Chapter 16: Dinner with a Dragon
The single cherry blossom petal drifted past Hana’s nose before landing softly in her untouched water glass. She hadn’t moved from the doorway of the dining room for a full minute.
“Okay,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “I retract my joke about you dating him for the money. This is… this is ‘conquer a small nation’ money.”
Taichi shifted his weight, his lower back giving a familiar, insistent ache. The polished obsidian floor seemed to drink the light, reflecting the low, flickering glow of the golden chandeliers in dizzying patterns. “It’s a lot,” he agreed quietly.
“A lot? Tai, there’s a literal waterfall in the living room. I saw it. Is it connected to the plumbing, or is it just, like, a magic dragon waterfall?” She finally tore her eyes from the spectacle to look at him, her gaze immediately dropping to his midsection, now clearly outlined by a soft, tailored linen shirt. “How are you? For real. And don’t give me the ‘I’m fine’ you use in meetings.”
Taichi offered a small, genuine smile. “Tired. Hungry, weirdly. All the time. And… it’s quiet, but it’s not quiet.” He placed a hand on his stomach. “It feels like… a pocket watch ticking under velvet. Or a distant engine.”
Hana’s eyes were wide with fascinated horror. “That is the least reassuring description of a pregnancy I have ever heard.”
A low, warm laugh sounded from the shadowed corridor leading to the kitchen. Ryuu emerged, no longer in his severe CEO suit, but in dark, loose linen trousers and a black shirt rolled to his elbows. He carried a large, heavy platter that steamed with an aroma of seared meat and rich, alien spices. The sight of him performing such a domestic task was almost more shocking than the waterfall.
“He is describing the nascent bond,” Ryuu said, his voice that casual, resonant tone that seemed to fill spaces without effort. “A low thrum of life. It will become clearer to him soon.” He set the platter on the vast table. It held a steak, perfectly rare, thickly cut, alongside roasted vegetables that glistened with oil and herbs Taichi couldn’t name.
He poured a deep, ruby-red wine into Hana’s glass, then a golden, honeyed liquid into Taichi’s. “Sake from a vineyard that has not existed for eight hundred years,” he said to Taichi. “It will strengthen your blood. The baby’s scales are beginning to keratinize.”
Hana stared at her wine, then at the steak. “So, is that, like, a special dragon cow? Raised on volcanic slopes and fed emeralds?”
“Wagyu,” Ryuu said, a faint smile playing on his lips. “From Kobe. Perfectly ordinary. I am not a monster at the dinner table, Hana-san.” The way he said ‘monster’ held a twist of irony.
They sat. The silence was thick, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery. Hana took a fortifying gulp of wine, then another. Her eyes darted between Taichi’s protective, careful movements and Ryuu’s unnervingly still presence. The elephant in the room wasn’t just an elephant; it was a winged, fire-breathing leviathan.
She leaned conspiratorially toward Taichi, her voice a stage whisper that carried perfectly in the acoustically live room. “Okay, so. The practicalities. I’m adjusting my worldview here, but I have to know.” She took a deep breath. “The whole… shapeshifting thing. Does he have, like, a dragon-sized dick when he shifts? Or is it more of a human-plus situation?”
Taichi, who had just taken a sip of the ancient sake, inhaled it sharply. The liquid burned a fiery path down his windpipe. He doubled over, a series of ragged, wet coughs wrenching through him. His eyes streamed.
Ryuu was beside him in an instant, a large, warm hand on his back. The concern in his touch was palpable. The glow in his eyes, however, as he looked over Taichi’s trembling form at Hana’s horrified, apologetic face, was pure, undiluted amusement.
“My functional anatomy is none of your concern,” Ryuu said, his voice rich with suppressed laughter as he rubbed Taichi’s back. “But the form I take with my mate is the form he requires. The magic is… adaptable.”
Taichi, still coughing, wheezed out, “Hana, for god’s sake.”
