Page 3 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
My gaze settles on the last painting I had hung on the far wall, the canvas catching a stray ray of morning sunlight. It’s a portrait—an image of four hatchlings gathered around my dragoness. Callan notices my gaze and quietly takes the painting down, bringing it over for me to see up close. The brushstrokes are slightly raised under my fingertips, the paint still faintly smelling of turpentine if I lean in close enough.
“I can’t wait until we’re safe and this becomes a reality,” I sigh, fingers tracing over the little shapes of wings and scales. A melancholy tug in my chest reminds me that safety is a luxury we don’t have yet.
Ziggy approaches with the single egg carrier cradled in his hands. The soft lining rustles as he opens it, the faint scent of fresh linen mixing with the familiar musk of dragon egg. Carefully, I slide Thauglor inside, and the egg’s warmth pulses through the fabric as I secure the carrier around me. I wrap my arms around it in a gentle hug, heart clenching at the prospect of what’s growing inside.
“Mind telling me whose hatchlings are in the image?” Klauth’s voice hums against my ear as he nuzzles my cheek, the shadow of his stubble brushing my skin.
“This one is yours,” I say, pointing to the reddish hatchling with greenish silver edges marking its scales. The paint glistens like real dragon hide in the morning light. “The one over here is Balor’s.” He raises his hand in acknowledgement as I point to the pitch-black hatchling with vivid green edges. The contrast is sharp, and the brushstrokes add depth to the darkness of its scales.
“This little one is Vaughn’s.” Abraxis tilts his head toward the gargoyle statue when I point to a slate-gray and green hatchling, almost camouflaged against its surroundings. “And this one is Abraxis’s hatchling,” I finish, my finger trailing to the final dragon. Its scales match his—a black as the voice that catches absorbs ray of light—framed by a thin band of brass around each edge. I can practically feel my dragoness stir at the sight, a reminder of the bond we share.
A deep purr rumbles in Klauth’s chest, vibrating against my side as he keeps one muscled arm around me while he eats. The savory aroma of sausage and fresh coffee hangs in the air. Warmth radiates from Klauth’s body, a comforting contrast to the cool stone floor beneath the stools.
“I educated our mate on how females used to birth their young,” Klauth says. His voice is low and measured as he takes a long sip of coffee, the mug clinking softly against his teeth before he looks at the others again. The steam rises in gentle curls.
“What do you mean, used to?” Abraxis asks, leaning on the counter. His posture is relaxed, but I see tension thrumming in his shoulders, the same undercurrent I sense whenever something challenges our world’s norms.
“Apparently females used to lay their eggs as their dragons. Like my mom did with me.” My voice softens by several octaves, my tone hushed, as my hand caresses the carrier holding Thauglor. The shell is smooth beneath my fingertips, the faint warmth it gives off calming my nerves. Thauglor sends a soft vibration through the egg that pulses into my hand—like a gentle hum singing straight to my heart.
Klauth chooses that moment to lean forward and press a hot, lingering kiss just under my ear. His breath tickles my skin, smelling of coffee and something smoky. “To watch you seek comfort from his egg makes me understand what you were doing when I was trapped,” he murmurs. “I felt every caress, heard every word, and clung to it. Your strength became mine, and mine yours.” He presses his lips to my temple, and I inhale his woodsy scent, letting it ground me. When he looks back at the others, his voice hardens a notch. “We never allowed our females to lay their eggs as humans. It’s far too dangerous for them. Why it’s allowed now is beyond me.” He grumbles before stabbing a piece of sausage, the tines scraping against the plate with a sharp clang.
Callan pulls a thick, leather-bound tome off a nearby shelf. Dust swirls in the overhead light as he places it on the counter and flips through pages that crackle with age. Finding what he’s looking for, he smooths a page and points. “Apparently, a thousand years ago, to prevent what happened to Syrax from happening again, dragonesses were banned from laying eggs. Their human form would have to bear the duty.”
“Who’s Syrax?” I ask, turning to look at Klauth. My voice echoes slightly off the vaulted ceiling.
