Page 71 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)
Mina
Kai doesn’t stick around long once Lysander has me in the center of the room, his footsteps fading into the echoing silence as he abandons me to my fate.
Sarcophagi line the interior of the cavern, Klauth’s ancestors from what I can gather.
They stand like stone monoliths forgotten to time in this damp space, the air around them thick with the musty scent of age and decay.
Water drips somewhere in the darkness, each drop amplified in the cavernous silence, marking time like a morbid metronome.
“It’s truly a sad day that basilisk and dragons have issues reproducing,” Lysander says, his voice slithering through the cool air between us.
He does a mock pout as he stares at me, his lips curling unnaturally, revealing teeth too sharp for a human mouth.
“In a true mate situation, the babies take mostly after the mother.” He smirks and tilts his head, the movement jerky, and reptilian.
The torchlight catches in his eyes, reflecting with an inhuman glow.
“You’ve already met my son, Zade. He works for your father.
He’s a green dragon-basilisk hybrid. His mother is part of the flight your father commands. ”
Lysander’s words hit me like a sledgehammer, the impact stealing my breath more effectively than a physical blow.
The cold realization spreads through my veins like ice water—the male I killed was his son.
The taste of bile rises in my throat, acidic and bitter.
“What happened to having dragon-kin?” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears, bouncing off the stone walls around us.
“Lies. Dragon kin are produced when the pair are not mates.” He hisses, the sound sharp and grating in the enclosed space, and his serpentine tongue flickers out, tasting the air near me.
I can feel the slight disturbance in the air it creates unnervingly close to my skin.
“You should go into heat again sooner than later. Such perfect timing.” His words repulse me to the point I shiver, goosebumps rising along my arms despite the damp heat of the cavern.
“I’ll never give you hatchlings.” I turn my head away from him, the muscles in my neck protesting the movement, and catch the momentary glow of red eyes in the darkness, like burning coals nestled in shadow.
The scale on the back of my neck warms slightly, a pleasant heat against my otherwise chilled skin, and my breath catches in my throat, heart skipping a beat.
Balor is here. The faint, familiar scent of him—earth and smoke and something uniquely his—reaches me even through the stale cavern air, so subtle I might have imagined it.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. You have three choices.
Provide me heirs, bind your soul to a vessel and become a dracolich, or simply die a slow, horrible death in my coils.
” He lunges forward, the air displacing with a whoosh, and grips my jaw, his fingers digging painfully into my skin, forcing me to face him.
His breath washes over me, hot and smelling of rotting meat and something chemical I can’t identify.
“You already have one basilisk in the nest. Why not add a different subspecies?”
“Subspecies?” Out of habit, I make my scales rise over my ribs and up my throat just in case, feeling them shift and overlap beneath my skin with a sensation like thousands of tiny razors sliding into place.
The sound they make is imperceptible to human ears, but to me, it’s a soft, comforting rasp, like chain mail settling.
Slowly, they spread down and over my soft stomach to protect my intestines, the weight of them reassuring.
“Balor isn’t the only type of basilisk out there.
Mine is admittedly smaller, but no less deadly.
” His eyes are more of a red-orange when they shift to his basilisk’s, the pupils narrowing to vertical slits as they focus on me with predatory intensity.
The air between us seems to thicken, becoming harder to breathe.
Reaching deep within myself, I am just starting to feel my dragoness again, a warm, familiar presence unfurling in my core, and the faint echoes of my bonds to my mates.
Each connection feels distinct—one a cool, steady pulse, another a gentle warmth, a third a rhythmic thrum.
I find the one that seems like it’s burning, a connection that sears through my consciousness like a brand, and push as much energy towards it as I can, the effort making my temples throb.
‘ Come to me...’ I call down that bond, hoping beyond hope it’s Thauglor’s.
“I’m too young to bear offspring safely.
” I fight for control of my head, trying to pull away from him, the bones in my jaw creaking under his grip.
