Chapter 40 Mina
Mina
The last clear memory I have is seeing my lightning illuminating the inside of the dome the mages created, the blinding white-blue flash searing my retinas, the ozone scent burning my nostrils.
By scent, I know I’m in my room now—the familiar blend of clean cotton sheets, the lingering traces of my mates’ distinctive scents, and the subtle sweetness of the sandalwood incense I burn to help me sleep.
I also know that all three of my babies are shifted on my bed laying with me, their tiny bodies radiating warmth against my skin, their gentle breaths creating a soothing rhythm against the silence.
As I slowly open my eyes, the dim light of the room still painful against my sensitive pupils, I see Balor sleeping in the chair next to the bed, his massive frame somehow contained in the too-small furniture, his chest rising and falling in the steady cadence of deep sleep.
Callan’s arm is draped over my ribs, the weight both protective and comforting, his skin warm against mine through the thin fabric of my nightgown.
Ziggy is shifted at the foot of the bed facing the door, his feline form alert even in slumber, tail occasionally twitching as if he’s chasing something in his dreams.
The dragons in the bond are downstairs; I can feel their presence like a warm current beneath my consciousness.
Vaughn is in his room sleeping, his aura peaceful and undisturbed.
Leander is... in the kitchen, the faint clattering of pots and the aromatic scent of herbs and simmering broth wafting up the stairs, teasing my empty stomach.
‘Do you need us?’ Thauglor’s voice echoes through the bond to me, deep and resonant like distant thunder, vibrating through my very bones.
‘No my love, I’m still tired. I’m surrounded by the babies and the guys.
Vaughn is in his room, and Leander is cooking,’ I say to Klauth and Thauglor through the bond softly, trying to keep my mental voice steady despite the bone-deep exhaustion that makes even this simple communication feel like lifting mountains.
Even mentally, I yawn as I try to hide exactly how tired I am, the effort sending a dull throb of pain through my temples.
Ziggy slowly turns his head, his malevolent green eyes flaring and illuminating the blankets with an eerie glow that catches on the fine threads, turning ordinary cotton into something otherworldly.
I raise a finger to my lips as if to shush him, the simple movement requiring more effort than it should.
He slips off the bed. The mattress rises slightly with the loss of his weight, and shifts back, his transformation silent but palpable, the air briefly shimmering around him as he takes human form.
Silently he moves up the bed to kneel beside me, the floorboards not even creaking beneath his silent tread.
His hand raises and shakes slightly as he reaches out to touch me, hesitation evident in every line of his body.
I close my eyes when his hand finally makes contact with my cheek, his palm cool against my too-warm skin, fingers slightly calloused from weapons training.
Through the bond, I feel how much he loves me and how much my passing out scared him. His emotions wash over me like a tide—fear, relief, love, and lingering anxiety all mingled together in a potent cocktail that makes my heart ache.
‘You didn’t pass out; you almost burned out channeling your dragon’s weapon in your human form,’ Thauglor’s voice in my head is a mix of anger and pain, the emotions as sharp as broken glass, cutting through the fog of my fatigue.
I really scared him this time; the realization sits heavy in my chest like a stone.
‘I won’t do it again,’ I promise, pushing all of my love for my guys through all the tethers of the bonds, the effort making my head spin momentarily.
The minute I do, Callan hugs me tighter, his arms squeezing just enough to ground me without pain, and Balor wakes up, his eyes focusing on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“I’m sorry I scared everyone. I won’t do it again.
” In the pit of my stomach, I feel a knot forming, tight and uncomfortable.
I am more disappointed in myself than anything else, the taste of failure bitter on my tongue.
Callan squeezes me again and kisses my shoulder, his lips warm and soft against my skin. “Why don’t you go take a bath, take stinky with you,” Callan motions to Ziggy, whose lip curls up in a snarl at the nickname, teeth flashing white and sharp in the dim light.
Arching a brow, I look between Callan and Ziggy, then over at Balor, confused by the tension crackling in the air between them.
