Page 78 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
“If they didn’t love me as much as I love them, I would never hear their shifts. So hearing them brings me joy.” I step into Klauth’s embrace and press the bridge of my nose under his jaw, purring just for him, inhaling his unique scent of smoke and cinnamon.
He bands his arms tightly around me and holds me flush to his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady against my cheek. “Don’t take unnecessary risks, mate. I love you too much to lose you,” Klauth’s deep voice rumbles, the vibration traveling from his chest to mine. It’s the first time he’s been this open with his feelings in front of the others. The vulnerability in his usually guarded tone makes my throat tighten with emotion.
I pull back and look into his eyes as they shift to his dragon’s; the pupils elongating into slits; the amber darkening to burnt gold as the crimson burns bright. “I love you too. I’ll see you soon.” Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss his lips, tasting a hint of the coffee he drank earlier. Then pull away to move to Abraxis, the floorboards creaking under my feet.
My eyes search his face, taking in every detail, from the small scar above his left eyebrow to the faint stubble darkening his jaw. I see his bottom lip tremble slightly, a crack in his carefully constructed facade. “You are my first greatest love. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t care if you can raze the countryside or have to direct the assault from a desk.” My hands frame his face, the skin warm beneath my palms, forcing him to look at me. “I love you because you are a good male. You have always placed my wants and desires before your own.” Drawing in a deep breath, the scent of him—leather and sandalwood—filling my lungs. I take a step back out of his reach and drop to my knees before him, and lower my head in complete submission. The hard floor presses against my knees, the discomfort a welcome distraction from the fear churning in my stomach. My hands go behind my back, and I take my left wrist into my right hand. I am finally honoring my mate the way I should havefrom the beginning. The posture is both foreign and familiar to my body.
I hear Klauth gasp, seeing what I have done, the sharp intake of breath cutting through the silent room. “Don’t just stand there—you have the most powerful dragoness at your feet in complete submission. Either accept it or don’t, and sever the bond,” Klauth says, and Abraxis moves closer, his shadow falling over me. I see his shoes before me, the worn leather scuffed and battle-scarred like its owner. His hand slips under my chin, the calloused fingers gentle against my skin, and I rise at his urging. He crushes his lips to mine, and I can finally breathe, the tight band around my chest loosening. His mouth tastes of mint and promises, familiar yet exciting. Something settles deep within me, a puzzle piece clicking into place. The need to fight is gone, replaced by a sense of rightness that floods my veins.
When Abraxis releases me, his breathing ragged and warm against my cheek, he offers me to Balor. I hesitate for a moment, glancing back to Klauth, then Abraxis, before moving. The air feels thick between us, charged with emotion. I wrap my arms around Balor and hold on for dear life, my fingers digging into the solid muscle of his back. Stepping into his embrace is like coming home after a long day, his body radiating heat like a furnace. He tilts my head back, his fingers gentle on my chin, and kisses me softly, his lips tasting of the sweet wine he favors. When he pulls back, his eyes search mine, their depth containing galaxies of concern and devotion.
“I’ll see you soon,” he whispers, his breath warm against my lips.
Forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, I turn and walk away from my mates, each step heavier than the last. The sound of my boots on the floor marking my departure like a funeral dirge. The weight of their gazes on my back is almost physical, a pressure between my shoulder blades. I can only hope I live to see them again. The thought sends a chill down my spine despite the warmth of theroom. The wooden door handle is cool under my palm as I pull it open, the hinges groaning softly, as if protesting my departure.
Fin is waitingfor me downstairs several minutes early, his tall form silhouetted against the weak afternoon light filtering through the clouded windows. His leather armor creaks softly as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, betraying his nervousness despite his composed expression. I lightly touch his elbow, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath my fingertips, and walk past him, heading towards Malivore. The scent of weapon oil and metal clings to him, mingling with the faint aroma of fear that all prey animals recognize instinctively.
I want to talk to him, to get to know him in what little time he may have left, my throat tight with unspoken words. But something deep down stops me, a primal instinct that whispers caution. He knows what may happen to him, and he’s at peace with it. I can see it in the resolute set of his jaw, the calm acceptance in his eyes that looks too old for his face.
As we pass the Arcanum campus, the gravel crunching beneath our boots in a rhythmic cadence. I hear the distant call of a crow, harsh and grating against the unnatural silence that has fallen around us. The sound raises goosebumps along my arms despite the warmth of the day. Glancing to my right, I see Rebel landing on the ledge just under the roof, his ebony feathers gleaming like oil in the sunlight. At least he’s following me like he’s supposed to be. I draw a small measure of comfort from his presence, my heartbeat steadying slightly at the sight of him.
Once we’re clear of the campus, the scales on the back of my neck stand on edge, a tingling sensation that travels down my spine likeice water. The air around us feels charged, too still, as if the world is holding its breath. “Get ready...” I whisper to Fin to warn him, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. His nod is imperceptible, just a slight dip of his chin. I see his muscles tense beneath his armor, the leather tightening across his shoulders as he readies himself for what’s to come. The metallic taste of adrenaline floods my mouth, sharp and bitter.
