"And if I did? Science must sometimes sacrifice a few for the greater good. But in this case, shouldn't you thank me? I hear you came to the party together. A dragoness about to hit her prime and a male, unclaimed. Have you not seen the possibilities yet? I am aware of how few males you spawn each generation. It's a struggle to maintain the family lines, and I know you've had to rely on science these past few decades to ensure you don't completely die out. What if a fresh stash of males suddenly came onto the scene?"

Artificial insemination and fertility treatments were a boon to the dragons. But it had also introduced the twenty-eight rule. "Are you trying to tell me you're going to sell male dragons to us?"

"If the price is right, but I think more profit can be made simply by using the males my labs create as breeding stock."

"We are not cattle."

"And yet your own rules have turned you into brood mares. How long before you carry some random fetus, a baby or two to continue your line?" Because even the women who couldn't find a mate needed to produce an heir. It was the rule of the Septs.

"I have a mate."

"For now. Did Brandon tell you what happened to the other patients who received the same DNA splice?" The wide smile much resembled that of the wolf before he ate the little girl in the red cape. "The others all went a little loco. It wasn't pretty. So many bodies to hide."

"You're sick. You sit here bragging about your exploits, are proud you experimented on people against their will. Your own family even. It's wrong. You can't use Cryptozoids as test subjects, and you most certainly won't get away with keeping dragons captive for your experiments."

"But I already have." His brow arched. "And I'm not done collecting them yet. It's like a game of Pokemon Go. Can I collect them all? How many color Septs are there? There's silver like you, then the reds, of which there are many shades, the blues, and greens. Mustn't forget the blacks and the whites with the shades of gray, too. Oh, and gold."

"So you do admit you have a gold dragon."

"I never denied it. Would you like to meet him?"

The jaws of the trap loomed all around her, and Aimi realized just how badly she'd miscalculated. For some reason, she'd expected Parker to abide by a set of rules, civilized guidelines, but there was nothing civilized about the creature in front of her. He was evil, through and through. His ends did not justify the means.

He has to die.

She flung herself at him, knowing she couldn't fully transform but having strength enough to pull forth the opal claws with their razor-sharp tips.

Parker proved fast, much faster than expected. The gun rose from where he'd kept it hidden under his desk, and he shot her at point-blank range.

She had only time for a mental yell, "It's a trap. Run!" before everything went dark.

Chapter Seventeen.

The shout hit his mind with the force of a bomb, and Brandon shot out a hand, catching himself on a wall to keep himself from falling.

Aimi. The warning came from his moonbeam. What had happened? Where was she? He felt for the tendril connecting him to her, only to find it gone.

Gone?

Impossible. She couldn't be gone. He wouldn't allow her to die. Except he didn't think she was dead, more likely just asleep. Deeply asleep, and he knew who to blame.

Parker.

Fucking Parker. Playing games again, and this time with his moonbeam.

Like fuck.

I'm coming to get you, moonbeam, and woe to any dumb bastards who got in his way. He located the nearest guard and grabbed him by the lapels, yanking him off his feet and growling, "Where is my uncle?"

"Sir, you need to set me down and calm yourself."

"I'm going to twist your head off if you don't tell me where he is right now."

The guard chose instead to speak into his microphone. "We have a code expel on the main mezzanine." Of more importance than the warning, the guy completely ignored Brand's threat.

"You're going to be drinking out of a straw if you don't tell me where my uncle is."

"Sir, I'm going to ask once again that you set me down and exit the premises.

"Like fuck." As more than a few sets of eyes turned his way, he dropped the guard and swept the guy's ankles with a foot, tumbling him to the floor and giving him a boot for good measure. At the gaping mouths of a few nearby guests, he shrugged. "He grabbed my girlfriend's ass without her permission."

That seemed to satisfy a few, but he didn't linger. Already, Brandon could see more guards converging on his spot, so he headed deeper into the house. If Parker had nabbed Aimi, then he wouldn't have done so in public.

He has to have an office or something in this fucking place.

But where?

How about using my nose for something other than sniffing for fresh cookies?

Away from the main crush of people at the bash-and a sister who disappointed him on so many levels-he found it easier to sift the scents marking the air. So many aromas, but none of them belonged to Aimi. She truly was unique, which made him wonder how his kind had gone for so long not recognizing that dragons lived among them. Surely he wasn't the first to scent their distinctive flavor?

Can you really see Aimi and her family in the bayou? Not really, and the very fact of their existence served as a reminder that there was much in the world he didn't know. Much he didn't believe until the truth had grabbed him with her dragon claws.

Does this mean other creatures of legend exist, too? It boggled the mind to contemplate.

More wandering meant encountering a few guards, who, shortly after, met the floor up close and personal. He assumed an alarm had gone out, but he didn't care. Only one thing mattered. Finding Aimi.

Her scent hit him at a crossroads in the halls. With a clear trail to follow, he broke into a run. The guard that stepped into his way received an arm to the throat that heaved him into the air. The guy hit the floor hard and got trampled. The second idiot who thought to block his way lifted a gun.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Brandon snarled, his cold rage holding on by the barest thread. He couldn't completely stem the rage, though. His teeth elongated and flashed as his eyes narrowed. All of a sudden, he found himself very hungry.

Let's crunch some bones.

