Page 55 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
“Blackhaven,” Thauglor says, turning to look at me directly. The intensity in his ancient eyes holds me in place. “It makes more sense for a wyrm black dragon to hide in the home of the black dragons.” He tilts his head slightly, and I watch as Mina’s dragoness form responds to the subtle movement, stretching her long neck to nuzzle her nose against Thauglor. The unspoken communication between them makes my heart ache with something like jealousy, though I quickly push it aside.
“The main reason is that we have too many hatchlings here that haven’t been anointed, and we don’t want them discovered,” Klauth adds, his logic solid and undeniable. The mention of our vulnerable young sends a surge of protective instinct through me, making my muscles tense involuntarily.
I watch as Mina shifts back to her human form, the air shimmering around her massive body as it contracts and reshapes. Even after all this time, the elegance of her transformation takes my breath away. The three hatchlings follow her lead, their tiny forms changing with a shimmer of light. She guides them toward us, their little feet pattering against the stone like raindrops.
“This is a three-fold plan,” she says as she reaches us, gently urging the babies to shift into their human forms. With careful hands, she passes a baby to each of us, the weight of my daughter settling against my chest, warm and familiar. Her tiny fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt as Mina continues, now empty-armed, “First, we see if my idea works. If it does, great.”
She draws in a deep breath, and I notice the subtle movement of bone plates beneath the skin of her face—a sign of the stress she’s under but trying to hide. The sight sends a pang through my heart. What we’re about to do is taking a toll on her, though she’d never admit it. Her scent, usually reminiscent of a thunderstorm, now carries an undertone of something sharper—adrenaline and determination.
“What do you need us to do?” I ask, looking down at our daughter as she lays her head on my chest and closes her eyes. The complete trust in the gesture makes my throat tighten with emotion.
“Be prepared for anything,” Mina answers, her eyes shifting to a burning golden hue that sends a thrill of both fear and desire through me. She draws another deep breath, her shoulders squaring. “You, me, and Thauglor leave for Blackhaven tonight. Klauth and Balor will defend the babies and the nest here.”
I watch as she turns slowly, taking in the courtyard with all its ancient stones and memories. The fading sunlight casts long shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp edges of her cheekbones, the determined set of her jaw. When she turns back to me, the intensity in her eyes nearly stops my heart.
“We take no chances and do what needs to be done to keep everyone alive,” she says, her gaze drifting to our children. The fierce love and protectiveness in her expression is almost painful to witness—a mirror of what burns in my chest.
Without another word, she takes off at a run, her movements fluid and powerful. My enhanced senses pick up the subtle change in the air as she shifts mid-stride, her human form melting away into the massive dragoness. The sound of her wings catching the air sends a gust of wind toward us as she heads toward the upper nest.
I look back at the others and nod, my daughter still nestled securely against my chest. “She has a plan, and goddess, help us. She’s goingto make it work one way or another.” The words come out sounding more confident than I feel, but beneath the uncertainty, I know it’s true. Mina will not fail—not with everything she loves at stake. And neither will I.
Every beatof my wings feels as if it may be my last. The muscles across my shoulders burn with exertion, each powerful stroke disturbing the cool air currents that whip past my scaled body. Then again, the last time I flew into battle, I almost died. The memory of searing pain and the smell of my blood haunts me even now, making my heart hammer against my chest scales.
Mina’s dragoness form dwarfs mine as she flies beside me, her emerald and silver scales catching the sunlight in blinding flashes. Next to her, I feel like a mere hatchling—small and vulnerable, despite my considerable size. Our mate is a little over half the size of Thauglor, who flies ahead of us both, his massive shadow darkening the ground below like an eclipse. Mina’s growth is alarming—she’s damn close to wyrm status, a full five years early. The power radiating from her sends vibrations through the air that I can feel against my wing membranes.
We circle the courtyard at Blackhaven, the familiar stone structures of my birthplace coming into sharp focus beneath us. The scent of home—mountain stone, pine, and the lingering metallic tang of dragon blood from generations of training—floods my nostrils. I release a thunderous roar that tears from my throat before angling my wings to descend. The wind resistance pushes against my chest as I land with a heavy thud in the center of the courtyard, talons scraping against ancient stone.
