Page 89 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)

“Drink,” he urges, his green eyes filled with concern. His voice seems to come from far away, muffled by the roaring of blood in my ears. “Thauglor will be here soon.”

The liquid burns down my throat, bitter, and metallic, like drinking liquid iron mixed with the most pungent herbs.

I swallow convulsively, fighting the urge to gag as it coats my tongue with its astringent flavor.

I close my eyes, feeling it spread through my system like frost creeping across glass, dulling the edges of my heat but not extinguishing it.

My heartbeat slows, the frantic pace easing to something more sustainable.

Ziggy leaves for a moment, the air shifting with his departure.

I feel the atmosphere displace again, molecules rearranging themselves as he returns, this time bringing Thauglor and Balor back with him.

Their scents hit me immediately—Thauglor’s ancient smoke and something primordial like the earth before time began, and Balor’s scent of stone, earth, and a hint of venom that makes my nostrils burn pleasantly.

I have three of my eight mates with me, their presence both a comfort and a torment as my body craves what I’m denying it.

Balor moves close, his hair catching the blue light as he kneels beside me.

The fur beneath him compresses with his weight, tilting me slightly toward him.

He offers me the second vial. The glass clinking softly against his rings.

“Drink, Mina. One isn’t enough with as strong as you’ve become.

” I see the sadness in his crimson eyes, the emotion darkening them to the color of dried blood.

He hates doing this to me, even though it’s my request. His hand trembles slightly as he holds the vial, betraying his reluctance.

The second vial burns, but not as bad as the first. The liquid slides down my throat more easily, my body already numbed by the first dose.

It tastes of bitter roots and something almost sweet beneath the medicinal flavor.

Thauglor chooses now to shift, his massive form changing with a sound like mountains moving.

Bones crack and reform, skin gives way to scales with a sound like leather stretching.

He lays down, his enormous body making the ground beneath us tremble.

His scales, black as midnight, reflect the blue crystal light, creating patterns across the cavern walls like stars.

He extends a taloned hand, each claw longer than my body, gleaming wickedly in the dim light. The scales of his palm are smoother than those of his back, designed for handling precious things. Ziggy lays a soft fur-lined lambskin in his hand, the white wool stark against the obsidian scales.

A yawn escapes my lips as my vision swims, the world blurring at the edges like watercolors in the rain.

My limbs feel leaden, my eyelids impossibly heavy.

Balor scoops me up, his arms strong and secure around me.

The scent of him—earth after the rain, stone warmed by the sun—envelops me as he cradles me against his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath my ear, a counterpoint to my slowing pulse.

He lays me in Thauglor’s dragon’s taloned hand.

The scales are surprisingly warm against my skin, radiating heat that matches my own fevered temperature.

My body feels heavy, as if being pulled under by invisible weights.

But I’m still awake, clinging to consciousness like a drowning person to driftwood.

My vision swims again, colors blending and shifting, and I swear I see Abraxis in front of me.

His features seem to float, disconnected in my drug-hazed perception, but his scent—mountain air and something uniquely him—confirms his presence.

“Sleep, Mina. We’ll all take turns watching over you.

” Abraxis kisses my forehead, his lips cool against my burning skin.

He smiles against my skin, the gesture intimate, and tender.

“I have it on good authority that Thauglor will either torch or eat any that dare disturb you.”

I turn my head, feeling as if my world is tilting on its axis.

The movement sends a cascade of silver and emerald hair across my face, the strands sticky with sweat.

Through the curtain of my hair, I see the white face of Thauglor’s great wyrm black dragon looking down at me.

His eyes are like molten sapphires in his alabaster face, ancient and knowing.

Pupils contracted to slits in the dim light.

Steam rises from his nostrils with each breath, adding to the misty atmosphere of the cavern.

He rumbles softly to me. The sound vibrating through his talons and into my body.

It’s a tune a drake sings to its mate to soothe her, a melody as old as dragon kind itself.

The notes are too low for human ears to fully appreciate, but my dragonic side hears them perfectly.

I feel the echo of it in my bones, reverberating through my marrow like the deepest bass, calming the raging fire of my heat.

The fight drains out of me with each note of his song, my muscles relaxing one by one until I feel boneless in his gentle grip.

My eyelids flutter, growing heavier with each passing second.

The crystals on the ceiling blur into a sea of blue stars as my vision darkens at the edges.

The last thing I’m aware of is the combined scents of my mates, the warmth of Thauglor’s scales beneath me, and the soothing rumble of his song carrying me into oblivion.

I drift off to sleep, safe knowing that I am protected, cherished, and, above all, loved.

The conclusion:

Queen of the Cursed Egg