Chapter 22 Mina
Mina
It’s time to set our plan in motion.
My babies are a month old and can mostly defend themselves now.
The scent of their developing scales—metallic and earthy like fresh-turned soil after rain—fills me with pride every time I breathe it in.
Well, Ziggy’s two have accidentally caused partial paralysis several times with the spike in the center of their tentacles.
The venom sacs beneath their translucent spikes already producing toxins potent enough to cause trouble.
Poor Abraxis couldn’t feel his ass for almost two hours this morning alone, his curses echoing through the house as he stumbled around, dragging his numb lower half.
I’ve made sure to be seen digging the new nest site, my claws tearing through earth and stone, leaving a distinct scent trail for any curious drakes to follow.
Abraxis has gone into town to boast about getting ready for his first clutch, his voice deliberately loud in the marketplace, according to Callan.
Interestingly enough, the attacks on the nest have stopped shortly after.
I have a feeling my father is waiting for me to go to the nest before he strikes.
The tension in the air growing heavier with each passing day, like the pressure before a storm breaks.
I sit here with my sleeping babies nestled among the other hatchlings in my flight.
The warmth of their tiny bodies seeping through my clothing, their synchronized breathing creating a gentle rhythm against my skin.
Their individual scents—Abraxis’s daughter smelling of pine and iron, Ziggy’s pair carrying notes of ozone and sweet grass—mingle together in a comforting blend that identifies them as mine.
I absently stroke the ridges along my daughter’s spine as I plot my next move, feeling the rough texture of her developing scales beneath my fingertips.
“How’s everyone doing?” Vaughn asks as he leans in the doorway, his weight shifting the ancient wood with a soft creak. The scent of leather and stone that always clings to him wafts into the room, distinct even among the myriad dragon scents surrounding me.
“Good, Ziggy phased us down here this morning and my flight is sworn to secrecy when it comes to my hatchlings.” I keep my voice low, not wanting to disturb the sleeping little ones. My three are the youngest in the bunch but also the biggest.
“I hear Vox and Cerce are coming to dinner tonight.” The minute the words leave his mouth, the scales along my spine raise, a prickling sensation that sends a shiver from the base of my skull to the small of my back.
My heart rate quickens, the sudden rush of blood in my ears almost drowning out my next words.
“Not by my choice. Thauglor and Abraxis thought it was a good idea,” I grumble, not happy about the idea. The taste of discontent is bitter on my tongue, my jaw tightening with tension.
“I thought no one was to see the hatchlings until after...” he draws the back of his thumb across his throat, the gesture making a soft whisper against his skin.
“That was the plan, but those two have gone rogue on me. When things are set in motion, Ziggy and Balor are going where I told them until it’s over.
” I tilt my head, looking at him, hoping he gets the hint.
The muscles in my neck strain with the effort of keeping my voice level, controlled despite the anxiety coiling in my gut.
“Got ya. For now, I’ll go help Leander set up for dinner.” Vaughn bends down and kisses me gently, his lips warm and slightly chapped against mine, before turning and leaving. His footsteps fade down the corridor, each one softer than the last until they disappear entirely.
It’s almost time for the next female to come in, so I stroke down the bond for Ziggy, feeling the connection between us hum like a plucked string.
Within seconds, he manifests beside me; the air displacing with a soft rush as he appears, smiling as broadly as possible with a hand behind his back.
The scent of ozone and wildflowers accompanies his arrival, sharp and sweet.
“There’s the most beautiful momma in the world,” he purrs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the air between us.
Then he brings his hand forward with a single lily in his grip, its petals pure white against his tanned skin.
Every day since the babies hatched, he brings me a new flower from somewhere beyond our borders, each one unique and fragrant.
I reach out and take it from him, the stem cool and smooth against my palm, and lift it to my nose.
The fragrance is delicate yet complex—sweet with undertones of spice that tickles my nostrils.
