Page 43 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
“What can I do for my mate?” I kiss the crown of her head as I wrap my arms around her, holding her close. Her hair is silky against my lips, carrying the lingering aroma of her shampoo—jasmine and vanilla—beneath the day’s more primal scents.
She looks up at me slowly, and her eyes shift from her dragon’s—vertical pupils surrounded by iridescent gold—back to being human, warm amber with flecks of copper. The transformation is subtle but mesmerizing, like watching the sun emerge from behind storm clouds. “Just love me. Hold me,” she sighs, her voice soft and vulnerable in a way few ever hear. I press my lips to her forehead, tasting salt and feeling the warmth of her skin, before I lead her away. My arm around her waist keeps her close, our steps falling into perfect sync.
“Hey Evan, mind taking us back to the nest?” I see Ziggy’s pride mate wandering around still, his tall form casting a long shadow in the late afternoon light.
“Of course, hold tight.” He reaches out and takes hold of both of us, his fingers strong and warm against my forearm, before phasing us back to the upper courtyard. The air shifts suddenly around us, pressurebuilding then releasing as we materialize in our home territory. The familiar scents of pine, earth, and family wash over me, a welcome relief after the blood-soaked training grounds. Ziggy and the three babies are playing by the small pond, their delighted squeals and splashes filling the otherwise peaceful courtyard. Droplets of water catch the light like scattered diamonds when Lily flaps her wings excitedly.
“Hello ladies!” Evan says loudly, his voice booming across the space, before the babies all charge him. The rapid patter of their feet against the stone creates a frantic drumbeat. Lily takes flight, her wings creating a soft whirring sound, and hits him high while the kittens go for his legs, their tiny claws clicking against the courtyard floor. He falls back on the ground laughing, the impact sending a small cloud of dust into the air. “I yield!” He yells as the babies purr up a storm, pouncing on him. The vibration of their collective purring is almost palpable.
“Come on, girls, let uncle Evan up,” Mina laughs, the sound like crystal bells in the warm afternoon air, as she tries pulling the kittens off of him. Their fur is silky beneath her fingers, their bodies squirming with boundless energy. Ziggy shifts back, the air shimmering slightly with the change, and scoops Mina up. She squeals as he spins her in a circle, her feet leaving the ground, hair flying out around her face like a dark halo.
“I missed you!” He laughs into her hair, the sound deep and genuine, and it makes me smile watching them together. The affection between them is tangible, warming the air around them like a physical force.
“We were only gone a few hours,” Mina says as Ziggy sets her back on her feet, the stone warm beneath her soles after the heat of the day. She nuzzles him, her nose tracing along his jawline, and kisses him softly, smiling. The gesture is intimate yet casual, speaking of their deep bond.
“Hours too long...” Ziggy smiles as he walks over to me, his footsteps light despite his size. “So, how did the newcomers make out?” He glances between me and Mina, his eyes sharp and assessing, picking up on the tension we’ve brought home with us.
“We’ll talk inside.” The way she says it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on edge, a primal warning system responding to the cold undertone in her otherwise neutral words. Ziggy and I stare at each other for a moment, a silent communication passing between us—concern, understanding, readiness for whatever comes next. Our breath mingles in the space between us, creating a momentary connection before we gather the kittens up and head inside behind our mate. They squirm in our arms, warm little bodies full of life and innocence, blissfully unaware of the darker currents running beneath the surface of our world. Their tiny heartbeats, rapid and strong against my palms, remind me what we’re fighting for—what we’ll always fight for.
CHAPTER 29
Mina
It’sa sad day when I realize I’ve been trained harder than half of the males I come across. The weight of this knowledge settles in my chest like a cold stone. Shaking my head, I perch on the arm of the couch, the leather cool and smooth beneath my fingertips as I wait for everyone else to get home. The quiet of the house is broken only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of my babies, all curled up together in front of the fireplace, taking their naps. Their tiny forms rise and fall with each breath, scales and fur catching the amber firelight in a mesmerizing dance of shadows.
The sound of multiple footsteps approaching breaks the tranquility, heavy and light patterns mingling in a familiar cadence that makes my heart quicken slightly. Ziggy and his pride arrive home with my other mates in tow, their scents—a complex mixture of pine, earth, and their unique personal notes—filling the room as they enter. I motion for us to move into Klauth’s private office, my fingers tracing a path through the air that feels weighted with significance.
