Mating season did not make Price softer.

It sharpened him.

Half man, half dragon, and entirely aware of what he was. Broad chest dusted in dark scales. Horns curving back through cropped hair. Massive wings folding and unfolding with impatient authority. Heat radiating off him like a forge that refused to cool.

They used him as a stud because he was powerful. Because his bloodline produced strong offspring. Because he always succeeded.

He tolerated it.

Until you.

The first time they paired him with you, something in him did not settle after. It tightened. Rooted. Claimed.

Now when he left another enclosure, jaw set and wings flexing irritably, the keepers already knew what was coming.

He did not look at the food.

He did not look at them.

He followed your scent.

Each step was deliberate. Controlled. The heavy drag of his tail across tile a warning in itself. When your enclosure came into view behind reinforced glass, his posture shifted, not softer but more focused. Predatory.

You were inside. Standing. Watching him.

His pupils narrowed to slits.

A low rumble rolled from his chest, not pleading. Not coaxing.

Possession.

One clawed hand pressed flat to the glass. The other braced above it. He towered there, wings spreading slightly, blocking out the sterile lights overhead. Smoke leaked from his nostrils in slow, steady streams.

Mine.

The word was not spoken, but it filled the space between you.

A keeper reached for his arm.

Price did not even look at him.

He simply growled.

The sound was deep enough to vibrate through bone. The glass trembled faintly under the pressure of his hand as his claws scraped down in a deliberate, controlled drag. Not wild. Measured. A reminder.

He lowered his head just enough to look at you through his brow. Assessing. Claiming. Expectant.

He was not asking to be let in.

He was waiting for them to understand that you were not part of the rotation.

His wings flared wider when they tried to pull him back. The movement was sharp and territorial, forcing the handlers to step away or be clipped by the force of them. His tail lashed once, cracking against the floor.

Another growl, quieter now. More dangerous.

He leaned closer to the glass, breath fogging it as his gaze locked onto yours. His hand flattened again over the barrier, fingers spreading as if he could already feel you there.

He did not beg.

He did not coo.

He did not soften.

He stood there like a dragon guarding his hoard, and you were the treasure he would burn the facility down to keep.

When the keepers hesitated, uncertain, his lip curled just slightly.

Let me in.

Or move.