Page 67 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
“Me, my coloring. Risedale was the last green dragon nest on this continent,” I say, the admission bitter as gall in my throat. Closing my eyes, I try to see through Klauth’s eyes, the mental effort making my head throb with the strain. The battlefield is on fire, a hellscape of flame and smoke that stretches as far as the eye can see. It’s like the world is burning, the very air shimmering with heat that I can feel even through our distant connection. The building from my vision is going up in flames before my very eyes, its stone walls cracking and crumbling as the intense heat overwhelms even the ancient masonry. I pull back and blink my eyes several times, the transition from his sight to mine disorienting, leaving me with spots of light dancing across my vision. “I think it’s almost over,” I say, my gaze locking on the juice in my hands, the surface trembling slightly with the fine tremor in my fingers.
Ty and Njall walk over and look out over the horizon, their postures alert and protective, scanning for any sign of approaching danger. “We sent the single males out to scout the territory. Abraxis issued a kill-on-sight order for any mages found,” Njall says as he accepts a cup of juice, the liquid sloshing slightly as his hand shakes with barely contained adrenaline.
I take the fork from Ziggy and start feeding myself, the simple act of self-care feeling strange after having been fed like an invalid. “We need to keep random males from landing up here. I am not accepting any additional mates,” I say, looking up at my cousins, meeting their eyes with a determination that surprises even me. They nod slowly, understanding passing between us without words.
“There was talk in town about males petitioning to be a mate,” Ty mentions as he takes a bite of breakfast sausage, the grease glistening on his lips before he wipes it away with the back of his hand.
“There were several at school that made their intentions known. I refused them,” I say, shoveling several small pieces of sausage in my mouth, chewing them slowly, the familiar flavors a small anchor to normalcy in a world that has gone completely insane. The act of eating becomes meditative, each bite a moment of peace in the storm of my thoughts.
“One male wants to challenge Abraxis for his place; someone noticed his injury at the meeting,” Njall says, and my blood runs cold. The temperature drop so sudden and complete that I feel like ice water has been poured directly into my veins.
“Shit...” The word escapes my lips as a whisper, my eyes finding Balor across the courtyard. He nods, his expression grim, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the tension in his jaw.
“One of your cousins can fight in his stead,” Balor mentions, and Ty and Njall look at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. I can see the conflict in their eyes, the way Abraxis acted when I was watching the horizon didn’t win him any points with them, his jealousy and petty behavior leaving a sour taste in everyone’s mouth.
“Let’s see if anything comes of it. Everyone knows I am free to choose for myself what I want,” I say, my eyes following the sausage I’m pushing around on my plate, the movement giving my handssomething to do while my mind races with possibilities, none of them good.
“And what do you want?” Abraxis asks as he crosses his arms over his chest, the gesture defensive and aggressive, his stance wide as if preparing for a fight.
“You to stop being a jealous, insecure ass,” I yell at him, the words exploding from me with a force that surprises everyone, including myself. The tears that have been threatening all morning finally break free, rolling down my cheeks in hot, salty streams that taste of exhaustion and heartbreak. “Yes, you’re not at a hundred percent, but that doesn’t make me love you any less.” A sob escapes my lips, the sound torn from somewhere deep in my chest, raw and painful. I breathe in deeply, trying to regain control, but another sob escapes my lips, my body betraying the calm facade I’ve been trying to maintain. “I almost died to protect you because I love you.” Several small sobs escape my lips before I abandon my breakfast and turn to walk away, the food forgotten as I flee from the pain and frustration that threatens to overwhelm me completely.
A loud crack echoes in the courtyard, the sound sharp and decisive, like a gunshot in the mountain silence. I don’t bother to look back, but I feel the moment Abraxis is knocked out, the sensation traveling through our bond like a physical blow to my consciousness. Somebody hit him, the violence sudden and shocking in its swiftness. My chest hurts, tight and constricted, feeling like someone is sitting on it, crushing the air from my lungs with inexorable pressure. I have two mates far away fighting to protect our family and one male fighting being in our family, the irony bitter as poison on my tongue.
For now, sleep sounds divine. I’ve been awake for almost two full days, and it’s finally getting to me, exhaustion weighing down my limbs like lead, making each step an effort of will. My eyelids feel gritty and dry, my vision occasionally blurring at the edges as my body finally acknowledges its limits.
I head straight to my bedroom, my feet carrying me on autopilot through the familiar corridors. I slip into my oversized tee shirt I stole from Thauglor, the fabric soft and worn, still carrying the faint scent of cedar and smoke that is uniquely his. The familiar aroma wraps around me like a hug, offering comfort in his absence. I pull on my favorite soft leggings; the fabric clinging to my legs like a second skin, warm and soothing against my tired flesh.
The minute my head hits the pillow, sleep claims me, dragging me down into blessed unconsciousness where the pain and fear can’t follow. I can only hope Klauth and Thauglor come home soon, the wish my last coherent thought before darkness takes me, offering the only escape from a reality that has become too much to bear while awake.
