Page 23 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
“What’s wrong?” Leander asks, his voice soft with concern as he sits at the end of the bed. His presence is a steadying force, always patient, always understanding. Out of all my nest mates, he’s the one I can talk to the easiest.
I stare at the tea, watching the faint ripples as I swirl it around in the cup. “I love my mates,” I start, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I miss being able to hug my friends.” A pitiful laugh escapes me, bitter and raw. “I didn’t realize how touch-starved I was … how much I needed it until now. I guess it never really hit me because of how I was raised.”
My hands tremble slightly as I grip the cup tighter, the warmth not enough to chase away the ache in my chest. Leander doesn’t push, doesn’t rush me. He just sits there, waiting, a quiet reassurance that it’s okay to take my time.
“A dragon’s bond is a blessing and a curse,” he says softly, his voice low and reassuring. “On one side, it ensures no one forces their way into a nest unwelcome. But on the other, it’s isolating for the dragoness.”
I watch him bite his bottom lip, a thoughtful hesitation that makes something twist in my chest. Reaching out, I rest my hand on his knee, giving it a small squeeze. “We talked about that in therapy this morning,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s why I crawled back into bed after Ziggy brought me back here.” I sip my tea, staring into the cup, the liquid a dark mirror for the thoughts swirling in my head.
“What was today’s topic, if you don’t mind me asking?” Leander scoots closer, his presence steady, his tone careful.
“My death,” I say, my words hesitant, slipping out like a confession. “Well, murder … um, me dying.” The words feel jagged, wrong, and before I can process his reaction, Iris flutters down from her perch on the bookshelf and lands on my shoulder. Her warmth is immediate, grounding. I turn and press a kiss to her tiny scaled shoulder, closing my eyes as gratitude swells in my chest. She saved me.
Leander edges closer still, surprising for him, for someone who normally keeps his distance. “How did it make you feel? Talking about it, I mean,” he asks, his voice softer now, careful like he’s handling something fragile.
“It hurt.” My voice trembles slightly, and I force myself to keep going. “I remember my dad screaming for the healer as everything went black.” The memory is sharp, too vivid, a blade slicing through my thoughts. I carefully lift Iris from my shoulder and place her in my lap, her small body a comforting weight. My empty tea cup clinks softly as I set it on the dresser beside me. “I don’t even know how much of that memory is real,” I admit, shaking my head, “or if my mind pieced it together to protect me from my father’s … intent.”
I stare down at Iris, her delicate wings folded, her tiny frame radiating an unshakable courage. “She was willing to die to save me,” I whisper, my hand resting lightly on her back. Gratitude rushes through me, a tide that swallows everything else, and for a moment, the dark academy and all its suffocating secrets fade into the background.
“I, for one, am glad she did,” Leander says, forcing a smile as he tilts his head to the side, studying me with those dark, unreadable eyes. “I wasn’t always a fan of Abraxis tying himself to a femalehe only met as a hatchling.”
My mouth opens to respond, but he raises a hand, silencing me before the words can form. “Forced pairings happen a lot with my people,” he says softly, his voice carrying a weight I don’t expect. “We’re a dying race. Abraxis saved me from mine.” His smile is strained as he looks at me, and I see something deeper behind his expression—a quiet pain that lingers in his voice.
“I didn’t know I was betrothed until I turned thirteen,” I admit, shaking my head. The memory feels distant but still carries a sting. “Mom let it slip like it was nothing, just another fact of life.” My eyes meet Leander’s, locking onto his gaze. His irises are the color of dried blood, flecked with shards of orange, like embers glowing in the dark. There’s something ancient and profound in them, something that holds me captive. “You’re nothing like what I was taught nightmares are. Not cruel or callous, but caring and kind … and gentle.”
Leander’s lips twitch at the words, almost like he’s about to laugh, but it doesn’t quite come. “I was the odd one out in my herd,” he says, voice low. “My mom was an Asperii—a wind horse, wild as winter storms. I took after her in temperament and my father in looks.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair, a motion that seems more habitual than deliberate. “My dad wanted to breed me back to a pureblood Nightmare, to ‘fix’ his poor judgment. My mom only had me after he realized I wasn’t a terror like most nightmares.”
There’s a crack in his voice, subtle but unmistakable, like a raw nerve exposed. He hides it well, better than most would, but the sadness is there. It settles in the space between us, heavy and real. And I can’t look away.
I force out a laugh, the sound hollow and sharp. “Seems like we both have daddy issues.” My voice is bitter, edged with sarcasm, but the truth of it stings more than I’d like to admit.
Sliding to the edge of the bed, I let my feet touch the cold floor, grounding myself. Rising, I glance down at Leander, who looks so lost in his own shadows. Without thinking, I lean down and press a soft kiss to the crown of his head. It feels natural,instinctive—he needed comfort, and for once, I could give it.
I leave the room quietly, slipping into the hallway. The faint creak of the floorboards follows me, but I ignore it, heading toward the balcony. The double doors groan softly as I push them open, letting in a rush of crisp night air. Our balcony is more than just a place to stand and brood; it’s a sanctuary. Balor had set up a small greenhouse for me here—a rare gesture from someone who usually watches me like I’m a weapon waiting to be unsheathed.
I step into the heated space, the scent of damp earth and sharp greenery wrapping around me like a cocoon. The soft hum of the heating system is a steady background noise as I move between the rows of poisonous and toxic plants. Deadly beauty, thriving under my care. My fingers work methodically, pruning, watering, tending. Each action is precise, deliberate, a ritual that settles something restless inside me.
In this space, I have a purpose—something small, fragile, and alive needs me to survive. These plants don’t judge or demand, but they depend on me. And for now, that’s enough.
The following week…
I finally get to return to my regular classes, mostly. The catch? Two mandatory therapy sessions a week. They eat into the time Ziggy and Balor had carved out for their focused training sessions, leaving mefeeling like I’m constantly juggling a dozen spinning plates. Vaughn sticks close, though, even through Kai’s science class—the absolute worst.
I sit near the back, keeping my head down, trying to ignore the undercurrent of whispers that ripple every time I’m in a room. The air always feels heavier now, like I’m carrying some invisible target on my back.
“Mr. Martz?” Serra’s voice cuts through the monotony. I glance up sharply, already dreading whatever is about to come out of her mouth. She’s one of Arista’s flight, a fire drake with a mean streak and a knack for finding exactly where to press to make you bleed.
Kai looks up from his tablet, his expression indifferent. “Yes?”
“Are we sure Mina isn’t going to lose her mind and kill the entire class?” Serra’s grin is pure venom. Her sharp teeth glinting as she leans back, feigning nonchalance. “We saw her coming out of the therapist’s office yesterday.”
My hands tighten around the edge of the desk, nails digging into the wood. Her words slither into the silence, and I feel the entire room shift—attention locking onto me. Serra’s smug smile dares me to react, to make her point for her.
Kai pauses, finally lifting his gaze. He looks at me first, just a flicker of curiosity before his silver eyes settle on Serra. “I’m sure if she was a danger, they’d have removed her from school grounds by now,” he says, his voice cool, detached.
But then his attention swings back to me, and it feels like the entire room disappears. Those silver eyes pierce through me, stripping away my defenses as if he’s trying to see the truth for himself. To figure out if Serra’s dig has merit, if I really am as volatile as the whispers claim.
I hold his gaze, refusing to flinch, even as a sick swirl of anger and shame churns in my chest.I’m not a danger.I want to scream. But the truth is, I’m not entirely sure.
