Page 52 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
“Mina kicks my ass,” Abraxis admits, his voice tight with embarrassment as he looks at his father, the faint scent of his discomfort wafting from his heated skin.
“Impossible,” Vox scoffs, his voice thick with disbelief. He looks to the training ring, watching Mina using bamboo swords against another female, the hollow clack of wood against wood creating a rhythmic percussion. “Mina, I want to spar with you,” Vox calls out, his challenge hanging in the suddenly quiet air.
“You’re making a mistake,” Thauglor says before I can, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest, vibrating the very air between us.
“Nonsense,” Vox says as he sheds his leather jacket, the material sliding from his shoulders with a soft whisper. We follow him to the ring, our boots crunching on the gravel pathway.
Mina slides her leather jacket on, the dark material molding to her lithe form like a second skin, and ties her hair back with a swift, practiced motion before slipping on her hood. The fabric makes a soft, shushing sound as it settles around her face.
Slowly, deliberately, she pulls up her face mask, the black material obscuring everything but her eyes, which have already taken on theirdragonic gleam. She straps her twin blades to her back, the leather harness creaking slightly as she adjusts it. I watch her put on her black gloves, the material stretching over her knuckles with a subtle creak, and I know she means business.
My ancient blood stirs at the sight, primal and appreciative. When she draws her swords, the metallic hiss of steel against leather sending a shiver down my spine. She drops into her fighting stance. I know it’s all over for Vox.
‘I told our mate what her father-in-law said. She is not happy and wants to prove to him why the females need training,’Thauglor says in my mind, his mental voice cool and amused, and it all makes sense now. I feel the icy brush of his thoughts against mine, an intimacy reserved only for our nest.
“Father, reconsider...” Abraxis says, his voice strained with concern, and his father growls at him, the sound reverberating in the enclosed space of the training area.
“She is a small female; she can’t beat me. I am a direct descendant of Thauglor.” He motions to my best friend as if saying his name is going to save his ass, his hand cutting through the air with an audible whoosh. Vox steps into the ring, his boots leaving deep impressions in the packed earth, and Balor looks between Mina and Vox before looking at me, his eyes questioning.
With a nod of my head, a barely perceptible movement, he starts the match, and Mina goes blow for blow with Vox. The clash of their blades sends vibrations through the ground beneath my feet, the sound like thunder in the enclosed space. I can tell she’s not even trying yet, her movements controlled and measured, lacking the fluid grace I know she’s capable of. The joy on her side of the bond tells me she’s not taking this seriously at all, her amusement bubbling through our connection like effervescent wine, tingling along my nerves.
“Mina feels too happy,” Abraxis says as he steps closer, his shoulder brushing against mine, bringing with it his scent of night air and cedar.
“She’s not taking the fight seriously. It’s like she’s toying with your father,” I smirk as it dawns on me. That’s exactly what she’s doing. She’s toying with Vox, playing with him like a cat with a mouse, letting him believe he has a chance while she calculates exactly how and when to end him.
“Mina, either take the fight seriously or get out of the bloody ring,” Thauglor yells at her, his voice cutting through the clashing of blades like a knife through silk.
It’s at that exact moment the bond ignites, a rush of heat and determination flooding through me from her, and Mina goes on the attack. Within three strikes, moving so fast her blades are merely blurs of reflected light, she’s sent one of Vox’s blades flying, the weapon clattering against the stones with a metallic ring. He’s backpedaling to deflect the blows she’s raining down on him, his boots scuffing loudly against the dirt, his breath coming in harsh gasps that echo in the suddenly quiet training yard. Eight moves later, each one executed with deadly precision. He’s disarmed and flat on his back, the impact of his body hitting the ground, sending up a small cloud of dust that catches the afternoon light.
“Not all females are defenseless, Vox,” Mina says as she tilts her head, looking down at him. Her voice, though muffled by the mask, carries an edge sharper than her blades. Her eyes are still that of her dragon’s, molten gold with vertical pupils. I know she needs to burn that aggression off, the scent of her battle lust spicy and intoxicating.
