Page 81 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
Balor coils up again, his massive form gathering potential energy like a spring, and strikes at Lysander. The sound of scale tearing from scale a horrific screech that sets my teeth on edge. The scent of reptilian blood fills the air, coppery and alien. I can almost shift my hands now, feeling the familiar burn as my talons begin to push through my fingertips. The sensation is both painful and welcome. My talons almost extend fully, the sharp points catching the dim light. Once they can, I’ll be able to cut my way free, the thought filling me with savage anticipation.
Balor’s basilisk keeps striking at Lysander’s smaller basilisk, the impact of scale against scale echoing through the cavernous space like thunder. His massive body moves with deadly precision until Lysander’s coils loosen enough that I can crawl free. My skin is scraped raw where the rough scales had pressed against me. Panting, I move off to the side to catch my breath, my lungs burning with each desperate inhale of the damp, musty air. The stone floor is cold beneath my palms and knees, gritty with dirt and age-old dust that clings to my sweat-slicked skin.
Something has shifted inside me—I can feel my mates again, each connection distinct and vibrant. The bond with Abraxis pulses cool and steady like a mountain stream, while Ziggy’s flutters with anxious energy. Whatever Lysander gave me is almost completely out of my system, the drug’s haze lifting from my mind like morning fog burning away. Klauth’s tether burns bright, a searing presence in my consciousness, and I feel a surge of power through it, hot and insistent. He’s trying to force my shift to save us, his desperation a tangible force through our connection. The next surge burns through me, even more powerful, and it’s not from Klauth but from Thauglor. He roars again. The sound is so powerful it rattles my teeth and vibrates through my bones. More dirt falls down into the catacombs, pattering on the stone floor like rain.
The first glimpse of his white maw peeks through the dirt above us, massive teeth gleaming like polished ivory in the dim light. My chest constricts, heart hammering against my ribs. “Balor!” I yell at the top of my lungs, my voice raw and cracking, just as my shift overtakes me. The transformation ripples through me—bones cracking and reforming, skin stretching to accommodate my larger form as my dragoness emerges. The pain is exquisite and familiar, a burning rush that consumes me from within before subsiding to a dull throb. I barely fit down here in the confined space, my wings pressed uncomfortably against my sides, scales scraping against the ancient stone.
I crawl to the area with the highest ceiling, talons gouging deep furrows into the floor, and it’s still not enough—I can’t stand up. My head brushes the ceiling, sending more dirt and small rocks showering down. The air is thick with dust, making my nostrils flare as I struggle not to sneeze. Balor strikes Lysander again, the wet sound of tearing flesh accompanying the ripping of a sizable chunk of scales off the smaller basilisk. Blood spatters across the floor, dark and viscous, filling the air with its metallic tang before Balor slithers quickly towards me, his body a sinuous blur of motion. I lift a wing; the membrane stretching tight, and he darts under quickly. I feel him shift back to his human form beneath the protective canopy of my wing, his body heat radiating against my side as I pull my wing tight to my body.
The loudest roar I can muster escapes my maw, the sound reverberating through the chamber and making small pebbles dance across the floor. I crawl backwards towards where Thauglor’s maw is breaking through the ceiling, my tail sweeping behind me, knocking against sarcophagi and sending them crashing to the ground. The sound of crumbling stone grows louder as huge black talons reach down and rip upward, taking a massive chunk of earth with them. The scent of freshly turned soil fills the chamber, rich and loamy, mingling with the sharp scent of male dragon musk.
Lysander’s basilisk is wounded but not badly enough that it’s stopped trying to fight. He slithers slowly towards us, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Balor’s strikes must have damaged muscles. Blood trails behind him, a dark, glistening path that marks his progress across the stone floor. By the time he’s halfway to us, Thauglor has his entire face in the catacombs, the massive white scales around his maw gleaming with an iridescent sheen in the dim light. His eyelids are shut tight, leathery folds sealed against the dirt and debris. I feel his presence tickling the back of my head, a light pressure that seems to ask permission.
Relaxing, I let him see through my eyes, our connection strengthening until I can feel his rage burning alongside mine. His mouth opens like a blackened abyss, rows of dagger-like teeth catching what little light there is. His long, sinuous forked tongue curls out, tasting the air, sensing the location of his prey. A pop and a hiss can be heard, like the sound of pressure being released, before a torrent of green gaseous acid escapes his lips. The air immediately fills with an acrid smell that burns my nostrils and makes my eyes water. Within seconds, Lysander is bathed in the acid, and I watch in horrified fascination as his flesh melts slowly off of his bones. The sound is worst of all—a bubbling, hissing sizzle accompanied by a high-pitched keening that I realize is Lysander’s death cry.
