Page 92 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
I don’t say a word as Balor leads me out through the labyrinth, the stone walls seeming to close in with each step. The air gets fresher as we approach the exit, the heavy mineral scent of the pit giving way to cooler, cleaner air from outside. Once we hit fresh air, the night sky vast and star-filled above us, I drop to my knees and scream at the top of my lungs. The sound tears from my throat, raw and primal, echoing across the mountainside like the cry of a wounded animal.
The scales along my back and shoulders ripple as I let all the pain out. The sensation is like thousands of tiny needles pushing throughmy skin, each scale emerging with a pinprick of pain that builds to a symphony of agony. I can feel the dragons in the bond tense, their consciousness pressing against mine as they feel the pain I’m releasing. Through our connection, I share with them all that I saw and heard and felt. The images flow from me like a torrent—my sister’s disappointment, the Matriarch’s joy at the “purity” of the basilisk hatchlings. The gulf between my idealized version of what I thought reuniting with my sister would be like versus the harsh reality of what happened.
My head hangs low, hair falling forward to curtain my face as I try to quell the storm raging in my chest. The cool night air burns my lungs with each ragged breath. Balor’s hand rests on my shoulder, his touch gentle but grounding. All the fight drains out of me at that simple contact, leaving me empty and exhausted.
Slowly I turn to look up at him, the movement requiring more effort than it should. His eyes search my face, taking in the tear tracks on my cheeks, the blood on my lip where I bit it, the scales that haven’t fully receded at my temples. He nods, understanding without words. “Yeah, my people suck. They’re backwards and broken and far worse than the dragons ever could be.” His honesty is refreshing, a balm to my wounded spirit. He helps me to stand, his firm hands lifting me as if I weigh nothing, then hugs me to him. His body is solid against mine, a wall between me and the world’s cruelties.
“Both species have issues if we’re being honest.” I kiss his cheek, then back away. The night air fills the space between us, chilling the warmth where our bodies touched. “Let’s go home.” My voice sounds stronger now, more resolved.
I walk far enough away that when I shift. The transformation begins as a burning in my core, spreading outward like wildfire beneath my skin. My dragoness surges to the surface, bones cracking and reforming, skin giving way to scales that catch the moonlight like hammered metal. Every fiber of my being wants to torch the pit, toreduce it to smoldering ruins. Fire builds in my chest, hot and insistent, begging for release.
I stare at the mountain entrance, breathing heavily as Balor climbs onto my back. His weight is familiar and comforting, settling just behind my shoulder blade. I feel the pull from my three dragon mates through our bond—concern, love, and quiet strength flowing to me across miles. Their presence in my mind is like a lighthouse guiding me home, and I cannot ignore it.
As soon as Balor is seated securely, I launch into the air. My wings unfurl with a sound like sails catching wind, powerful muscles propelling us skyward. The earth falls away beneath us; the pit becoming smaller with each powerful wingbeat. The night air is chilly against my scales, the stars above us like diamonds scattered across black velvet.
I take flight towards home, towards my mates, towards whatever future we can carve out in this world that seems determined to keep us apart. The mountains shrink below us, becoming just another dark shape against the horizon. With each mile that passes beneath my wings, the pain in my chest lessens, replaced by determination. I may have lost my sister again today, but I still have a family—one I’ve built rather than been born to. And sometimes, that’s enough.
CHAPTER 53
Klauth
Mina isa maelstrom of emotions while she’s visiting her sister.
Abraxis, Thauglor, and I are working on a surprise for our mate for when she returns. The air in the garden is thick with anticipation, our breaths creating small clouds in the cool underground air. Lysander’s basilisk skull has been set up on a pile of stones, using sticks to hold the jaws open. The bone gleams with an eerie ivory sheen under the phosphorescent light of the fungi that line the walls. With Abraxis’s dragon being smaller than mine, he has shifted in the garden space, using his dragon’s form to maneuver the skull into position.
