Page 62 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
Suddenly, a sharp scream knifes through the air from inside the chamber, tearing through the stillness. My heart lurches, and I’m on my feet in an instant. My father is right behind me, the two of us charging toward the door. When we reach it, we realize it’s barred from the inside. Another scream slices through the thick door,followed by frantic splashing that sends images of water or blood thrashing in my mind. Then—silence.
The ensuing quiet is worse than the screams, pressing on my ears until I feel a dull ache building in my skull. My father and I turn to Warrick with matching glares, our combined anger crackling in the air. He recoils against the wall, hands still shielding his face. All of us wait, tense and grim, for whatever outcome lurks behind that closed door.
Eventually, the door creaks open, and a rush of stale, cool air wafts into the corridor. Mina steps out, her bare feet slapping lightly against the stone floor. She’s clutching a towel to her chest, and I catch the faint, metallic tang of blood clinging to her skin. Her eyes glow with dragonic fire—vertical slits rimmed with embers—fixing Warrick with a glare so intense it sends a ripple of static through the air.
“I got the bleeding under control,” she growls, her voice raw with suppressed anger. Her clenched teeth practically grind as she struggles not to unleash her fury in a shout. There’s a crackle of electricity around her horns, and the taste of ozone prickles at the back of my throat.
She shifts her focus to the towel in her arms. I spot thin trails of steam rising from its polished shell—it radiates warmth like something alive and pulsing. “Cora is going to need to be babied for the next few days,” Mina says, the mild tremor in her voice betraying her concern. Her gaze snaps up, locking on Warrick again. “If I hear she had to lift a single fucking finger to wait on your ass, I swear to Tiamat I will strike you with the biggest lightning bolt I can muster.”
I can practically feel the static building in her body. My skin tingles where it meets hers as I move forward and gently draw her into my arms, trying to rub circles along her spine in a soothing gesture. Thescent of her—warm skin, a faint spice of dragon musk—settles my own nerves. “I’m sure Mom and Dad will keep a very close eye on everything,” I say softly, pressing my lips against her damp forehead. Tiny sparks crackle between us, but she relaxes just enough for her shoulders to unclench.
“Do you want to see the egg?” she asks, pivoting so her back blocks Warrick from view. Her voice drops low, as if wanting to shield this precious moment.
“It’s my…” Warrick starts, but before he can finish, Mina whirls on him with a fierce snarl. The air hums; scales sprout along her forearms in a gleaming cascade, and lightning skitters across her horns. He stumbles backward, the soles of his boots scraping against the stone floor as he falls onto his ass.
Mina inhales sharply through her nose, as though trying to steady herself, and turns back to me. Her fingers tremble just slightly as she lifts the towel’s edge. The egg she reveals is glossy obsidian veined with burnished brass and bright streaks of red. Its surface, warm to the touch, catches the faint torchlight and gleams like precious metal. “It’s viable,” she whispers, a note of relief softening her tone. The tension eases from her stance, and a small smile tugs at her lips.
She offers the egg to my father, who cradles it reverently. I can see his eyes widen at the subtle pulse of life within the shell. Mina exchanges a quick glance with him before disappearing back into the chamber to care for my sister. The soft rustle of her towel trailing behind her.
Moments later, the corridor falls into a hush, and I’m left with the echo of her protective fury still buzzing in my ears. It’s on days like this that I thank Bahamut for blessing me with a mate who embodies both savage power and unwavering compassion.
CHAPTER 38
Mina
Ziggy has been phasing backand forth between the school and Cora’s nest, ferrying me back and forth so I can check on her and the egg. Every time we arrive, my senses are greeted by the flickering glow of enchanted lanterns and the faint, musky scent of dragon scales and nesting herbs. Warrick, is trying to be the model mate, stands at attention like a sentinel, obeying all of my commands without a single complaint. I can still picture the sterile gleam of the physician’s tools during Cora’s latest checkup—I’d placed temporary stitches in my bag and made sure I had clotting powder on hand, just in case.
Cora has healed well since her birthing. The low hiss of steam from the hot springs soothed her minor tear as she drifts through the water like a languid serpent. We spent hours snuggled on the couch afterward, the soft, worn fabric of the cushions pressing against my legs as the comforting warmth of her body lulled me into a hazy sort of peace. The subtle crackle of the fireplace in the neutral area of the house wrapped us in its cozy embrace. It’s there, in the den, that Cerce eventually joins us, her perfume drifting on the air like spiced flowerpetals. What was supposed to be a brief visit morphs into a girls’ day out—laughter, soft chatter, and the aroma of pastries we indulge in filling the space.
