Chapter 39 Thauglor #2
‘I agree, what we discuss does not leave our nest,’ Klauth rumbles as his wings pitch as we make the turn to head home, riding on the thermals, the warm air lifting us higher with minimal effort.
The sun catches on his scales, sending prismatic reflections dancing over Mina’s still form and my skin, a beautiful counterpoint to the gravity of our discussion.
This is going to be a hell of a discussion, one that will reshape our understanding of our mate and potentially the future of dragon kind itself.
As I hold her against me, feeling her strength slowly returning, I can’t help but marvel at the miracle in my arms—a being that should not exist but does, defying all odds, breaking all rules.
Just like the bond between ancient enemies that now forms the foundation of our nest. The irony doesn’t escape me, and I find myself smiling despite the lingering fear, a tension in my chest finally beginning to ease as we fly toward home, towards safety.
We gather the entire nest in Mina’s suite as she sleeps in the center of her bed, her breathing shallow but steady, each exhale a whisper against the heavy silence of the room.
The scent of her—ozone and wildflowers now tinged with the acrid bite of burnt earth—permeates the air.
Outside, rain lashes against the windows, mirroring the somber mood within.
Klauth spent the better half of thirty minutes explaining our suspicions, his ancient voice carrying a gravity that makes the very air feel heavy, like standing beneath the weight of accumulated centuries.
Together we turn Mina to show them her scales and what we’re talking about, her skin cool to the touch, still unnaturally pale.
The movement causes the silk sheets to whisper against her limbs, a soft counterpoint to the thundering heartbeats of the worried mates surrounding her.
We also show them the patches of color in her hair where we all thought it was blended, the strands catching the low amber light from the bedside lamps, revealing silver sections that gleam like polished metal beside emerald segments rich as summer leaves.
“This changes a lot of things,” Balor says as he climbs onto the bed with Mina, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight, springs creaking in protest. His eyes, normally sharp and assessing, now wide with concern, reflect the lamplight like twin flames.
“What does it change?” Abraxis asks a little harsher than needed, his voice cracking with tension, the scent of his fear and anger sharp in the confined space, like steel heated to the point of warping.
“Everything,” Balor says flatly, the word falling like a stone into still water.
He motions to the twins at the foot of the bed, their matching amber eyes watching us with eerie intelligence, tiny claws kneading anxiously against the duvet.
“Multiple births happen in her bloodline, apparently. So it’s something we need to be aware of in the future.
” The realization hangs in the air, heavy as smoke.
“It’s true. It’s something to be aware of.
We also have to understand that most times the twins don’t always live after hatching,” I mention as I glance over at Klauth, our shared ancient knowledge a burden at this moment.
The taste of this truth is bitter on my tongue, a knowledge born of witnessing too many deaths over too many years.
“After every so many eggs, a female will birth an egg with twins or triplets in it. Think of it as multiple eggs getting squished together in one shell,” Klauth paces, his boots making soft thuds against the plush carpet, the temperature in the room rising noticeably with each pass as his agitation grows.
The air shimmers around him, heat radiating from his skin in waves that make the nearby curtains stir as if caught in a breeze.
“Most times they die before they hatch because they run out of room and crush each other. Rarely...” He motions to Mina, his massive hand gentle despite its power, fingers trembling almost imperceptibly.
“The strongest hatchling absorbs the weaker hatchlings. From what we can figure, Mina is a triplet.” Klauth says again, repeating what he had said earlier when everyone was more emotional, his voice now steadier, more controlled, though the faint scent of smoke that follows him speaks to his true state.
“It explains why our mate’s immunities and abilities are stronger than they should be for her age.
” I thread my fingers through her hair and watch the strands fall, catching on my callused skin before slipping free.
The silver of her hair coarser than the silken green, like comparing spun wire to the finest spider’s silk.
The contrast is so obvious now that I’ve noticed it, as stark as night and day, as different as our two dragon species.
“So what do we do to help Mina?” Ziggy asks as he walks closer with a bowl of bone broth to feed Mina, the rich, savory aroma cutting through the tension, bringing with it memories of healing and comfort.
Steam rises from the surface in delicate curls, carrying the scent of herbs and marrow.
I move out of his way so he can sit in the chair close to the bed.
“She needs rest. We also need to feed her slowly, at least broth, so her body has something to sustain it,” I sit even with her hip and hold her hand, her fingers cool and limp in mine, the pulse beneath her skin, faint but persistent, like a distant drummer keeping time.
