Page 46 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
I exhale, but the tension doesn’t leave my shoulders. My dragoness stirs restlessly, her scales rasping against the edge of my mind. I can only imagine the conversation Abraxis is going to have with that student. More than likely, Balor and Ziggy will have fun interrogating him in some forgotten, hidden dungeon somewhere on the school property.
The thought makes my throat tighten. My fingers curl instinctively against the grain of the desk, the wood cool and solid beneath my touch. I shake my head, trying to banish the image of cold stone cells and whispered screams echoing in the dark. I don’t want to know what my mates do to protect me. I know, deep down, that some of their methods would make my stomach churn, would probably go against some ancient dragon peace tenet inscribed on a dusty scroll somewhere.
I stare at the spot where Abraxis disappeared, the silence that follows unnerving. My heart thuds in my chest—a slow, deliberate beat—as I lean back in my chair again, trying to focus on Callan’s lecture. Butthe taste of tension lingers in the air like smoke, acrid and inescapable.
Honestly, the rest of the lecture is a blur—a monotonous drone of Callan’s voice and flickering images cast from the projector. The sharp hum of the machine buzzes faintly in the background, punctuated by the occasional scrape of someone shifting in their seat. Something doesn’t sit right, a gnawing unease that coils in my gut, tightening like a vice. The male’s casual betrayal of Arista feels too easy, too clean.
When the lecture concludes, the harsh snap of the projector shutting off jars me back into the present. Callan motions toward his office across the hall. The wooden door creaks as Vaughn and I step through, the air inside thick and stale, like it hasn’t been disturbed in years. The faint scent of old paper and ink mingles with something sharper—coffee, maybe—clinging to the room’s shadows. We settle into the chairs near Callan’s worn desk, their fabric stiff beneath me.
“We’ve been hearing rumors of her trying to instigate a fight between you and the other students,” Callan says. His voice is low and hollow, words landing like stones in the silence. “With the third year admitting to hearing about it, we’re going straight to Lysander. That’s where Abraxis is now, with the student in tow.”
I force a laugh, though it sounds brittle even to my own ears. “Here, I thought he was being taken to some torture chamber in the bowels of the campus.” The words barely leave my lips before I see Callan’s expression—a blank, cold slate of seriousness that chills me to my core.
“Wait … there is a torture chamber?” My eyes dart to Vaughn, who shifts in his seat beside me, silent but alert, then back to Callan.
“Yes, there is one,” Callan replies, voice even, his gaze unwavering. “No, that’s not where he’s going to end up. He’s going to the prison at Blackhaven. Vox is going to handle him.”
The weight of his words sinks like lead into my chest. A chill brushes the back of my neck, and for a moment, I can almost see it—Abraxis’s massive dragon form, scales black as midnight, talons sinking into the student’s clothes as he carries him, struggling and screaming, through a storm-filled sky. Blackhaven’s prison looms in my mind, a fortress of jagged stone and eternal dark. The image is vivid, and it curdles my stomach.
“Oh, shit…” The words tumble out, my shock plain. The lengths my mates are going to … it hits me, sudden and sharp, like a blade pressing against my ribs.
“Ziggy is going to phase him to the cell and then come back. We can’t afford to have Abraxis too far from you if trouble strikes,” Callan adds.
The air grows heavy, a suffocating weight that makes it harder to breathe. Callan’s words settle into my bones like frost, and I feel my dragoness stir uneasily in the back of my mind. There’s a real threat lurking, something dangerous and hidden beneath ten tons of makeup and a magister’s title. My pulse quickens, a dull throb in my throat, as I swallow the truth: this isn’t over. It’s just the beginning.
CHAPTER 28
Abraxis
The studentI hauled off earlier sang like a bird in a cage when I drove him to his knees before Lysander. His trembling voice echoed in the stark office, mixing with the faint scratch of Lysander’s pen against the paper. Yet something nags at me—the headmaster was far too calm, his measured tone, and unflinching gaze far removed from last year’s fury. Mina’s theory that her father and Lysander might be working together isn’t as far-fetched as I’d hoped.
