Chapter 5 - The Mark of the Dragon
Margaret slowly opened her eyes, her head pounding lightly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She sat up with a groan, rubbing her temples, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the night before. Her eyes widened as the pieces started falling into place—monsters, vampires… a man… Dante.
She gasped.
It hadn't been a dream. She remembered the chaos in that alley, the monstrous creatures she had always believed to be mere myths, and then Dante—calm and powerful—fighting them off like some kind of supernatural warrior. Then she remembered kissing him… no, throwing herself at him. Her cheeks flushed. And now… she was in a hotel bed, and—
She turned her head and saw him.
Dante, the mysterious young writer she had been trying to sign to her agency, was lying beside her, his chest rising and falling calmly in sleep. Her eyes darted downward, and she froze. She was completely naked.
In a panic, she jolted out of bed.
The sudden movement startled Dante, who blinked awake. When he saw her standing there in nothing but her panic, he smirked lazily. "Hey... I can explain everything," he said, his voice smooth and teasing. "But maybe you should get dressed first... unless you want me to drag you back to bed."
Margaret turned bright red and immediately yanked a sheet from the bed, wrapping it tightly around herself like a lifeline. "You're unbelievable," she muttered, flustered.
Dante chuckled. "Come on, sit down. I'll tell you everything. Just… don't try to run off. I mean it."
Margaret hesitated, then sat on the edge of the bed, her body tense. "Fine. Start talking."
He sat up, brushing his hair back casually. "Alright. First off, my name is Dante Swanso, and… I'm sixteen."
Margaret blinked. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
"…Sixteen?" she finally managed to whisper. "Oh my God, that's even worse. I slept with a teenager!"
Dante gave a half-shrug, a sly grin on his face. "I don't mind older women."
"Dante, this isn't funny. I could be arrested!"
Seeing her rising anxiety, Dante's smile faded. He leaned closer, gently resting a hand on her arm. "Hey, calm down. Breathe. Just listen for a second."
Margaret looked at him warily but nodded.
"Alright," he continued, more serious now. "First thing you need to understand… is that my age doesn't matter. Not really. Because I'm not exactly human."
She stared at him.
"…What?"
"You remember those guys in the alley? They said something about a baby wolf."
"Yeah," she said slowly.
"They thought I was a werewolf… because of my scent. But I'm not."
Margaret let out a breath of relief. "Oh thank God. Werewolves? That's too much."
Dante grinned. "Well… my mom is a werewolf. That's why they got confused."
Margaret stared at him in disbelief again. "Wait, so your mother is a werewolf?"
He nodded. "Yep."
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I need a minute."
Dante waited patiently while Margaret sat frozen for almost thirty minutes, staring at the floor in silence. Finally, she turned to him again.
"…Is there anything else I need to know?"
He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. One more thing. You remember I said I'm not human, right?"
"Yes…"
"I'm actually a dragon."
Margaret's eyes widened. "A dragon?! Like… fire-breathing, giant, scaly creature?"
"Exactly," Dante said, nodding. "And there's a catch that comes with that."
She tilted her head. "What kind of catch?"
Dante's eyes met hers, suddenly very serious. "Dragons are possessive of their treasure. It's part of our nature. And after what we did last night… you became my mate."
Her jaw dropped. "You're kidding me."
"I'm dead serious. And I can prove it," he said. "Get undressed. You should see a dragon claw mark somewhere on your body."
Margaret blinked. "Excuse me?!"
"Relax," he said quickly, holding up his hands. "It's just a mark. If you don't believe me, check for yourself."
Feeling both embarrassed and oddly curious, Margaret loosened the sheet and began scanning her skin. As she looked, Dante's mind drifted for a moment. He heard a familiar voice—Rob, the dimensional traveler who had helped him.
"Hey, Dante, it's Rob. Thought I'd give you a little gift. If you ever sleep with a woman you really care about, she'll get marked with your dragon claw. It'll act like a mate bond. And as long as you live, she'll share your immortality. You're welcome. - From your favorite Rob."
Returning to reality, Dante's gaze found Margaret again, who had gone pale.
"There it is," she murmured, pointing to a mark in the shape of a dragon claw etched faintly into the skin of her upper thigh. "What… does this mean?"
Dante looked away, trying not to let his dragon instincts take over. "It means you're mine. It's visible to all supernatural beings. You're protected, and I'll always know where you are. If you're ever in danger, I'll feel it."
"So… I'm basically your wife now?"
"Pretty much."
Margaret ran a hand through her hair, overwhelmed. "This is… a lot. I need time to process this."
"I understand," Dante said gently. "Take all the time you need."
They got dressed and prepared to leave the hotel. Dante, ever the gentleman now, hailed a taxi and rode with her in silence until they reached her apartment.
Before she stepped out, he caught her wrist gently. "If you're ever in danger… just think of me. I'll come for you."
She gave a small nod, lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Dante watched her walk up to her door, then teleported away—vanishing into the air like mist.
---