Page 14 of Klauth (Dragonis Academy, Year 2.5 #3)

Chapter Fourteen

I am cramped within this cursed egg, and every movement Mina makes sends faint tremors through my shell. The darkness around me is absolute, yet her emotions pulse like waves of light, flickering and twisting in my mind. Today, those waves are turbulent.

Mina is off. Quiet. Like a storm trying to hold itself back.

Through our bond, I sense the gnawing pain in her thoughts.

The memory of her mother’s hands delivered to her in a cruel package, her sister sent off into a nest of basilisks, and that basilisk mate …

Balor. I can almost taste the sadness on her tongue, sharp as copper, every time she thinks of him.

A soft click reverberates in her surroundings—perhaps the echo of footsteps on stone floors or the scrape of chairs in her Art of War class.

Her mind is split between her task and the swirl of despair.

She shifts in her seat, and there’s a sudden spike of anguish that twists my gut.

Then, just as quickly, it’s gone. I wish I knew who or what caused that sudden hurt.

Strategically, it makes perfect sense for her to align with a basilisk—a nearly indestructible mate. But she holds herself back.

I hear her talking now, voice low, controlled as she admonishes a gargoyle for his mistakes in a simulation.

I strain to pick up every detail, desperate to envision the scene.

My mate is brilliant—her ability to instruct, to command respect, resonates through our bond like a steady heartbeat.

I wish I could comfort her, but trapped as I am, I can only hope one of her other males notices her turmoil and coaxes it out of her.

Time shifts. I sense the change as Mina stands and moves from one class to the next.

My world tilts, each step a dull vibration against my shell.

She seems lighter—happy, even—so wherever we’re headed is a place that soothes her.

She’s speaking to Vaughn and then Ziggy, who appears with some sort of snack.

I catch the faintest impression of something sweet or spicy drifting through her senses.

The aroma barely registers through our bond, but it’s enough to make me wish I could taste it myself.

We end up in an art class, and the moment she settles in, her stress ebbs away, dissipating like mist in the sun.

The instructor’s voice filters through Mina’s mind, echoing to me.

Now is my chance. In the blackness of my prison, I conjure an image of myself standing before a mirror.

I focus on every detail: thick red hair in long waves, the deeper maroon shading beneath the surface, and eyes that glint crimson flecked with amber.

High cheekbones, a strong jawline, freckles dusting the bridge of my nose—these details feel so vivid it’s like I’m physically standing there again.

In my memory, I can almost smell the old soap I once used, the sting of cold air against my skin the morning I was captured.

With a surge of determination, I push another image to her: my dragon form.

I remember the glint of sunlight on scarlet scales, each scratch, or scar etched into my hide with its own story.

Thauglor, my friend, reminds me of those scars, corrects my memory, adding faint lines I’d forgotten.

If only she could truly see us. The desire to share everything throbs within me like a second heartbeat.

I feel Mina’s sudden shift as she finishes her painting.

Whatever she sees on the canvas must terrify her, because her pulse skyrockets.

Panic prickles the bond between us, and I hear her thoughts plain as day: in three weeks, I’ll break free to save her.

My insides clench. Did my images combine with some vision of her own?

Whatever it is, she bolts from the room, adrenaline flooding her veins and slamming into me like a tidal wave.

She yells at someone—maybe more than one person—her voice a raw, furious snarl: “Cut the macho male shit! We have a problem!” Her footsteps pound on the floor, each strike rattling my shell.

She collides with something, and her rage ignites.

I feel it as my own, a blaze in my core, and I want to tear the obstacle apart.

She growls, the sound rough as gravel scraping through her throat.

I’m certain her breath must be hot with fury.

Lightning crackles under her skin, a raw energy she can barely restrain.

“You need to leave…” Her voice is low, almost feral.

I can imagine her nails curling into talons, body rigid, ready to unleash havoc.

Finally, whoever challenged her backs off, and I sense her pulse slow.

The thunder in her chest quiets, though I still taste the metallic tang of anger lingering in her mouth.

She continues on, pacing or walking—I can’t be sure.

My world just jolts with each footstep. Someone asks what set her off, and she exhales, turning to them.

My mate … my fifth mate. Her words echo in my head as she shows them the painting she made of me.

I can’t see it, but I can feel the heavy hush around her, the weight of so many gazes landing on the vision of who I once was.

I wait, tense in my prison, yearning to break free and protect her from every threat.

Three weeks. The thought lingers between us like a brand.