I move aside, the heat from my exertion radiating off my scales as I shift and watch Thauglor land next. The ground trembles beneath my feet with the force of his impact. All around us, guards scramble back into the shadowed alcoves, their fear palpable in the air—a sharp, acrid scent that tickles my nostrils. Their racing heartbeats drum in my ears as they press themselves against the cold stone walls, terrified by Thauglor’s arrival.
“Is that Mina?” My father’s voice reaches me from across the courtyard, the familiar deep timbre sending a wave of childhood memories washing over me. He points skyward, his eyes fixed on my mate still riding the thermals high over Blackhaven. Her silhouette blocks out the sun momentarily as she circles, powerful and graceful.
Thauglor shifts back to his human form with a sound like a rushing wind. His massive dragonic presence condensed into his still-imposing human body. The scent of ancient stone and mountain air intensifies around him as he strides across the courtyard to stand beside my father.
“Yes, that is our Mina. She’s achieved wyrm status early,” Thauglor says, his voice carrying across the courtyard. He bites his bottom lip, teeth pressing into flesh as he glances back at me, concern shadowing his ancient eyes. “The mages may hunt her and me, if I’m being honest.”
The ground beneath my feet vibrates violently as Mina lands with crushing force. Small pieces of stone dislodge from the courtyard floor, skittering across the surface like frightened insects. She releases a roar that makes my eardrums throb painfully, lightning racing over her scales in a dazzling display of power. The hair along my arms—stands on end from the electrical charge in the air. She angles her massive head downward, golden eyes glowing like twin suns as she regards us. Under her gaze, I feel like a mouse beneath the paw of a fox—small, exposed, vulnerable.
Mina shifts back with a ripple of energy that sends a warm breeze across my face. She stretches languidly, the sound of her joints popping audibly in the tense silence. Her scent—thunderstorms and ozone—intensifies as she joins our small group, her movements fluid and predatory.
“This is going to be very dangerous,” she says, her voice oddly flat. Her eyes move from me to Thauglor, then over to my father, calculating and cold. The warmth I’m accustomed to seeing in her gaze is absent, replaced by something harder, more primal. A shiver runs down my spine despite the lingering heat from my flight.
“You’re a wyrm now, Mina,” my father states, his voice tinged with awe and something that might be fear. The subtle change in his scent confirms my suspicion.
Mina merely shrugs her shoulders, the casual gesture at odds with the monumental significance of her transformation. “Good, it increases the odds of my plan working. Two wyrms, two large black dragons with painted white faces.” Her analytical tone makes my stomach clench uncomfortably. This cold, tactical Mina is unnerving—a far cry from the passionate mate who shares my bed.
Thauglor is smiling as he watches Mina walk toward the entrance to the nest. The curve of his lips and the gleam in his eyes sends another chill through me—his happiness in this moment seems misplaced, almost predatory.
“What made you happy all of a sudden?” I ask, bumping shoulders with my ancestor. The brief contact with his solid form grounds me momentarily.
“Mina’s visions foresaw her becoming a wyrm, and that helps us to be victorious.” The happiness in Thauglor’s voice is as concerning as it is comforting, an unsettling combination that makes my pulse quicken.
I turn to my father as Mina disappears through the heavy stone archway. “Mom is a wyrm dragon by age alone,” I say, seeking confirmation, or perhaps comfort, in his familiar wisdom.
“By age, yes.” He nods, the lines around his eyes deepening. “But she rarely takes her dragon form, so it’s barely grown over the years. To deny the shift is to weaken the beast.” His gaze drops to the ground, shoulders slumping slightly. The scent of old grief rises from him like mist. “Your mom should be about half the size of Mina’s dragon, if she’s lucky.”
“Why didn’t Mom shift more?” I ask, glancing from Thauglor back to my father, trying to understand this new revelation about the woman who raised me. The stone beneath my feet seems to cool further, the chill seeping through the soles of my boots.
“Your mom...” He pauses, swallowing audibly. The sound of his heart increases slightly, the beat echoing in my sensitive ears. “Like me, she had a true mate that wasn’t a dragon.” When my father looks up, I see the pain etched into his features, raw and exposed. The scent of his sorrow is powerful enough to make my throat tighten in sympathy.
