Page 59 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
“She needs rest. We also need to feed her slowly, at least broth, so her body has something to sustain it,” I sit even with her hip and hold her hand, her fingers cool and limp in mine, the pulse beneath her skin, faint but persistent, like a distant drummer keeping time. “I already gifted her several centuries to save her.” The admission costs me nothing; it was worth every year, every moment given freely. She’s alive and breathing, each rise and fall of her chest a victory against death itself.
“Centuries?” Abraxis asks as he moves to stand in front of me, his voice pitched higher with shock, eyes wide enough to show the whites all around. The scent of his disbelief mingles with the lingering odor of battle still clinging to his clothing—blood and acid and the peculiar empty smell that follows death.
“If I didn’t think she would mourn herself sick, I would have surrendered my life so she would live,” I kiss Mina’s hand and close my eyes, feeling the fragile bones beneath her skin, the delicate structure that houses such extraordinary power. Her scent fills my nostrils as I breathe her in, committing every nuance to memory. “There is no life worth living without her.” Deep in my heart, I know that is true, the conviction as solid as the mountains I’ve outlived, as old as the stars I’ve watched cycle through the heavens.
“Can I gift her years? I’m younger; I can gift her some of mine?” Abraxis looks between Klauth and me, his desperation palpable, making the air hard to breathe. His hair stands on end slightly, charged with emotion and the proximity of so many powerful beings. We nod, the movement synchronized from millennia of friendship.
“Don’t touch her while we do this,” I say to the rest of the nest as I stand up and sit Abraxis where I was, the bed still warm from my body. The warning in my voice makes them all take a step back, the collective movement causing the floorboards to creak beneath the carpet. “Take her hand in yours and close your eyes. Because you share a mate bond with her, it’s easier. Twine your tether with hers in your mind.” I watch him take her small hand in his larger one, their skin tones a study in contrasts—his sun-bronzed fingers enveloping her pallid ones. “Ask your dragon to gift hers some of your years. He will decide what is right. Do not let him surrender your life; you are too young for that sacrifice.” The words taste of ash and regret, memories of too many young dragons lost to similar noble but foolish gestures.
Abraxis nods and I watch as scales rise through his skin along his neck, obsidian black against his flesh, like polished stone breaking through earth. His dragon is allowing him to gift our mate years, the process visible in the way his veins stand out against his skin, dark rivers carrying life from one being to another. The air between them shimmers with heat, the scent of ozone intensifying as the transferoccurs. Her color improves more as he keeps in contact with her, pink slowly blooming on her cheeks like dawn breaking after the longest night, the blue tinge receding further from her lips. From what I can sense, he gifted her a century, the flare of power bright but brief, like a shooting star across the night sky. His dragon is too young and inexperienced to know how to do more or to sustain the connection. For once, I am grateful for his ignorance.
The rain continues its steady rhythm against the windows, nature’s metronome marking time as we wait for our mate to return to us. The scent of the storm mingles with the more intimate smells of our nest—the spicy musk of multiple dragons, the sharper tang of Ziggy’s feline nature, the earthy solidity of Vaughn’s stone essence, all bound by Mina’s unique fragrance, the core around which our lives revolve. Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the room in stark white light, throwing our concerned faces into harsh relief before plunging us back into the softer glow of the lamps. Thunder follows, a bass rumble that I feel through the soles of my feet, vibrating up through my ancient bones.
I stand vigil beside the bed, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Mina’s chest, each breath a promise that she remains with us, that our gifts of life have anchored her firmly to this side of the veil. My hand finds its way to her hair again, fingers sifting through the dual-colored strands, the physical proof of her extraordinary nature. In this moment, surrounded by our nest, I am struck by the realization that she has accomplished what I thought impossible—she has given this ancient, war-torn drake something to fear losing, something worth any sacrifice. And in doing so, she has given me something even more precious: a reason to continue existing, not just surviving through endless centuries, but truly living, with all the terror and joy that entails.
Near the window, Klauth pauses in his pacing, his massive frame silhouetted against the storm-dark sky. The air around him ripples with heat, causing the raindrops that strike the glass nearest him tosizzle and evaporate on contact. His concern for Mina manifests physically—the temperature in the room continues to climb despite the raging storm outside, the subtle scent of burning dust rising from where his fingers grip the windowsill, leaving faint scorch marks on the painted wood. His ancient power, normally carefully controlled, slips its leash in moments of extreme emotion, a testament to how deeply our unexpected mate has worked her way into even his fiery heart.
CHAPTER 40
Mina
The last clearmemory I have is seeing my lightning illuminating the inside of the dome the mages created, the blinding white-blue flash searing my retinas, the ozone scent burning my nostrils. By scent, I know I’m in my room now—the familiar blend of clean cotton sheets, the lingering traces of my mates’ distinctive scents, and the subtle sweetness of the sandalwood incense I burn to help me sleep. I also know that all three of my babies are shifted on my bed laying with me, their tiny bodies radiating warmth against my skin, their gentle breaths creating a soothing rhythm against the silence.
As I slowly open my eyes, the dim light of the room still painful against my sensitive pupils, I see Balor sleeping in the chair next to the bed, his massive frame somehow contained in the too-small furniture, his chest rising and falling in the steady cadence of deep sleep. Callan’s arm is draped over my ribs, the weight both protective and comforting, his skin warm against mine through the thin fabric of my nightgown. Ziggy is shifted at the foot of the bed facing the door, his feline form alert even in slumber, tail occasionally twitching as if he’s chasing something in his dreams.
