Leave. Now. His cold self didn't want to stay, but he could hardly run, not with Aimi watching and answers still forthcoming.

"How long have you been in this shape?" Xylia asked as she slid a finger over the jars, snaring some at random.

"Two years. Maybe a bit longer if you're counting from when treatment started and the changes began."

"Two?" He could tell he'd startled her. "And during that time, did you ever ascend into your dragon form or back into your human guise?"

Ascend into a dragon? Ha. He wished. "No. This is it. I have no other shape. Not anymore."

"No, this is the shape where you are stuck. Something in your psyche is obviously blocking you from fully transforming."

'Maybe because I'm not a dragon."

"Let's find out for sure, shall we?"

"You mean there's a test? Do I have to like breathe fire? Or eat a princess?" He shot a sly look at Aimi, who snickered.

"Yes, there's a test. Our race is an old one, and just like the shifters can differentiate their kind, so can we with a little help. The testing serum was developed in the Dark Ages by hunters who sought our treasures. They used to visit our courts in disguise, doing their best to oust us. We thought the formula destroyed until the Spanish Inquisition resurrected it. That was the last time it was used."

"Given you know how to make it, I'm going to guess you didn't destroy the recipe?" Despite himself, he found himself drawn into the imaginary narrative.

"Of course, we destroyed it. We wiped all traces of it from human annals and histories, but we kept the secret for ourselves. All knowledge is a treasure that should never be destroyed. We don't use it often, given we can obviously tell by scent who is dragon and who is not, yet given your odd story, let us perform a proper test that will tell us if you're dragon or not."

"How does it work? What do I have to do?"

"Donate some blood."

Before he could agree, Xylia poked him with a needle.

"Ouch." He glared at the aunt.

"Don't be a baby," Aimi chided.

"You could warn a guy when you're going to poke him with sharp objects."

"Is all your line so difficult?" was the reply as the aunt dropped his blood into a beaker. She added a few drops to it from a small vial that shone bright red. Sprinkled in a pinch of silvery powder. Added a purple sprig of something and then swirled the contents together.

It sizzled then foamed. It also changed rapidly into every color of the rainbow before settling on a dull green.

A part of him couldn't help but be disappointed. He might not believe in dragons, but for a moment, a part of him kind of hoped the test would say he was. "Guess I don't need to say I told you so."

Two sets of eyes perused him, and he could only ask, "What?" Why did they look at him with such shock? "Did I fail that badly?"

"On the contrary, you passed." The aunt looked pained as she added, "Your Grace."

Chapter Six.

It couldn't be. They'd not seen one of his kind in centuries. Not since the purge. That line was thought to be dead. Wiped out.

And yet, there was no mistaking the color of the fluid.

"He's royalty?" she queried. "Are you sure?"

"We could run it again to be certain," said her aunt.

"And here comes the scam. You know," Brand said as he moved away from them, chastising with the shake of his head, "I might have been born on the wrong side of the bayou, and I might look like a dumb beast, but I am not a complete fucking moron. You're trying to pull one over on me. First trying to convince me that I'm a dragon and, now, supposed royalty. And even better, long-lost royalty." He made a sound of disgust. "You should have stuck to something more believable." He moved to the door, but Aimi stood in front of it.

"We are not fucking with you."

"Aimi! Language."

She couldn't help rolling her eyes. "Can you get your priorities straight? I am trying to stop him from killing me here, Auntie."

"I am not going to kill you." The words spat forth, and their steely chill matched that in his eyes. "I might be a monster, but I'm not a murderer."

"I know you won't kill me. Dragons don't kill their mates."

"I'm not a fucking dragon!" he yelled.

"Language!" hollered Aimi's aunt.

"Fuck your language. I am not falling for this."

"Falling for what, the truth?"

"Bullshit."

"Not bullshit." For once, her aunt didn't say anything. Aimi held out her hands, a calming gesture, at least she hoped, given she had a pretty tall hybrid bulking himself and glaring. "You are a dragon. Or, at least, your genetics indicate you are."

"The test is wrong."

"That is possible." Aimi shrugged. "There are surely exceptions."

"Not really. It's never happened before," her aunt interjected.

"Well, it failed just now because I guarantee you, I am not a dragon. And even if by some messed-up fucking chance I am, no way am I descended from royalty."

"Are you sure you were not born like this?" Xylia paced around him.

"Like I told moonbeam, I'm a gator. Just a regular ol' swamp variety. It's the experiments that changed me and gave me wings and the look of a T-rex with longer arms."

"Even if the test failed, your scent also claims it."

"Wouldn't know. I can't smell myself." A weird shifter trait. They could scent others with ease, but when it came to their own scent, a pure blank spot.

"You claim experimentation, which given today's science could account for some mutations, but there must have been something there to trigger. Perhaps a recessive gene. What is your family name again?"

"Mercer."

Aunt Xylia shook her head. "Never heard of them."