To his credit, the guard didn't budge, even though Brand changed. He even managed to fire off a shot, which Brand missed by ducking low. He dove forward to tackle the shooter around the knees.

Oomph. The guard hit the floor with Brand on top.

A quick twist and a crack was all it took before he was off again, only to find himself momentarily stymied by the thick portal in his way, the handle locked.

More of him morphed, muscles bulging and popping, a man not becoming a monster but rather using all the skills he had. He wrenched at the handle again and snapped it. The door still didn't quite give, but the remaining latch couldn't withstand the hard boot he gave it.

The door flung open, hitting the inside wall with a bang, but he was already through, landing in an office with a huge desk.

Aimi's scent hung in this space, and ended there, too.

The man behind all of Brandon's agitation stood behind his desk, hands tucked behind his back, that familiar smirk on his lips.

"Nephew, how nice of you to make an appearance."

Nice will be you spilling your blood on that expensive rug.

"Where is she?" Brand didn't hesitate to throw himself over the desk and grab his uncle by the lapels, slamming him into a wall.

It didn't shake Parker's cool confidence one iota. "No hello? You might be wearing a civilized outfit, but I see your manners are still lacking."

"Stop fucking blabbing and tell me where Aimi is."

"Of what concern is it of yours?"

"She's mine." Brand knew it was the wrong thing to growl as soon as it passed his hardening lips, but he couldn't stop himself.

"How fascinating. So you've claimed her."

He should have, but like an idiot, he'd let other things distract him from the most important thing.

"Tell me where she is." A request punctuated with slams of his uncle against the wall.

"She wanted to see a guest of mine, so I acceded to her wishes."

"If you've harmed her..." he warned in a low rumble, the cold in him seething with rage.

"Harm her? On the contrary, I have plans for her. She's a healthy female in her prime for breeding, and I have studs who will very much enjoy impregnating her."

Slam. Slam. Slam. The rough handling didn't stop his uncle's laughter.

"You can't do thisss," he huffed, feeling his control slip.

"I can, and will. And you can't stop me. But you can help. Since you seem attached to the girl, how about I give you first crack at poking her? Maybe you'll get lucky and plant your seed in her belly with your first attempt."

At that, he couldn't contain his rage anymore. He tossed his uncle, sending him flying across the room.

And still, the bastard laughed.

Brandon stalked toward Parker, seething and uncaring of the ripping fabric as the rest of him burst into view. He kept only his pants, kicking off the confining shoes. The shirt shredded, and yet the tie remained.

"So you can change back and forth at will." His uncle stood and wiped the blood from his lip. "Excellent. Most excellent. Perhaps your minor excursion won't be for naught. Now be a good boy and put this on."

From a pocket, his uncle pulled forth a collar. Not just any collar. Brandon's collar.

"I'm not putting that back on."

"Oh, you will, or Sue-Ellen-"

"Sue-Ellen made her choice. I am not enslaving myself again to you for her."

"If not her, then how about your woman? Even now, your sedated paramour is being put on a copter for transport to my new facility. I think of it as Bittech four point oh."

For a moment, Brandon wondered what had happened to number three. But then the threat truly penetrated.

Did his uncle seriously think to hold Aimi against him? Brandon knew what would happen if he put that collar back on again. He also knew what his uncle would do to Aimi if he didn't.

He dropped to his knees and bowed his head, a beast before the madman who'd made him.

The collar dangled in front of him. "Put it on."

He intended to. Snatching the collar from his uncle's hands, Brandon shot to his feet and snapped it around Theo's neck before grabbing him by the hair and slamming his face into the wall a few times. Then cracked his neck for good measure before dropping the body.

Now we eat the flesh of the enemy.

Or maybe not.

In the distance, he could hear rotor blades, the sound of a helicopter warming up, which meant Aimi wasn't gone yet.

I'm coming, moonbeam. He wouldn't fail her. He couldn't and live with himself.

He slammed through the French doors, spilling into a courtyard illuminated only faintly by the lights shining from the windows in the house. Overhead, he could hear the whirring of the helicopter but could spot no access to the roof.

That's what wings are for, numbnut.

The chastisement launched him into the air, wings flapping, surely an incongruous sight with his shirt shredded and yet, somehow, his bowtie remaining. A classy-looking monster.

No, not a monster. A hybrid. Everyone kept telling him this shape was something special; it was time he believed it.

Wings working hard, he ascended until he found himself level with the rooftop. The chopper, a luxury thing with tinted windows, rose from its pad. He arrowed toward it, determined to get to it before it got too far.

The guards on the rooftop turned with their guns, a few even raised them, but none of them shot. An order was barked, "It's the nephew. Take him alive."

How did they plan to do that when they couldn't even reach him? Morons.

He angled toward the rising chopper, only to find his attention diverted.

What the fuck.

The fuck was a small dragon or, as Aimi called it with a sneer, a wyvern. It rose from the rooftop, and it wasn't alone. Just his luck. The damned guards weren't human.

Not good. Brandon prided himself on being a tough fucker. However, even he had limits, and he'd say a half-dozen flying pests might be it.

Giving up? Not an option, though, not with Aimi being held prisoner on that helicopter. He wasn't about to let her be taken away from him. No way would he allow anyone to torture her.

He needed to even the odds. But how? He didn't have a gun. No weapon at all other than himself. His puny claws would prove no match against a half-dozen attacking at once.