Page 12 of Purring for Her Lion
A dragon egg.
Rare. Powerful. Sought after.
And it imprinted on her land.
Which means one of two things.
One: The mother abandoned it. Unlikely. Dragons are fiercely protective.
Two: It was placed there. On purpose.
Either way, leaving it out is not an option.
I stand. My chair scrapes the floor. Liana jumps, clutching her basket tighter.
“Show me,” I say, already moving for my field kit.
“Now?” she squeaks. “But what is it? You know what it is, don’t you? You’ve got that look, like when you saw my chicken coop and were mentally calculating how many predators could get through it in ten seconds.”
I exhale. No point hiding it from her. “It’s a dragon egg.”
Liana malfunctions.
Mouth open. Closed. Open again. Eyes wide, comical. She makes a sound between a squeak and a gasp.
“Excuse me?” Her voice is pitched high. “Did you just say dragon? As in fire-breathing, village-destroying, princess-kidnapping dragon?”
I tilt my head, unable to hide the twitch at the corner of my mouth. “Dragons don’t kidnap princesses. That’s a human myth. And not all of them breathe fire.”
She stares, processing, like someone told her gravity is optional.
“So it’s…a real dragon? A real, actual dragon? That’s going to…hatch? Into a real, actual baby dragon?”
I nod, gathering supplies: specialized thermometer, incubation blankets, gloves, monitoring equipment. “If it’s viable. It needs proper incubation, or it won’t hatch.”
She blinks. “So… what you’re saying is…” She swallows. “I’m about to become a foster mother?”
I blink.
Gods.
She is ridiculous.
“Not if we take care of it properly,” I mutter, not sure what that means yet. I’ve only encountered two dragon eggs in my career—and never like this. “Depending on the species and condition, we might need to relocate it to a proper facility.”
I expect panic. Rejection. Most humans would run from this. Dragons are not domesticated. A hatchling is dangerous, unpredictable, destructive.
Instead, she exhales, slow and steady.
Then she puts her hands on her hips and gives me a look of pure, stubborn determination.
“Alright,” she says. “We hatch the dragon.”
I stare, caught off guard by her certainty. No fear. No hesitation. Just unwavering resolve, like she’s announcing we’re going to bake a tricky soufflé instead of raise a magical apex predator.
“It’s not that simple,” I tell her, slinging my kit over my shoulder. “Dragons are complex. Hatching requires constant monitoring, precise temperature, proper imprinting protocols. And once it hatches?—”
“We’ll figure it out,” she interrupts, confidence bordering on delusion. “You’re a vet for magical creatures. I’m… very enthusiastic and I learn fast. Between us, we’ve got this.”
