Page 66 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
In the fading light, I silently pray to Tamara, the goddess of healers and mercy, my lips moving in a fervent plea. I beg her to return Abraxis to me, to spare his life and give us more time together. Exhaustion overwhelms me, a heavy weight that settles in my bones, and sleep finally drapes its heavy veil over my eyes, as relentless as my determination to keep him alive. As I drift off, I cling to the hope that tomorrow will bring a new dawn, a chance for a future with the man I love by my side.
I feelthe warmth of someone’s embrace, a steady, comforting weight against me. I long for five more minutes in this cocoon of safety, the desire to linger in this moment almost overwhelming. Yet when I next stir, my eyes fluttering open, I find myself alone, the space beside me cold and empty. Ziggy must have slipped me out of Abraxis’s hospital bed, his touch gentle and careful. As I scan the room, blinking away the lingering haze of sleep. I notice he hasn’t shifted me in the least—and Abraxis is nowhere to be seen, his absence a sharp ache in my chest. I reach for his tether, my fingers closing around the coarse texture, the sensation stronger and more reassuring than anything I’ve felt in days. Following it through the dim corridor, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic and the faint, metallic tang of blood. I make my way into the sitting room, my footsteps muffled on the plush carpet.
Finally, I see him: Abraxis sits propped up in a worn recliner, a rumpled blanket draped over his lap, the fabric soft and worn. My eyes sting with unshed tears, and my bottom lip trembles as I gaze at him. I drink in the sight of his face, the planes, and angles so achingly familiar.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs weakly, his voice rough and low, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. I rush to him, my heart pounding in time with the quiet thrum of the room.
I scour his features for any sign of harm, my eyes roving over every inch of his face, searching for the slightest sign of pain or discomfort. Tears silently stream down my cheeks, the hot, salty trails a testament to the depth of my relief and the lingering fear that still grips my heart.
“How?” I whisper. My voice catching, the word sticking in my throat as my eyes land on Klauth. Who now wears a knowing smile, the expression both comforting and unsettling.
“It’s the cost of benefaction,” he explains in a low, measured tone, his voice a soothing rumble in the stillness of the room. “It isn’t done lightly—it means trading years, a debt paid in time. I convinced several dragons to give years to Abraxis. Each one made that choice willingly.” His hand shakes Abraxis’s briefly, the contact brief but meaningful, before he fixes his gaze on me, his eyes intense and piercing.
“Usually an elder surrenders their life so that the younger dragon can live,” he continues, his words heavy with the weight of centuries. The knowledge of countless sacrifices made in the name of love and loyalty. His eyes move from Abraxis then back to me, the depth of his understanding evident in his gaze.
“You’re the eldest of the den,” I murmur, my voice barely audible, the words a whisper.
“It would be counterproductive to surrender my life,” he replies, his eyes drifting over our extended family gathered in the room. Their faces etched with both relief and sorrow, the air thick with the mingled scents of sweat and tears. “We’d be no better off, and you’d still be short a mate. So I asked several dragons to lend their years to Abraxis. Each was a personal decision made in honor of what we’re fighting for.”
“Now, Grumpy just needs to rest and finish healing,” Ziggy says with a gentle smile, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. “Glad to have you back, Brax...” Murmurs of agreement ripple through our family as a few approaches, offering soft words and light handshakes for Abraxis.
When the visitors finally leave, the room falling silent once more. I inhale deeply, steadying my nerves, the scent of Abraxis filling my lungs, a reminder of his precious life. “Did we win?” he asks, his voice fragile, the words a tentative hope in the stillness. My jaw drops as I take in his weary eyes, the sight a reflection of the toll this battle has taken on us all.
“Yes,” Klauth declares with a smirk, his voice firm and unwavering. “You dismantled most of their forces. While you slept, Mina and I handled the cleanup.” He reaches into his jacket, the fabric rustling softly, and withdraws a leather box. The surface is smooth and cool to the touch. Opening it reveals three medals, each gleaming dully in the low light. The metal is warm against my skin as I reach out to touch them. “I promote you to supreme general of the Aurelian Isles. You will lead from the war room, making every major decision on both defense and offense. Eight legions will answer to you. None, but I outrank you on this continent.” Vox gasps at the honor now given upon his only son, the sound sharp and surprised in the quiet of the room.