My guys don’t think to question where I am until their own day is nearly done. By then, Ziggy has phased Abraxis to me. Ziggy lingers for a short while, his presence tingling in the atmosphere, before he heads back home. Abraxis’s gaze fixes on Cora’s egg; the intensity in his eyes is something I understand all too well. I feel it echo in my chest whenever I look at my cursed eggs. As I lean my head on Abraxis’s shoulder, I breathe in his earthy scent, tinged with an underlying hint of brimstone. Across from us, Cora curls up next to Warrick, looking peaceful despite everything she’s been through. If I hadn’t witnessed her agonizing struggle to lay her egg, I might be tempted to birth ours sooner. But the memory of her raw cries and my own frantic efforts to keep her safe still clings to my mind.
When the night grows late, Abraxis and I say our goodbyes, stepping outside into the crisp, moonlit air. The flight field stretches before us, bathed in silver light. There’s a whisper of wind, carrying the scent of dew-kissed grass and the faint tang of dragon smoke from the distant training ground.
“Am I being selfish waiting until I’m older to start laying eggs?” My voice sounds small against the hush of the night, and I cast a sidelong glance at Abraxis. His gaze drops for a moment, the moonlight tracing the resigned set of his jaw.
“I’ll admit I’m jealous of my sister having her firstborn,” he murmurs, pulling me close. I savor his warmth as he kisses my temple, the press of his lips sending a ripple of heat down my spine. “But hearing what she went through... I don’t want you to suffer like that.”
I let out a soft sigh, nestling into the crook under his jaw. “I understand. Still, I feel selfish for wanting to finish school first.” Gently, I place my hand on the egg carrier strapped to my stomach. Inside, the two cursed eggs rest, half the size of the one Cora pushed out. My fingertips tremble, sensing their dark power.
Abraxis runs a hand over my hair, his voice calm and reassuring. “You being healthy and older is more important than having a hatchling right now. Just wait until Cora’s little one hatches. It’ll be chaos once it’s up and running around, torching everything in sight and refusing to sleep.” A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “I remember the havoc my sister caused at that age. The nest isn’t quite prepared to handle another mouth to feed and another tantrum to quell. Plus, we need to build our own space—a proper structure to keep our young safe.”
I offer him a small, grateful smile. Practical as ever, Abraxis knows how to ground me. We enjoy the flight home weaving around each other gliding on the thermals. Tomorrow is another day, and back to classes I go.
“Wake up, my love…” The gentle whisper brushes against my ear, and I feel a pleasant quiver course through my body. Soft lips press to my forehead, a tender warmth radiating from the point of contact. A calloused thumb grazes my cheek, urging my eyes open for just a heartbeat before I let them drift shut again.
“I don’t wanna,” I whine, burrowing my face deeper into the pillow and drawing closer to him. The bedroom is comfortably warm, almost cocoon-like, with barely a hint of the chill that grips the corridorsoutside. Leander’s scent—fresh and bracing, like stepping into a cool winter morning—wraps around me, and I can’t help but sigh contentedly.
“I have a class to teach, and you have classes to attend,” he says in that low, soothing rumble that always makes me want to melt. “Well, maybe not first period—we don’t want you anywhere near Lysander alone.” Another lingering kiss lands on my forehead, his breath fanning warmly across my skin. “Go hang out with Abraxis and spar more.”
“Oh, okay … I’ll suffer through watching my mate half-dressed, swinging swords around,” I groan dramatically, flinging an arm over my eyes for emphasis. In truth, the very thought of Abraxis training—powerful muscles flexing with every practiced movement—sends a flutter through my stomach.
“There’s the spirit. Now get up and start your ogling,” he teases, a husky laugh shaking his chest. He slips out of bed, and I shift on the soft sheets so I can watch him better. The room isn’t cold in the least; I don’t even feel the slightest chill as Leander stretches, his arms rising above his head and his back arching in a slow, deliberate motion.
My gaze roves over the defined lines of his shoulders and his sculpted waist, each muscle shifting under his skin like a living work of art. He glances back and catches me staring. I push myself up against the headboard, a playful grin tugging at my lips. “What? I’m doing exactly what you told me—ogling my mate.”
He smirks and shakes his head as I swing my legs out of bed. The plush carpet greets my bare feet. I rummage through the nearby trunk for my fighting leathers, the scent of well-worn leather mingling with the slight tang of my dragoness undertones. Slipping into the vest, I toss Leander a mischievous smile. “Oh, you meant Abraxis … my bad.” Ican’t resist brushing past him and giving him a playful slap on his ass on my way out.
I head into the common area and find Callan seated at the table, the cursed eggs securely strapped to his chest. There’s a subtle, unsettling hum that seems to pulse from them, pricking at my awareness.