“I’m sorry!” she squeaked, face crimson. “It’s a valid question! The mechanics are baffling! Is it eggs? Is it live birth? What’s the gestational timeline? We skipped the birds-and-bees talk and went straight to dragons-and-accountants!”
Ryuu handed Taichi a glass of water, his amused gaze still on Hana. “You are refreshingly blunt. It is a clutch. Two. They will be laid, not birthed in the mammalian sense. The timeline is… fluid. Faster than a human pregnancy. Slower than a pure dragon’s.” He said it with such clinical ease, as if discussing a merger. He returned to his seat, slicing a piece of steak with precise, sharp movements. “Your friend seeks a frame of reference, my heart. It is natural.”
“I just want to know what to get for the baby shower,” Hana muttered, stuffing a piece of steak in her mouth. Her eyes widened. “Oh my god. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Is that the dragon thing, too? Supernatural chef skills?”
“Centuries of practice,” Ryuu corrected mildly. He watched Taichi finally recover, his eyes soft. “Eat. You need the iron.”
The meal continued, the tension easing into something stranger: a bizarre normality. Hana’s questions, though outrageous, peeled back layers of awe, leaving a foundation of pragmatic curiosity. She asked about sleep schedules, food cravings, doctor visits—or the draconic equivalent.
“There is a physician. One of us. He will come when it is time,” Ryuu explained. “Until then, my energy shelters them. They are safe here.”
“But why Taichi?” Hana asked, the wine making her bold. “No offense, Tai, you’re a catch, but… why a human guy from accounting? Isn’t there some, I don’t know, dragon princess in a mountain somewhere?”
The air cooled. Not dramatically, but enough that the fine hairs on Hana’s arms stood up. Ryuu’s expression didn’t change, but the amusement vanished, replaced by an ancient gravity.
“We are a dying echo,” he said quietly. The simple words fell like stones. “The last pure females perished centuries ago. Our magic grew stagnant, inbred. Survival required… innovation. A blending with resilient, fertile life. Human vitality.” He looked at Taichi, and the possessive heat was back, but beneath it was a deep, chilling solemnity. “Not any human. One with a spirit quiet enough to hear ours. A heart steady enough to withstand the bond. He is not an accident, Hana-san. He is a miracle my kind has hunted for ten generations.”
The ticking quiet under Taichi’s ribs gave a sudden, hard flutter, a syncopated thump-thump-thump that stole his breath. He pressed a hand to it, his eyes locked on Ryuu’s.
“They heard you,” Ryuu murmured, his own hand coming to rest over Taichi’s on the table. A faint, shimmering heat emanated from his palm. “They know their sire’s voice.”
Hana watched, all jokes evaporated. She saw the way Taichi leaned into that touch, not with fear, but with a dazed, profound acceptance. She saw the terrifying, ancient creature across from him bend his head, his forehead nearly touching Taichi’s, in a moment of pure, unguarded reverence.
The moment was shattered by a resonant chime that seemed to come from the walls themselves. Not the doorbell. Something deeper, like a gong struck in a cathedral far below.
Ryuu’s head snapped up. His eyes flashed, fully molten. The warmth under Taichi’s hand vanished, replaced by a tension like coiled steel.
“The wards,” Ryuu said, rising smoothly. His casual elegance was gone, replaced by the predator. “Someone is probing the perimeter of the building. Someone with ill intent.”
He looked from Taichi’s alarmed face to Hana’s frightened one. “Do not leave this room. The boundaries here are strongest.” His gaze fixed on Hana. “You wished to understand the stakes. Now you will. Guard him.”
He didn’t run. He simply turned and strode into the shadows of the corridor. As he passed from the light, his form seemed to blur at the edges, to gain mass and height. A trace of smoke, smelling of ozone and forge-fire, curled in his wake.
The oppressive, protective silence of the penthouse was gone. It felt thin, breached. Taichi clutched his stomach, where the two lives now twisted in sudden, sympathetic agitation. Hana stood, her chair scraping loudly on the obsidian.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling only slightly. She picked up her steak knife, then looked at its useless, polished edge. “Okay. So that’s the other part of the deal.”