Page 29 of Dragons' Future

“I can shift and carry everyone up,” Cyril continues, ignoring his father. His attention fixed on the ceiling, his gaze measuring. “We’ll need to punch out the skylight glass. Ettienne will go through first, then Kit can hand up the eggs.” He nods to himself. “It will be a trick for me to shift back and go through the opening without falling, but it’s doable.”

“The chamber is too small,” Ettienne says. “The stones will break your wings at first shift. You can’t fly up with broken wings, much less do it while carrying something.”

“You’ll be amazed what I can do with broken limbs,” Cyril answers cooly. “It’s our only option at this point.”

My heart shatters a little, but I can’t let myself grieve Cyril’s past just now. “Alright. So that’s the plan. We need to get the eggs out of the crate first though.”

“Unpacking is a waste of time.” Shouldering past Cyril, Ettienne grips the crate with both hands—only to pull away with a curse, his hands blistering. “Alright. We need to get the eggs out first.”

I grab one of Cyril’s daggers and aim at the largest of the protection runes branded into the crate’s dark surface. Two interlocking circles. Just like the ones Quinton had sliced open on my forearm. With a quick motion, I run the blade through the locking mark.

An explosion of magic knocks me clear across the room at once, my head smashing into a flower bed that topples dirt and petals around me. I grunt from the impact and push myself up to my feet just as Cyril reaches me.

"I’m fine.” I wince as he touches a lump forming on the back of my head. “Well, at least something happened."

I walk back to the crate, my heart speeding as I see a dark swath of smooth wood where the rune used to be. “More than something.”

I brush my hand over the surface, feeling only the strange coolness of ancient wood. No stinging wards. A tentative torrent of hope and happiness trickles toward me from the eggs.

I pick up the dagger I dropped. “We just need to cut through a few more of the marks and then we can break through.”

“I’ll do it.” Cyril plucks the weapon from my hand and makes the cut.

The explosion of magic comes again, only this time Cyril and the knife are thrown across the room with nothing to show for it. Cyril tries again with the same result, then Ettienne. Nothing. The males can’t even touch the bit of wood that’s already clear of the runes.

“Kitterny is the only one who can touch the crate,” Ettienne says, pulling himself up to his feet after another unsuccessful attempt to neutralize the runes. His back is straight, his chin lifted as always, but there is a tightness around his eyes. Like he doesn’t like what he is saying. “Just as she is the only one who can hear their song.”

Cyril opens his mouth to argue but I shake my head. “He’s right,” I say softly and splay my palm on Cyril’s broad chest. “It has to be me. I’m the only one who can get them out.”

Cyril reluctantly hands over the dagger. I grip it tightly, take a breath, then carefully align it with the next rune and brace myself to make the incision.

“Wait.” Coming up behind me, Cyril braces my body with his own, his hands gripping me just over the shoulder blades. “I am right here, nymph,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m with you.”

I nod and make the cut. The moment the blade touches the wood, a jolt of energy surges through me, like lightning striking directly into my core. Searing pain shoots up my arm, a thousand knives ripping through my flesh. I’m shoved back into Cyril, my breaths labored and ragged as an involuntary whimper escapes my lips.

“You are doing good.” Cyril presses his thumb into my back muscles, rubbing small soothing circles. “One more.”

“It’s not one more,” I snarl through gritted teeth as I reclaim my stance in preparation to take on the next mark.

“No, but it’s one more at a time.”

I make the cut, my body convulsing from the ripping magic that comes with it. The next. The next. With each new rune I sever now, the crate creaks and groans, a sound akin to the breaking of ancient chains. The eggs inside pulse with a growing urgency, their heartbeats growing louder in my head, their fear and excitement more potent the closer they get to freedom.

Another slice. Another groan of protest from the thinning magic barrier that’s standing between us. Another crescendo of pain that gets more intense with each attack.

“Breathe.” Cyril orders and wipes something warm trickling from my nose down my cheek. Blood. “Breathe, and feel us all with you. The whole pack. Let us share the pain.”

I do as he commands, shifting my focus to the bond with an effort of will. My muscles are tense, my breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Letting Cyril support all my weight, I find that center, which I’d somehow forgotten was there. Lean into it.

The warm comfort of the mating bond surges through me, a set of woven strings each carrying the essence of my males. There is strength that tastes of Quinton, and gentle teasing wrapped with Hauck’s earthy scent, and a fire-filled assurance in my victory that glows with Tavias’s essence. Wherever my mates are now, they know something is happening. And they are here to help me through it.

“We have you,” Cyril says again. “And you have this. Now finish it.”

I do. Working non-stop until I make the final cut and the entire crate collapses to the floor in a pile of strangely shaped planks of wood. There are no nails. Nothing to suggest the pieces had ever been held together. Not that I spend too much time looking. Reaching in, I wrap my hands around a warm iridescent egg the size of a large watermelon, which slides into my arms and my soul all at the same time.

“Hello there,” I say, I feel the hatchling’s heartbeat echoing through the warm shell. Its need and love flood me, making everything else in the world feel small in comparison. I channel the sensations into the bond I share with my mates. For a few heartbeats, all I feel is silence in return. And then, then there is a response. Joy and laughter and protectiveness and sheer terror—the latter tasting distinctly of Quinton.

The egg in my arms jumps suddenly, as if a cat living inside it has awoken.

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