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NB/M, Contemporary Fantasy, Romance [Coming May 15, 2025 / 8,600 Words] AMZ / Apple / BN / Kobo / SW / All Buy Links The day Mo Dillavou comes home to a dragon nesting in their apartment is as confusing as it is magical. Dragons don't exist. Even if dragons do exist, surely they're not supposed to be this small. Or this cuddly. Or this unreasonably cute. When Mo's neighbor, Tanner Linn, comes looking for his pet 'lizard,' Mo is intrigued: by the prospect of keeping a creature of myth as a pet; by the puzzle of how the dragon snuck into Mo's apartment in the first place; and most of all by Tanner himself, the gorgeous recluse next door. If keeping Tanner's secret means getting tangled in his life, then sign Mo right up. Mo isn't annoyed—or even especially surprised—to come home from work a few days later and find a tiny dragon lazing on the living room couch. Ambrosius has somehow, despite his diminutive size, gathered every pillow in the apartment into a small mountain at the very center of the sofa. Having assembled this ridiculous throne, he lies draped across the mound like this is a dragon's idea of paradise. Or perhaps a dragon's ideal hoard. The notion of a dragon hoarding pillows holds a certain comical charm, and Mo snaps a quick photo of the arrangement on their phone. The sun has begun to set beyond the big living room window, bright colors sprawling across a cloudless sky. Shades of pink and orange shine iridescent across the dragon's glittering scales, rendering the whole tableau appallingly photogenic. It's a shame there's no one Mo can show the picture to without breaking a promise. Well. Almost no one. Mo grins as they send the photo to Tanner's number, savoring the swooshy little sound of the message going through. "Ambrosius," Mo says, as soon as they've tucked the phone into their back pocket. They drape the day's suit jacket over the back of a chair and round the couch. The dragon wakes, blinking up at them for a lengthy moment—then does a full-body wriggle on top of the mound of stolen pillows. Mo sighs theatrically, still smiling. There was no note outside the door, and their text garnered no immediate reply, so Tanner must not be looking for his missing pet. Maybe he hasn't noticed the little miscreant has run away. Maybe he isn't home. Neither of these possibilities worries Mo, and their next move is the same regardless. They pluck Ambrosius up from the couch, careful of delicate limbs as they set the dragon onto their shoulder. Ambrosius scuttles and squirms a little, a process that puts Mo in mind of a small dog disheveling a nest of blankets before lying down. Finally Ambrosius settles, his snout tucking beneath the collar of Mo's button-up shirt, his long tail winding around their biceps in a lazy curl. He whuffs contentedly as Mo heads back out into the hall. Tanner doesn't answer when Mo knocks on his door, but that's no matter. Mo was already planning to play at being a hermit tonight, and they're perfectly happy to do so with an impossible magical creature for company. Mo ambles back into their own apartment, not bothering to lock the door as they kick off their shoes. A ping from their phone signals a reply from Tanner, apologizing profusely and offering to hurry home and collect his wayward dragon. Mo reaches up to scritch Ambrosius beneath the chin as they type a one-handed reply. No rush. I don't mind keeping an eye on him. Tanner's second reply takes longer to come through, the dots at the bottom of the screen suggesting he's typing at length. Despite the fact that there's no way for nuance or emotion to come across in a simple text, Mo can practically hear the hesitation in the short message that finally arrives. If you're really sure? Mo rolls their eyes and fires off a thumbs-up emoji, then goes about their usual routine of making a late dinner, gradually unwinding from the day. They more than half expect Ambrosius to lose interest and flutter away from their shoulder eventually, but the dragon seems bored of his nest of pillows now that Mo is home. Instead, he rides around on Mo's shoulder through the collecting of cooking utensils and the chopping of vegetables. Mo is surprised at just how little the dragon's presence impedes their efforts. Ambrosius is so small and light that Mo could almost forget he's there, if it weren't for the quiet noises the dragon is constantly making—an endless stream of chirps and rumbles and raspy little growls—as though offering a running commentary on Mo's cooking. Mo's not sure what it might be safe to feed a dragon, so they text Tanner a quick, Do dragons eat carrots? Tanner's reply comes remarkably fast. I don't know about other dragons, but Ambrosius loves them. So Mo feeds Ambrosius several pieces of carrot while they work, and does not mind at all the resulting scatter of bright orange crumbs on their shirt from the dragon's messy chomping. It's almost ten o'clock before a knock finally sounds at Mo's door. The sky outside has gone dark, but for the bright glow of the moon and the very few stars that manage to shine through the city's light pollution. Mo has long since finished eating dinner and settled in to play a video game, barely distracted at all by the magical lizard curled up on top of their ankles. Their hands are occupied with a complicated boss battle that Mo would rather not start over, so they call across the living room instead of getting up to answer the door. "Come on in!" Mo tries to pitch their voice loud enough to carry into the hall, and is glad to hear the door click open. Mo doesn't look up when Tanner steps across the threshold, but in their peripheral vision they catch a glimpse of hesitant confusion. A reasonable reaction, honestly. Mo isn't being a good host here, and they probably sound worryingly distracted. Tanner's confusion visibly clears when he sees what Mo is doing, and then a wide smile spreads across his face. Either he's a fan of survival horror himself, or he thinks it's amusing to find Mo playing video games. Either way, Mo is too focused on digital combat to worry over what their neighbor thinks—and thirty seconds later, when Mo defeats the boss, they're extra proud of achieving the feat despite the distraction of Tanner coming to perch on the other end of the couch. Mo sets down the controller only after pausing to save the game, then turns to find a different sort of smile on Tanner's face. Softer and somehow delighted, taking in the sight of Ambrosius fast asleep in Mo's lap. Mo glances down at the dragon, because it's easier than continuing to study the small, sweet smile on Tanner's face. Ambrosius is intolerably cute like this. Calm and restful in all the ways he never seems to be when he's awake. It's a far cry from the squirming, vocal ball of energy that spent most of the evening riding around on Mo's shoulder. "He really likes you," Tanner observes quietly. Mo snorts, trying to make light of the situation despite the pleased pulse their heart gives at the thought. They carefully place the game controller on the arm of the couch and trace reverent fingertips along the water-smooth scales of the dragon's back. "The feeling's mutual," Mo admits. And then, feeling bold and only a little bit presumptuous, "You're getting home awfully late. Have you eaten?" "No." Tanner sounds sheepish about it, then looks downright mortified when his stomach gives an eloquent grumble. A laugh bubbles up from Mo's chest. "There's soup still warm on the stove, if you're okay with the fact that it's basically just whatever random vegetables I had in my fridge." Their offer is rewarded with yet another new variant on Tanner's endless supply of smiles: startled and radiant and even more dizzying than the rest. The sight makes Mo's whole chest go warm and tight, and they barely hear Tanner's earnest thanks as they watch him bounce up from the couch and disappear across the apartment. Well. This could be a problem. Mo sets their concern aside and turns back toward the television, collecting the video game controller and doing their best to avoid thinking about anything at all. AMZ / Apple / BN / Kobo / SW / All Buy Links |
Cover design by Yolande Kleinn ISBN 978-1-946316-59-2 |