“He hasn’t left you since you were carried in here three days ago,” Balor explains, his voice wavering, betraying the agony they all must have been in. The shadows under his eyes speak of sleepless nights spent in that uncomfortable chair keeping vigil.
Somehow I slept for three days. The realization hits me like a physical blow, making my breath catch.
I kiss all of my children, their sleepy murmurs and the soft warmth of their skin against my lips bringing tears to my eyes.
All of this could have been gone because I channeled more than I should have.
I was a fool for risking it, the magnitude of what I almost lost making my chest tighten painfully.
“Alright Ziggy, let’s go get me cleaned up.
” I wiggle my fingers at him, and the minute his skin makes contact, his fingers intertwining with mine, the world warps around us, the air compressing momentarily, making my ears pop.
Within minutes we are in the hot springs, sitting on one of the loungers, the warm, mineral-rich air heavy with moisture beading on my skin.
Ziggy’s eyes roam over my body as if memorizing every little line and freckle, his gaze so intense I can almost feel it like a physical touch, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I’m sorry I scared you.” I reach out to touch him, but he pulls back, the movement quick and sharp like a flinch.
There’s a tear rolling down his cheek, catching the low light from the lanterns that illuminate the springs, a crystalline trail of pain.
“My mother sacrificed herself to save the pride. So, it hit a little too close to home,” his voice is laced with pain and it wavers as he tries to choke back the emotion, each word seeming to cost him.
I scoot closer, the fabric of the lounger rough against my thighs, and press the tip of my nose under his jaw.
My eyes close slowly as I wait to see what he does, breathing in his scent—a deep musk mixed with sandalwood, earthy and rich.
It soothes something deep within me, calming the restlessness that still churns beneath my skin.
His arm slowly slides around me and holds me tight to him, his strength restrained but palpable, muscles tensing against my back.
Gradually his purr builds in his chest, the vibration traveling through both our bodies, and he pulls me onto his lap, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of my nightgown.
“Please don’t leave me,” he sighs into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp, the words more feeling than sound.
“Never...” I turn and kiss him deeply, the taste of him rich and addictive—hints of cinnamon and something wild that defies description.
Before I know what’s happening, he has me pinned on the lounger, the cushioned surface giving slightly beneath our combined weight.
His forearms rest on either side of my head as he holds himself over me, the muscles in his arms corded with tension.
The only points of contact are where his knees press into my hips, the pressure firm but not uncomfortable.
He lifts his head slowly, and the glow gradually fades from his eyes, the light receding like a tide pulling away from shore.
Those usually fiery malevolent green eyes lose their otherworldly glow, and I see why.
His eyes, even in his human form, are his cats with the vertical slit in them, alien and predatory and somehow more beautiful for their uniqueness.
I stare up at his eyes and allow my dragons to emerge, feeling my own irises shift and change.
The world becoming sharper, more defined as my pupils narrow to match his.
Our beasts can stare at each other, a communion deeper than words or touch.
“I’ve never shown anyone my eyes before,” he whispers as he bends down to sip at my lips, his breath mingling with mine, tasting of desire and vulnerability.
I don’t have to ask why; to have his eyes remain as he shifts in his human form is an indicator of great power among his people, a secret not lightly shared.
“Your eyes are beautiful either way, Ziggy.” He turns his face away, and I grab his cheeks, feeling the slight stubble rasping against my palms as I make him turn to face me.
“I chose you to father one of my first eggs because you are a selfless, wonderful mate. You have been teaching me how to love and allow myself to be loved since I first met you. Everything you have done has been to protect me and make me feel seen and loved. There is no me without you.”
A tear escapes his eye, and it falls on my face, the warm droplet sliding down my cheek like it was my own.
I pull him down to me, and he gently rests his weight on me, the solid mass of him a comfort rather than a burden.
It seems like we both have our own mommy issues.
Hell, let’s be honest—I have parent issues.
The wounds are still fresh despite the years that have passed.
We snuggle and kiss for what feels like forever, the heat of the springs making our skin slick with sweat, before Leander comes waltzing in wearing nothing but a towel, the white fabric stark against his tanned skin.