Page 73 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
There’s so much to do and so little time to do it. The weight of responsibility settles heavily on my shoulders as I stand there, caught between duty and desire. The future is an uncertain path stretching out before me.
I stand in the kitchen,the low hum of evening settling around me like a comforting blanket. The air is filled with the rich aroma of herbs and simmering broth, a welcome distraction from the tangled web of worries that plague my mind. On the counter sits Thauglor’s egg, nestled in the rough, earthy clay holder I crafted during art class. Its presence is a tangible reminder of the life trapped within, a glimmer of hope amidst the gathering darkness.
Lost in thought, I barely notice when Vaughn and Leander arrive home, their footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floor. It’s only when Leander’s arms wrap around my waist, warm and solid against my skin, that I’m pulled from my thoughts. “Are you sure you don’t want me to cook, babe?” he asks, his voice low and filled with gentle concern.
I sigh, letting my eyes drift closed for a moment as I savor the comfort of his embrace. The steady beat of his heart resonates through me, easing the tempest in my mind. “I wanted to cook for everyone,” I murmur, a faint purr escaping my lips as I tilt my head back to rest against his shoulder.
“My poor mate,” Leander whispers, his breath warm against my temple. “I can tell your thoughts won’t leave you alone. The weight of the world is on your shoulders.” He presses a soft kiss to my skin, and I set the knife aside, melting into his arms.
“I’ll be okay, Lee, I promise. There’s just...so much going on, and with war games starting soon...” My words trail off, heavy with the burden of responsibility.
“You’re not fighting in the war games, remember? You can only lead from the outpost,” Callan’s voice echoes in my mind, a stark reminder of the limits placed upon us.
I spin within Leander’s embrace, my eyes scanning the faces of my gathered mates. The tension in the room is palpable, the air thick with the mingled scents of fear and anticipation. “But what’s the point of even going if I can’t participate? What if the war room is attacked? Am I not supposed to defend myself?”
Stepping away from Leander’s comforting hold, I pace the cool tile floor, each step punctuating the conflict raging within me. The clatter of pans fills the silence as Leander takes over the cooking, a quiet gesture of support.
“You know, and I know,” I say, halting mid-stride to lock eyes with the others, “the war games are the perfect time for one of my two villains to make their move.” The words hang heavy in the air, a dark possibility that sends a shiver down my spine.
“No, that would be too obvious,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Strategically speaking, they’d expect me to plan that way. At least, my father would.” My thoughts swirl, a dizzying dance of calculated risks and potential outcomes.
Abraxis’s voice cuts through the haze, low and cautious. “So, what do you want to do?” He flexes his wings, the left one moving in a way that makes my stomach clench with worry.
“I need to make clay dragon eggs,” I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips before I can stop them. I blink, startled by my declaration, realizing I’ve missed saying half of my own internal conversation.
“Can we back that up a step or two?” Vaughn’s deep voice interrupts my racing thoughts as he steps into view, shifting seamlessly into his gargoyle form. Before I can protest, he sweeps me up in his massive wings, and panic prickles through my veins.
“Let me out...” I push hard against the enclosure, stepping away with my heart hammering in my chest. I avoid meeting Abraxis’s gaze, knowing it would only serve to remind him of his injured wing.
Abraxis moves closer, pulling me gently to his side and wrapping his strong right wing around me. In his embrace, I find a calm that contrasts sharply with the chaos in my mind, like a balm to my frayed nerves. “Mate, what do you need clay dragon eggs for?” he asks, his voice a soothing rumble.
I nuzzle into the curve of his jaw, purring softly. “Bait for my father,” I confess. “When I lay my clutch next year, I need the clay eggs ready. I have to paint them to mimic the real ones.” Carefully, I nudge Abraxis’s wing aside just enough to see everyone clearly. “I want to dig a dummy nest further down the mountains, somewhere between here and Vox’s territory.”
Klauth’s voice cuts in, laced with skepticism and a hint of revulsion. “Okay, so a second nest for the clay eggs. But they won’t smell like dragon eggs.”
“They will,” I insist, my tone firm despite the quiver of uncertainty. “When I lay my real eggs, a viscous mucus is released. We’ll roll the clay eggs in that goo so they pick up the scent perfectly.” I arch an eyebrow, gauging my mates’ reactions in the flickering kitchen light.
Klauth shivers visibly, his scales catching the dim glow. “Accurate, but disgusting,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “It will scent the eggs as long as they don’t get wet. So, do I need to dig another nest for you?” His tone carries a teasing possessiveness as he steps closer. His hand reaches out to caress my cheek with a gentle yet insistent touch that sends shivers down my spine.
“Over the summer break,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I meet Klauth’s eyes, even as I remain cradled in Abraxis’s secure hold. The air feels heavy, the tension in the room tightening like a coiled spring.
Ziggy’s casual question breaks the silence. “When do you get abducted?”
“That’s not clear yet,” I admit slowly, feeling the weight of uncertainty settle in my gut. “It means Lysander hasn’t made a final decision. Or perhaps I haven’t made one yet.” I nestle deeper under Abraxis’s protective wing, my thoughts as turbulent as the shadows dancing on the walls.
Balor’s voice cuts through the stillness as he passes out drinks. “So, what are the options?”
I close my eyes, letting the possibilities wash over me. “Option one: play in the war games and stay at the outpost,” I murmur, but no spark of relief ignites within me. “Option two: don’t participate in the war games and remain on campus somewhere.” The moment the second option leaves my lips, it feels as if the wind is sucked out of me, leaving me trembling.
My mind fast-forwards through a bleak future. I see myself on campus, walking beside one of the assigned fourth years. A wide arc of crimson suddenly explodes into darkness. When vision returns, I am in a cold tunnel, against a rough stone wall, staring at a vast, empty room. The fourth year has vanished, leaving me drenched in his blood. The metallic scent of it clings to my skin, and the echo of my racing heartbeat fills the silence.
I blink, pulling myself out of the harrowing vision. I notice that my two dragon mates have seen everything, their eyes reflecting shock and concern. Panting, I steady my spinning head and cling tighter to Abraxis, careful not to pull him down.
Klauth’s voice breaks through the haze. “So if you avoid the war games, that is when you will be abducted?”
“I’m guessing so,” I admit, slipping away from Abraxis’s wing and beginning to pace the living room. Every step on the cold floor sends a jolt through me.
I turn to Abraxis, my gaze flickering to the bird perched over his shoulder. “How good is Rebel at spying on me?”
