Page 3 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)

“This one is yours,” I say, pointing to the reddish hatchling with greenish silver edges marking its scales.

The paint glistens like real dragon hide in the morning light.

“The one over here is Balor’s.” He raises his hand in acknowledgement as I point to the pitch-black hatchling with vivid green edges.

The contrast is sharp, and the brushstrokes add depth to the darkness of its scales.

“This little one is Vaughn’s.” Abraxis tilts his head toward the gargoyle statue when I point to a slate-gray and green hatchling, almost camouflaged against its surroundings.

“And this one is Abraxis’s hatchling,” I finish, my finger trailing to the final dragon.

Its scales match his—a black as the voice that catches absorbs ray of light—framed by a thin band of brass around each edge.

I can practically feel my dragoness stir at the sight, a reminder of the bond we share.

A deep purr rumbles in Klauth’s chest, vibrating against my side as he keeps one muscled arm around me while he eats. The savory aroma of sausage and fresh coffee hangs in the air. Warmth radiates from Klauth’s body, a comforting contrast to the cool stone floor beneath the stools.

“I educated our mate on how females used to birth their young,” Klauth says. His voice is low and measured as he takes a long sip of coffee, the mug clinking softly against his teeth before he looks at the others again. The steam rises in gentle curls .

“What do you mean, used to?” Abraxis asks, leaning on the counter. His posture is relaxed, but I see tension thrumming in his shoulders, the same undercurrent I sense whenever something challenges our world’s norms.

“Apparently females used to lay their eggs as their dragons. Like my mom did with me.” My voice softens by several octaves, my tone hushed, as my hand caresses the carrier holding Thauglor.

The shell is smooth beneath my fingertips, the faint warmth it gives off calming my nerves.

Thauglor sends a soft vibration through the egg that pulses into my hand—like a gentle hum singing straight to my heart.

Klauth chooses that moment to lean forward and press a hot, lingering kiss just under my ear.

His breath tickles my skin, smelling of coffee and something smoky.

“To watch you seek comfort from his egg makes me understand what you were doing when I was trapped,” he murmurs.

“I felt every caress, heard every word, and clung to it. Your strength became mine, and mine yours.” He presses his lips to my temple, and I inhale his woodsy scent, letting it ground me.

When he looks back at the others, his voice hardens a notch.

“We never allowed our females to lay their eggs as humans. It’s far too dangerous for them.

Why it’s allowed now is beyond me.” He grumbles before stabbing a piece of sausage, the tines scraping against the plate with a sharp clang.

Callan pulls a thick, leather-bound tome off a nearby shelf.

Dust swirls in the overhead light as he places it on the counter and flips through pages that crackle with age.

Finding what he’s looking for, he smooths a page and points.

“Apparently, a thousand years ago, to prevent what happened to Syrax from happening again, dragonesses were banned from laying eggs. Their human form would have to bear the duty.”

“Who’s Syrax?” I ask, turning to look at Klauth. My voice echoes slightly off the vaulted ceiling .

“My betrothed,” Klauth says after a measured pause. “I destroyed several dens, half the countryside, and wiped out two nests in my rampage. We had four viable eggs.” He closes his eyes, drawing in a long, slow breath.

I can feel the ripple of tension in him, can practically taste the metallic tang of his suppressed fury in the air.

His dragon moves under his skin, coiling and restless.

Heart fluttering, I motion for the others to back up.

Slowly, I turn in his lap and press my nose under his jaw, showing submissiveness.

His skin is warm against the tip of my nose, and the scrape of his slight stubble grounds me.

“Help me dig a better nest for me to be safe in,” I whisper, letting my dragoness’s purr rumble up through my throat.

“I will shift and remain as my dragoness when it’s time for me to bear eggs.

History will not repeat itself.” My gaze flicks to Abraxis, silently pleading for him to hold back.

The tension in the room crackles like a brewing storm.

Even the overhead lights seem to hum with heightened energy.

The last thing we need is for their drakes to fight. That is one fight Abraxis will not win.

“We will dig it as a nest,” Klauth says, voice still rough around the edges.

“Unfortunately, some of what you have already done will be destroyed in the process. It is my duty and honor to dig you a nest worthy of the hatchlings you one day will bear.” He lifts my chin, his fingers calloused yet gentle, until our eyes meet. I nod, agreeing.

