Page 80 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)
“It was all Lysander and Abaddon. They want to turn her into a dracolich. All I did was supply the phylactery.” Kai says as his eyes lock with mine, almost pleading. Sweat beads on his forehead, catching the light as it trickles down his temple.
The smell of ozone rises around me, sharp and electric, like the air before a storm.
I feel the sparks of lightning dancing in my hair, raising each strand until it floats around my head like a living halo.
The tiny jolts of electricity tingle against my scalp, a sensation both foreign and exhilarating.
“Is that all?” I ask as I shift my hands, allowing my silver talons to gleam in the harsh lights.
The transformation is painless, more like a glove being removed than a change in form.
Interestingly enough, sparks of lightning jump effortlessly between my talons, creating tiny arcs of blue-white energy.
I stare at the lightning, mesmerized by the dance of electricity, and then focus my gaze on Kai.
The world narrows to just him and me, the periphery fading into insignificance.
“Hmm, interesting new development, mate, since you claimed Thauglor.” Klauth says his friend’s name, and Kai goes even paler, if that’s possible, and starts hyperventilating. His chest heaves with each rapid, shallow breath, the sound wet and desperate.
“The black egg hatched?” He pants out between gasping breaths, his words barely audible over the rasp of his breathing.
I feel the way my lips turn up in a feral grin.
The muscles pulling tight across my face in an expression that feels more predator than human.
I tilt my head to the side, exposing Thauglor’s mate mark on my neck.
The air caresses the sensitive skin there, a reminder of the moment his teeth broke my flesh, claiming me as his.
“Yes, and he’s my mate.” My eyes drop to my talons, watching the lightning dance along their lengths.
Each spark is a tiny sun, blindingly bright against the silver of my claws.
“Seems like I’ve had a bit of an upgrade.
” To test the theory, I flick my wrist and send a bolt of lightning to hit the stand beside him.
The wood explodes on impact with a deafening crack, splinters flying in all directions, and starts burning.
The acrid smell of scorched wood fills the air, mixing with the ozone.
I can wield lightning without Iris now. The realization sends a thrill of power through my veins, heady and intoxicating.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” I purr, still staring at my talons and the way the light plays on the scales on my hands and forearms, the iridescent green, and silver catching and refracting the light like living jewels.
“Take him away. I may want to turn my young mate loose on him later.” Klauth kisses my temple again, his lips lingering this time, just as Thauglor arrives at my side.
He takes my taloned hand in his, the heat of his skin a stark contrast to the cool feel of my claws.
He looks at the scales and the length of my talons, his expression one of fascination and pride.
“Our mate is powerful indeed. These talons look to be titanium in origin, not iron. They are too light in color and far too sharp to be an iron’s talons.
” Thauglor says as he examines my hands, his touch gentle despite the strength I know resides in his fingers.
His thumb traces the junction where scale meets skin, sending shivers up my arm.
“As far as I know, my mom was just an iron dragon.” I shrug my shoulders, the movement causing my scales to shift and catch the light differently. It’s not like I can ask her; my father murdered her. The thought brings a familiar ache to my chest, dull and persistent.
“Most iron dragons have titanium in them. The only difference is the percentage is what changes things.” Klauth says as he rubs my hand, soothing me enough to get the talons and scales to retract.
The transformation is like water flowing over stone, smooth and natural, leaving behind human skin that still tingles with residual energy.
“Her talons ripped through quarter-inch plate steel in the war simulation room.” Balor supplies as he steps closer, the subtle scent of his musk reaching me even from several feet away, sharp and acidic .
Klauth and Thauglor turn to look at him, their movements so synchronized it’s almost comical. “Show us,” Thauglor says before Klauth has the chance to, his voice carrying an undertone of command that makes Balor straighten almost imperceptibly.
Balor winks at me, the gesture playful despite the tension in the room, and leads us out of the Arcanum Campus and over to Shadowcarve.
The sudden transition from the climate-controlled building to the outside air raises goosebumps along my arms. The sun is bright overhead, warming my skin and making me squint until my eyes adjust. Secretly, I am hoping to spot Ziggy and get him to take me home.
Unfortunately, as we cross the campus, the students that pass us notice the royal guards, Klauth, and then me.
Their whispers follow us like a wave, growing louder and then fading as we move past. Next year will not be fun in the least bit.
We eventually cross the threshold for Shadowcarve, the temperature dropping several degrees as we enter the stone building.
The familiar scent of old books and weapon oil fills my nostrils, a scent I’ve come to associate with training and pain and triumph.
We head upstairs to the classrooms, our footsteps echoing against the stone floors and walls.
Vaughn is in class with Callan, and I wave as we walk past the door, glimpsing their surprised faces through the narrow window.
Balor pulls keys out of his pocket to open up the simulation room for us, the metal jingling softly in the quiet hallway.
The door opens with a hydraulic hiss, revealing the cavernous space beyond.
Once inside, he flips on all the lights.
The fluorescents flickering to life with an audible buzz.
The station I clawed up stands out, the metal twisted and torn like paper.
The edges gleaming raw and bright where my talons ripped through them.
Thauglor and Klauth walk over to examine it, their movements careful and measured as if approaching something dangerous.
The torn metal looks even more dramatic under the bright lights, the damage more extensive than I remembered.
Abraxis moves to stand behind me and pulls me back flush with his chest, his arms encircling my waist. His heartbeat is strong and steady against my back, grounding me in the moment.
“You are definitely part titanium dragon, Mina,” Thauglor says softly, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying perfectly in the quiet room.
“An iron dragon’s talons are not strong enough to rip through metal.
” I stare into Thauglor’s gold-flecked sapphire eyes, losing myself momentarily in their ancient depths.
The implications of what he’s saying hits me like a boulder that was dropped off a cliff.
The impact stealing the breath from my lungs.
My mom was part of two of the strongest dragon species known to exist. My strength and resilience comes from my mom.
The same woman that rejected me because of the color of my scales.
The irony is bitter on my tongue, a taste like ash and disappointment.
I caress my bond with Ziggy, calling to him, the connection between us vibrating like a plucked string.
Within seconds, he arrives with a displacement of air that stirs my hair, and I step away from my dragon mates and into his arms. His embrace differs from theirs—cooler, less imposing, but no less strong.
Ziggy knows what to do when I’m like this.
I need quiet and comfort and just to be held until I process everything that was just dumped on me.
Within seconds, we’ve gone to one of my favorite places in the world, my poison garden up in the branches of the ancient tree.
The phasing is jarring, a momentary sensation of being everywhere and nowhere at once before solidifying.
The familiar scent of my plants—some sweet, some acrid, all deadly in their own way—wraps around me like a comforting blanket.
The filtered sunlight through the canopy above dapples the ground with patches of gold, and the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze creates a soothing white noise that calms my racing thoughts.