Page 36 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
We havethree days before the Winter Formal, and I’ve yet to bond with Leander. It’s not that I don’t want to—I’m afraid to. The thought weighs heavily on me, like frost seeping into my bones. He’s a horse; I’m a dragon.What was Tiamat thinking when she allowed my dragoness to do this?
Steam curls lazily around me as I stare at myself in the fogged mirror, fresh from my shower. Water drips from my hair, cool rivulets tickling down my back and soaking into the edge of my towel. The air is warm, tinged with the sharp scent of soap and the faint metallic tang of my dragoness stirring. I meet my gaze in the glass, and the sight stops me cold.
Dragonic slits pulse in the center of my golden eyes, expanding and contracting like they have a mind of their own. They haven’t been human all day—not since I admitted the problem to Abraxis. The memory stirs unease, his exhaustion bleeding through the bond when I told him.My poor mate.He’s been so tired,so injured, that I haven’t gone to him for what I need in weeks. The guilt was sharp and bitter from his end. But mine? Mine burns like acid, gnawing at my resolve.
I sigh, the sound heavy in the steamy bathroom, and tug on a soft T-shirt and a pair of leggings. The fabric is warm against my still-damp skin, but it does nothing to quiet the storm inside me. My bare feet pad softly against the cool wooden floor as I move into the living room. The air here is sharper, cooler, carrying the faint woody scent of my paintings and the earthy tang of paint thinner.
My gaze falls on the newest addition to my collection. The oil still glistens faintly under the overhead light, not quite dry. My father’s face is turned over his shoulder, his expression etched with horror as Klauth bears down on him, fiery wings blotting out the sun. The room feels colder just looking at it.
The sudden click of the lock disengaging shatters the silence like a bomb going off. My body tenses instinctively, and I spin toward the door. The heavy thud of boots on the threshold follows as Leander and Callan step inside.
The smell of roasted meat and something sweet hits me first, mingling with the crisp chill of the winter air they’ve brought in with them. Each carries bundles of food and drinks, the plastic bags rustling faintly in the otherwise silent room.
“Thought you might be hungry,” Leander says, his warm smile easing some of the tightness in my chest.
But it’s Callan’s sharp, knowing gaze that lingers cutting through the fog of my thoughts. I motion to the small table with four chairs, its wooden surface worn smooth from years of use. The faint scent of polished wood mingles with the savory aroma of the dinner they brought, and the clink of plates and cutlery being set echoes faintly in the space. I turn back to my paintings, each one an intimate glimpseof my world, and shuffle them around again to give the newest addition its rightful place on the wall. The paint is still fresh; I can smell the faintly metallic tang of the oils beneath the varnish.
“When did you paint that?” Leander’s voice comes softly from behind me, just before his arms wrap around my waist and pull me flush against his chest. His warmth radiates through my thin shirt, and the musky spice of his scent floods my senses, tangling with the sharp awareness of his nearness.
“Today,” I reply, my fingers tracing the edge of the frame as if grounding myself. “Ziggy brought me a new paint set.” I tilt my head toward the corner where the easel rests, its surface smeared with a riot of colors. “It matches the set I have in our Malivore nest.” The memory of those days flickers, and my dragoness stirs beneath my skin, restless and hungry.
Leander’s lips brush where my neck meets my shoulder on the unmarked side. His breath is warm and featherlight, but it ignites a spark in my chest that sends a shiver rippling through me. “I sense her moving,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice low and edged with something primal. “And her unease.”
My breath hitches, freezing me in place. The scales on my shoulders shift with a life of their own, a sinuous ripple that echoes the coiling tension in my chest. Down my spine, the sleek, smooth plates flex under the pull of my dragoness’s rising energy, eager to break free. “She’s on edge,” I admit, my voice a trembling whisper. “With how tired and hurt Abraxis has been…” I let the sentence hang, unfinished but heavy in the air.
Vaughn comes close to the dominance I crave, the thought of him filling my mind unbidden. His massive wings, sheltering me from the world, make me feel safe enough to lose control.
“We’re smaller and not as dangerous,” Callan says, his voice tinged with both understanding and regret. The faint, woody scent of his magic lingers in the air, mixing with the heat of the room. I nod, sadness tightening my chest.
“It’s not that I don’t love you,” I say, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “I do. But my dragoness is young and demanding sometimes, and she … she can get aggressive.” The words feel sharp on my tongue, their weight heavy with fear of how they might take them.
