Chapter 29
Raven
My twin slithersin and out of the nest over the last two days, his black scales whispering against the volcanic sand each time he passes through the narrow opening. The sound is soft, rhythmic—a gentle rasp that has become as familiar as my heartbeat in this dark sanctuary. He greets Ziggy when his displacer beast drops off the deer for me, the carcass still warm, blood scenting the air with copper and iron. The metallic tang coats my tongue before I even open my jaws.
Orpheus makes me eat first, nudging the kill toward my maw with his snout, his golden eyes stern and unyielding. He refuses to take a single bite until I’ve had my fill, watching me with that protective intensity that has defined our bond since we shared our mother’s womb. The raw meat slides down my throat, rich, and sustaining, the warmth of it spreading through my belly. Only then does he allow himself to be fed, tearing into the remains with an efficiency born of hunger too long denied.
The pain starts this morning.
It begins as a dull ache low in my belly, a pressure that builds with each passing hour like a storm gathering on thehorizon. I shift in my nest, trying to find a position that eases the discomfort, but there is none. By midday, the cramps roll through me in waves—tightening, releasing, tightening again. Each contraction steals my breath, forces my talons to dig into the warm sand beneath me.
My muscles clench around the egg inside me, and I know.
It’s time.
Unfortunately, this nest is too small for me to pass the egg. The bowl-shaped hollow I carved barely fits my coiled body; there’s no room to shift, no space to brace myself for what’s coming. The walls that felt protective now feel suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides. I need to leave the safety of the pit I made.
I rumble at Orpheus; the sound vibrating through my chest and into the stone beneath us. He understands immediately—of course he does. We’ve never needed words, not really. His gold eyes meet mine in the darkness, gleaming like molten coins, and he dips his head once before slithering out of the sanctuary first. His black scales vanished into the dim glow of the outer cavern, leaving me alone with my pain and my fear.
I give him a few minutes, listening to the silence, sensing the vibrations through the rock. The water beyond my nest calls to me—I can hear it lapping gently against the shore, can smell the mineral-rich steam even from here. When I’m sure the path is clear, I uncurl my massive body and crawl out of the hole I made.
My talons scrape against stone, the sound harsh and grating in the quiet cavern. Each movement sends fresh waves of pain radiating through my abdomen, sharp and insistent. My wings drag against the rock as I squeeze through the narrow opening,the sensitive membranes catching on jagged edges. I hiss at the sting but keep moving.
The hot spring welcomes me as I slip into the water.
Heat envelops my aching body instantly, silk-warm and mineral-rich, seeping into my scales and loosening the tension coiled in every muscle. I sink low, letting the water support my weight, and the pressure on my stomach eases just enough to let me draw a full breath. The relief is immediate and overwhelming. A low groan escapes my throat as I surrender to the embrace of the spring.
Steam curls around my horned head as I swim, wisps of white vapor trailing across my snout like ghostly fingers. My powerful tail propels me forward with slow, deliberate strokes, each movement sending ripples across the glowing surface. The bioluminescent algae pulses beneath me, casting my shadow in shifting patterns of blue and green against the cavern floor.
When I surface near the shore, I see them.
My mates stand in the egg chamber, watching me swim. Five figures lined up on the black sand, their eyes fixed on me with varying degrees of worry and wonder and something else—something that makes my heart clench beneath my scales.
Hope.
They’re all hoping. Each one of them carries it differently, but I can see it now. Smell it on them, sharp and sweet beneath the acrid edge of their anxiety.
Solaris stands at the front, his massive arms crossed over his chest, orange scales glinting along his forearms where they’ve risen through his skin. His amber eyes track my every movementwith ancient patience, but I catch the slight tightening around his jaw, the way his nostrils flare as he scents the air. He’s lived for centuries. Survived wars and betrayals, and losses I can only imagine. But he’s never had children. Never allowed himself that vulnerability, that terrifying hope of creating something so precious it could destroy him if lost. I feel through our dampened bond that this possibility has shaken something loose inside him. This child—if it’s his—would be his first. A legacy beyond battle scars and ancient grudges. Something soft and new in a life that has been hard for far too long.
Corvus hovers at Solaris’s shoulder, his silver hair catching the bioluminescent glow like moonlight on water. His silver eyes are sharp, assessing—the eyes of a war drake who has calculated threat levels in a hundred battles. But when his gaze lands on my swollen belly, something shifts in those metallic depths. His hands open and close at his sides in an unconscious rhythm, betraying nerves he would never show to anyone outside this room. He is war incarnate—cold and deadly and utterly without mercy to his enemies. But for me, for his bond brothers, that iron exterior melts away. And if this child is his? The thought clearly overwhelms him. Another soul to add to his protected circle. Another being to shield with the ferocity he reserves only for those he loves. I see his jaw tighten, his throat bob as he swallows hard. He wants this. Wants someone else to be soft for. Someone small and precious to guard with every ounce of his considerable power.
Hemlocke paces behind them, his long legs eating up the distance in restless strides. His dark eyes are clouded with worry, his hands flexing at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. As a black unicorn stallion, his kind were once bred for their stamina, expected to service entire herds. But a child of his own? That was never part of the equation.Never expected. I see the wonder warring with the fear on his face, the way he keeps glancing at my belly as if he can divine the truth through sheer force of will. His lineage is ancient, powerful. If the egg is his, it would be the first unicorn-dragon hybrid in recorded history. Something unprecedented. Something miraculous.
Keir stands apart from the others, his dark, stormy gray eyes churning with emotion. He’s the stillest of them all, but I know him well enough to read the tension in his shoulders, the tight line of his jaw. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, hiding the tremor I know is there. Blink hounds are pack creatures, and children are everything to them. He lost his family young—too young—and has spent his entire life searching for a place to belong. If this egg is his, it would be more than a child. It would be redemption. Proof that the universe hasn’t taken everything from him. A chance to rebuild what was stolen.
And Finlay.
My phoenix stands closest to the water’s edge, his ember-bright eyes fixed on me with an intensity that steals what little breath I have left. Heat radiates from his skin, visible in the way the air shimmers around him, casting dancing shadows across the sand. He is fire and rebirth and eternal devotion, and I know—Iknow—that he would love this child regardless of whose blood runs through its veins. But there’s a hunger in his gaze that speaks to something deeper. Phoenixes are creatures of legacy. Their fire passes from parent to child, an unbroken chain of power stretching back to the dawn of time. If this egg carries his flame, it would burn with the light of a thousand suns.
I feel their bonds pulsing at the edge of my awareness—still dampened, but present. Waiting. Five threads of gold, each one vibrating with desperate, barely contained hope.
My eyes search the black sand beyond them, and there, in the corner of the chamber, I see it.
A nest.
It’s beautiful. Intricate. Woven from branches of blackwood and ironbark, the dark wood gleamed with a polish that could only come from hours of careful attention. Soft materials line the interior—furs in shades of gray and black, feathers that shimmer with iridescent fire, moss so deep and green it looks like captured forest. The structure rises from the dark sand like a promise, curved and protective, large enough to cradle both me and my egg. Large enough for my mates to curl around us, if I allow it.
Finlay made me a nest.