I’mawoken to shouting down the hallway, the harsh voices cutting through the fog of exhausted sleep like knives through silk. The sound reverberates off the stone walls, growing louder and more aggressive with each passing second, making my head throb with the sudden assault on my senses. Blinking my eyes several times, I struggle to focus through the haze of deep sleep, my vision blurry at the edges as consciousness slowly returns. The familiar weight and warmth surrounding me gradually comes into focus, and I see Balor’s scales around me, their obsidian surface gleaming in the dim light filtering through my bedroom windows. The scales are warm against my skin, radiating the heat of his basilisk form, and I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing where his massive coils encircle me protectively. I smile, the expression feeling strange on my face after the emotional turmoil of earlier.
“Thank you,” I say loud enough for him to hear me, my voice still rough with sleep and emotion, before I touch his scales, feeling their rough texture beneath my fingertips, like shark skin that catches and drags slightly against my palm with each movement.
Slowly he uncoils from me, the movement creating a rasping whisper as his rough scales slide against each other and against my skin, and shifts back. The transformation is accompanied by the familiar crack of bones reforming and the rustle of displaced air, followed by the scent of night air and cedar that always clings to him. The sudden absence of his warmth leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable, the cool air of my bedroom raising goosebumps along my arms and making me shiver.
“Three males have come to challenge for your hand and control of the nest,” Balor says as he helps me to my feet, his hands steady and warm against mine, calloused from years of combat and labor. The words hit me like a physical blow, making my stomach drop and my heart rate spike with a mixture of anger and dread.
Shaking my head, I walk over to my closet, my bare feet silent on the cold stone floor, each step sending small shocks of temperature up my legs. I pull out my basilisk scale armor, the familiar weight of it in my hands both comforting and ominous. The armor gleams dully in the bedroom light, each scale polished to perfection, overlapping in patterns that speak of master craftsmanship and deadly purpose. The leather backing is soft and supple from years of care, molded to fit my body perfectly, while the scales themselves are harder than steel, virtually impenetrable when properly worn. I look over my shoulder at him, meeting his eyes, which have taken on that subtle red glow that betrays his basilisk’s proximity to the surface.
“I am so over the dominant male dragon bullshit,” I mutter, the words carrying a venom that matches the deadly armor I’m preparing to don.
As I get dressed, I feel Balor braiding my hair for me, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they work through the emerald and silver strands. It’s a skill I didn’t know he possessed, the intricate weaving he creates both beautiful and practical, keeping my hair out of my face while somehow enhancing the predatory elegance of my appearance. The sensation of his hands working through my hair is soothing, a moment of tenderness before what promises to be violence, and I can smell the familiar scent of his skin, warm and masculine with undertones of something wilder, more dangerous.
The armor settles against my body like a second skin, each piece fitting perfectly, the scales moving with fluid grace as I test my range of motion. The weight of it is substantial but not cumbersome, distributed evenly across my frame in a way that speaks of the armor’s superior construction. I leave my horns unwrapped, letting them catch the light, their silver surface gleaming with an inner luminescence that marks me as what I am—a dragon in human form, deadly and beautiful in equal measure.
I strap on my short swords across my back, the familiar weight of the weapons a comfort against my shoulder blades. The leather harness creaks softly as I adjust the fit, ensuring the hilts are positioned for quick draw, the metal of the guards cool against my neck where they rest. Every sheath on my leathers that can hold blades is filled, the arsenal creating a subtle symphony of small sounds as I move. The whisper of steel against leather, the soft clink of metal against metal, the rustle of straps and buckles being secured.
Balor offers me my dark green hood and mask, the fabric soft and worn from use, and I stare at them, the weight of what they represent settling over me like a shroud. The hood is deep emerald, the color of old forests and deep shadows, while the mask is fashioned from the same basilisk scales as my armor, its surface carved with intricate patterns that seem to shift and move in the changing light. Together, they transform me from Mina, the conflicted mate and mother, into something else entirely.
Time to be daddy’s little monster.
The thought settles into my mind with the cold finality of a blade finding its sheath, and I feel the familiar transformation beginning—not the physical shift of dragon to human, but the mental one that turns a protector into a predator, a mother into an instrument of death. The scared, exhausted female who fell asleep crying is gone, replaced by something colder, harder, infinitely more dangerous. Let them come with their challenges and their arrogance. They have no idea what they’re about to face.
CHAPTER 46
Mina
Stepping out of my bedroom,I feel as if my entire nest has become a war zone, the very air thrumming with tension and barely contained violence. The familiar stone corridors feel foreign now, charged with an electric hostility that makes my skin prickle beneath my armor. I sense Ziggy and the babies with Leander are in the hidden cavern off the hot springs, their emotional signatures muted but safe, tucked away where the scent of sulfur and heated stone will mask their presence.