“Evan, mind watching over the little ones for a little bit?” My voicesounds tight even to my own ears, strained with the tension I’m trying to contain.
His eyes dart from the sleeping hatchlings, their scales and fur gleaming softly in the firelight, then back to me. The concern in his gaze is palpable, a physical thing that stretches between us. “Sure. Want me to knock if they wake up?” He tilts his head, looking back at them again, his posture betraying his uncertainty.
“No, just shift and play with them. They like when Ziggy picks them up with his tentacles and waves them around. Lily will want to ride on your back.” He nods, listening, then shifts to stand watch over my progeny. The air shimmers slightly with his transformation, the sound of bone and muscle restructuring a soft, wet symphony that raises the fine hairs on my arms despite my familiarity with it.
I usher my mates into the office, the cool air inside carrying the scent of old books, leather, and Klauth’s distinctive aroma—ancient stone and smoke. The door closes behind us with a solid click that resonates in the sudden silence. Before I begin, I sit my diadem on my head, the metal cool against my skin, its weight a reminder of my duty. This gesture signals to them it’s serious Mina versus mate speaking now. The metal catches the light from the desk lamp, casting small, dancing reflections on the walls.
“Oh shit,” Callan says as he leans back against the bookshelf, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. The smell of old paper and leather-bound volumes intensifies with his movement, releasing pockets of dusty knowledge into the air.
“How stringent is the training for male dragons?” My eyes lock on Abraxis, the intensity of my gaze making him shift uncomfortably. I can almost hear his pulse quicken, see the subtle dilation of his pupils as he recognizes the seriousness of my question.
“They receive standard training,” he pauses as if that answers myquestion, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space. The tension in the room thickens, almost palpable on my skin.
“Training like I had, like you had, or less than either of us?” I fix him with that dead stare that Balor taught me to do, the one that seems to unnerve the dragons in the nest. I keep my face perfectly still, not even blinking, feeling the muscles around my eyes grow tight with the effort.
“Um...” He breaks eye contact and shifts his weight, the floorboards creaking beneath him. A droplet of sweat forms at his temple, catching the light before sliding down the curve of his cheek. “Less than both of us.”
“Considering you probably received less than me,” I pause, then look over at Thauglor, his ancient eyes reflecting centuries of knowledge and power. “I want to put you and Balor in charge of training our troops here. They need to be trained more than Abraxis, but maybe not to the point I was.” I stare down at the blotter on Klauth’s desk, tracing a finger over its smooth surface, the leather cool beneath my touch.
“What did you see, mate?” Klauth asks me, and I look up at him. His massive frame dominates the space, radiating heat that warms my skin even from across the room.
“It’s not what I’ve seen. It’s what I’ve not seen.” Slowly, I walk around the side of the desk to sit on it facing my mate, the wood solid and reassuring beneath me. “I cut through those three brass dragons like they were fledglings. I’m half their size.” Arching a brow, I look at each of my mates taking in their expressions—concern, curiosity, dawning understanding. “In theory, they should have been able to overpower me just based on the size difference.”
“Based on that theory, out of three, at least one of them should have won,” Ziggy says as he looks at the dragons in the room, his voicecarrying a thoughtful note that resonates against the wood-paneled walls.
“Exactly.” Drawing in a deep breath, the scent of my mates—a complex tapestry of individual notes that has become the smell of home to me—filling my lungs. I look at Abraxis. “Shadowcarve is where the strongest of us are. Yet I can defeat every male in there. Something is happening with the training.” I stare at my mate, and it seems to sink in, the realization darkening his expression like a passing cloud.
Abraxis tilts his head several times, the joints in his neck popping softly, then starts pacing the office. His footfalls create a rhythmic pattern on the hardwood floor, a physical manifestation of his troubled thoughts. “What if, because there are no fully mature drakes—like two hundred years old plus—dragon kind is being weakened over time?” He looks over at Klauth, his movements stilling for a moment. “Didn’t you tell me that the hatchling I father at this age will never be as powerful as the ones I will father later in life?”
“That is correct,” Klauth says and pauses, his breath catching audibly. “Wait, they are killing most of the males off before they hit two hundred. No one is hitting full adulthood. Thus, weaker dragons are being born.” His eyes move to me, and we stare at each other, the connection between us almost tangible, a current of understanding that raises goosebumps on my arms. “How old was your father?”