“That looks perfect,” I yell when he gets it to face the entrance, just the way I wanted it to. My voice echoes against the stone walls, disturbing the vines that hang like curtains from the ceiling. Abraxis shifts back, the sound of his bones cracking and reforming filling the garden before he stands before me. His breath comes in quick pants as he examines our handiwork. We stare at the skull, its empty eye sockets seeming to follow our movements.
“I hope she likes it,” he says as we move around the interior of the garden, looking at it from different angles. Our boots crush the delicate plants beneath our feet, releasing bursts of fragrance into the air—mint, nightshade, and something uniquely toxic that makes my nostrils burn.
Thauglor joins us, his massive frame blocking the dim light from the entrance as he steps through. The ground trembles slightly beneath his weight. Before any of us can speak, we feel Mina’s emotions go erratic through our bond. The sensation is like being caught in a whirlpool. First, the craving of a clutch of her own, the longing so intense it makes my chest ache. Then, not long after, the feeling of things not right between her and her sister. The bond between us turns cold, like ice spreading through my veins.
I watch Thauglor’s eyes glow, changing from their usual blue to a stormy sapphire that illuminates his face in the dim light. I hear his voice echo in my head, the sound both everywhere and nowhere at once. He soothes her, his mental voice a deep rumble that reminds me of distant thunder. But I know Mina’s plan. She’s going to have a clutch to lure her father out. The thought sends a chill down my spine despite the humid warmth of the garden.
Thauglor shakes his head and growls low, the sound vibrating in my chest cavity. “She wants a family. Why don’t we just hunt her father down and torch him?” Thauglor huffs, and a bellow of acid escapes his lips, sizzling as it hits the grass. The acrid smell burns my nostrils and makes my eyes water. Abraxis is nodding along with Thauglor, his jaw set in determination, muscles tense beneath his skin.
I run my hand down my face, feeling the day’s stubble scrape against my palm. I have two black dragons on my hands. One with a legendary temperament and his mini-me that’s trying so hard to be big and bad like his ancestor. The thought would be amusing if the situation weren’t so serious.
“Because we can’t just keep going around killing people,” I motion towards the skull. The bone yellowed from the acid but still intimidating. “He died because he stole our mate. I chased her father across half the continent because he was going to kill our mate.” The memory of that pursuit burns hot in my mind—hours tracking through the wilderness, the scent of fear and hatred guiding me.
“Mina killed an entire flight of fire drakes because they had been making her life hell. And they kept trying to kill her,” Abraxis adds, his voice carrying a note of pride. The leather of his vest creaks as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“She did?” Thauglor asks, turning to face Abraxis, his eyes widening with surprise and something that looks suspiciously like approval.
“She’s killed ambush drakes. Her first one was before she could shift into her dragon,” Abraxis adds, rocking back on his heels as he delivers this information.
“What do you mean ‘before she could shift into her dragon’?” That catches my attention. My heart rate increases as my mind races through the implications. The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thin.
“Females can’t shift into their dragons until their twenty-first birthday, males their seventeenth. Why?” Abraxis looks between Thauglor and me, confusion clouding his features. His scent changes subtly, taking on a sharper edge that betrays his unease.
“When did that start happening? We’ve always had access to our dragons,” Thauglor asks, and it dawns on me like a lightning strike, illuminating darkness I didn’t know existed.
“The anointing ceremony. There’s something in that oil that locks their dragons away.” My eyes jump from Abraxis to Thauglor, the realization bitter on my tongue. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails digging half-moons into my palms.
“No hatchling of mine will ever have the oil touch them,” Thauglor growls, and the walls shake. Small pebbles dislodge from the ceiling, pattering down around us like rain. The sound of his rage is primal and ancient, something that speaks to the predator in all of us.
“I agree, and I bet if we tell Mina our suspicions, she will agree.” Stepping forward, I adjust a stick to change how open the basilisk skull is. The smooth bone is cool beneath my fingers, its teeth still razor-sharp.
“What will I agree with?” Mina’s voice fills the room, her scent—honey, lavender, and something metallic that is uniquely her—reaching me before I fully register her presence. We all turn slowly to face her, guilty expressions no doubt clear on our faces. Before I can open my mouth, she shoves past me, her shoulder brushing against mine with enough force to make me step back.
