Page 80 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
“Ziggy, get Callan home. I’m going to hunt the catacombs for Leander. After Callan is safe, go to Mina. I’ll meet you there.” Balor’s eyes flick toward the looming silhouette of the academy, its spires barely visible against the cloudless sky. He shakes his head, his expression grim. “If the known mates are being hunted, that means we’re safe.”
Ziggy nods, but the weight of his gaze lingers on me, his glowing eyes piercing as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. The forest feels colder now, the shadows darker, as if the trees themselves are holding their breath.
“Just the way I like it. Being the wild card has its perks.” Ziggy says as he takes ahold of me again and we vanish from the forest to arrive in our apartment.
The front door hangs wide open, creaking faintly in the night breeze. The air is sharp, carrying the scent of stone dust and something faintly metallic—blood, maybe. The first thing we see is Vaughn, frozen mid-stride in his gargoyle form, trapped in stone. The overhead light pours over his unmoving figure, highlighting every crack and ridge on his hardened body. The broken chain lies at his feet, glinting faintly, and the amulet he always wears is nowhere to be found.
“Look…” Ziggy’s voice is barely above a whisper as he points toward the wall. My gaze follows his finger to a painting that wasn’t there before. The cute cow painting Mina liked now lays discarded nearby, the glass shattered. I step closer, my boots crunching against the broken shards, and study the new painting.
It’s Mina’s dragoness, laying down with its four hatchlings, their scales gleaming in vivid hues. My pulse quickens as I notice the names scrawled on the back after I pull it from the wall. Mina listed the hatchlings by color and their fathers: Vaughn, Balor, Klauth, and Abraxis.
A cold knot forms in my gut. I glance at Ziggy, and he looks as shaken as I feel. We exchange a look that speaks volumes—confusion, unease, and the unspoken fear of what this might mean for the rest ofus. Can Leander and Ziggy have hatchlings with her, even though their species aren’t born from eggs? Four eggs already seem like a lot for such a young dragoness.
I flip the painting back over and examine the structure in the background. It’s unmistakable—the same mountains Mina painted months ago when she told us where she wanted to build her nest. My chest tightens as Ziggy snaps several photos, the faint shutter sound of his phone slicing through the oppressive silence. He sends the pictures to the pre-Mina chat without a word, the typing sound quick and urgent. None of us expect a response right away, but it’s there for when they check.
We move through the apartment carefully, each creak of the floorboards sending a jolt of tension up my spine. My senses are on high alert, scanning for anything out of place, listening for the faintest sound of an intruder. The air smells faintly of Mina’s perfume—amber and something wild—but there’s an underlying sharpness, like ozone after a storm.
Once we’re sure no one is lurking, we head to the mini poison herb garden. The smell of the plants hits us first—bitter, acrid, and cloying all at once. My throat tightens slightly, and I make sure to keep my breathing shallow as we step inside. In the back, beneath the twisted vines of nightshade, rests the black egg, exactly where Mina left it. The faint sheen of its surface catches the dim light, looking as cold and unyielding as Vaughn’s stone form.
I glance at Ziggy, who’s already shifting uneasily. “You better go to Mina, just in case.” My voice is steady, but the weight of everything we’ve just seen presses on my chest like a stone. Ziggy doesn’t hesitate. In a blink, he’s gone, leaving me alone with the questions swirling in my mind.
The biggest one claws at me, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts:Who will make it home tonight, and who will we have to say goodbye to forever?
CHAPTER 50
Mina
What the guysdon’t realize is I canfeelwhat’s happening to each of them. A faint, pulsing energy tethers me to my mates. The moment Leander goes down, the back of my neck prickles like tiny needles, and my dragoness coils in alarm. Wherever he is, I can’t sense him anymore. It’s like he’s fallen off the edge of my awareness—but I know he’s not dead yet; a thin thread still connects us. Vaughn, I feel solidify the instant he turns to stone. His bond weighs on me, thick and cold, reminding me of granite under my fingertips. Abraxis remains lithe and elusive, his presence flickering with every blow he trades. And Callan... I nearly double over when he’s shot—three sharp jolts stab through my chest, one after the other.
