Page 50 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
“Do we know exactly when at the end of the year? We have three months left.” I force my voice to stay level, but the tension coils in my gut like a serpent, twisting tighter with every second of uncertainty. The lack of information gnaws at me, a constant ache.
“It’s warming up is all I know. So that can be early spring,” Mina says reluctantly, her voice soft, almost fragile. The faint catch in her tone scrapes against my nerves, and I fight the urge to demand more. She doesn’t have the answers any more than I do.
Sighing, I drop into one of the nearby chairs, the worn leather creaking beneath my weight. The room smells faintly of ash and lingering candle smoke, mingling with the earthy tang of the dirt floor beneath us. My fingers trail over the armrest, the rough, aged texture grounding me just enough to keep my frustration in check.
“With all the skirmishes and mini border disputes, we can’t tell which is the one that happens when the major attack here happens,” I say, the words bitter on my tongue. The air in the room feels heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken fears.
“That’s the main issue with everything at the moment. If we had something else that would give us a better idea of when, we couldprepare for it better.” Abraxis’s deep voice carries a steadying force as he wraps his wings around Mina, cocooning her in dark leather and warmth. The soft rustle of his wings fills the room as she leans into him, her muffled breathing barely audible.
“Hopefully, we’ll have some semblance of a warning,” Leander says, his tone edged with doubt. His sharp gaze shifts to Callan. “Do we know if Thauglor hatched as well as Klauth? Or is it just Klauth on a rampage?”
“Just Klauth...” Mina’s muffled voice filters through Abraxis’s embrace, faint but certain. I watch as the shadows from the flickering lantern light dance across Abraxis’s wings, casting fragmented shapes over the stone walls.
“So only one hatches to save you? Does that mean Thauglor isn’t a mate? Or it’s just too soon for him?” I ask, my eyes narrowing as I shift my focus between Callan and Abraxis. The room feels colder as the silence stretches. The tension growing thick enough to taste—metallic and bitter, like blood on the tongue.
“I think time is a significant factor,” Balor interjects before anyone else can respond, his voice a rumble that vibrates through the space. “Klauth has been active with Mina for almost two years now. Thauglor has only been active a few months.” His words linger in the air, heavy and weighted, as though they might collapse under the burden of their implications.
“One ancient on a rampage is better than dealing with two,” I say offhandedly, my voice cutting through the heavy silence like the edge of a blade. The room feels too warm, the air thick with tension and the faint, metallic tang of dragon energy humming just beneath the surface.
“I’d rather be dealing with none,” Abraxis replies, his voice a low rumble, like distant thunder before a storm. He leans down, his dark wings rustling softly, and presses a kiss to the crown of Mina’s head. The gesture is tender, but the sharp, protective gleam in his eyes as he looks up at the rest of us sends a clear message. “By rights, the eldest dragon is the head of the nest.” His gaze lingers on each of us before returning to Mina, who remains nestled against him. “Only the dragoness can change that, if it’s what she wants.”
Mina pokes her head out from between Abraxis’s wings, her golden eyes glinting like molten metal in the dim light. “I’m not changing a damn thing,” she grumbles, her voice rough and smoky, edged with irritation. “Klauth is going to have to learn to play nice. Abraxis was here first.” With that, she burrows back into the cocoon of his wings, her movement stirring a faint whiff of warm scales and ash.
“Well, there you have it. The dragoness has spoken,” Ziggy chimes in, cracking open a bottle of water with a sharp hiss that echoes in the stillness.
A slender hand snakes out from Abraxis’s wings, the middle finger pointed squarely in Ziggy’s direction. The sight of Mina’s delicate yet defiant gesture breaks the tension. Ziggy sputters, choking on a mouthful of water, the sound a sharp contrast to the deep chuckles rolling from Abraxis’s chest. Slowly, Mina’s hand retreats into the shadowy folds of Abraxis’s wings, as if the moment of levity never happened.
“My yearly is coming early … I feel it getting closer,” Mina’s muffled voice emerges from the darkness. The faint vibration of her words sends an icy spike down my spine.
I glance at each of my nest mates, my jaw tightening. “Do you haveenough of the den dug out for her?” My voice carries an edge I don’t bother to soften.
“Mom and Dad are there with a contingent of my people, working to expand it,” Abraxis says, his gaze dropping to Mina. His expression softens, but his voice remains resolute. “They’re making it big enough to fit a dragon or two comfortably. Without an actual building for protection, either Balor or I will have to remain shifted to shield her from the elements while she sleeps.”
The air thickens, the weight of unspoken fears settling over us. The room grows quieter, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth, its warm light flickering over tense faces.
It’s too soon. My chest tightens at the thought. Dragonesses thrive when they’re older—mid-twenties, at least. Any younger, and the risks multiply. Egg-binding, dud eggs, the agony of delivering a slug with no chance of life—it’s a cruel gamble. Abraxis explained it once during a late-night discussion. His voice strained with the knowledge of what Mina might face.
Leander’s presence pulls my thoughts in another direction. His species isn’t born from eggs. No one in the nest knows how things might unfold when it’s his turn. A mystery layered atop an already precarious situation.
“For now, we do whatever we have to, to keep Mina safe,” Abraxis says, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence. His dragon’s eyes flash, the slitted pupils eclipsing the human ones, a vivid reminder of the power simmering just beneath his calm exterior. “Trust no one. Not the headmaster. Not the elders. I think our problems run deeper than we’ve realized.” There’s a growl to his voice, and I know he’s deadly serious. Never mess with a drakes mate, they are ruthless and have zero conscience when seeking revenge or protecting what’s theirs.
CHAPTER 31
Mina
We spentthe entire weekend at the new nest site digging, and every muscle in my body protests with exhaustion. The air still clings to the faint earthy tang of freshly turned soil, a scent that followed us home like an unwelcome shadow. Monday passed in a haze of soreness and half-formed thoughts, and now it’s Tuesday—I feel like my ass is dragging through the cobblestones of this cursed academy.
Ziggy walks beside me, his boots echoing against the polished stone floor, the sharp rhythm a contrast to my sluggish shuffle. The faint scent of magic lingers in the hall, a constant reminder of the wards surrounding the headmaster’s domain. I sigh, the weight of everything pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket.
“What’s wrong, Mina?” Ziggy stops abruptly, his hand catching my arm to spin me toward him. We stand just down the hall from the headmaster’s red cedar door, its imposing presence radiating unease like the whisper of a predator stalking unseen.
“I don’t want to bring the eggs in with me.” My voice is tight, my gaze flicking to the door and back to Ziggy, my stomach twisting as if it’s caught in a vice.
“Why?” he asks, stepping closer, his tall frame shielding me from the looming door. His eerie green eyes, shimmering like a predator’s in the dim light, search my face as though the answer is written there.
“I don’t trust him.” Biting my bottom lip, I shrug out of my jacket, the worn leather creaking softly in the stillness as I hand it to him. The cool air brushes against my skin as I work on the leather straps of the egg carrier. “I’m sending you with Ziggy,” I murmur to the eggs, my voice soft but firm. “He’s in my nest, and I trust him.”
The eggs pulse beneath the leather flap, an almost imperceptible warmth radiating through the straps as if to protest. A faint hum vibrates through my mind, their emotions bleeding into me—concern, resistance, fear. I sigh, flipping the leather open to look at them. They shimmer faintly, veins of light twisting across their surfaces like living threads.
