Page 8 of Klauth (Dragonis Academy, Year 2.5 #3)

Chapter Eight

I ache with an icy dread that seeps into every scale still forming beneath this shell.

The egg I’m trapped in—this prison the mages built—feels suffocating, like the thick air can barely slip into my lungs.

I can’t see my surroundings, but I sense movement outside; I hear my mate’s voice, low and urgent, rising in sharp conflict with a male’s.

I can’t make out every word, but the tension in her tone prickles across my skin even within this barrier.

She presses me close to her body, and I cling to the sound of her heartbeat.

It’s my only tether to the world beyond this cramped darkness.

One steady thump after another. I count them, noticing how my shallow breaths fall into rhythm with hers.

Each inhale is a relief, each exhale a reminder that I’m still conscious—still alive in this confinement.

When she shows me to another presence—a male who seems to recognize me—my heart stutters.

I flinch at his words: “Klauth never chooses anyone.” I want to roar and deny that, but my voice is swallowed by the egg.

My mate answers him, excitement threading her tone as she describes how I ignited for her.

How my fire will burn so bright the stars will dim in comparison.

Despite my fear, her faith in me brings a surge of warmth.

I long to break free and see this remarkable female who speaks of me with such reverence.

Suddenly, the egg jolts, and a crackling sensation shoots through me.

Lightning. It thrums in the air, traveling along the shell as if drawn to my mate’s rage.

Iron dragons have mastery over lightning, but they were once sworn enemies of my kind.

The realization knots my stomach. Is she part of that lineage?

It’s part of the conditions of breaking the curse…

She keeps me clutched tight while talking about her plan to build a nest in Malivore.

Even through my disorientation, I catch fragments of her strategy.

She’s pulling together a diverse group—someone adept at escaping, another skilled in poisons, and yet another who can detect lies.

The cunning of her choices sends a strange mix of pride and unease through my chest. I hate she has to plot so hard.

Females should be cherished, not forced into treacherous scheming just to survive.

Her voice drops, trembling, when she mentions the demons her father planted in her mind.

He taught her to be dangerous, a weapon.

Fury churns inside me, a blazing heat that radiates off of my scales.

No father should do that to a daughter. The very thought of him makes me vow to tear his head from his shoulders, to mount it on a pike for daring to twist her into someone she wasn’t meant to be.

She speaks to a reluctant mate—he must be a fool not to see her worth.

My chest constricts again, reminded of my plight.

I worry he’ll push her away, and I can feel how that possibility weighs on her.

Fear is sharp in her voice now, making my breath hitch.

She’s anxious, and it tugs at me like a physical tether.

Sometime later, a new male says something about the reluctant one not joining her yet. Anger coils in my gut. I’ve decided I already dislike this absent mate, though I’ve never laid eyes on him. His hesitation puts her in distress, and that’s enough to earn my scorn.

The walls of this egg remain unyielding.

I drag in a stifled breath, heart pounding with both anger and desperation.

What if the mages have crafted a perfect prison?

What if I can’t escape to stand by her side?

The darkness around me presses in, and I dig my claws against the shell in vain, longing to break free.

Until then, I wait—each moment feeling like a century—haunted by the fear that I might forever remain just a voice in the dark.

Everywhere my mate goes, I seem to go with her. I hear the others call her by a name. Mina … Her mate, that is another dragon from what I can sense, also treasures her, so he’s not bad.

She talks to what sounds like a gentle male.

The way she says my name and calls me mighty makes my scales puff up in pride.

I send my affections through the shell, hoping it’s doing something she can feel.

Perhaps the start of the tether of the mate bond can happen while I’m trapped.

I feel her relax. Apparently, she feels me. This alone gives me hope.

I remain confined in this shell, a prisoner of mage-crafted barriers, yet I’m content as long as I can sense her presence.

Her voice filters through the dense layers of my prison, muffled but comforting.

She speaks to me constantly, describing her day and updating me on every whisper of activity around us.

There’s a gentle vibration on the surface of my egg when she lays her palm against it.

In these moments, it feels as if we’re truly connected—my mind stirring with every soft brush of her fingertips.

She mentions the Shadowcarve gauntlet she must run today, and a ripple of tension courses through me.

I can’t see her, but I imagine her determined expression.

My chest—whatever semblance of a body I have left—tightens with worry.

A soft laugh escapes her lips, and the smooth shell reverberates with that gentle sound.

She introduces me to her fairy dragon familiar, promising the little creature will guard me.

Though the notion of relying on another for protection grates on my pride, I begrudgingly accept.

At least she isn’t leaving me unshielded.