The dragons in the bond are downstairs; I can feel their presence like a warm current beneath my consciousness. Vaughn is in his room sleeping, his aura peaceful and undisturbed. Leander is... in the kitchen, the faint clattering of pots and the aromatic scent of herbs and simmering broth wafting up the stairs, teasing my empty stomach.
‘Do you need us?’Thauglor’s voice echoes through the bond to me, deep and resonant like distant thunder, vibrating through my very bones.
‘No my love, I’m still tired. I’m surrounded by the babies and the guys. Vaughn is in his room, and Leander is cooking,’I say to Klauth and Thauglor through the bond softly, trying to keep my mental voice steady despite the bone-deep exhaustion that makes even this simple communication feel like lifting mountains. Even mentally, I yawn as I try to hide exactly how tired I am, the effort sending a dull throb of pain through my temples.
Ziggy slowly turns his head, his malevolent green eyes flaring and illuminating the blankets with an eerie glow that catches on the fine threads, turning ordinary cotton into something otherworldly. I raise a finger to my lips as if to shush him, the simple movement requiring more effort than it should. He slips off the bed. The mattress rises slightly with the loss of his weight, and shifts back, his transformation silent but palpable, the air briefly shimmering around him as he takes human form.
Silently he moves up the bed to kneel beside me, the floorboards not even creaking beneath his silent tread. His hand raises and shakes slightly as he reaches out to touch me, hesitation evident in every line of his body. I close my eyes when his hand finally makes contact with my cheek, his palm cool against my too-warm skin, fingers slightly calloused from weapons training.
Through the bond, I feel how much he loves me and how much my passing out scared him. His emotions wash over me like a tide—fear,relief, love, and lingering anxiety all mingled together in a potent cocktail that makes my heart ache.
‘You didn’t pass out; you almost burned out channeling your dragon’s weapon in your human form,’ Thauglor’s voice in my head is a mix of anger and pain, the emotions as sharp as broken glass, cutting through the fog of my fatigue. I really scared him this time; the realization sits heavy in my chest like a stone.
‘I won’t do it again,’I promise, pushing all of my love for my guys through all the tethers of the bonds, the effort making my head spin momentarily. The minute I do, Callan hugs me tighter, his arms squeezing just enough to ground me without pain, and Balor wakes up, his eyes focusing on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “I’m sorry I scared everyone. I won’t do it again.” In the pit of my stomach, I feel a knot forming, tight and uncomfortable. I am more disappointed in myself than anything else, the taste of failure bitter on my tongue.
Callan squeezes me again and kisses my shoulder, his lips warm and soft against my skin. “Why don’t you go take a bath, take stinky with you,” Callan motions to Ziggy, whose lip curls up in a snarl at the nickname, teeth flashing white and sharp in the dim light.
Arching a brow, I look between Callan and Ziggy, then over at Balor, confused by the tension crackling in the air between them.
“He hasn’t left you since you were carried in here three days ago,” Balor explains, his voice wavering, betraying the agony they all must have been in. The shadows under his eyes speak of sleepless nights spent in that uncomfortable chair keeping vigil.
Somehow I slept for three days. The realization hits me like a physical blow, making my breath catch. I kiss all of my children, their sleepy murmurs and the soft warmth of their skin against my lips bringing tears to my eyes. All of this could have been gone because I channeled more than I should have. I was a fool for risking it, themagnitude of what I almost lost making my chest tighten painfully. “Alright Ziggy, let’s go get me cleaned up.” I wiggle my fingers at him, and the minute his skin makes contact, his fingers intertwining with mine, the world warps around us, the air compressing momentarily, making my ears pop. Within minutes we are in the hot springs, sitting on one of the loungers, the warm, mineral-rich air heavy with moisture beading on my skin.
Ziggy’s eyes roam over my body as if memorizing every little line and freckle, his gaze so intense I can almost feel it like a physical touch, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I’m sorry I scared you.” I reach out to touch him, but he pulls back, the movement quick and sharp like a flinch.
There’s a tear rolling down his cheek, catching the low light from the lanterns that illuminate the springs, a crystalline trail of pain. “My mother sacrificed herself to save the pride. So, it hit a little too close to home,” his voice is laced with pain and it wavers as he tries to choke back the emotion, each word seeming to cost him.
I scoot closer, the fabric of the lounger rough against my thighs, and press the tip of my nose under his jaw. My eyes close slowly as I wait to see what he does, breathing in his scent—a deep musk mixed with sandalwood, earthy and rich. It soothes something deep within me, calming the restlessness that still churns beneath my skin. His arm slowly slides around me and holds me tight to him, his strength restrained but palpable, muscles tensing against my back. Gradually his purr builds in his chest, the vibration traveling through both our bodies, and he pulls me onto his lap, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of my nightgown.
“Please don’t leave me,” he sighs into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp, the words more feeling than sound.
“Never...” I turn and kiss him deeply, the taste of him rich and addictive—hints of cinnamon and something wild that defies description. Before I know what’s happening, he has me pinned on the lounger,the cushioned surface giving slightly beneath our combined weight. His forearms rest on either side of my head as he holds himself over me, the muscles in his arms corded with tension. The only points of contact are where his knees press into my hips, the pressure firm but not uncomfortable.
