Page 81 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)
Balor
I hold in my hand a letter that may make or break Mina’s world.
The cream-colored envelope weighs heavy between my fingers, its wax seal already broken.
The scent of my mate’s sister clings to the paper—smoke and cinnamon, so similar to Mina’s, yet distinctly foreign.
Her sister Mara has laid her first clutch of eggs, and we’ve been invited for the hatching.
My stomach tightens at what this means for Mina.
She’s been quiet since her abduction—distant in a way that makes my basilisk nature restless beneath my skin.
She barely speaks to anyone in the nest, her once-vibrant voice now reduced to whispers.
Most nights, she slips into Leander’s bed.
That alone caused major issues with Thauglor, his territorial growls echoing through the stone corridors until Abraxis and Klauth intervened.
They explained through gritted teeth that Leander is the only one who keeps her nightmares at bay.
I stroll down the hallway toward Mina’s poison garden on the lower level.
My boots echo against the ancient stone, marking each deliberate step.
Her favorite hiding places are limited—either nestled among the deadly nightshade or perched up in the ancient willow tree that impossibly thrives in the center of her sanctuary.
When I enter the gardens, I feel like I’ve come home.
The heavy wooden door creaks shut behind me, and immediately, my shoulders relax.
Here, vines crawl up stone walls, and plants with leaves sharp enough to slice skin spread across the ground.
This is one of the few places I shift and slither around without worrying about hurting anyone—one of the few places where my true form is an asset rather than a threat.
The minute the wrought-iron gate locks behind me with a satisfying click, I let my shift wash over me.
My skin hardens, scales rippling across my body in waves of obsidian.
My bones crack and elongate as my form stretches, my jaw unhinging to accommodate my fangs.
Flicking my forked tongue against the humid air, I already know where Mina is—her scent, honey, and lavender with an undercurrent of fear, stands out among the poisonous flora.
Slowly, I coil around the tree and work my way up the trunk.
My scales grip the rough edges of the bark as I move, muscles contracting in a fluid rhythm perfected over centuries.
Once I hit the branches, it becomes easier to navigate through the maze of limbs and leaves.
Mina sits perched with her back against the tree, her legs dangling over the side of a thick branch.
Sunlight filtering through the glass ceiling catches in her copper hair, setting it ablaze.
“Oh no, I’m being hunted by the big bad basilisk,” she giggles as she looks down at me, her golden eyes sparkling with a hint of their old mischief.
I shift back to my human form and perch on a branch about eight feet below her.
The transformation is quicker this time, my body remembering its human shape with practiced ease.
“If I was hunting you, you never would have seen me coming,” I smile as I close the distance between us, moving from branch to branch with predatory grace.
“But I like seeing you come,” Mina says with a smile and winks at me, her cheeks flushing with color.
“So you do remember how to flirt?” I climb up and sit on the branch across from her, close enough to touch but giving her space to breathe. “What’s wrong, Mina? Talk to me.” Reaching out, I take her hands in mine. Her fingers are icy despite the garden’s warmth.
Her golden eyes search mine for what feels like forever, the seconds stretching between us like honey. “Lysander said that dragon kin are only produced when it’s not true mates.” She lowers her eyes and stares at our intertwined hands, her thumb tracing nervous circles against my skin.
“If he’s telling the truth, that’s good news.” I raise Mina’s hands to my lips and kiss her delicate knuckles, inhaling her scent. Even through her anxiety, the smell of her calls to something primal inside me.
“That would be nice.” She sighs and scoots forward, pressing her forehead against my chest. Her heartbeat flutters like a trapped bird.
I carefully maneuver us so my back is against the tree trunk, and I can pull her flush against me. Her weight settles against my chest, familiar, and right. “Your sister sent a letter.” I reach inside my leather jacket and offer the envelope to her.
Mina’s hands shake as she holds it, her knuckles going white with pressure.
Her scent drastically changes as fear and anxiety rocket through her, making her lithe frame tremble against mine.
The sound of the paper tearing seems amplified in the quiet garden, like an explosion in the stillness.
I watch as she slides the letter out and reads.