As soon as her hand slips away, exhaustion floods me, and I drift into sleep.

Time blurs. Later, I stir when her touch returns, instantly recognizable by the warmth that seeps through the shell.

Excitement crackles in our bond. She won the gauntlet, and there’s a surprise for me.

Another pulse of energy sparks against my prison—the distinctive presence of another egg.

Thauglor. I sense his consciousness swirl around mine, familiar and reassuring, like a long-lost brother.

We share wordless greetings; I let him know everything I’ve learned about our mate since my awakening.

I can feel his anticipation matching mine, a low rumble of satisfaction echoing in his thoughts.

My Mina is his, too, and together we vow to protect her.

Her voice breaks through the shell again, animated as she recounts the trials she faced in the gauntlet.

She battled an ambush drake—a female who’d stolen Thauglor’s egg.

Pride flares within me when she boasts of bringing back its head as a trophy, proof of her victory and devotion.

I sense her fierce spirit, and it sends a pulse of warmth through my shell.

One male in her nest—his voice is distant, more echo than clarity—questions her plans for Thauglor and me. Mina responds without hesitation, declaring that she’s keeping both of us. A primal satisfaction surges through me. Two black dragons and a red in her nest will provide an unbreakable defense.

The world rocks slightly as she scoops us up.

I feel the echo of her heartbeat, steady and strong, through the shell walls.

It lulls me into a deep sense of safety.

She clutches both eggs protectively against her body, and my purr resonates, thrumming like distant thunder.

My mate claims us before her nest, and she doesn’t realize the significance of her words. But I do. Thauglor does.

This is the start of our mate bonds—tendrils of connection weaving tighter with every breath, every heartbeat, every hushed word she shares through this confining shell. And soon, I will be free to claim her entirely.

I press my palms against the slick, curved surface of this egg prison, feeling the faint thrumming from the world outside.

It’s cramped here, the shell fitting me like a second skin, dense and suffocating.

Sounds arrive muffled but discernible—voices distorted, like echoes in a deep cavern.

I focus on Mina’s voice: sharp and resonant with defiance, sending a pleasant shiver along my scales.

Whoever this headmaster is, I am not impressed.

I’d gladly add his skull to a nice little display in Mina’s honor.

My lips curl into a silent snarl at the thought.

She stands her ground, letting out a low, threatening growl that makes my entire shell tremble.

My female is fearless, and the pride that floods me is nearly overwhelming.

She has claimed us, and she refuses to entertain any contradiction.

Abraxis, her dragon mate—yes, I recall his name now—warns the Headmaster not to push her.

I sense the volatile energy between them; the Headmaster’s arrogance could very well lead to his own scorching.

The mere fantasy of his charred remains makes me rumble with amusement, though no one can hear me inside this egg.

Abraxis talks of ancient rites, and he’s correct.

We ignite; it’s how she claims us. Yet they prevented her from taking Thauglor that first time, which only adds to my disdain for the Headmaster.

I catch the arrival of another male in the nest, his voice smooth, diplomatic.

He tries to calm the situation—why would he do that?

Torch your enemies and sort the bodies later.

Then I realize: he’s a basilisk, like the Headmaster.

My mate was clever to bring one into the nest.

Mina shifts away from Abraxis, and I feel a ripple through the bond—sharp worry, like a knife twisting in my gut.

She mentions she’s immune to the basilisk’s gaze and venom.

Only a green dragon could boast such an immunity; they are yet another faction at odds with Thauglor and me.

Could she be the one the prophecy speaks of? The one to finally set us free?

Moments later, exhaustion tugs at me. I sense when Mina drifts off to sleep, still clutching our eggs.

She is unbelievably good to us. Perhaps Bahamut favors us at last. Her mate gently wakes her, and I hear her introduce him to Thauglor as she once did for me.

I can only hope Thauglor will be just as tolerant of this young male as I have been; he isn’t a bad drake, just inexperienced.

But he adores our female, and for now, that’s enough.

He touches my egg, and I pick up his rumbling concern. Mina is being stubborn about eating. My fury flares so fiercely that the shell feels hot against my forehead. ‘You must eat, my mate! You need your strength!’ I shout into the void, knowing Thauglor’s thunderous insistence joins mine.

At last, she relents, the bond humming with her decision.

A wave of relief washes over me, and I listen to the faint scrape of dishes, the soft murmurs of conversation.

They talk about the next gauntlet for Shadowcarve while she finally takes nourishment.

She delegates a task to the black dragon—cleaning her trophy.

Perfect. My mate is not only fierce; she’s cunning.

A slow grin curves across my lips. Even bound within this egg, I can sense the brilliant future she’s forging for us.