Page 6 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
‘Why do you bind yourself, mate? Are females not treasured these days?’Klauth’s question makes me pause, hanging upside down from a rafter. My hood and face mask clinging to my face, carrying the faint scent of sweat and dust.
I grit my teeth, the dark memories returning. ‘No. Females are bought and traded between families for alliances and political gain. The drake who sired me stole my mother to create the ultimate weapon.’Anger flares hot in my chest, matching the sting of fresh sweat on my brow. ‘I am the weapon he intended my betrothed to wield. Once married, females are collared and have no choice.’My mental snarl reverberates through our bond, and I share jagged flashes of what my life was like before Abraxis. The sickening taste of fear clings to the back of my tongue as I recall that “family” dinner in my father’s nest.
‘He will die at my talons, mate. I promise you this.’Klauth’s voice is laced with reverence, and I feel the first true strands of love weaving through our bond. It’s as warm as Abraxis’s presence—a steady, unwavering pillar of steel at my back.
I climb toward the third level, and a chill sluices through me. The atmosphere is different here—stifling and thick, as if something is watching from the shadows. Instead of climbing the rest of the way, I fish out a small mirrored dagger to peek around the lip of the floor. Torchlight glints off of dozens of trip wires crisscrossing at ankle, knee, and even ceiling level. The air is stale but tinged with a faint chemical odor. I grimace, testing each vantage point until I get a clear view.
‘Hmmm…’I dangle from the beam, my heart pounding in my chest.‘This level feels different from the last two. The layout is … too thorough.’
‘Whathas you puzzled, mate?’Klauth asks, the same gentle curiosity he showed when he was just an egg reaching me through the bond.
‘Trip wires on the floor, the walls, and up by the rafters. Let’s see what they do,’I whisper mentally. Gripping one of Abraxis’s daggers, I fling it downward, slicing through several wires at once. A series of black spikes hurtle out from hidden slots in the walls and slam into the opposite side, leaving deep gouges.
My pupils narrow as I examine the spike tips. ‘They’re oozing some kind of orange fluid…’
‘Likely a nerve toxin. Most are orange or yellow-orange, if I recall correctly,’Klauth informs me. There’s a proud edge to his tone, and I can’t help the soft purr that escapes my lips.
‘I feel like I just pleased my mate. You’re not the only poison master here,’he adds, amusement lacing his words.
I blow out a breath, refocusing on the mission. The black spikes appear to fire at hip-level, so I climb higher, letting my hardened scales shift beneath my leather armor. My chest, abdomen, and throat are well protected, but I make sure my arms and legs gain a defensive layer of scales, just in case. Tensing my muscles, I spring across the room with as much force as I can muster. My boots skid against the dusty floor, and I drop into a roll. The cacophony of spikes firing from all directions slams into the walls, the thunderous echo drumming in my ears like a raging storm.
I come to a stop, lying flat on my back, panting in quick gasps. The odor of burnt oil and cracked stone is overwhelming. Dozens of those black spike balls embed themselves in the stone, forming a wicked pattern behind me. I stare at them for a long, tense moment, listening for any more traps. By some twisted stroke of luck, none of them struck me. My muscles quiver from the close call, and I blow out a shaky breath.
I’m still alive.For now.
One more leveland I can call it a day. The gritty feel of the cold stone wall at my back reminds me there’s no margin for error. A stale draft drifts down the staircase, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and rotting fabric—decaying banners, maybe. Every breath tastes like dust. Tension rises through all of my mates, and I can’t afford to be distracted, so I stop moving entirely, holding my breath until the tightness in the air settles. Instead, Abraxis is nearly in a rage. I can sense his heated pulse thrumming through our bond—while Klauth is stone cold. That calm aura of his pressing in around me like a glacier. Both species of drakes usually have a hot temper, so it’s unexpected that the one most prone to going on a rampage is the calmer of the two.
Just as I climb the last few steps, Klauth yells through the bond, his voice crashing into my head like thunder. ‘Stop, mate. There are watch spiders on the top floor.’