“Looks like I need to rearrange the date nights.” Callan sets the tome aside and strides over to a small dry-erase board on the wall. The marker squeaks as he flips the cap.

“Date nights?” Klauth tilts his head, curiosity replacing some of the tension.

“Each of us gets a night in the rotation to have Mina all to ourselves,” Leander explains, gesturing to the schedule scrawled across the board. I can smell the faint chemical scent of the erasable marker .

“By the looks of it, we have another pressing issue that needs to be handled after that,” Klauth says, his gaze landing on Vaughn’s stone form in the corner. Even through the low lighting, it’s impossible to ignore that statue-like pose.

“It’s on the list,” Balor replies, his attention shifting between the dry-erase board and Vaughn, whose stony silhouette looms ominously.

“What are we going to do about sleeping arrangements?” Ziggy pipes up, flexing his slender fingers. The black nail polish he sports gleams in the harsh overhead lighting. “We have one spare room, but when Thauglor hatches, Mina will be displaced.”

“I rarely sleep in my room anymore,” I admit, sliding off Klauth’s lap and moving to snuggle against Ziggy.

The familiar scent of his leather jacket and spicy cologne eases some of my remaining tension.

“Klauth can take my room. That gives us time to get the spare room in order for Thauglor.” My gaze shifts between Abraxis and Klauth.

“You two are close in size. Maybe find something more modern for Klauth to wear, and I’ll go shopping for him later today.

I’ll take measurements so I can get suitable clothing for him. ”

“You don’t need to go through so much trouble for me, mate,” Klauth protests, his tone laced with genuine surprise. But I close the distance and place a finger to his lips, feeling the whisper of his exhaled breath.

“Allow me to do my duty of taking care of my mate. This is my nest. My mates…” I gesture broadly to all the males in the room, feeling their eyes on me.

The overhead lights flicker slightly, as though acknowledging the gravity of my words.

“It would please me greatly to do this for you.” I can almost sense his pride bristle, so I soften my voice.

“If it pleases you, then it pleases me as well,” he finally says, lowering his head in acceptance. A proud, powerful great wyrm bowing to me … The weight of that gesture hums in my veins .

“I have the bath drawn and fresh linens in the bathroom for you,” Ziggy says from the doorway, the warm glow of the bathroom light spilling out behind him. Steam drifts into the hall, carrying the clean scent of soap and crisp towels.

“Go get cleaned up. I have knives and other things to prepare for the gauntlets,” I say, pressing a quick kiss to Klauth’s cheek. His skin is hot to the touch, a reminder of just how capable he is of unleashing destruction if threatened.

“Gauntlets? There’s only supposed to be one. The entry to what will be Shadowcarve,” Klauth murmurs, sliding off the stool. He takes my hands in his. I feel the slight tremor still coursing through him, the echo of his dragon’s agitation.

“The academy is a war college. There’s a yearly gauntlet to weed out the weak. Then there’s the one specifically for Shadowcarve. I have two gauntlets to run over the next two days.” I flash him a grin, trying to mask my excitement. I watch the color drain from his face, his nostrils flaring.

“Our mate is the first female in the history of Shadowcarve to be strong enough and smart enough to attend. She’s lethal,” Abraxis cuts in, his feral grin exposing slightly elongated canines.

Klauth turns to look at me with a newfound respect in his eyes and exhales a slow breath.

“Oh, this is going to be fun … I will assist you however you desire, my mate.” He brings his fist to his chest, the impact making a dull thud, and bows.

Abraxis’s jaw slacks; the shock in his gaze is clear.

A great wyrm just honored me by raising his fist to his heart, swearing his life eternal to me.

As Klauth heads to the bathroom, the faint trickle of running water and the rich smell of soap drift through the open doorway.

I glance around at the others, heart thudding in my chest. The memory of Klauth’s vow lingers in my mind.

Outside, a sudden gust rattles the tall windows of the apartment, adding a final note of tension to the moment.

I let my fingertips run gently over Thauglor’s carrier, feeling the humming warmth of the egg beneath the shell. Within this ancient fortress, with its cold corridors and whispering shadows, we forge bonds that could reshape our future—or tear us apart.