Three weeks until I can stand beside her in flesh and blood instead of in these memories and muffled senses.

Until then, I can only remain here, listening to her heart pound and her breath hitch, praying she knows I see her—even if she can’t see me.

The sudden jolt of energy courses through me like a rippling quake.

My eyes fly open—though all I see is the murky interior of my prison shell, faintly illuminated by the crimson glow of my fury.

The shell feels warm from Mina’s touch, the heat of her presence soaked into the fragile barrier between us.

Something’s happening … Her voice is frantic, each syllable muffled yet urgent.

I sense she’s in a hurry from the way my egg tilts and slides—she must be placing me in some sort of sack or bag.

The rough fabric rasps against the curved shell, sending tiny vibrations along my arms where I brace myself inside.

My fingertips graze the inner wall of my egg; it’s slick with condensed moisture, making each breath thick in my lungs.

“It’s happening…” Mina’s whisper resonates through the shell, carrying a tremor I can’t ignore.

“Your time is almost upon us.” She’s pushing energy into me, a thrum of power that prickles like static on my skin. I feel my bones hum, as if her life force is urging me to break free.

Her words echo in my ears: “My gargoyle mate is going to hide your egg on the cliff face close to where I know I’ll need you. When it’s time, come swiftly—it’s only a matter of moments between life and death for me.”

Something inside me tightens at the desperation woven through each word. My chest aches with the weight of her plea—my mate needs me. The shell suddenly feels too small, too claustrophobic, the air stale and tinged with a faint metallic tang. I press a palm to the side, trying to reach out to her.

Warmth pools against the curve of the egg where her lips land. I can almost taste the salt of her skin through the shell, the ghost of her breath seeping inside. A sweet ache spreads in my chest.

“I’ll tug on the bond. Please hurry…”

Her voice is soft, cracking at the edges, and it makes me want to shatter this cursed casing. I ball my fists, driving them against the shell with dull thuds. The thick membrane doesn’t yield—not yet.

“It’s too soon. You need to save me at the right moment.”

Another rush of energy pulses through, warming my face and chest. My mate’s love is the key, searing the darkness away.

All at once, my stomach flips as I’m lifted again.

The egg jostles in the gargoyle’s grip, and then there’s a sudden gust of wind that buffets the shell.

It howls past, resonating like distant thunder through my enclosed world.

My ears pop with the altitude change. This time, I don’t drift into that strange, timeless sleep.

Whatever Mina’s kiss did, it has ignited my senses.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” the gargoyle mutters, his voice barely rising above the roaring wind. “I don’t know if you’ll answer me. Mina is putting her life in your talons. Hell, all of our lives, if her vision is correct.”

His words pulse against the shell, their vibration steady and somber. I slam my knuckles again in response—a dull echo in my cramped tomb. I’m here. I’m listening.

A hollow thud reverberates through the egg, and I imagine his stony claws gripping the bag.

The fabric scrapes across my shell, creating a faint rasp that sets my teeth on edge.

The wind whips, its icy tendrils reaching through any gap, chilling even the air inside.

I can sense the gargoyle’s fear—taste its bitterness in the atmosphere.

“You are nine hundred yards from where Mina will be when her father attacks. Probably only two to three beats of your wings,” he explains, voice cracking. “I’ll be stone when she needs me most, so I’m counting on you to save our mate…”

Nine hundred yards … two to three wing beats. A surge of confusion and adrenaline floods through me. My mind reels at the revelation—I’m expected to be large, powerful … a wyrm, maybe. That means centuries have passed, centuries stolen from me. I clench my jaw until it hurts.

“She’s scared,” the gargoyle murmurs, his voice almost lost to another gust. “She won’t admit it, but she’s scared for all of us. Her other dragon mate fights as we speak. You are her only hope.”

His plea stokes a burning rage in my chest, an inferno that licks at the edges of my consciousness. Tiny cracks spiderweb along the inside of the shell, each one accompanied by a sharp pang of possibility. I press against those cracks, feeling them lengthen beneath my fists.

I can’t see anything beyond the faint, blood-colored glow in here, but I can feel every throb of Mina’s energy buzzing through my veins.

My entire being is poised on the brink of shattering this cursed prison.

The knowledge that she’s out there, desperate and in danger, quickens my heartbeat until it slams against my ribs.

I don’t know how much time I have, or if I can break free before the exact moment she needs me. But I swear to her—through every breath, every pulse—that I will tear this shell apart the second she calls. And when I do, my roar will shake the very cliffs beneath us.