Page 51 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
“I can’t shift to defend myself if you’re strapped to my chest,” I whisper. “It’s only for an hour, I promise.”
The eggs quiet, their glow dimming slightly as I undo the last strap. Ziggy watches me with a raised brow, his expression skeptical as I lift the carrier to fit it over his larger frame.
“They were arguing with you?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in the narrow hall.
“Yes,” I reply, my tone clipped as I secure the straps on him. “They don’t want to leave me. They’re worried I’ll be attacked—or worse.”
I flip the top open again and lean down, pressing a kiss to each of the eggs. Their warmth lingers on my lips, a fleeting sense of reassurancethat doesn’t quite reach my heart. “Take them to Abraxis. Just in case you have to come get me in a hurry.”
Ziggy hesitates, his mouth opening as though to argue, but instead he nods reluctantly. “Okay.” With a soft whoosh, he phases out of sight, the faint shimmer of displaced air the only trace he leaves behind.
I turn back toward the red cedar door at the end of the hallway. It looms like a judge, its surface carved with intricate sigils that seem to writhe and twist in the flickering light of the sconces. The faint scent of cedar mixed with something ancient—magic, blood, fear?—makes my stomach churn.
A chill runs down my spine as I take a step closer. My instincts scream at me to turn around, to run, but before I can move, a soft fluttering sound breaks the stillness. Iris lands on my shoulder, her talons curling into the fabric of my shirt.
Her weight steadies me, her presence grounding like the crackle of distant thunder before a storm. The faint buzz of her energy mingles with mine, awakening the coiled power of my lightning even in my human form. I draw in a deep breath, the air sharp and cold as it fills my lungs. At least now, I’m not entirely defenseless.
I knock on the door; the sound echoing dully in the dimly lit corridor and wait for Lysander to beckon me inside. His voice is muffled and I hear him tell me to come in. The wood feels cool under my knuckles, and a faint scent of aged paper and something metallic—like old coins—seeps through the cracks.
When I step in, the air is thick with the tang of ink and leather, mingling with the faint spice of Lysander’s cologne. The door closes behind me with a low creak, the latch clicking into place a bit too loudly. My gaze sweeps over the interior of his office. Floor-to-ceilingbookshelves dominate three of the four walls, their surfaces crammed with dusty tomes, rolled parchments, and strange jars holding unidentifiable objects. On either side of the doorway, various scales—iridescent, jagged, some dull with age—are mounted on plaques. Their descriptions are written in a precise script that I don’t bother to read. The metallic scent is stronger here.
“Sorry for the change of location today,” Lysander says, his voice smooth but brittle, like glass on the verge of shattering. He gestures to the tomes stacked neatly on his desk in front of a single leather seat. “I have a meeting soon after our session, and it was easier to be here.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which gleam with something too sharp, too cold. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m overly suspicious of everyone these days.
“It’s fine.” My voice is steady as I shrug off my jacket and drape it over the back of the chair. The leather creaks softly under my touch, and the faint smell of polish reaches my nose.
“You didn’t bring the eggs with you?” His eyebrow arches, the movement quick and precise, and that feeling slithers back—cold and instinctual. A warning.Get out. Run.
“My mates didn’t want me walking around with them, not with everything that’s happening. You understand—safety and all.” I offer him a smile, warm and deliberate, watching as a muscle in his jaw tightens. His left eye twitches, barely perceptible, but enough to make my dragoness coil and hiss.
“I could open up the egg chamber in Malivore for you,” he says smoothly, his voice a purr that crawls along my skin. “You could put them back if they’re causing so much trouble.” The smile he gives me is predatory, his teeth glinting faintly in the golden light of theoverhead fixture. Slowly, his pupils thin into slits, and the subtle glow of his basilisk’s eyes rises to the surface.He’s trying his stone gaze on me…
The sight sends a sharp chill down my spine, and my hand moves instinctively to the blade resting just above my belt. Mentally, I reach out, brushing against the threads of my mate bonds. I caress all four of them, sending a silent signal to send Ziggy. My pulse pounds in my ears, but I don’t let it show.
“The eggs are fine right where they are.” My voice drops, edged with steel, as I let my dragoness rise. Armored scales ripple up my chest and along my neck, the faint metallic shimmer catching the light.
“It was just an offer...” Lysander stands, the chair scraping against the wooden floor with a grating sound. His movements are fluid, serpentine, and too deliberate.
The surrounding air thickens with tension, the faint crackle of my simmering lightning clinging to my skin. Iris tightens her tails grip around my throat, grounding me. My breath is steady, but my instincts scream.
Before I can act, a knock echoes through the room, sharp and precise. The door opens slightly, and Ziggy’s familiar face appears. Relief washes over me. “Excuse me, sir,” Ziggy says politely, his tone as disarming as ever. “Abraxis wants his mate at his side.”
I don’t hesitate. Grabbing my jacket, I back away, keeping my eyes on Lysander as I reach for Ziggy’s gloved hand. His touch is firm, steadying. Before anyone can protest, I feel the air shift around us.
Within seconds we’re in the sparring ring. The cold air bites at my skin, carrying the metallic tang of sweat and the faint smell of blood from a fresh match. Abraxis turns the moment I arrive, his sharp eyes locking onto mine.
“Keep fighting. I’ll be back in a moment,” Abraxis commands, his deep voice rolling like thunder as he appoints a fourth-year to oversee the matches. He guides us to his office, his movements protective and deliberate. “What happened?”
“It’s probably best to wait for the others.” I say as he opens the door to his office.
Inside, the air is cooler, tinged with the faint smoke of his incense burner. The egg carrier strapped to his chest draws my attention, and I smile, closing the distance to kiss him. The scent of him—smoke and leather—grounds me further as I take the carrier back.
One by one, my mates and nest mates arrive. The room grows warmer with their presence, though the tension lingers like static electricity. Drawing a deep breath, I explain what happened. The odd setup of Lysander’s office, his reaction to the eggs not being with me, and the moment his basilisk eyes surfaced.
“Having the eggs with you or not with you wouldn’t affect you reading books and research material.” Callan says, as he looks at me before glancing at the others.
“Exactly my point. It’s when his eyes became his basilisks is when I called for you guys to send Ziggy.” The room erupts. Voices clash like thunder and lightning, Abraxis’s booming threats to raze the institute shaking the walls. Balor growls low and dangerous, his anger like a fire burning too close. Leander paces, his movements restless and deliberate, each footstep a drumbeat of frustration. I sink into the nearest chair, the leather cool against my overheated skin, and throw an arm over my eyes.
“According to your vision, your father is working with Arista’s flight,” Leander says, his voice tight as he pivots on his heel. “Now we’re adding the headmaster to the top of the accomplice list.”