Leander’s voice cuts through my hesitation, calm but charged with purpose. “Nightmare stallions have been known to run the females until they are exhausted, then bite the back of their necks during mating.” Before I can fully process his words, I feel the sharp press of his teeth at the base of my neck, just beneath my hairline.
A gasp escapes me, my knees almost buckling as a jolt of electricity races through me. The faint ozone tang of my dragoness’s energy hums beneath my skin, mingling with the warmth of his breath and the slight sting of his bite. The room feels smaller, the air thick with a tension that clings like a second skin. My dragoness roars her approval in the depths of my mind, and I tremble under the weight of it all.
Before I know it, Leander spins me around and bends me over the back of the couch. The rough fabric of the upholstery scrapes against my bare forearms, grounding me as his hips press against mine, holding me firmly in place. His teeth sink into the back of my neck, sharper than I expected, sending a sharp jolt of pain laced with pleasure radiating through me. My dragoness stirs, purring deep in my mind, her hunger simmering beneath the surface.
The scent of leather and musk fills the air, mingling with the faint summery tang of Callan’s proximity. His footsteps are deliberate, thefaint creak of the floorboards betraying his approach. He circles to the front of the couch, his presence looming, and takes my wrists in his strong, calloused hands. A shiver races through me as he pulls my arms taut, stretching me between them. My breath hitches when his gryphon’s eye glows, catching the dim light and pinning me with a predatory intensity.
“I’m just keeping Leander safe,” he says, his voice low and calm, but there’s an edge beneath it—a warning, a promise.
Leander releases my neck, and a cool breeze kisses the wet skin he leaves behind, contrasting with the searing heat trailing his hand as it slides down my spine. His touch is unhurried, deliberate, the pressure firm enough to make me tremble as he grips my hips. “Do you want this, Mina?” he asks, his voice soft, teasing, as his fingers brush against the curve of my waist.
“Yes…” The word is barely more than a breath, escaping my lips as my gaze locks onto Callan’s glowing eye. His grip tightens on my wrists, his thumbs brushing over my pulse points, keeping me stretched and helpless. My dragoness growls her approval, curling and uncurling in my mind, but I can’t help the thrill of vulnerability thrumming through me. They’re holding me perfectly, completely. No room to struggle, no chance to resist.
“Good.” Leander’s voice is a whisper of silk, a promise laced with dark delight. The waistband of my leggings snaps against my skin as he hooks his fingers under it, dragging them down slowly. The air is cool against my exposed skin, raising goosebumps, but the warmth of his breath follows close behind. I gasp when his teeth nip the soft flesh of my ass, the sting sharp and sudden.
“Someone’s excited,” he purrs, his tone dripping with amusement and hunger. His fingers slide lower, parting me with a featherlighttouch that sends a molten pulse of heat through my core. The slickness betrays my readiness, and I shudder as he drags a single finger through my folds, teasing, testing.
The warmth of his body disappears, leaving a chill in its absence. My gaze snaps upward to Callan, whose dark eye glints with something primal, something unspoken. Before I can draw another breath, Leander surges forward, plunging into me to the hilt. The shock of his sudden fullness steals my air, and I gasp, my back instinctively arching as if to take him deeper. A ripple of heat courses through me, and I swear I can feel him not just within my body but wrapped around my soul, a visceral, undeniable tether snapping into place.
The fabric of the couch bites into my stomach as I try to brace myself. But Leander has other plans. His arms loop around me, strong and commanding, pulling my hands away from Callan to cross over my chest, pinning me against him. The restraint sends a shiver skittering down my spine, and the primal, animalistic need rising within me crashes against the control he exerts.
Every deliberate stroke ignites a fire beneath my skin, each nerve ending alive and screaming for more. The room is thick with the scent of musk, leather, and something distinctly otherworldly—a blend of power and possession that makes my blood thrum. Across the room, Callan leans casually against the counter, but his glowing eye betrays the predator beneath the calm facade. It burns like an ember, tracking every movement, every gasp, every shiver.
“Apparently, I have a kink,” Callan drawls, his voice smooth and teasing as he lifts a glass and pours a deep amber liquid. The clink of glass against glass barely registers over the pounding of my heart.
Leander shifts behind me, his hand tangling in my long green and silver hair. The sharp tug as he wraps it around his fist sends a jolt ofpleasure-pain straight to my core, and I moan as he pulls my head back. His rhythm changes—harder, faster, each thrust stealing what little air I have left. Heat pools low in my belly, coiling tight, threatening to snap. My chest heaves as I try to pull in a breath, but the intensity is overwhelming, like the very air is being stripped from my lungs.