"Surprising, given we're often in the news for misdemeanors." His lips quirked, and Aimi stifled a giggle at her aunt's face.

"Your family is criminal? Your mother won't like that, Aimi," Xylia said.

"Mother will find a way to spin it. By the time our first child is born, she'll have the Mercers portrayed as some kind of prevailing mob family and use the scandal of it to have fabulous parties."

"The fantasy world you live in is fascinating and, apparently, hereditary." His glance bounced between Aimi and her aunt.

"How does he keep denying what he is? How can one deny being a dragon? Were you dropped on your head as a child?" her aunt asked him.

"Probably. But the number of times still won't change the fact that I'm not a dragon, unless we're talking the one in my pants."

Aimi fired a fist to his gut for his impertinent reply and hit a wall. She managed to keep a stoic face.

"You can fly," Aimi pointed out.

"But I can't spit fire."

"Fire is overrated. So very uncontrollable. Why anyone would want to spit at anything instead of fighting claw to claw is beyond me." Xylia's lips twisted.

"She prefers the personal touch," Aimi confided. "According to Adi-"

"Who's Adi?"

"My sister. Anyhow, her theory is that my mother and aunts brawl in human shape to keep the laundry services in business. Auntie likes to wear white. It takes a special touch to get the blood out of silk."

He pinched his nose and closed his eyes. "Why are you telling me this? I mean, who admits to having a homicidal aunt?"

"Who said I killed anyone? Show me a body. Does someone need to disappear?" Xylia narrowed her gaze on Brand, and Aimi snapped her fingers.

"No threatening my mate, Auntie. He's my ticket out of here."

"I am not going anywhere with you, and I really think I shouldn't even be here."

"Don't start with the I'm-gonna-leave shit-"

"Aimi!"

"Fine, the I'm-gonna-leave fucking bullshit," she shouted with a roll of her eyes. His lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. "You want to know what you are. I'll tell you what are, and I don't even need a potion to do it." She stepped closer to him, close enough that she had to tilt her head to still see his face. "You are mine."

"You can't be serious about that." He turned away and to Xylia added, "Whatever you think I am, I'm not. And you can't allow her to bind herself to me. I am not a dragon."

"Have you seriously never pondered the fact that dragons might exist? Heard a rumor?" Curiosity lilted her words.

"Never. Why?"

"Because your uncle, Parker, knows."

"I highly doubt that. If he knew, he would have blabbed."

"By all accounts, your uncle is wily, and is probably saving that information for a time he thinks it will benefit him." Aunt Xylia pointed to his wings. "If your uncle did this, then perhaps it was only possible because he knows something about your family. Do you have any unexplained bastards in your family? Were you perhaps born from an unwed mother or by an unknown father?"

"Have we gone from calling me 'Your Grace' to hoping I'm a bastard?" Brand had a tendency to deflect when things got uncomfortable.

"You are right about one thing. We know next to nothing about each other. Perhaps my previous address to your grace was premature."

"So now I'm not a dragon?" he asked.

"Yes, you are," Aimi hastened to interject. "And don't you even try to deny it, Auntie. You and I both know what that color means." Aimi pointed to the potion, the shade unmistakable. The colors were something they all learned at dragon school. Madame Drake's School of Manners not only provided lessons in being a proper snob-hold your head at an angle, use this fork first, no bodily noises in public-the school also provided a crash course for dragonlings to learn their history in a more fleshed-out manner than simply via family members who may have embellished certain key historical points.

"The potion is a shitty shade of green. Not exactly exciting if you ask me."

"You're right. The color itself is less than exciting. It also has nothing in common with gold, just like the hue for our family test is a dull rusty color, quite atrocious, given our silver heritage. The yellows turn a very strange pink, while the seadrakes, who are blue for the most part, turn the solution clear."

"So, what color of dragon am I then according to this?" He pointed to the test tube. "Purple? Aquamarine? How about a very cool black with gray undertones?"

"It says you're a gold."

He peered down at his bared torso. "Gold? Really? You have seen me, right?"

Aunt Xylia examined his wings, but when she would have touched, he flinched away. It didn't stop her query. "You've never ascended, have you?"

"What's 'ascended?'"

"A stage most dragonlings pass in puberty. When you embrace your dragonself for the first time."

"Does it make a difference?" Aimi asked.

"Yes, because the color he wears now is that of a youngster, not a mature hybrid."

"So that's not his true color?" Aimi ran a finger down his chest, and he held still for it, muscles rigid, but he didn't move away.

"Usually, the dragonlings don't have the strength or ability to pull their hybrid, so I've never seen an un-ascended half-shift before. I would imagine, should he ascend to his true dragon, that his hybrid color will change, which, if the test can be believed, is gold."

He shook his head. "Except I can't change. This is it."

"Don't be a diva," Aimi remarked. "My aunt said she has something to try. What I'm more interested in finding out is if you're suitable as a mate. Is he?" In other words, could her mother object and block her plan for leaving the house?

Forget leaving. She'd better not try and keep me from my mate.