Page 14 of Klauth
My eyelids grow heavy at that tender touch. Exhaustion claims me again as her heartbeat fades into a distant thrum. But in my last moments of wakefulness, I pray she follows through and torches that careless male for daring to endanger her friend.
Not beingable to tell the passage of time is the worst part of this imprisonment. The inside of this shell is cramped, the smooth interior pressing against my back. The warmth of the fluid surrounding me seeps into my scales, and the faint scent of minerals—like damp stone—clings to everything. I can’t see anything but darkness, though I catch the occasional ripple of light shifting through the thinning membrane when Mina moves us. I don’t know if it’s been minutes, hours, days, or weeks since the last time Mina snuggled us.
She’s tired but sated. She doesn’t realize that she replays flashes of memories to us. Through the thin veil of our connection, I sense her lingering adrenaline from the fight with the hatchling—and then that fierce mating that followed, her control dominating most of it. This is the slow fall of her dragoness’s respect for its mate. We’re going to have our hands full when we hatch. An uncomfortable shiver crawls up my spine as I consider it, the viscous fluid inside the egg sliding across my scales. I can only hope we are large enough that her dragoness thinks twice about challenging us. Unlike the hatchling, because I love her, I will force her submission if I have to.
Mina speaks about her fears of not being able to defeat her father. Her voice filters in like a distant echo through layers of shell and fluid, and I wish I could tell her she doesn’t need to. I’ll be there to save her. She just has to live through the battle. Mina hums to us, and the sound vibrates through my egg, sending calming ripples across the liquid I’m trapped in. It’s soothing. My dragon resonates in time with her as I press my hands to the shell, feeling the faint hum of her heartbeat through my palms. I can only hope something is visible outside of the shell or that she can feel me singing with her. Being trapped in here is the second worst experience of my life.
Something is happening. Waves of apprehension move through Mina like the changing of the tide stirring the fluid around me. I catch the muffled sound of someone telling her they’re sorry. Then there’s the pull of her summoning the fairy dragon to her—a light, tingling shift in the bond that suggests a new presence hovering near. It seems to be her preferred guardian for us.
Everything goes still. Too still. Pain radiates through the bond from Mina, slamming into me like a hot spike to my chest. Something makes her heart hurt, and she swallows it down. My pulse thrums in response, and the tension in her body bleeds into me. Something is terribly wrong, but Mina isn’t talking or sharing with us. She wants to cry but isn’t letting herself. There’s an undercurrent of fear mixed in as she shuts her emotions down, and I feel the shell grow almost colder against my skin, as though her mood affects the warmth that surrounds me.
Mina cradles us tightly to her chest, pressing the egg so close I can feel the swift thump-thump of her heartbeat. We try to reassure her, sending pulses of comfort through the bond. I push every gentle, protective feeling I have into her, hoping she cansense it. Her heart beats hard in her chest, a heavy drum that betrays the grief she’s hiding beneath layers of resolve.
“You need to move and hide my sister. She may not want to see me because of who my father is, but she’s still my sister,” Mina says, voice trembling with the weight of unspoken fears.
By what I can piece together, she’s in front of the basilisk—probably the only male in the nest that doesn’t let her get away with anything and doesn’t baby her. I feel the shimmer of a dormant bond. The bloody bastard buried his bond with her. The echo of that sealed connection flickers across my senses like a faint static charge. But it’s not my place to tell her.
Mina’s mind is going a million miles a minute and I can’t help her. My dragon sings to her, his haunting tones filling the egg with a low, resonant vibration that makes the shell buzz under my palms. He sings of the future, of protection and love. He sings of the nest he wants to dig for her if she doesn’t have one already. His song speaks of flying at night through star-filled skies and making love under the moonlight.
“He’s trying to make you feel better,” a gentle male voice says. The words come through muffled, but I can imagine the caring look on his face. Apparently, what I am doing is working.
“He’s worried about me. Worried about not being there in time when I need him most,” Mina says, and she speaks the truth. I don’t know how long it will take for me to bust out of this prison or if it is even possible.
The more time spent in Mina’s presence, the stronger our bond becomes. It was said a mate would break the curse.Be it a true mate or someone who is as dark as you, freedom will be out of reach until she comes for you—a rare female made of rivaldens, descendant of your greatest enemies. Prideful your kind is, and your pride will be your undoing. A female like that will never be born.
The curse placed upon me echoes in my ears, a hollow resonance that blends with the thickness of the shell. Yet Mina seems to be the one to break it. The vision Mina had plays on repeat in my head: she sees me, but I’m bigger than I remember being. It could just be her perception at the moment, or maybe this egg’s binding has changed me.
How dare the hatchling question Mina showing us what she saw? She is the dragoness—this is her nest. Her fingers make contact with my shell, and I sigh as she strokes them. The sensation of her touch spreads warmth through the hardened surface. She relays what we had spoken about. I’ll tolerate the hatchling in charge. But I know if my mate is as smart as she seems, she will see the value of either myself or Thauglor leading the nest.
