The Rebirth Of A Dragon

Luna's Point of View

The roof of his den was warm beneath my belly, the faint heat from the hearth inside rising up through the wood and stone. I lay still, cloaked in shadows, my wings tucked tightly to my sides as my eyes followed his every movement.

Hiccup.

He stood just below, shirtless, the pale skin of his back marked with old scars that caught the moonlight. His breath was steady, his posture loose, but there was tension beneath it—readiness. Like a coil about to spring.

And I found myself smiling.

It had been satisfying, really—smacking him in the back of the head with my tail. His expression afterward was worth it. That startled little laugh. That crooked, cocky smile.

He had smiled because of me.

I liked that.

I really liked that.

My tail gave the faintest twitch behind me as I rested my chin on my forearm, eyes locked on him.

Then he crouched.

And I froze.

The shift was fluid, practiced. He didn't move like a man. He moved like us.

Like a dragon.

His arms extended forward, claws gleaming in the firelight from the cabin behind him. Each finger curled with slow precision, black metal catching starlight and shadow in equal measure. Those weapons didn't feel like tools or accessories.

They felt like an extension of him.

They were natural.

Too natural.

I found myself leaning forward without realizing it. My pupils narrowed, drawn to the elegant curve of the blades, the subtle shift of his shoulders, the way he balanced his weight across the ground without sound.

It was instinctive. Primal.

Predator.

And that's when it hit me.

The thought slithered in, uninvited. Dark. Unreasonable.

Mine.

The word flickered across my mind like a whisper of flame, leaving a burn in its wake.

He moved like a dragon. Thought like a dragon. Killed like one too, I was certain of it. He was no ordinary human—he was my kind in a different skin.

And I didn't want anyone else to see that.

I didn't want anyone else to touch that.

The feeling was sharp. Possessive. Dangerous.

I wanted to leap down, wrap around him, growl low and threatening to the world that this one was off-limits.

And then I stopped.

What was I doing?

What was I thinking?

I shook my head, snapping myself back to reality. My claws dug lightly into the roof tiles as I exhaled sharply through my nose.

No.

No, this wasn't normal. It wasn't logical. I had only known him for a few hours. A few hours. He was strange. Clever. Dangerous. Maybe even trustworthy in his own chaotic, honest way—but this?

This wasn't me.

I didn't get attached.

I didn't get... possessive.

And yet, here I was, watching his back like I'd already claimed it.

I growled low in my throat, just to myself.

Then I looked again.

The moonlight shifted across his shoulders, glinting off his claws as he stood to full height, eyes locked on the treeline.

He wasn't smiling now.

His expression was cold. Focused.

Deadly.

The scent of intruders brushed my nose a moment later—human, male, heavy with oil and steel. I tensed, but didn't move. Not yet.

The vermin.

He had told me they were coming. Disgust had laced his voice when he'd spoken of them, like the very idea of their presence in his territory was an insult that could only be answered in blood.

I didn't blame him.

They reeked of greed and rot.

But I wasn't watching them.

I was watching him.

Because I wanted to see what he would do.

How he hunted.

How he fought.

What kind of predator he truly was.

And—though I didn't understand why—some part of me wanted him to impress me.

I blinked at that.

Impress me?

What did that matter?

What did he matter?

I didn't know.

But I wasn't leaving.

Not yet.

Not when something in me wanted to know just how far he was willing to go to protect what was his.

And maybe...

Just maybe...

To prove that he was more