A soft purr escapes my lips as I enjoy the soft floral notes, the sound vibrating in my chest. “Have you given any thoughts about what you want to name your daughters?” I’m leaving the naming up to the fathers for the most part.
Not to say I will not veto anything that sounds insane.
“Well, if you really must know.” He lays down and places his head on my lap, his weight warm and substantial against my thighs.
His hair tickles my arm, smelling faintly of sunshine and earth.
“Belladonna and Azalea, beautiful yet deadly.” He purrs his answer, the vibration traveling from his body to mine, and I look over at his kittens curled around Abraxis’s daughter.
Their four tentacles intertwined with my daughter’s wings, creating a mosaic of scales and fur that catches the dim light filtering through the window.
“Perfect names for two perfect little girls.” I bend forward and kiss his forehead, my lips brushing against his warm skin, tasting the salt there.
I smile at him, pleased. He’s picked two of the most sensible names so far.
Abraxis, on the other hand, has been having some left-field ideas, each one making me cringe internally.
“Did Abraxis pick names for his daughter yet?” I cringe visibly when Ziggy asks, my nose wrinkling, and he laughs, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “That bad, huh?” He grimaces at the thought, his expression comically exaggerated.
“Archer, Blade, Bowie, Macey... the list goes on...” I roll my eyes and look down at him, my fingers absently tracing patterns in his hair. “I think I’m going to continue on with the poisonous names and go with Lily.” I spin the flower he gave me in my hand.
“We’ll have a perfect bouquet of flowers for your poison garden,” Ziggy smiles as the babies wake up, hearing their father.
The soft rustling of scales against stone and tiny yawns fill the air as they stir.
His two kittens lunge for him, their movement creating a blur of green and black as they leap onto his stomach, purring up a storm.
The vibration of their combined purrs is strong enough to be felt through the stone beneath us.
Abraxis’s daughter ambles over, her tiny talons clicking against the stone floor, and wiggles between Ziggy’s head and my stomach.
I hug her to me, feeling her warm scales against my chest, her heartbeat quick and strong against my own.
“Let’s get the little ones home,” I murmur, inhaling the scent of her—pine and iron, just like her father, but with a hint of my own metallic aroma.
I silently summon the next dragoness to me to take over, sending a specific pattern of thoughts down our shared bond.
When I see her in the doorway, Ziggy phases us home.
The world blurs, colors and sounds stretching and compressing as we move between spaces, before resolving into the familiar surroundings of our private chambers, the air thick with the scent of home.
To say I’m not happy is an understatement.
I sit cross-legged on the cool stone floor.
My fingers cramping from just having finished brushing my daughter's fur, the discarded brush beside me still holding tufts of soft green and black. Now I’m preening my other daughter’s scales, feeling each one shift slightly beneath my touch as I align them properly.
The metallic scraping sound is oddly soothing, despite my growing irritation.
The scent of baby dragon—warm leather and something uniquely abyssal—mingles with the faint lavender soap I used to bathe the twins.
“Mina, are you almost ready?” Abraxis pokes his head in, beaming, his scent of pine and leather announcing his presence before his voice does.
By the look on my face—which I can feel hardening, like setting concrete—he pauses and looks around nervously, his confidence visibly crumbling. “What did I miss?”
“Well, first we weren’t introducing the babies to anyone until after my father was handled.
” I grit my teeth, the grinding sound audible even to my own ears, as I finish with Lily’s scales.
The little black dragon chirps contentedly, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air like static electricity.
“Second, I was left to handle all three babies when you said you were going to bathe Lily for me.” I motion to his spotless hatchling, her scales gleaming like polished obsidian in the dim light.
Then to the pile of wet towels in the corner, the musty scent of damp fabric adding to my irritation.
“What do you need me to do?” He steps in, his footfalls hesitant on the stone floor, and Thauglor trails behind him, the ancient’s imposing frame filling the doorway. His scent—smoke and cloves and ancient stone—identifies culprit number two.