The claim came from Aimi, who emerged from the house in a quick walk. He couldn't deny being happy to see her again-she was intriguing. What he didn't understand was the spurt of warmth her words caused.

I belong to no one. Not Bittech. Not his uncle. And most certainly not this slip of a girl.

"Moonbeam. Fancy seeing you again." When in doubt, pretend extreme nonchalance. He'd learned that lesson from a big cat in captivity at Bittech. The felines had insouciance down to an art.

"This is your mate? The one you told me about?" The woman with the bun laughed. "I'll be damned. You weren't lying. He is strong."

"And mine." Aimi moved to stand between the women and Brandon. "So claws off, or I'll eat your face."

"Don't I get a say?" he asked.

"No." The word met laughter.

"He speaks!"

"He can fly!"

"I say we tackle her and snare him," whispered another.

"Touch my sister, and I'll wipe out your bank accounts," said another girl, her hair punked out, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Moonbeam," he murmured, leaning close. "What the hell is going on here? Who are these people?"

"Family. I warned you they'd eat you alive. Don't worry. I'll keep you safe. I just need to make your status clear."

"My status?"

"As my soon-to-be mate. Trust me. It's best this way."

"Best for whom? What do I get out of this?"

She smiled, and he would have agreed to anything to keep her smiling at him forever. "You get me."

That worked, too. As soon as he felt himself falling under her crazy spell, he snapped out of it. "What's the alternative? One of them?" He indicated the horde still eyeing him and, in some cases, still discussing whether or not to steal him.

Aimi turned her head to peek at him over her shoulder. "You're mine. If they touch you, family or not, I will have to maim them."

"And what if I touch them? What happens to me?"

"Why would you touch them when you have this?" She let her hands skim her frame. "I'm not worried. Have you so soon forgotten your world now revolves around me?"

Would that be such a bad thing? Just being with her so far had been the best thing to happen to Brandon in what seemed like forever. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so adrenalized and warm and happy; a true happy that came from within and not a heated chimneystack.

At the same time, with his fascination for Aimi, came a dereliction in his quest. Look at where he was because he'd chased a moonbeam. He'd not left town as planned. Not gone looking for clues about his sister but rather put all his efforts in tracking down a crazy woman.

A crazy woman who wants me.

He tried to distract himself from her and return to the situation at hand. "So you're related to all these women."

"Was it the hair that gave it away?" stated a girl wearing a no-nonsense pantsuit and glasses.

"Ah, look at that, he's pretty and not completely stupid," snickered another in the crowd.

Funny, because he felt pretty damned dumb, and confused. Why did they call him pretty? Were they all blind to the fact that he wore the face and body of a monster?

"I guess I should do introductions." Aimi returned to his side and tucked her hand on his bicep-causing him to suck in a breath-and pointed with the other. "That's my Aunt Xylia wearing the bun. And Aunties Valda and Vanna at the back." She pointed to a pair of women wearing glasses and cardigans who nodded at him. "Then there's my sister Adrianne with the funky hair. And those are my cousins, Deka and Babette."

"You all live here?"

"Yes. There's more of us actually. But you can meet them later."

"You still haven't told us who this handsome man is," Deka said, batting her lashes in his direction.

"Claws off, or I'll pull them for you. This is Brand, and he's mine."

"I don't see a mark," noted Babette.

"Because I was waiting for witnesses."

"We can witness."

Aimi shook her head. "I want Mother here to see it."

"Then you'll have to wait, as your mother is out of town until tomorrow sometime," Xylia noted.

"Good. That gives us time to deal with a few issues."

"You mean like the one where you keep trying to claim me?" He ducked low enough to whisper it against her ear, feeling the silken brush of her hair against his lips.

"Would you prefer me or someone else?"

"You'd give me a choice?"

"No. And now, do you mind waiting to discuss this later? We have an audience." An audience that was smirking.