I lay there in awe, feeling Balor’s rapid heartbeat against my side through my scales, seeing the full magnitude of what a great wyrm black dragon can do. His acid hits and rolls off of my scales harmlessly, the droplets beading up and sliding away like water off oiled leather. I dare not move until Lysander is reduced to a pile of molten goop and bones on the ground. The stench of dissolved flesh and acid filling the chamber with an unbearable stench. The last of him—a segment of spine collapses with a wet splash into the bubbling puddle that was once a living being. All that’s left is his skull, empty eye sockets staring into the abyss.
As I crawl through the acid on the floor, the caustic liquid making small popping sounds beneath my weight. Thankfully, it cannot penetrate my thick scales. I make my way to the hole that Thauglor made. The edges are rough and uneven, dirt still crumbling down in small cascades. When I can, I rise up onto my hind legs, muscles straining with effort, and start climbing up the tunnel he dug. My talons find purchase in the soft earth, pulling me upward toward freedom. The scent of salt water and dragon musk fills the air as I near the surface, growing stronger with each foot I climb. The clean, open smell of the ocean breeze mingles with Thauglor’s distinctivescent—like thunderstorms and ancient forests. Freedom has never smelt so good. The promise of open sky and unfettered flight makes my heart soar even before my body can follow.
CHAPTER 46
Mina
The last footof my ascent makes my heart pound against my ribcage, the rhythm echoing in my ears like war drums.How will he react to me holding Balor under my wing protectively?The question burns in my mind as I push through the last layer of loose soil. When my horned head emerges into the open air, the sudden brightness makes my pupils contract painfully. I blink rapidly, adjusting to the light, and see the biggest black dragon I have ever encountered. His scales absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it, creating a void-like silhouette against the bright sky. Next to him is Klauth’s red dragon, which is bigger than him, scales gleaming like fresh blood in the afternoon sun. The heat radiating from both massive bodies warms my face even from this distance.
I crawl out, my claws digging deep furrows in the earth, and release Balor, keeping my eyes on the new mate. The scent of his power fills my nostrils—acid and ancient forests, a poison waiting to break. My sensitive ears pick up Balor’s cautious movements behind me, the soft thud of his feet against the ground.
Thauglor growls deep, the sound so low it’s almost subsonic, more felt than heard, vibrating through the ground beneath my talons. His eyes track Balor’s movements, pupils narrowing to dangerous slits. I move to block his line of sight and growl low in response. The sound rumbling up from my chest like distant thunder. I raise my scales and frill, each plate sliding into place with a soft rasp that sends shivers down my spine. Fanning my wings out wide, the membranes stretching taut with a sound like leather being pulled. I use them to shield my other mates. The air around us crackles with tension, hot and electric.
I can feel the moment the lightning starts arching over my scales and up my frill to my horns. The energy raising the fine scales along my frill, making every nerve ending tingle with power. No one, not even another mate, will threaten what’s mine. Baring my teeth, I roar at Thauglor, the sound tearing from my throat with enough force to shake the leaves from nearby trees. Lightning strikes the soil at his feet with a deafening crack, the acrid smell of scorched earth rising instantly. Thauglor leaps back, his massive form surprisingly agile, tail whipping behind him and sending rocks scattering.
“Oh, shit...” Ziggy says from somewhere behind me, his voice high with tension. The scent of his fear reaches me, sharp and pungent, mixing with the charged air.
Klauth chooses now to shift back, bones cracking and reforming with wet sounds. He stands between us, his bare chest gleaming with sweat in the sunlight. “Settle, he doesn’t mean any harm. He has no solid bond with you, and another male threatens him.” His voice is calm but firm, a steadying presence in the chaos.
Growling again, I snap at the air, clacking my jaws in threat. The sound is like stone striking stone, echoing across the clearing. ‘He needs to shift back before I will,’I toss at Klauth mentally, still staring Thauglor down. I have Abraxis and the rest of my mates behind me, their scents mingling with mine. After being bathed in acid in orderto dispose of Lysander, I’m a little pissy, my scales still tingling from the exposure.
