Page 88 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
“Take him away. I may want to turn my young mate loose on him later.” Klauth kisses my temple again, his lips lingering this time, just as Thauglor arrives at my side. He takes my taloned hand in his, the heat of his skin a stark contrast to the cool feel of my claws. He looks at the scales and the length of my talons, his expression one of fascination and pride.
“Our mate is powerful indeed. These talons look to be titanium in origin, not iron. They are too light in color and far too sharp to be an iron’s talons.” Thauglor says as he examines my hands, his touch gentle despite the strength I know resides in his fingers. His thumb traces the junction where scale meets skin, sending shivers up my arm.
“As far as I know, my mom was just an iron dragon.” I shrug my shoulders, the movement causing my scales to shift and catch the light differently. It’s not like I can ask her; my father murdered her. The thought brings a familiar ache to my chest, dull and persistent.
“Most iron dragons have titanium in them. The only difference is the percentage is what changes things.” Klauth says as he rubs my hand, soothing me enough to get the talons and scales to retract. The transformation is like water flowing over stone, smooth and natural, leaving behind human skin that still tingles with residual energy.
“Her talons ripped through quarter-inch plate steel in the war simulation room.” Balor supplies as he steps closer, the subtle scent of his musk reaching me even from several feet away, sharp and acidic.
Klauth and Thauglor turn to look at him, their movements so synchronized it’s almost comical. “Show us,” Thauglor says before Klauth has the chance to, his voice carrying an undertone of command that makes Balor straighten almost imperceptibly.
Balor winks at me, the gesture playful despite the tension in the room, and leads us out of the Arcanum Campus and over to Shadowcarve. The sudden transition from the climate-controlled building to the outside air raises goosebumps along my arms. The sun is bright overhead, warming my skin and making me squint until my eyes adjust. Secretly, I am hoping to spot Ziggy and get him to take me home. Unfortunately, as we cross the campus, the students that pass us notice the royal guards, Klauth, and then me. Their whispers follow us like a wave, growing louder and then fading as we move past. Next year will not be fun in the least bit.
We eventually cross the threshold for Shadowcarve, the temperature dropping several degrees as we enter the stone building. The familiar scent of old books and weapon oil fills my nostrils, a scent I’ve come to associate with training and pain and triumph. We head upstairs to the classrooms, our footsteps echoing against the stone floors and walls. Vaughn is in class with Callan, and I wave as we walk past the door, glimpsing their surprised faces through the narrow window.
Balor pulls keys out of his pocket to open up the simulation room for us, the metal jingling softly in the quiet hallway. The door opens with a hydraulic hiss, revealing the cavernous space beyond. Once inside, he flips on all the lights. The fluorescents flickering to life with an audible buzz. The station I clawed up stands out, the metal twisted and torn like paper. The edges gleaming raw and bright where my talons ripped through them.
Thauglor and Klauth walk over to examine it, their movements careful and measured as if approaching something dangerous. The torn metal looks even more dramatic under the bright lights, the damage more extensive than I remembered. Abraxis moves to standbehind me and pulls me back flush with his chest, his arms encircling my waist. His heartbeat is strong and steady against my back, grounding me in the moment.
“You are definitely part titanium dragon, Mina,” Thauglor says softly, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying perfectly in the quiet room. “An iron dragon’s talons are not strong enough to rip through metal.” I stare into Thauglor’s gold-flecked sapphire eyes, losing myself momentarily in their ancient depths. The implications of what he’s saying hits me like a boulder that was dropped off a cliff. The impact stealing the breath from my lungs.
My mom was part of two of the strongest dragon species known to exist. My strength and resilience comes from my mom. The same woman that rejected me because of the color of my scales. The irony is bitter on my tongue, a taste like ash and disappointment. I caress my bond with Ziggy, calling to him, the connection between us vibrating like a plucked string. Within seconds, he arrives with a displacement of air that stirs my hair, and I step away from my dragon mates and into his arms. His embrace differs from theirs—cooler, less imposing, but no less strong. Ziggy knows what to do when I’m like this. I need quiet and comfort and just to be held until I process everything that was just dumped on me.