"I want to know what's going on." Because he felt as if he'd walked into a different dimension. Nothing since he'd met Aimi had unfolded as expected.

"You're an unclaimed male, and I want you as my mate. That's all there is to it."

"I'd say there's a bit more, such as my consent."

"You do know I don't need it, right?"

"I disagree."

"Then find a way to rewrite the laws. As it stands, my claiming you is the way of the dragon." The enigmatic reply didn't get expanded as she began to walk towards the house, the other women having already turned around to return inside.

He hesitated, not having been specifically invited to follow, and yet, at the same time, still in need of answers, such as why all these women seemed to regard him as normal. Did they not notice the scales and the wings?

And why did they keep calling him a hybrid? Were there others who'd been spliced and diced into something new like him?

Aimi stopped at the top step of the porch-if a grand staircase of stone tiered with precision could have such a banal name. She peeked over her shoulder at him. "Are you going to stand there all night, or are you coming inside?"

"What happens inside?"

"Come in and find out." She stepped through the front door, leaving him alone.

What to do? His body still stung from the nicks of fire the drones had inflicted. He was hungry, his last stolen meal over a day ago. Fatigue pulled at every single one of his muscles. It had taken a lot to find moonbeam. She lived well outside the city limits, which meant lots of flight time. All the ailments of his body, though, paled before the most insistent thing: his curiosity.

It was curiosity-and a strange need to see Aimi again-that had driven him to locate her and then come find her. Now that he was here, would he let a simple thing like uncertainty stop him?

Hell, no. He'd survived worse than a few silver-haired women.

So he followed, but he managed only one step over the threshold when a voice barked, "You can drop the hybrid shape now. You and Aimi have made your point. You're strong. But we wear our human shapes in the house. It's easier on the hardwood floors."

Aimi came to his defense before he could explain. "So, we have a teeny-tiny problem. Brand over here is having a bit of an issue switching back. We were hoping you could give him a hand with that, Aunt Xylia."

"Stuck?" Xylia's eyes widened in surprise. "I've never heard of that."

"Not all that unusual. It happens to shifters who've lost touch with their humanity." Dressed bohemian style with a beaded necklace-comprised of tiny skulls-a new woman came into view.

Before he could open his mouth and explain his situation, Aimi elbowed him. He clamped his lips shut and glared at her, not that she noticed, given she faced her aunt.

Aimi shrugged. "Maybe he ate something he shouldn't have. I was hoping Aunt Xylia had something in her apothecary to help?"

"Or I could take him home with me." The hippy lady eyed him.

Aimi shook her head. "No thanks. We're good, Aunt Waida. Aunt Xylia surely has something right here."

The lady with the bun nodded. "I might. Come with me."

"Yeah, better get him fixed, or your honeymoon is gonna be rough," snickered one of the cousins.

"Your jealousy warms me," Aimi sassed back. "Later." A benign reply punctuated with a pair of raised middle fingers over her shoulders as she followed the swaying skirt of her aunt.

"I saw that," said Xylia. "What have we told you about language in the house?"

"It's the twenty-first century. Don't you think it's time we loosened the girdle?"

"No, and we should never have let our skirts go above our ankles either."

As the aunt and niece squabbled over new-generation values versus old, he found himself taking in the mansion he'd entered. It intimidated, reminding him that he was just a small-town boy. A poor one at that, from the wrong side of the swamp.

I don't belong here.

He'd seen wealth during his time incarcerated at Bittech, knew what kind of privilege came with money. The men who flaunted it-Andrew and Parker and the other scum running the Bittech scam-were paupers compared to the lavish lifestyle displayed here.

White marble floors lined the massive hallway, a hallway that should have had a map, given it had branches going off left and right and, in between those branches, opulent rooms, at least from what he could see through open doors.

They walked for a while alongside fluted archways that framed the interior of a conservatory lush with plants and the tinkling sound of a water feature. Then there was the corridor that flanked the dining hall. He'd never imagined a table could stretch so long or host so many chairs.