“Mina wants to have another clutch with the mates who don’t have children yet,” I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips in a rush of desperate honesty. There’s no point in trying to be subtle when dealing with a dragon who’s already caught me red-handed.
Thauglor settles back into his chair with predatory grace, his ancient eyes studying me with the intensity of someone who’s seen empires rise and fall. The silence stretches between us for several heartbeats before he speaks again.
“The other hatchlings are past the developmental point where they would pose any danger to newborn siblings,” he muses thoughtfully, his voice taking on a more contemplative tone. “It would make perfect sense from a family dynamics standpoint.” He rolls his head to the other side, considering the implications. “Do you need assistance with this romantic endeavor?”
Everything in my mind slams to a sudden, complete halt. Did the most powerful dragon in our territory—the ancient being who could probably level mountains if he felt like it—just offer to help with Mina’s secret mission?
“Um, yes, that would be absolutely excellent,” I stammer, hardly daring to believe my incredible stroke of luck. “The day Mina has me hunt her chosen mates, we need to isolate them strategically so I can grab them and transport them to her without any interference.” I arch an eyebrow with a growing smile, already imagining how perfectly this partnership could work. “Mina wants complete privacy with her mates as she attempts to bless them with progeny of their own—intimate moments that require very careful orchestration.”
“That’s why you’ve been stalking everyone then,” he observes with a half-smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, clearly amused by the romantic intrigue unfolding right under his nose. The expression transforms his usually stern features, making him look almost approachable.
“Yeah,” I admit with a sheepish grin, settling into the comfortable leather chair positioned in front of his rather largedesk. The furniture is obviously expensive—buttery soft leather that probably costs more than most people’s yearly salaries.
“Do you think sending them on strategic errands would help with the isolation process?” Thauglor suggests, tilting his head again in that considering gesture that means his brilliant mind is already formulating detailed plans.
“It certainly wouldn’t hurt our cause,” I agree enthusiastically, arching an eyebrow as I study his expression. Having the most powerful dragon in the territory as an ally right now feels like winning the equivalent of the lottery.
“What day does this operation officially commence?” He clears off his blotter with efficient movements, revealing an even larger calendar beneath that’s covered in neat notations, scheduling details, and what looks like several months’ worth of organizational systems.
“October twentieth or just before,” I reply, pulling out my own well-worn notebook and consulting the detailed list that Mina provided me with her characteristic thoroughness. “The timing will ensure that the eggs hatch on the first day of the winter solstice—perfect symbolic timing for new beginnings and the continuation of our family line.”
“Excellent strategic planning,” Thauglor nods approvingly as he rises to his full, impressive height. The movement is fluid and powerful, reminding me exactly why dragons have been apex predators for millennia’s. He extends one massive hand toward me with formal dignity. “Here’s to a healthy and successful next clutch.”
I shake his hand firmly, the gesture feeling like I’m sealing a pact with ancient power itself, then lower my head respectfullyto acknowledge his superior status and thank him for his unexpected alliance. Without another word, I phase out of his office in a shimmer of displaced reality, leaving behind only the faintest disturbance in the air.
My job just became easier by several boatloads. With Thauglor as a willing conspirator in Operation Last Clutch, this might actually turn out to be the smoothest ambush in history. Mina is going to be absolutely thrilled when she finds out what kind of backup I’ve secured for her grand romantic gesture.
Chapter
Three
T– 6 Days
Today I’m following Leander around like a second shadow, my displacer beast abilities allowing me to move unseen through his world while cataloging every detail of his routine. His schedule is by far the most fluid out of all my targets, which makes him both the most challenging and the most interesting to track. The unpredictability keeps me on my toes in the best possible way.
We brought an entire herd of magnificent war horses onto campus this year, their powerful forms and intelligent eyes speaking to centuries of careful breeding for both beauty and battle readiness. Leander has been placed in charge of training our new cavalry unit, and watching him work is like witnessing poetry in motion. Currently, I’m perched silently in the rafters of the stable, my midnight-black hair blending seamlessly with the shadows as I wait to see what direction his day will take.
The familiar scents of hay, leather, and horse surround me as I phase deeper into the shadows and pull out my well-worn notepad. If the pattern I’ve observed holds true—and Leander’s patterns are remarkably consistent despite their fluid nature—this time of day should find him taking the horses out for their daily run across the countryside.
Right on time, as if summoned by my thoughts, he appears at the stable entrance and begins walking from stall to stall with practiced efficiency. His movements are confident and sure as he opens each latch with care, and the horses respond to his presence with obvious trust and affection. They step eagerly to the edge of their stalls, ears pricked forward in anticipation of the adventure to come.
The transformation that follows takes my breath away every single time. Leander shifts into his true Nightmare form—a creature of living shadow and flame that radiates power and otherworldly beauty. His coat gleams like polished obsidian, and ethereal fire dances along his mane and tail as he calls to the war horses.
The horses follow him out of the barn and into the wilderness beyond campus grounds, their hooves thundering against the earth in a rhythm that speaks of freedom and joy. The sight never fails to stir something primal in my chest—the beauty of wild things running free under an endless sky.
So far, everything is proceeding exactly according to pattern. Usually, he’s gone for approximately an hour to an hour and a half before returning to the barn, which gives me enough time to check on my other targets and continue building the comprehensive schedule Mina needs for Operation Last Clutch.
I phase across campus in a shimmer of displaced reality, materializing near the training grounds where Vaughn is conducting combat lessons for a group of young male gargoyles. The sight that greets me is both impressive and oddly touching. These stone-winged warriors are learning to fight in their shiftedforms under the patient guidance of two of our most skilled instructors.
Vaughn and Abraxis move through their combat maneuvers with lethal precision, their bodies flowing from one technique to the next with the fluid grace that comes only from years of dedicated practice. The younger gargoyles watch with rapt attention, their eyes bright with the desire to prove themselves worthy defenders of our community.
I check my notepad again, comparing the current time with my carefully documented observations. Vaughn is exactly where he’s supposed to be at this moment—his adherence to routine is almost as reliable as Callan’s, though for entirely different reasons. His next period is scheduled as free time, which would provide the perfect opportunity to spirit him away to Mina when the time comes.
The countdown continues: we have six more days—well, five after today ends—before Mina goes into her fertile season and Operation Last Clutch officially begins.
I phase back into visibility and approach the training group, tucking my notepad securely into my jacket’s inner pocket as I walk. “Fine looking group of aerial troops,” I say with genuine admiration, letting my smile convey the pride I feel watching these young warriors develop their skills.
“Thanks, man,” Vaughn responds with characteristic warmth, reaching out to shake my hand with a firm grip that speaks to his military background. His easy-going nature is such a blessing when dealing with some of the more hot-headed dragons in our nest—he has a gift for de-escalating tension before it can bloom into real conflict. “We just want to do our part to keep the continent safe.”