Within seconds, we’ve gone to one of my favorite places in the world, my poison garden up in the branches of the ancient tree. The phasing is jarring, a momentary sensation of being everywhere and nowhere at once before solidifying. The familiar scent of my plants—some sweet, some acrid, all deadly in their own way—wraps around me like a comforting blanket. The filtered sunlight through the canopy above dapples the ground with patches of gold, and the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze creates a soothing white noise that calms my racing thoughts.
CHAPTER 51
Balor
I holdin my hand a letter that may make or break Mina’s world. The cream-colored envelope weighs heavy between my fingers, its wax seal already broken. The scent of my mate’s sister clings to the paper—smoke and cinnamon, so similar to Mina’s, yet distinctly foreign. Her sister Mara has laid her first clutch of eggs, and we’ve been invited for the hatching. My stomach tightens at what this means for Mina.
She’s been quiet since her abduction—distant in a way that makes my basilisk nature restless beneath my skin. She barely speaks to anyone in the nest, her once-vibrant voice now reduced to whispers. Most nights, she slips into Leander’s bed. That alone caused major issues with Thauglor, his territorial growls echoing through the stone corridors until Abraxis and Klauth intervened. They explained through gritted teeth that Leander is the only one who keeps her nightmares at bay.
I stroll down the hallway toward Mina’s poison garden on the lower level. My boots echo against the ancient stone, marking eachdeliberate step. Her favorite hiding places are limited—either nestled among the deadly nightshade or perched up in the ancient willow tree that impossibly thrives in the center of her sanctuary.
When I enter the gardens, I feel like I’ve come home. The heavy wooden door creaks shut behind me, and immediately, my shoulders relax. Here, vines crawl up stone walls, and plants with leaves sharp enough to slice skin spread across the ground. This is one of the few places I shift and slither around without worrying about hurting anyone—one of the few places where my true form is an asset rather than a threat.
The minute the wrought-iron gate locks behind me with a satisfying click, I let my shift wash over me. My skin hardens, scales rippling across my body in waves of obsidian. My bones crack and elongate as my form stretches, my jaw unhinging to accommodate my fangs. Flicking my forked tongue against the humid air, I already know where Mina is—her scent, honey, and lavender with an undercurrent of fear, stands out among the poisonous flora.
Slowly, I coil around the tree and work my way up the trunk. My scales grip the rough edges of the bark as I move, muscles contracting in a fluid rhythm perfected over centuries. Once I hit the branches, it becomes easier to navigate through the maze of limbs and leaves. Mina sits perched with her back against the tree, her legs dangling over the side of a thick branch. Sunlight filtering through the glass ceiling catches in her copper hair, setting it ablaze.
“Oh no, I’m being hunted by the big bad basilisk,” she giggles as she looks down at me, her golden eyes sparkling with a hint of their old mischief.
I shift back to my human form and perch on a branch about eight feet below her. The transformation is quicker this time, my body remembering its human shape with practiced ease. “If I was hunting you, you never would have seen me coming,” I smile as I close thedistance between us, moving from branch to branch with predatory grace.
“But I like seeing you come,” Mina says with a smile and winks at me, her cheeks flushing with color.
“So you do remember how to flirt?” I climb up and sit on the branch across from her, close enough to touch but giving her space to breathe. “What’s wrong, Mina? Talk to me.” Reaching out, I take her hands in mine. Her fingers are icy despite the garden’s warmth.
Her golden eyes search mine for what feels like forever, the seconds stretching between us like honey. “Lysander said that dragon kin are only produced when it’s not true mates.” She lowers her eyes and stares at our intertwined hands, her thumb tracing nervous circles against my skin.
“If he’s telling the truth, that’s good news.” I raise Mina’s hands to my lips and kiss her delicate knuckles, inhaling her scent. Even through her anxiety, the smell of her calls to something primal inside me.
“That would be nice.” She sighs and scoots forward, pressing her forehead against my chest. Her heartbeat flutters like a trapped bird.
I carefully maneuver us so my back is against the tree trunk, and I can pull her flush against me. Her weight settles against my chest, familiar, and right. “Your sister sent a letter.” I reach inside my leather jacket and offer the envelope to her.
Mina’s hands shake as she holds it, her knuckles going white with pressure. Her scent drastically changes as fear and anxiety rocket through her, making her lithe frame tremble against mine. The sound of the paper tearing seems amplified in the quiet garden, like an explosion in the stillness. I watch as she slides the letter out and reads. Mara apologizes for everything that happened. She tells Mina about her mate and the clutch they have together.
