Page 61 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
“Mom…” she breathes, voice trembling with relief as she rushes into my mother’s arms. Their quiet sobs and the soft brush of fabric catch my ear, and I feel a knot in my stomach tighten.
“How was the flight, son?” My father steps forward. His handshake is firm and warm, but there’s tension in the set of his shoulders.
“It was good. Nice and smooth—no bad weather between here and the school.” I glance around the courtyard, noticing how the torches sputter in the breeze. Shadows dance across the ground, stretching in odd shapes that put me on edge. Then I turn my gaze on my father, silently asking a question I know he can answer.
“She’s in the neutral area,” he says, voice low. “She’s having issues passing her first egg.” The lines near his eyes deepen with worry. “We warned them not to try so young, but you know how young love is.”
I nod, feeling the cool night air raising goose bumps on my arms. I look at Mina and my mother. I see the moment Mom whispers about Cora. Mina’s face darkens, her eyes shifting into a predatory gleam. A growl coils in my chest at the sight of her sudden rage, and I shake my head slowly to rein her in.
“Take me to her.” Mina’s voice is dangerously calm. She strides away, my mother guiding her toward the birthing waters. Her footsteps click against the courtyard’s stone floor, echoing ominously.
I start to follow, but my father’s hand clamps around my arm. “Females only in the birthing waters,” he reminds me. “It’s tradition.”
We trail after them into an alcove where the walls are rough-hewn stone, lit by flickering lanterns that throw dancing patterns across the floor. A warm, mineral smell tells me there’s a hot spring or pool beyond the closed door. Warrick sits on a nearby bench, his head in his hands, shoulders quaking with barely contained fear. The salty tang of his sweat mingles with the musty air.
“How is she?” I ask, my voice echoing off the stone.
“We should have listened.” His tone is thick with guilt. “The egg is big—she’s having trouble passing it.” He fixes a tortured stare on the door, as if he can will it open.
My father and I exchange glances but remain silent. My sister’s fate hangs in the balance, and frustration churns in my gut. “Where are Mina and my mom?” I finally demand.
Warrick’s face turns a shade paler. “Your mate is terrifying. She said she’d gut me on the spot and electrocute me if I so much asblinked wrong.” He shivers. “She also mentioned being poisoned by a basilisk and terrorized by a nightmare.” He forces a laugh that sounds more like a groan. “Where’s she even going to find those two creatures?”
Vox—my father—leans against the wall, crossing his arms. The lantern light catches the cool calculation in his gaze. “Well, my son Abraxis, here has two such friends. One’s even another mate of his female. I’m sure either would do anything she asks.” The calm menace in his voice coils around Warrick like a physical threat.
“We promised no male would lay a finger on you,” Dad adds, pushing away from the wall and rapping softly on the heavy wooden door. “But we never said anything about the females in our family.”
A moment later, Mom opens the door a crack. She speaks in hushed tones to Dad, and I catch a hint of warm, steamy air carrying the scent of herbs and mineral water before she disappears again.
“It seems my daughter-in-law is soothing my daughter enough to help her relax and pass the egg.” Dad’s whole face lights up with relieved pride. “I am very proud of the mate my son has.” He claps me on the shoulder, the force reverberating through my bones, and then turns to Ziggy. “Mina said she has a black medicine bag in her room, and that you know where it is. She needs it.”
Ziggy glances at me. I give a single nod, allowing him to enter Mina’s private space. He vanishes in a flicker of magic, leaving a faint crackle in the air that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
“What was that? What is he?” Warrick blurts, eyes darting between me and my father.
Balor’s answering smile is edged with danger. “One of the males who will raise hell if Mina asks us to.” Then his lips pull back, revealing the elongated basilisk fangs he inherited from his lineage. Warrick’s facedrains of color at the silent confirmation. The threat here is very real—and no amount of stone or shadow can hide from it.
I tense as I watch Ziggy reappear outside the door, two black bags clutched tight in his hands. The corridor feels colder than usual; shadows cling to the walls, rippling under the faint glow of the lanterns. A damp, earthy smell lingers, reminding me of the school’s catacombs below, and it makes the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.
He raps on the door with a soft, rhythmic pattern I recognize from countless nights spent outside Mina’s room. My heightened senses pick up on the quick shuffle of feet within, and moments later, Mina opens the door. A rush of warm air scented with soap and stale incense drifts out, teasing my nostrils. She smiles at Ziggy, her eyes brightening at the sight of the bags in his hands.
She snatches the first bag, rummages through it, then takes the second one. With her free hand, she thrusts the first bag back at him, her attention suddenly snapping toward Warrick. A low, menacing growl rumbles from her throat, vibrating the floor beneath me. My pulse thunders in my ears, and a prickling sensation creeps across the back of my neck. Even the surrounding air seems to thicken with her warning. Mina thanks Ziggy curtly before slipping back into the chamber and shutting the door with a soft click.
Ziggy exhales and lowers himself onto the bench beside me. The wood creaks under his weight, and an herbal, almost sickly sweet aroma drifts from the other black bag in his lap.
“What did Mina need?” I ask, jerking my chin at the satchel that reeks of bitter roots and pungent leaves.
He shudders, eyes flicking to the door. “Apparently, several toxic herbs can work as a numbing agent if applied topically.”
Warrick, who’s been watching us with dilated pupils, blurts, “Your mate is all up in my mate’s privates?” His words are crass and echo sharply in the hallway. Before I can shoot him a glare, Balor’s hand cracks across the back of Warrick’s head with enough force to send him sprawling off the bench. The impact echoes like a thunderclap, reverberating through the confined space.
“Be careful how you speak of Mina,” Balor growls. His voice is low, dangerous, matching the sudden shift in his energy. His sunglasses slip down his nose, and I see his eyes bleeding into the crimson hue of his other form. Warrick cringes, covering his face with trembling hands as if Balor’s gaze might petrify him on the spot.
“I’m sorry…” He huddles on the floor, looking more like a frightened animal than the arrogant fool from moments ago. Balor steps closer, looming over him.
“You better be. And you better pray that my mate can save yours. Because if my sister dies or is … ruined…because you couldn’t keep your shaft to yourself? No one here is going to stop Mina from tearing you apart.” A growl rumbles in my chest, the thick scent of Warrick’s fear curling into my nostrils like a potent fog. He cowers even lower, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
We all turn to stare at the closed door, its dark wooden surface seeming to pulse with tension. Time drags on, heavy and stifling, the silence broken only by our shallow breathing and the occasional drip of condensation from the ceiling.