“My betrothed,” Klauth says after a measured pause. “I destroyed several dens, half the countryside, and wiped out two nests in my rampage. We had four viable eggs.” He closes his eyes, drawing in a long, slow breath.
I can feel the ripple of tension in him, can practically taste the metallic tang of his suppressed fury in the air. His dragon moves under his skin, coiling and restless. Heart fluttering, I motion for the others to back up. Slowly, I turn in his lap and press my nose under his jaw, showing submissiveness. His skin is warm against the tip of my nose, and the scrape of his slight stubble grounds me.
“Help me dig a better nest for me to be safe in,” I whisper, letting my dragoness’s purr rumble up through my throat. “I will shift and remain as my dragoness when it’s time for me to bear eggs. History will not repeat itself.” My gaze flicks to Abraxis, silently pleading for him to hold back. The tension in the room crackles like a brewing storm. Even the overhead lights seem to hum with heightened energy. The last thing we need is for their drakes to fight. That is one fight Abraxis will not win.
“We will dig it as a nest,” Klauth says, voice still rough around the edges. “Unfortunately, some of what you have already done will be destroyed in the process. It is my duty and honor to dig you a nest worthy of the hatchlings you one day will bear.” He lifts my chin, his fingers calloused yet gentle, until our eyes meet. I nod, agreeing.
“Looks like I need to rearrange the date nights.” Callan sets the tome aside and strides over to a small dry-erase board on the wall. The marker squeaks as he flips the cap.
“Date nights?” Klauth tilts his head, curiosity replacing some of the tension.
“Each of us gets a night in the rotation to have Mina all to ourselves,” Leander explains, gesturing to the schedule scrawled across the board. I can smell the faint chemical scent of the erasable marker.
“By the looks of it, we have another pressing issue that needs to be handled after that,” Klauth says, his gaze landing on Vaughn’s stone form in the corner. Even through the low lighting, it’s impossible to ignore that statue-like pose.
“It’s on the list,” Balor replies, his attention shifting between the dry-erase board and Vaughn, whose stony silhouette looms ominously.
“What are we going to do about sleeping arrangements?” Ziggy pipes up, flexing his slender fingers. The black nail polish he sports gleams in the harsh overhead lighting. “We have one spare room, but when Thauglor hatches, Mina will be displaced.”
“I rarely sleep in my room anymore,” I admit, sliding off Klauth’s lap and moving to snuggle against Ziggy. The familiar scent of his leather jacket and spicy cologne eases some of my remaining tension. “Klauth can take my room. That gives us time to get the spare room in order for Thauglor.” My gaze shifts between Abraxis and Klauth. “You two are close in size. Maybe find something more modern for Klauth to wear, and I’ll go shopping for him later today. I’ll take measurements so I can get suitable clothing for him.”
“You don’t need to go through so much trouble for me, mate,” Klauth protests, his tone laced with genuine surprise. But I close the distance and place a finger to his lips, feeling the whisper of his exhaled breath.
“Allow me to do my duty of taking care of my mate. This is my nest. My mates…” I gesture broadly to all the males in the room, feeling their eyes on me. The overhead lights flicker slightly, as though acknowledging the gravity of my words. “It would please me greatly to do this for you.” I can almost sense his pride bristle, so I soften my voice.
“If it pleases you, then it pleases me as well,” he finally says, lowering his head in acceptance. A proud, powerful great wyrm bowing to me … The weight of that gesture hums in my veins.
“I have the bath drawn and fresh linens in the bathroom for you,” Ziggy says from the doorway, the warm glow of the bathroom light spilling out behind him. Steam drifts into the hall, carrying the clean scent of soap and crisp towels.
“Go get cleaned up. I have knives and other things to prepare for the gauntlets,” I say, pressing a quick kiss to Klauth’s cheek. His skin is hot to the touch, a reminder of just how capable he is of unleashing destruction if threatened.
“Gauntlets? There’s only supposed to be one. The entry to what will be Shadowcarve,” Klauth murmurs, sliding off the stool. He takes my hands in his. I feel the slight tremor still coursing through him, the echo of his dragon’s agitation.
