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    Dragon's First Christmas: Dragon Eggs, #3
    Dragon's First Christmas: Dragon Eggs, #3
    Dragon's First Christmas: Dragon Eggs, #3
    Ebook73 pages49 minutes

    Dragon's First Christmas: Dragon Eggs, #3

    By Emily Martha Sorensen

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    About this ebook

    Virgil didn't mean to sneeze and burn down the Christmas tree.  But it was hot, and bright, and pretty!

    His parents, Rose and Henry, are exasperated.  Raising a baby dragon is hard enough; now they have to worry about their safety.

    Can they solve this problem in time for Christmas?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEmily Martha Sorensen
    Release dateDec 22, 2016
    ISBN9781386465881
    Dragon's First Christmas: Dragon Eggs, #3

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      Book preview

      Dragon's First Christmas - Emily Martha Sorensen

      Chapter 1: Charred

      Ascaly head poked up under Rose’s toes, which were cold from hanging out of the blankets at the end of the bed.

      The tree was hot and bright.  Could he play with it?

      We’re not lighting the candles before Christmas Eve, Henry murmured from beside her.  Virgil, go back to sleep.

      The tree was hot and bright now.  Virgil had sneezed, and the tree was hot and bright.  Could he play with it?

      Rose’s eyes flew open.

      "You set it on fire?!" Henry shouted.

      It was hot and bright.  Virgil had made it pretty.  Could he —

      Both of them were already scrambling out of bed and moving.  Henry pounded down the hallway ahead of her, so Rose swerved into the bathroom to seize a towel and dunk it in the toilet.  Drenched towel in hand, she raced after him.

      The bottom of the Christmas tree was wreathed in flames.  Henry was beating it out with a cushion, without much success.  A spark caught the wick of a candle that had fallen askew from the beating, and fire licked up the branch it was perched on.

      Rose joined in with the wet towel.  Each time she thought she’d caught it all, another lick of flame curled up, and she had to beat back branch after branch after branch.

      At last, just as she was thinking the last sparks were finally gone, the charred tree fell over with a resounding crash.

      Henry waited, poised, blackened cushion in hand.

      Rose’s heart hammered as she held the soaked, soot-covered towel.

      I think it’s out, Henry said with relief.

      Virgil’s parents had been hitting the tree, and now it wasn’t pretty anymore.  Why was it on the floor?

      Henry spun around and glared at the little dragon who was moving down the hallway.

      Virgil was half-rolling, half-crawling, using his tail for balance, as he was wont to do.  His arms and legs were not yet strong enough to hold up his weight, but he still squirmed along at a rapid pace that any human two-month-old would envy.  Their baby crawl-rolled closer, seeming completely oblivious to the danger he had just put them in.

      The tree wasn’t pretty anymore.  Could he still play with it?

      You are not supposed to get out of bed without permission! Henry roared.  Do you understand?!

      Virgil’s tail whipped around his head, as if to hide him.

      Virgil’s father was angry.  Virgil was sad.  Virgil was very sad.  Virgil was going to scream.

      No! Rose said immediately, leaping to the little dragon.  She ran her hand along his head to comfort him.  No, Virgil.  No screaming.  Remember?

      Virgil was sad!  Virgil was very sad!  Virgil was feeling better.  The tree wasn’t pretty anymore.  Could he still play with it?

      Without a word, Henry spun around and stalked into the kitchen.  He came back with a broom and dustpan, which he used to start sweeping blackened needles and shattered ornaments off the carpet.  His arms moved fiercely.  Sweep.  Sweep.  Sweep.

      It was bizarre that Rose was the one left comforting the baby.  Usually Virgil preferred Henry, who was far more sympathetic and patient with him.

      There, there, Rose murmured, wondering if that would be at all sufficient.  What did Henry usually say to prevent tantrumming?

      Sometimes she felt like they were doing just fine raising Virgil.  Other times, the enormity of the task swept over her.  This was one of those times.  Here they were in 1920, millions of years after the rest of his species had gone extinct, two humans trying to care for a Deinonychus antirrhopus dragon baby.  Despite the fact that they were doing it, sometimes it seemed impossible, or even ludicrous.

      If they had been Deinonychus parents, they would have been far more equal to the task.  If Virgil had not been the first, at least they could have benefited from other human parents’ advice.  But no, they were the only ones who could figure out what Virgil needed.  And now — Rose’s heart pounded as she thought of the danger they had just been in — they did not even know how to protect themselves, much less him.

      She had thought that if more of the dragon eggs at the museum hatched, it would make their task easier.  After all, there would be other parents in their situation to swap ideas with.  But in some ways, the presence of Violet in the city only made things more difficult.  Because Violet . . .

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