Dragging the student out of Lysander’s office, I can feel the weight of his fear in the way his knees falter against the marble floors. His scent—sour and sharp like spoiled milk—clings to the air, making my nose wrinkle. I shove him toward Ziggy, who’s waiting just outside.
“Is Mina okay?” Ziggy asks as he grips the student by the scruff, his green eyes flicking to me.
“As okay as expected, all things considered.” My gaze drops to the student, noting the sheen of sweat glistening on his temple, his wide,panicked eyes darting between us. “We’ll talk more when you get home later.”
Ziggy nods, his expression tightening with understanding, and phases out, taking the student with him. A faint crackle of displaced air lingers where they stood, and I let out a slow breath. I know my father will handle him, and the boy will wish he’d never been born by the time it’s over.
As I turn back down the hall, the faint musk of aged wood and parchment filters through the air. My footsteps echo against the cold stone, the cadence steady but weighted. The thought of Mina lingers in my mind, as it always does. My parents’ love for her still shocks me, given the hostilities between our nests for generations. I was ready to hate her, to make her suffer for the rest of her existence—until she hatched.
The memory is vivid. Her pale gold eyes caught mine, luminous and molten, and the world tilted on its axis. The vicious, twisted thoughts I’d nurtured for so long unraveled in an instant, leaving me breathless and raw.
I follow the worn path through the woods, the scent of pine and damp earth rising with each step. Mina’s last class is nearby, and I stay just within the shadowed tree line, the cool breeze rustling the leaves above. Leander is handling my Siege Weapon class today so I could deal with the student. From here, I can hear the faint hum of voices, punctuated by laughter and the clatter of the machinery.
Mina is everything I could have hoped for in a mate—intelligent, strong-willed, deadly with anything you place in her hands. Yet beneath it all, there’s the damage her father inflicted. The campus therapist told us she’s touch-starved, a wound that still lingers despite the bond she shares with us. It’s why she clings, why shepresses against us like she’s trying to merge her being with ours. It’s also why she’s upset she can’t touch her friends without the bond making them ill.
A laugh escapes me as I watch her from the shadows. She’s animated, trying to convince Vaughn to climb onto the chair of the catapult I designed. Her enthusiasm is infectious. Her cheeks flushed as she waves her arms emphatically. Vaughn finally relents, grumbling as he strips off his shirt and shoes before climbing into the seat.
Mina squeals, her delight ringing through the clearing, and throws the handle. The catapult launches Vaughn into the air with a thunderous whoosh, the tension in the ropes snapping free. His scream echoes as he arcs through the sky, sending Mina into fits of laughter. Before he crashes, he shifts midair, his stone-like wings catching the sunlight as he glides back to her.
Her laughter carries on the wind, bright and untamed, and I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. She’s more than I deserve. More than I ever dreamed of.
I watch Mina launch Vaughn several more times before stepping out from the shadowy tree line. The sharp crack of the catapult echoes through the clearing, followed by Vaughn’s exhilarated whoop as he soars through the air. Mina’s laughter rings out, clear and bright, cutting through the brisk afternoon chill. Her joy, radiant and unrestrained, warms something deep in my chest. It’s moments like this that make all the sleepless nights and grueling work worth it. Keeping her safe is a burden I’ll carry gladly—no, fiercely.
“How did it go?” Leander’s voice pulls my attention. He steps up beside me, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, the faint scent of pine and earth clinging to him.
“Dad has him,” I reply, my gaze lingering on Mina as she brushes a strand of hair from her flushed face. The vibrant reds and golds of the setting sun catch in her emerald and silver locks, making her glow. “We’ll know more this weekend. Dad and Mom have offered to help us dig Mina’s nest in the mountains. Four dragons switching out in shifts is better than two.” My hand moves to my head, fingers catching in the unruly strands of my hair as I try to untangle them from the short horns protruding from my scalp.