“Another myth. As soon as the first heat hits, a female is breedable. You simply need to lay your eggs as your dragon to survive.” Lysander says, his voice taking on a lecturing tone that makes my skin crawl. His fingers tighten on my face, leaving bruises I can already feel forming.
Fuck, he knows... My heart sinks, the heavy weight of dread settling in my stomach like a stone.
I stare into his eyes as coldly as possible.
I try to mask the fear I know he can probably smell on me, sour and sharp.
“I would rather die than breed with you.” I growl at him, the sound rumbling deep in my chest, and spit in his face.
The glob of saliva lands on his cheek, sliding down slowly.
Flat palm, I hit his chest as hard as I can, the impact jarring up my arm.
What I wouldn’t give to have my talons right now, to feel them slice through his flesh.
What the hell did he give me to keep me from shifting?
My skin itches with the need to transform, to tear him apart scale by scale.
“Fucking bitch.” He backhands me across my face, the crack of his palm against my cheek echoing in the cavern.
Pain explodes across my face, bright and hot, as I go sprawling.
The ground is rough beneath me, scraping my palms and knees as I land, the taste of copper flooding my mouth where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek.
When I look up, blinking away stars, I see Balor watching from the shadows, his six eyes glowing with barely contained rage.
I shake my head slightly, telling him no. Not yet. Wait for the right moment.
Lysander rips me up off the ground by my hair, each individual strand feeling like it might tear from my scalp.
Pain lances across my head, bringing tears to my eyes that I refuse to let fall.
“I guess you choose death. Your father will be so disappointed.” Manic laughter escapes his lips, high and unhinged, and I feel a shiver move down my scales along my spine, the sensation both foreign and familiar.
I believe he’s finally lost it. “He told me you would choose me over death.” The laughter continues as his eyes flicker between human and serpentine, never quite settling on one form.
The surrounding air seems to waver, as if reality itself is struggling to contain him.
Lysander has finally become unhinged, and I’m in the hands of a madman.
The realization is more terrifying than any physical threat.
Before I can say anything, Lysander’s form contorts, bones cracking and reshaping with wet, sickening pops as he shifts to his basilisk.
His serpentine form isn’t as long as Balor’s, and his scales are large plates versus heavily armored scales, gleaming dully in the dim light.
His basilisk only has two eyes instead of six, but they burn with malevolent intelligence as they fix on me.
He coils around me slowly, the scales rough against my skin through my clothing, starting to crush.
The pressure builds gradually, pushing the air from my lungs in small, desperate gasps.
An enraged roar echoes down the tunnel, the sound so powerful I feel it vibrate in my chest cavity.
I smile, my split lip stinging with the movement.
I call back as loud as I can, a primal sound of defiance and recognition, before Lysander tightens his coils around me.
Gasping, I wiggle, fighting for breath, the edges of my vision darkening.
I manage to get myself into a position lined up with one of his larger scale plates that allows me to catch my breath a little.
The small pocket of space is a momentary reprieve.
The sounds of something clawing at the earth echoes through the chamber as dirt falls from the ceiling, raining down on us like fine brown snow, filling my nose with the scent of loam and minerals.
I turn my head slowly in the direction where I last saw Balor, each movement an agony of careful precision, and mouth NOW to him, my lips forming the word with deliberate clarity.
Before I can blink, his basilisk launches out of the darkness, a blur of coiled muscle and gleaming scales striking Lysander just below his head.
The impact sends vibrations through Lysander’s body and into mine, his surprise manifesting as a high-pitched hiss that hurts my ears.
Lysander uncoils a little bit, though still not enough for me to get free, his muscles rippling beneath his scales in confusion.
Balor coils up again, his massive form gathering potential energy like a spring, and strikes at Lysander.
The sound of scale tearing from scale a horrific screech that sets my teeth on edge.
The scent of reptilian blood fills the air, coppery and alien.
I can almost shift my hands now, feeling the familiar burn as my talons begin to push through my fingertips.
The sensation is both painful and welcome.
My talons almost extend fully, the sharp points catching the dim light.
Once they can, I’ll be able to cut my way free, the thought filling me with savage anticipation .