Page 56 of The Monster at the End of This Courtship

I didn't wait for him to continue. I pulled him into my lap, carefully arranging our legs so neither of us lost feeling in our limbs while waiting for our babies to hatch.

"I can't do it," he said. "I can't reuse their names, unlike those freaks in the Middle Ages."

I had a plan in mind to honor Statler and Waldorf, but I couldn't put it into action while we waited for our little ones to break free from their eggs. I hugged Tuft tight and kissed his temple. "We'll find new names for these babies. A fresh start."

Except I had no fucking idea what to name our babies. I'd been happy to reuse the names he gave his previous children because I didn't have a name picked out for my own. I'd come up with Aster, thanks to word association from my favorite movie growing up. You know, the one about a king who came to New York City and stayed at the Waldorf Astoria? I'd always wished my real father was an African king waiting to take me home, but the truth was so much better.

I opened my mouth to suggest we name the babies Akeem, Semmi, and … Clarence? Cleo? Definitely not Daryl …

Tuft's gaze caught on the open closet door, and his smile lit the room once more. "I've got it."

Little did I know, his gaze had caught on his sparkling ties, bowties, and scarves marking where my side of the closet ended and his began, and just in time.

Our first little one broke through their shell, and Tuft carefully collected the tiny piece, placing it in a cardboard box that had once held vacuum-packed pillows.

"I want to make a collage from the pieces," he mumbled.

I should have known from the sheer number of colorful collectibles, wearables, and art Tuft had scattered around his tiny room in the omega wing, now displayed on the walls of our home, that he had an artistic soul. I hugged him even tighter and kissed his cheek. "Do whatever you want with them. We'll hang it in the living room so everyone can enjoy it."

He glanced up at me with more tears hovering at the corners of his eyes. This time, I knew they were happy tears before he melded his mouth to mine and kissed me breathless.

Another crack returned our attention to the eggs. I could see a nostril through the tiny hole, and then they smacked through the shell again, making a hole the size of their snout.

As the pieces fell to the bed, Tuft scooped them up and added them to the box, but he did nothing to help our little one escape.Baby kobolds needed to find their own way out of their shells. Superstition dictated a kobold who didn't find their way out of their shell would be forever lost in life, and that wasn't the fate we wanted for our children.

Another egg shivered with its first crack as the shell of the first broke again, this time giving the little kobold room to try to wiggle free, knocking their egg over on its side. They had a bright shock of vibrant pink hair. "Alpha."

"I'm thinking … Windsor," Tuft said.

"Like the British royals?"

"Like the knot."

I laughed. "An alpha named after a knot?"

"Right …" Tuft's cheeks tinged pink. "I did not think this through."

I kissed his forehead and the tip of his snout. "It's adorable. I love it. Windsor, it is."

Windsor continued to shimmy out of his shell, and then he stared up at us with wide golden eyes.

"Hi, Windsor!" Tuft offered his hand. Windsor sniffed, tentatively tested his strength with his own tiny arm, and then scampered up to sit on Tuft's shoulder. From there, he sniffed our faces, licked us both, and then settled in on my shoulder to watch his siblings break free.

I knew our children would be mobile from birth, but his speed astounded me. "Food," I said. "They're going to need food."

"We have plenty." Tuft pulled a box of graham crackers from under the bed, and I laughed out loud. I didn't know he'd stored them there.

"Cracker?" He held one up to Windsor, who took one sniff and reached for it with both arms, almost toppling from my shoulder until his tail gripped my neck.

"Here." I carefully unwrapped his tail, which was tighter than I cared to admit, and lowered him to my lap to eat his cracker. I'd expected a mess, at the very least, but he daintily ate at one corner until he could shove the whole thing in his mouth. How he knew to do that without watching us eat first was beyond me.

I frowned at Tuft. "He eats crackers the same way you do."

The skin above Tuft's neck scales reddened, and he shrugged. "Osmosis?"

I kissed his cheek. "Whatever it is, it's cute, sugar."

So was our second little one. A thick snout and a dark shock of hair met us next. "Omega," Tuft confirmed.

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