Ben Wilson’s eyes snapped open, a dull ache throbbing through his entire body as if he’d been hit by a freight train—or maybe a dragon. The first thing he noticed was the splintered wreckage beneath him. His bed, a trusty twin frame that had survived his awkward teenage years, was reduced to kindling, the mattress sagging pitifully into the debris. He blinked, disoriented, and tried to sit up, only to feel an unfamiliar weight on his back. A low, guttural grunt escaped him as he glanced over his shoulder—and froze.
Four massive, obsidian-black wings sprouted from his shoulder blades, their leathery expanse folded awkwardly against his bedroom walls, knocking over a shelf of old comic books in the process. “What the actual hell?” he muttered, his voice deeper, rougher, like gravel had been poured into his vocal cords overnight.
He staggered to his feet, the floorboards creaking under a weight he didn’t recognize as his own. His gaze dropped to his body, and his jaw hit the floor. Gone was the scrawny, 18-year-old nerd who could barely lift a textbook without wheezing. In his place stood a hulking, muscle-bound beast of a man, his chest broad enough to bench press a car, his arms corded with sinew that looked like it could snap steel. And then… his eyes drifted lower, and he nearly choked. His boxers—already stretched to their limit—barely contained a package that could only be described as… draconic.
“Oh, come on,” he groaned, running a hand through his messy brown hair, which now seemed to shimmer with an unnatural sheen. “This is *not* what I signed up for.”
But then, the memories of last night crashed into him like a tidal wave. The Robinson sisters. Simone, with her piercing violet eyes and a smirk that could melt steel. Jasmine, whose blood he’d drunk in some wild, primal ritual after she’d sliced her palm and offered it to him with a sultry, commanding purr. And Zuir, the youngest, whose sharp tongue and wicked grin had teased him mercilessly as the Night Wind Tribe—dragon royalty, no less—chose *him*, Ben freaking Wilson, as their leader. Their mate. Their… everything.
He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of lust and confusion. “I’m either dreaming, or I’m in way over my head,” he muttered, stumbling toward his closet. His old T-shirts and jeans looked like doll clothes compared to his new frame. He tugged at a shirt, only to hear the fabric rip apart like wet paper. “Great. Just great.”
With a sigh, he wrapped a bedsheet around his waist like some kind of makeshift toga, careful not to let his wings tear through it, and shuffled downstairs. The smell of bacon and coffee wafted from the kitchen, grounding him for a fleeting moment in the normalcy of his family home. But normalcy was about to take a nosedive.
“Morning, hon—oh my *God*!” His mom, Stephanie, dropped the spatula she’d been wielding over the stove, her eyes wide as saucers as she took in her son’s transformed state. Her auburn hair was still in curlers, and her apron read “World’s Okayest Cook,” but the shock on her face was anything but okay. “Ben? Is that… is that *you*?”
“Uh, yeah, Mom. Surprise?” Ben scratched the back of his neck, wincing as one of his wings twitched and knocked a framed photo off the wall. “Sorry about that.”
His dad, Tim, poked his head out from behind the morning newspaper at the kitchen table, his glasses sliding down his nose as he gawked. “Holy hell, kid. Did you join a bodybuilding cult overnight? And what’s with the… uh…” He gestured vaguely at the wings. “Halloween costume?”
“It’s not a costume, Dad,” Ben sighed, slumping into a chair that groaned under his weight. “I don’t know how to explain this without sounding insane, but I think I’m… part dragon now? Or something? It’s complicated.”
Stephanie crossed her arms, her shock morphing into a mix of maternal concern and exasperation. “Benjamin Wilson, you better start talking. Did you get into drugs? Some kind of weird protein shake? Because I swear, if this is one of those internet challenges—”
“No, Mom, it’s not drugs!” Ben cut in, his cheeks flushing. “It’s… uh… girls. Sort of. Dragon girls. Really hot, really intense dragon girls who… picked me for something big. Like, leader-of-their-tribe big.”
Tim lowered his newspaper completely, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Dragon girls, huh? Well, damn, son. I didn’t think you had it in you. Back in my day, I could barely get a date to prom, and here you are, pulling mythical creatures. Proud of ya.”
“Tim!” Stephanie snapped, swatting him with a dish towel. “This is serious! Look at him! He’s got *wings*! And he’s… well, let’s just say he’s not fitting into his skinny jeans anymore.”
Ben buried his face in his hands, wishing he could disappear. “Can we not talk about my jeans right now? Or… anything below the waist? I just need clothes. Something that fits. Please.”
Tim chuckled, standing up and clapping Ben on the shoulder—a gesture that nearly sent him toppling over from the unexpected strength. “Alright, alright. I’ve got some old work overalls in the garage. They’re a bit baggy, but they’ll do until we can hit the store after school. Gotta say, though, kid, you’re looking like you could bench press the house. Maybe don’t break anything else, yeah?”
“Thanks, Dad,” Ben mumbled, following him to the garage while Stephanie muttered under her breath about needing to call a priest or a therapist—or both.
The overalls were a ridiculous fit, the straps barely containing his broad shoulders, but they covered the essentials. Barely. His wings, however, refused to cooperate, tearing small holes in the back as he tried to fold them down. “This is gonna be a long day,” he grumbled, catching his reflection in a dusty garage mirror. He looked like a cross between a bodybuilder and a gothic angel, if that angel had just rolled out of bed after a bender.
Back in the kitchen, Stephanie handed him a plate of bacon and eggs, her expression softening. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Ben, but we’ve got your back. Just… try not to scare anyone at school, okay? And if these ‘dragon girls’ show up, I want to meet them. I’ve got questions. And a rolling pin.”
Ben forced a smile, shoveling food into his mouth with a hunger he didn’t recognize. “Deal, Mom. But trust me, you don’t want to mess with these girls. They’re… intense.”
“Intense how?” Tim asked, leaning forward with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Like, ‘steal your lunch money’ intense, or ‘steal your heart and maybe your soul’ intense?”
Ben nearly choked on his bacon. “Uh, the second one. Definitely the second one. Let’s just say they don’t take no for an answer.”
Tim let out a low whistle. “Sounds like my kind of women. You sure you’re up for this, champ?”
“I don’t have a choice,” Ben admitted, his mind flashing back to Jasmine’s sultry command as she’d pressed her bleeding palm to his lips, her voice a velvet blade: *“Drink, Ben. Claim your place. You’re ours now.”* And Simone’s smirk as she’d leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear: *“Don’t think for a second you’re in control, little leader. We’ll break you in.”* And Zuir, laughing as she’d flicked his chest with a clawed finger: *“Better grow into those wings fast, nerd. We play rough.”*
He shook himself out of the memory, heat creeping up his neck. “I’ve gotta get to school. Figure this out. Or at least not accidentally crush a desk.”
Stephanie nodded, still looking like she was two seconds from grounding him for life. “Be careful, Ben. And no flying. Or breathing fire. Or whatever it is dragons do. We’re not insured for that.”
As Ben grabbed his backpack—now comically small against his frame—and headed for the door, his mind buzzed with a chaotic mix of dread and excitement. He was a dragon leader now, bound to three fierce, controlling sisters who’d turned his world upside down in a single night. The power coursing through him was undeniable, but so was the weight of their expectations—and their desires.
“Day one of being a badass,” he muttered to himself, stepping into the morning light, his wings twitching behind him. “Let’s not screw this up.”
Little did he know, the Robinson sisters were already waiting for him at school, their sharp eyes and sharper tongues ready to test just how much of a leader he could be.
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