Out of nowhere, three people charge us as we get closer to the southern dorms, their boots kicking up dust that catches in the sunlight like golden specks. Their faces are contorted with hatred, teeth bared in snarls that make them look more beast than human. The sound of their approach shatters the silence—heavy breathing, the clatter of weapons being drawn, a guttural battle cry that sends birds scattering from nearby trees. Fin draws his short swords in one fluid motion, the metallic ring of steel cutting through the air like a physical presence. An arch of crimson blood flies past my face, warm droplets spattering against my cheek like macabre raindrops, as he decapitates one of the attackers. The wet, meaty thud of the head hitting the ground turns my stomach. But there’s no time to react.
The first part of my vision has happened, the recognition flashing through my mind with crystal clarity, then pain blooms at the back of my head as I am struck from behind. The impact resonates through my skull like a bell being rung, white-hot agony spreading outward in pulsing waves. The coppery scent of my blood fills my nostrils as warm wetness trickles down my neck. My world tilts on axis, the ground, and sky trading places in a nauseating swirl of color and shadow. Fin’s shout sounds distant and distorted, as if I’m underwater. His face—a mask of horror and rage—is the last thing I see before everything goes black, darkness closing in from all sides like a smothering blanket.
The frigid,damp air seeps into my bones as I lie motionless on the hard ground, straining my ears to catch the faintest sounds around me. Distant whispers float through the air, their source obscured by the vast expanse separating us. Cautiously, I crack open the eye closest to the earth, surveying my surroundings through the narrowest slit. Recognition dawns as I take in the ancient burial grounds on the peninsula, the crumbling remains of Klauth’s castle looming in the distance.
I vaguely recall seeing this place marked on one of the countless maps my father painstakingly created of the campus grounds. Instinctively, I reach out with my mind, desperate to connect with Klauth, but my efforts are met with a chilling void. The silence in my head is deafening, the comforting presence of my mates’ bonds now eerily absent. Whatever has been done to me has severed our connection, leaving me isolated and vulnerable.
The crunch of approaching footsteps shatters the eerie calm, accompanied by the sound of voices growing louder with each passing second. “Time to check on our guest.” Lysander’s cruel tone slices through the air, sending icy tendrils of fear racing down my spine.
“What if the king finds out?” The second voice is all too familiar—Professor Kai Martz, the manticore science teacher.
Lysander’s laughter, cold and malicious, echoes off of the ancient stones. “He won’t. She’s going to have a choice. Accept me as a mate or die by my hands, which will kill the King. Or drive him mad, and the mages will imprison him again. This time, we’ll dump his egg in the ocean.”
As they draw nearer, I focus on remaining perfectly still, my breathing shallow and controlled. Playing dead was one of the firstlessons my father drilled into me, a skill I pray Lysander is unaware of.
“Make her stand.” Lysander’s hiss sends prickles of dread across my skin, my heart plummeting as the realization hits me.
Fuck... He knows.
CHAPTER 44
Leander
Impatience gnawsat my insides like a starving beast as we huddle in Callan’s dimly lit office. The air in Shadowcarve feels thick with tension and the musty scent of old leather-bound books. Shadows dance across the weathered faces of my companions as I inhale the lingering scent of aged paper and ink. Time seems to crawl, each tick of the antique clock on the wall an eternity, though my watch shows barely thirty minutes have passed.
“How will we know they took her?” I ask, my voice rougher than intended. My gaze shifts from Klauth’s rigid posture to Abraxis’s clenched jaw before settling on Balor’s crimson eyes. The icy knot in my stomach tightens as I notice the subtle shifts in their expressions—they feel it, too. The bond with Mina seems strongest in Balor; his pale skin almost translucent under the amber glow of the desk lamp.
“Rebel will come and tell us,” Abraxis replies, his voice low and strained, the words scraping past his throat like gravel.
As if summoned by his words, a rush of cool night air washes over us as Iris swoops through the open window. The soft rustle of her wings disturbs the silence before she lands with a thud on Callan’smahogany desk. My stomach turns as I see what’s clutched in her talons—Lemon’s severed head, its fur matted with dark, congealing blood. The metallic tang of it fills my nostrils as Iris deposits her grisly trophy on the polished surface. She prances about, head held high, wings partially unfurled in a display of predatory pride.
“You did a wonderful job, Iris. Excellent kill,” Klauth praises, his long fingers reaching for a piece of dried jerky from the glass container atop the desk. The container clinks against the wood as he removes the lid, the smell of preserved meat mingling with the coppery scent of blood.
Across from me, Ziggy’s face contorts in confusion, his brow furrowing as he eyes the gruesome remains. “Why did she kill Lemon?” The question hangs in the stale air between us.
