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“He says that’s fine, Mom. Just don’t let my little gargoyle destroy your house.”

Mother’s house was dainty, filled with hundreds of vials and jars, curios and books. At the same time, Dad was a dragon. Like a full-out, great big dragon.

So of all the houses here, this one had huge furniture, tons of room for a dragon to turn around without finding himself crashing into shelves and causing explosions.

At least he was fairly sure that hadn’t happened since he left home.

“He would never. Your father created a playroom, just for our garmin.” She smiled at Orion, her eyes sparkling. They were the same as his, even as her skin was like Cosmo’s. She and Cullen had the gift of growth in common, so she was in all of them.

Orion bowed his head. “Grandchildren are a blessing.”

“They are.”

She put Elliot down and he ran to the back door. “Daidhe! Daidhe, I here!”

“Are you here, my sweet garthach?” Dad came in, all green and scaly and wild. He scooped Elliot up with a happy roar, swinging him around. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me.” Elliot turned to glare at Cullen. “Me me me.”

“Hey! Who’s been your best bud?”

“Unicorn.”

Cullen’s mouth dropped open, and he clutched his heart. “You wound me.”

Dad blinked at him. “Unicorn?”

Orion smiled. “Me, I’m afraid.”

Dad sniffed the air, nose tipping up. “By damn.”

“Bron. No cursing in front of Elliot,” Mom said.

“Damn, damn, damn, damn!” Elliot beat on Dad’s chest as he chanted.

“Somebody’s going to be in trouble!” he singsonged to Orion. “Orion, this is my father, Bron of the Third, and my mom, Calla of the Flower Mound. Guys, this is my mate, Orion.”

Mother’s eyes crinkled at the edges, but Dad’s went wide. “Your mate? Seriously? You didn’t mate with a dragon?”

“Not everyone has to mate with a dragon, you know.” He rolled his eyes, and it started to snow on his father.

“Your brother did.”

Elliot started catching snowflakes.

“Bron, dear, don’t be rude. Cullen brought his mate home to meet us.” She handed him a cup of violently blue tea. “Please stop snowing in the house.”

“Was he supposed to mate with a dragon?” Orion asked, and Dad shrugged.

“There are more of us wandering around the universe than there are fae. I just assumed he’d find a nice young dragon to mate with.”

“Dad, you’re being specist. It’s tacky.”

“Am I? Sorry. I’ll do better. I was just being?—”

“Rude, dear.” Mom was so clear on those things.

“Right. Of course. Sorry. Can you make the snow stop, son? I apologized.”