Before I can say anything, Thauglor grabs a matched set of swords, the metal singing as he draws them from their sheaths, and enters the ring with our young mate. He holds back in the beginning, the restrained power in his movements obvious to my ancient eyes.
Heeventually lets loose after she seems to calm down, his true speed and strength finally unleashed in a flurry of attacks that would terrify most opponents. She lasts a dozen strikes longer than the last time she faced him, her improvements notable even to my critical assessment. The smile that graces her lips when he disarms her is radiant, visible even through her mask, transforming her eyes from predatory to joyful in an instant.
“She’s smiling he beat her?” Vox says, bewilderment clear in his tone as he watches from the sidelines, nursing his wounded pride, the bitter scent of it still clinging to him like cheap cologne.
I smile and tilt my head, watching Thauglor walk Mina through where he disarmed her the first and second time, his hands gentle on hers as he repositions her grip, his voice low and instructive. “She’s smiling because he didn’t hold back.” The pride in my voice is unmistakable, warming the usually cool timbre.
“I didn’t hold back either,” Vox says with a grumble, the words rumbling in his chest like distant thunder.
“You’re not a great wyrm dragon,” I mention, the statement falling between us like a gauntlet, then walk over to Mina and Thauglor, my steps measured and deliberate. “That was an impressive fight, you two.” I reach out and shake my oldest friend’s hand, his palm warm and rough against mine. I hug Mina, breathing in her scent of battle sweat, iron, and that unique musk that is uniquely hers, a fragrance that has become as necessary to me as air.
“Our mate is a very accomplished fighter,” Thauglor nuzzles Mina after he releases my hand, his lips brushing against her temple in a gesture as old as dragon kind. “The females of our flight are lucky to have her training them,” Thauglor says as he stares at Vox, his gaze challenging, daring the younger male to contradict him.
“I don’t think my daughter Cora needs to learn to be a killer,” Vox says as Cerce backs away, her heels clicking rapidly against the stoneas she distances herself from the potential conflict, the scent of her fear sour in the air.
“Sadly, her mate wants her to learn to defend herself. His opinion outranks yours,” I smirk as I look at him over my shoulder, the movement sending a warm draft his way, a subtle reminder of my ancient power.
“Warwick fears Mina; of course he would agree,” Vox argues, his voice rising slightly, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief against his flushed skin.
“Shall we see whose dragon is stronger, Vox?” Mina’s grin turns feral as she stares at him, her teeth flashing white against her tanned skin as she pulls down her mask. “I almost tore you and Abraxis apart before the ancients hatched, and it’s two years later. My dragoness is bigger and stronger now.” Her smile turns sickeningly sweet, her head tilting at an angle that makes her seem more predatory than human. It’s a look that I’ve come to know as the one where she’s basically saying ‘try me,’ a challenge few are foolish enough to accept.
“That’s quite alright,” Vox responds before turning and leading Cerce to the flight field to leave, their hurried footsteps a testament to his retreat, the air warming slightly as his agitation fades with distance.
Mina shrugs her shoulders and looks up at me, her eyes returning to their normal pale gold, though flecks of dragon still shimmer in their depths. “Not all males are as forward-thinking as my mates are. It will take time.” Mina bounces up and kisses my lips. The brief contact sending a jolt of warmth through my usually warm body, before walking back over to the females to move them through the proper stances for fighting, her voice firm but encouraging as she guides them.
Thauglor and I stand back, watching our mate guide the females of her flight. The afternoon sun casting long shadows across thetraining yard, highlighting the determined faces of the trainees. She doesn’t want anyone defenseless, a sentiment born from her own harsh upbringing. “She’s so gentle with them,” I say to Thauglor and Abraxis when he walks up, my voice soft with wonder, a tone few have ever heard from me.
