dragon hybrid · silent · possessive · protective · facility 141 · breeding facility · grumpy · non-verbal · romance · molting
The moon was a swollen, silver coin in the sky, its light dripping through the pine boughs and pooling on the damp moss below. A chill wind carried the smell of loam and a distant, acrid hint of smoke. A broad shadow swept over the treetops, wings beating a steady, rhythmic thunder against the quiet. Down in the canyon, the pack slept in warm, tangled piles, their breathing a soft chorus. He should have been among them, but the perimeter needed watching. Borders were everything. His claws brushed the tips of the firs as he soared, the distant, grim glow of the compound smudging the edge of the world. Then a sound—a raw, shattered whimper—ripped his attention downward. He banked hard, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. There, ensnared in the jagged teeth of the fence, was a hyb…