“We will do whatever is best for the nest and Mina, first and foremost,” I hear the hatchling say. Then his hand lands on my egg, the pressure faint but distinct.
‘I will hold you to that,’ I say as loud as I can, trying to project my voice to him. ‘Mina’s safety and comfort over all.’ My second statement is nonnegotiable, and I press my palm against the shell, imagining it might crack from the force of my determination. But it doesn’t.
The hatchling admits to hearing us. I wonder how much the others can hear from us as well. I become sleepy after pushing my feelings toward the hatchling, drained by the effort it takes to speak beyond this cursed barrier. It’s so much easier to talk toMina. She’s a soothing presence, a lifeline of warmth and hope in this dark, cramped world.
Chapter Fourteen
I am crampedwithin this cursed egg, and every movement Mina makes sends faint tremors through my shell. The darkness around me is absolute, yet her emotions pulse like waves of light, flickering and twisting in my mind. Today, those waves are turbulent.
Mina is off. Quiet. Like a storm trying to hold itself back. Through our bond, I sense the gnawing pain in her thoughts. The memory of her mother’s hands delivered to her in a cruel package, her sister sent off into a nest of basilisks, and that basilisk mate … Balor. I can almost taste the sadness on her tongue, sharp as copper, every time she thinks of him.
A soft click reverberates in her surroundings—perhaps the echo of footsteps on stone floors or the scrape of chairs in her Art of War class. Her mind is split between her task and the swirl of despair. She shifts in her seat, and there’s a sudden spike of anguish that twists my gut. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone. I wish I knew who or what caused that sudden hurt. Strategically, it makes perfect sense for her to align with a basilisk—a nearly indestructible mate. But she holds herself back.
I hear her talking now, voice low, controlled as she admonishes a gargoyle for his mistakes in a simulation. I strain to pick up every detail, desperate to envision the scene. My mate is brilliant—her ability to instruct, to command respect, resonates through our bond like a steady heartbeat. I wish I could comfort her, but trapped as I am, I can only hope one of her other males notices her turmoil and coaxes it out of her.
Time shifts. I sense the change as Mina stands and moves from one class to the next. My world tilts, each step a dull vibration against my shell. She seems lighter—happy, even—so wherever we’re headed is a place that soothes her. She’s speaking to Vaughn and then Ziggy, who appears with some sort of snack. I catch the faintest impression of something sweet or spicy drifting through her senses. The aroma barely registers through our bond, but it’s enough to make me wish I could taste it myself.
We end up in an art class, and the moment she settles in, her stress ebbs away, dissipating like mist in the sun. The instructor’s voice filters through Mina’s mind, echoing to me. Now is my chance. In the blackness of my prison, I conjure an image of myself standing before a mirror. I focus on every detail: thick red hair in long waves, the deeper maroon shading beneath the surface, and eyes that glint crimson flecked with amber. High cheekbones, a strong jawline, freckles dusting the bridge of my nose—these details feel so vivid it’s like I’m physically standing there again. In my memory, I can almost smell the old soap I once used, the sting of cold air against my skin the morning I was captured.
With a surge of determination, I push another image to her: my dragon form. I remember the glint of sunlight on scarlet scales, each scratch, or scar etched into my hide with its own story. Thauglor, my friend, reminds me of those scars, corrects mymemory, adding faint lines I’d forgotten. If only she could truly see us. The desire to share everything throbs within me like a second heartbeat.
I feel Mina’s sudden shift as she finishes her painting. Whatever she sees on the canvas must terrify her, because her pulse skyrockets. Panic prickles the bond between us, and I hear her thoughts plain as day: in three weeks, I’ll break free to save her. My insides clench. Did my images combine with some vision of her own? Whatever it is, she bolts from the room, adrenaline flooding her veins and slamming into me like a tidal wave.
She yells at someone—maybe more than one person—her voice a raw, furious snarl: “Cut the macho male shit! We have a problem!” Her footsteps pound on the floor, each strike rattling my shell. She collides with something, and her rage ignites. I feel it as my own, a blaze in my core, and I want to tear the obstacle apart. She growls, the sound rough as gravel scraping through her throat. I’m certain her breath must be hot with fury.
Lightning crackles under her skin, a raw energy she can barely restrain. “You need to leave…” Her voice is low, almost feral. I can imagine her nails curling into talons, body rigid, ready to unleash havoc. Finally, whoever challenged her backs off, and I sense her pulse slow. The thunder in her chest quiets, though I still taste the metallic tang of anger lingering in her mouth.
She continues on, pacing or walking—I can’t be sure. My world just jolts with each footstep. Someone asks what set her off, and she exhales, turning to them.My mate … my fifth mate.Her words echo in my head as she shows them the painting she made of me. I can’t see it, but I can feel the heavy hush around her, the weight of so many gazes landing on the vision of who I once was.