“I already gifted her several centuries to save her.” The admission costs me nothing; it was worth every year, every moment given freely.
She’s alive and breathing, each rise and fall of her chest a victory against death itself.
“Centuries?” Abraxis asks as he moves to stand in front of me, his voice pitched higher with shock, eyes wide enough to show the whites all around.
The scent of his disbelief mingles with the lingering odor of battle still clinging to his clothing—blood and acid and the peculiar empty smell that follows death.
“If I didn’t think she would mourn herself sick, I would have surrendered my life so she would live,” I kiss Mina’s hand and close my eyes, feeling the fragile bones beneath her skin, the delicate structure that houses such extraordinary power.
Her scent fills my nostrils as I breathe her in, committing every nuance to memory.
“There is no life worth living without her.” Deep in my heart, I know that is true, the conviction as solid as the mountains I’ve outlived, as old as the stars I’ve watched cycle through the heavens.
“Can I gift her years? I’m younger; I can gift her some of mine?
” Abraxis looks between Klauth and me, his desperation palpable, making the air hard to breathe.
His hair stands on end slightly, charged with emotion and the proximity of so many powerful beings.
We nod, the movement synchronized from millennia of friendship.
“Don’t touch her while we do this,” I say to the rest of the nest as I stand up and sit Abraxis where I was, the bed still warm from my body.
The warning in my voice makes them all take a step back, the collective movement causing the floorboards to creak beneath the carpet.
“Take her hand in yours and close your eyes. Because you share a mate bond with her, it’s easier.
Twine your tether with hers in your mind.
” I watch him take her small hand in his larger one, their skin tones a study in contrasts—his sun-bronzed fingers enveloping her pallid ones.
“Ask your dragon to gift hers some of your years. He will decide what is right. Do not let him surrender your life; you are too young for that sacrifice.” The words taste of ash and regret, memories of too many young dragons lost to similar noble but foolish gestures.
Abraxis nods and I watch as scales rise through his skin along his neck, obsidian black against his flesh, like polished stone breaking through earth.
His dragon is allowing him to gift our mate years, the process visible in the way his veins stand out against his skin, dark rivers carrying life from one being to another.
The air between them shimmers with heat, the scent of ozone intensifying as the transfer occurs.
Her color improves more as he keeps in contact with her, pink slowly blooming on her cheeks like dawn breaking after the longest night, the blue tinge receding further from her lips.
From what I can sense, he gifted her a century, the flare of power bright but brief, like a shooting star across the night sky.
His dragon is too young and inexperienced to know how to do more or to sustain the connection.
For once, I am grateful for his ignorance.
The rain continues its steady rhythm against the windows, nature’s metronome marking time as we wait for our mate to return to us.
The scent of the storm mingles with the more intimate smells of our nest—the spicy musk of multiple dragons, the sharper tang of Ziggy’s feline nature, the earthy solidity of Vaughn’s stone essence, all bound by Mina’s unique fragrance, the core around which our lives revolve.
Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the room in stark white light, throwing our concerned faces into harsh relief before plunging us back into the softer glow of the lamps.
Thunder follows, a bass rumble that I feel through the soles of my feet, vibrating up through my ancient bones.
I stand vigil beside the bed, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Mina’s chest, each breath a promise that she remains with us, that our gifts of life have anchored her firmly to this side of the veil.
My hand finds its way to her hair again, fingers sifting through the dual-colored strands, the physical proof of her extraordinary nature.
In this moment, surrounded by our nest, I am struck by the realization that she has accomplished what I thought impossible—she has given this ancient, war-torn drake something to fear losing, something worth any sacrifice.
And in doing so, she has given me something even more precious: a reason to continue existing, not just surviving through endless centuries, but truly living, with all the terror and joy that entails.
Near the window, Klauth pauses in his pacing, his massive frame silhouetted against the storm-dark sky.
The air around him ripples with heat, causing the raindrops that strike the glass nearest him to sizzle and evaporate on contact.
His concern for Mina manifests physically—the temperature in the room continues to climb despite the raging storm outside, the subtle scent of burning dust rising from where his fingers grip the windowsill, leaving faint scorch marks on the painted wood.
His ancient power, normally carefully controlled, slips its leash in moments of extreme emotion, a testament to how deeply our unexpected mate has worked her way into even his fiery heart.