Thauglor lunges forward, his jaws open wide, revealing rows of gleaming teeth. I lower my head, letting my long spiral horns embed in the roof of his mouth with a sickening crunch. He reels back, shaking his head, blood dripping out of his mouth and spattering the ground like crimson rain. The metallic scent fills the air, sharp and primal. I growl again and clack my jaws once more, the sound decisive and threatening. I may not be as big as the two great wyrm mates in this nest, but I will not chance my other mates getting hurt. I don’t raise my head to appear dominant, but I hold my ground, protecting what’s mine. My tail lashes behind me, sending dirt and small rocks flying.
The standoff lasts for what feels like hours, tension thick enough to cut with a talon. The only sounds are our breathing—mine controlled and steady. Thauglor’s is heavier and more labored—and the occasional shift of weight, claws scraping against stone. Finally, Thauglor relents and shifts back, his massive form contracting with a series of pops and creaks.
My first thought is that he’s handsome. Thick shoulders, just as broad as Abraxis’s and Vaughn’s, tapering to a narrow waist. His skin is a deep bronze, stretched over defined muscle. His hair is as black as the void, similar to Ziggy’s displacer beast form, falling in thick waves to his shoulders. It’s his eyes that catch me off guard. They are as blue as the ocean on a summer day, flecked with gold around the pupils. They seem to hold centuries of knowledge, ancient and knowing.
He takes a knee before my dragoness and rests his forearms over the raised knee, his muscles flexing with the movement. He spreads his wings wide, showing off their span and strength, the leathery membranes catching the light in iridescent shimmers. “Mate, will you please honor me by allowing me to see your human side?” Helowers his head and closes his eyes, exposing the vulnerable nape of his neck, a gesture of submission that speaks volumes.
I glance over at Klauth, who seems to be in a state of shock, his usual composure replaced by wide-eyed wonder. Slowly, I turn my head to look at Abraxis, and he nods, the slight movement carrying his trust and approval. I shift back to my human form, the transformation rippling through me in waves of hot and cold sensation. My bones contract, scales receding beneath my skin with a feeling like thousands of tiny pinpricks. I roll my shoulders, working out the tension, and let out a long breath. My leathers thankfully are fully intact, the smell of my sweat rising from them. I move to stand before Thauglor, my boots silent against the grass-covered earth.
His huge obsidian wings are spread wide in submission. He wants to be inspected, the veins visible beneath the thin membrane catching the sunlight. Slowly I circle him, looking every inch of him over, noting the scars that tell stories of ancient battles, the way his muscles shift beneath his skin with each breath. Here is a powerful ancient at my feet because he comes from a time when females were revered and honored. The realization sends a shiver of power through me, heady and intoxicating.
When I am done looking at him, I drop to my knees before him, the soft earth cool against my skin. His eyes are still closed, thick lashes casting shadows on his high cheekbones. I scoot closer, the leather of my pants creaking slightly, and press the bridge of my nose under his jaw. The contact sends a jolt through me, his skin warm and smooth against mine. I breathe in his scent, memorizing it—the scent just before it rains and something darker, more primal. Thauglor gasps, the sound sharp in the quiet. I feel his body shudder from the contact, a tremor that passes from him to me. I withdraw slowly and tilt my head to the side, exposing my neck in a gesture of trust. “Look at me, mate,” I whisper, the words barely audible even to my sensitive ears.
His eyes pop open, the blue startling in its intensity, and he just stares at me. I can see my reflection in them, small and fierce. His mouth works, trying to form words several times and failing, his throat working with each attempt. I glance over at Klauth and offer him my hand to have him help me up, the movement deliberate and unhurried.
Thauglor is on his feet in seconds, moving with a speed that belies his size, scooping me up in his arms and crushing me to him. The sudden movement forces the air from my lungs in a surprised gasp. His body is hard against mine, radiating heat like a furnace.
“My mate,” he breathes, the words reverent and filled with wonder. He buries his face in my long hair and breathes in deeply, his chest expanding against mine. I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his, holding him tightly. His heartbeat thunders against my chest, matching the rhythm of my own. In this moment, despite all the danger we’ve faced, I feel strangely at peace, complete in a way I hadn’t realized I was missing.
I remainin Thauglor’s embrace for a lot longer than expected. His heartbeat a steady rhythm against my chest, his skin radiating heat that seeps through my leathers and warms me to the bone. The scent of him—petrichor and ancient stone, with undertones of something primal and untamed—fills my lungs with each breath. I mouth to Ziggy to take everyone except Klauth home, his sharp eyes catching my silent command from across the clearing. Thauglor doesn’t need to know that Abraxis may never fly again. That wound is still too fresh, too raw to expose to a new mate.