A static prickle zips down my spine at the panic in Klauth’s tone. It doesn’t match the measured concern I feel from him through the bond, which only sharpens my awareness of the danger above.
‘If I remember, they were bred to have a paralyzing venom; the effect sets in after one to two minutes. Victims can see and hear but can’t move or speak, and eventually they die.’I recite the page in my mind from the guide we received in Callan’s art of war class. My heart thunders at the memory. It’s one thing to read about them, but another thing entirely to face them.
‘Correct. There are six of them on that upper floor. Their webs are super sensitive. Can you manifest enough lightning to destroy the webs?’Klauth asks, his words tinged with caution. Usually, it’s considered rude toask about the strength of another dragon’s breath weapon. You can ask the type, but never the potency.
‘It’s harder and more exhausting without Iris. But I can do it.’I inhale the stale, cobweb-laden air as I climb up and stop a foot from the opening, spotting the silken threads shimmering in the dim light. ‘The webs are by the entrance to the fourth floor. I’m going to burn them.’
‘Be careful, my treasure.’That single word—treasure—makes my chest tighten, sending a rush of heat through my veins. For a dragon to call someone their treasure means they hold them above even their own life. A tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it, warm and salty on my lips. Not even Abraxis has called me his treasure yet.
‘I’m sorry I upset you. I feel conflicting emotions,’Klauth offers quickly, his concern wrapping around me like a gentle cloak.
‘Tears of joy. I will bring you a fang from my kill.’Determination sharpens my senses. My dragoness roars in approval inside me, that raw power sizzling through my bloodstream.
I push my body as close as I can to a partial shift without breaking any rules. My bones vibrate under the strain, scales pricking at the tops of my forearms. Cupping my right hand, I let sparks of lightning jump between the tips of my talons. The faint crackle hums in my ears; the surrounding air thickens with the sharp tang of ozone, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. Lightning arcs wildly as I widen the space between my talons.
With a snap and a hiss, I reach out and set the webs on fire. The acrid smell of burning silk and tiny fibers hits my nostrils. Wisps of smoke coil upward, stinging my eyes.
I watch the fire race across the sticky strands, spreading through the entire room with a hungry crackle. High-pitched shrieks slice the silence, echoing from somewhere on the far side of the room and the adjoining hallway. My pulse pounds in my ears. As the flames clearnear the opening, I strike again, unleashing another spark to burn any remaining webbing.
Cautiously, I climb out onto the floor, drawing the two short swords from my back. My scales fuse across my hands and forearms, creating rough gauntlets that shift and clack softly with my every movement. Dust motes swirl in the smoky air. Silent as a wraith, I prowl forward, my eyes shifting to my dragon’s vision—everything in sharper focus, the corners of the room bathed in faintly pulsating shadows.
Six of those spiders are in here somewhere. The air seems thicker with their presence, each breath tinged with a mix of stale cobwebs and fear-sweat. I have two options: slip away unseen or wipe them out. A third option floats in my mind—kill only what I need to—more practical, less risky.
A tapping sound echoes around me, nails or legs scratching across the stone. My heart beats like a war drum. The glint of a cluster of eyes draws my attention. Without hesitation, I tuck one sword under my arm and pull a throwing knife. The cool metal in my fingers steadies me as I take aim. I let the blade fly, catching a spider dead in its glistening eye. A shriek reverberates, followed by the heavy thud of its body hitting the floor. The smell of spider ichor, a mix of brine and decaying leaves, wafts over as it spasms once, then goes still.
Its carcass lies in a corner thick with soot-stained webbing. I crouch beside it, blackened blades at the ready. Another spider scuttles into view, tapping its shorter front legs. Perhaps they rely on vibrations more than sight. My heart hammers as I draw another throwing knife and send it straight into the creature’s jaw. No scream this time—only a fleshy thunk and a final twitch.
I’m sorry, but I need these.I whisper inwardly, feeling a pang of guilt as I use my short sword to hack free both fangs of the spider I’m crouched behind. Its exoskeleton cracks under the blade, and the damp sound makes my stomach churn. I slip the fangs into thepouch on the lower back of my leathers, ignoring the dark fluid that seeps across my hands.