“There’s also the Crimson Heart,” Klauth continues, his voice softening with respect, the words heavy with the weight of sacrifice. “For your valor and sacrifice on the field—you knew the odds of survival were low, yet you went anyway to save lives. And you receive the Seal of Thauglor. You are now recognized as the most formidable black dragon on the continent.”
“Wait—a medal named after Thauglor?” I ask, glancing from the black talon medallion to Klauth’s steady gaze, my brow furrowed in confusion.
“Apparently, Blackhaven has produced some of the most formidable warriors our kind has ever seen,” he explains, his voice rich with history and pride. “Thauglor once held the title that Abraxis now bears.” With that, he shakes Abraxis’s hand once more. The contact is firm and meaningful before departing, his footsteps fading into the distance.
Vox and Cerce exchange their farewells, their voices soft and emotional, leaving Abraxis and me alone, the silence heavy with unspoken words. “Are they all truly gone?” he sighs, looking up at me as I settle beside him on the worn arm of the couch, the fabric rough beneath my fingers.
“Not a single wyvern survived. Even the drow who fired the bolts have perished,” I reply softly, my eyes drifting to the mug of bone broth clutched in his hand. Its steam mingling with the cool air, the scent rich and nourishing.
“Who else got hit?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. I hesitate before slowly standing to remove my sweatshirt, the fabric soft and warm against my skin. Balor moves closer, his presence a silent comfort. He carefully unwraps the ace wrap from around my bruised stomach and ribs, the fabric smelling faintly of antiseptic and worn leather, the scent sharp and familiar.
“It looks worse than it is,” I assure him, closing my eyes as I lean into Abraxis’s touch, his fingers gentle and soothing against my skin. “The doctors say not even a rib is cracked.” My scales were marred bysplinters from the bolts—extracted by Klauth’s dragon—have somehow repelled the worst of it. The damage was minimal compared to what could have been. Guilt wells inside me, a hot, bitter knot in the pit of my stomach, as I realize I escaped nearly unscathed. While we still wonder if Abraxis can fly. The uncertainty is a heavy weight on my heart.
“You need to take care of yourself, Mina,” he says, sadness etched in every word. The sound is like a knife twisting in my gut. “You matter more than I do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I counter, my voice trembling with both pain and determination as Balor re-wraps my side, the fabric tight and secure against my skin. “No one’s life is more important than another.” The mingled scents of sweat, leather, and the faint, bitter tang of blood remind me of the cost of every sacrifice.
I climb onto the recliner’s arm carefully, mindful of Abraxis’s injuries, and curl around him, drawing him close, my body molding to his. “I saw you get shot down,” I murmur, the memories searing into my mind, the images vivid and painful. “I watched you fall from the sky—there was no sound, just a sudden burst of red, the color stark against the blue.” My hand finds his, our fingers intertwining, and the contact sends a familiar shiver through me, a reminder of the bond we share.
“It felt like a piece of my heart was torn away and hurled over a cliff,” I confess, my voice raw with emotion. The words are a confession of the depth of my love and the agony of nearly losing him.
“Mina didn’t leave your side unless she went to the bathroom,” Vaughn recalls softly, his tone both teasing and tender. I sigh and run my fingers through Abraxis’s tangled hair, each strand a reminder of the fragility of our existence, the preciousness of every moment we have together.
I watch him intently, every shallow breath and slight twitch of his features etched into my memory, the sight a reminder of how close I came to losing him forever. The past week has been torture—every nerve on edge, every moment a battle against the encroaching darkness. All our petty squabbles vanish now. The past conflicts and disagreements fading into insignificance in the face of what we’ve been through. I nearly lost my mate because he felt compelled to prove himself. The weight of his own expectations and the need to protect us driving him to risk everything.
I vow to do better, to be the mate he deserves, the partner he needs by his side. I will make sure every mate feels as deeply cherished as the next. Each mate is a vital piece of the tapestry that is our love, our bond unbreakable and eternal. Once Abraxis is healed, I have plans—plans that will bind us closer, that each of my mates will treasure for the rest of their lives, memories to hold close in the darkest of times.
For now, I am simply grateful that Abraxis is alive, his heart beating steadily beneath my palm, his breath warm against my skin. He may be as grumpy as he wants, his mood a reflection of the pain and trauma he’s endured. But as long as he draws breath. I have hope—hope for a future together, hope for a love that will endure through the ages.
CHAPTER 37
Zigmander