Mara apologizes for everything that happened.
She tells Mina about her mate and the clutch they have together .
“They hatch tonight?” Mina’s bottom lip trembles as she looks up at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I can see the war waging in her eyes—go see her sister’s progeny or remain here and ignore the event entirely.
“Basilisks can sense when eggs are going to hatch down to the hour. It’s a gift of ours.” I shrug, watching the range of emotions Mina cycles through—fear, longing, anger, hope—each one clear as day to my enhanced senses.
“Can we go? I mean, will they allow me in their den? Nest? Clutch? Pit? Whatever it’s called?
” She presses the bridge of her nose to the underside of my jaw, and I’m done for.
The gentle pressure of her skin against mine sends electricity racing down my spine.
I’d knit a sweater out of Lysander’s intestines if she asked me to.
“We can, and your other mates are already aware. Ziggy can drop us close, and we can traverse the last bit alone.” I offer and give her a gentle squeeze.
I can feel the minute she reaches for Ziggy’s bond and gives it a caress.
Sometimes it’s unnerving how in tune to Mina I am—how I can sense the subtle shifts in her energy when she connects with the others.
Ziggy phases into existence before us and almost tumbles off the branch, his form solidifying from mist to matter in an instant.
I reach out and grab him before he can fall, my reflexes lightning-quick.
“Whoa, that was close. Good catch, Balor,” Ziggy smiles as he looks between us, his green eyes assessing our tangled position.
“I’d like to go see my sister,” Mina’s voice sounds so small, and it makes Ziggy and me pause. Seeing her sister’s clutch may do good for both of us. Hopefully, they are fully shifted into either completely—not caught between worlds like the hybrid monsters that still haunt Mina’s nightmares.
#
The territory of my kind is a shadow of what it once was.
The Shadow Mount looms before us, jagged and imposing against the night sky.
Its obsidian peaks catch the moonlight, creating an eerie silver outline that both beckons and warns.
The entrance to our subterranean world gapes like a wound in the mountainside—as dangerous as it is beautiful.
The wind carries the scent of ancient stone and primal danger, stirring memories of a time when basilisks ruled these lands unchallenged.
Ziggy phases us within three hundred yards of the entrance, the air crackling with electricity as we materialize on solid ground. The sudden shift from nothingness to existence makes my stomach lurch, though I’m accustomed to his particular method of travel.
“I don’t dare go any closer,” he mutters, stepping side to side uneasily. His normally confident posture is tense, shoulders hunched as if expecting an attack. The scent of his fear—sharp and acrid—drifts between us.
“It’s okay. Mina and I have it from here.” I rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder and offer him a smile that I hope conveys more confidence than I feel. “Mina can fly us home later.” The leather of my gloves creaks as I squeeze his shoulder gently.
Ziggy hugs and kisses Mina goodbye, his movements hurried and anxious before he disappears before my eyes, leaving behind only the faint scent of his musk.
Mina and I stand in our black fighting leathers, the material clinging to our bodies like a second skin.
The supple leather moves with us, designed for both protection and effortless movement.
Her hood rests atop her head, her mask hanging loosely against her throat.
I can feel the unease radiating from her—a tangible thing that makes the air between us heavy and thick.
I lean in and kiss her cheek, my lips brushing against skin as soft as silk yet cool to the touch.
“Come on, let’ s go meet the little ones when they get here.
” I take her hand, feeling her slender fingers intertwine with mine, and start walking toward the entrance.
The jagged opening yawns before us, appearing like it has teeth with the way the stalactites and stalagmites hang—mineral fangs ready to snap shut on unwary travelers.
The damp, mineral-rich air carries the unmistakable scent of my kind—earth, stone, and something venomous that burns the nostrils.
With every step closer, her hand tightens on mine until I feel her talons threatening to emerge.
I know it’s not fear that drives her reaction, but apprehension.
The leather of our gloves creaks with the pressure of her grip.
She hasn’t seen her sister in almost two years, and now she’s invited into her pit.
This singular moment can make or break what’s left of their relationship.
The weight of it hangs in the air between us, unspoken but understood.