Shaking my head, I press myself into the damp shadows behind the training ring. The air smells of sweat and iron, and torches crackle in their sconces, casting dancing light over rough stone walls. My heart thuds as I check each tether carefully. Both eggs are safe, hidden away in places I’ve picked. Balor’s basilisk roams nearby; I sense its agitation in the quiet scraping of scales against stone floors, echoingbeyond the ring. It’s hunting—whether for Leander or a new victim, I can’t tell. My visions didn’t reveal where Leander ended up, and anxiety simmers low in my gut.
Ziggy arrives not long after and moves through the shadows with silent confidence. Before he can speak, I grab him by the collar and shove him against the wall. My palm clamps over his mouth, my breath ragged with adrenaline. “You have to let things play out. I will live through this.” The pungent smell of sweat and adrenaline fills the narrow space between us as I stare into his eyes, watching the glow ebb from their depths.
“I don’t know if I can just stand by and watch you get hurt.” His voice is thick with worry as he cups my face in both hands and kisses me softly. The musky warmth of his displacer beast’s presence envelops me, easing the tension that’s coiled in my muscles. My dragoness rumbles in approval, a purr vibrating low in my chest, and we both share a small, dangerous smile as I break the kiss.
“Ziggy, I promise I’ll be okay. If something goes sideways, I’ll call your name.” I press my lips to his once more—brief but firm—before slipping away from him and stepping into the ring of faint torchlight. Five matches stand between me and my father’s arrival. The stone beneath my boots feels cold and unforgiving, each footstep echoing in the hush that’s fallen around the onlookers. He plans to make me a dracolich, which means I have to die first. My jaw tightens at the thought, and the sour taste of fear flickers on my tongue. We’ll see who dies first, me or him.
I tug the fighting hood with the face mask further down my forehead, letting shadows obscure most of my face and mask. As I step into the center of the ring, I reach over my shoulders for the twin swords strapped to my back. The blades scrape against leather, the high-pitched sound sending a ripple of anticipation through the crowd. “Who wants to spar?” I say, turning in a slow circle. I catch a whiff of old blood from the sand beneath my feet and feel the heat of tense bodies pressed around the ring. A fourth-year student steps forward and bows; I bow back, never taking my eyes off him.
He lunges first, and steel clashes steel, the sharp ring resonating against the walls. Each impact sends a vibration up my arms, igniting the aggression simmering under my skin. My dragoness hisses approval, fueling my strikes. The onlookers’ murmurs fade into a low drone, and all I focus on is the weight of my swords and the surety of my steps. Ziggy lingers in the periphery—his presence a subtle hum across my senses. I know if anyone tries something underhanded, he’ll put a stop to it.
I slam my opponent’s blade aside with a jarring parry, and it clatters against the stone, skidding across the floor. Defeat flickers in his eyes as he taps the sand in surrender. Sweat and tension thicken the air, and my heart pounds with dark satisfaction. Everyone here knows I’ve been training with Abraxis, and they’ve seen how lethal he is; now, they recognize I share that edge. A hush falls over the remaining students, each one assessing me with wary eyes. They’re unsure whether stepping forward to challenge me is worth the risk. For a moment, I savor their hesitation, letting the ring of steel still echo in my ears.
Four matches down, and this is the start of the fifth. My heart pounds a furious rhythm in my ears, nearly drowning out the roar of the crowd. The stench of sweat and metal lingers in the air, mingling with the acrid smell of scorched sand underfoot. My lungs burn with each breath, and my throat tastes of copper. Despite the surge ofadrenaline, I can’t help but let my gaze flick past my opponent’s shoulder, searching the ring of onlookers. I know my father’s out there; every instinct, every prick of my dragoness sense confirms it.
Consciously, I raise the scales over my abdomen and ribs, then the ones encircling my throat. The sensation is both reassuring and unsettling—like donning a second skin. My father may be lurking, butI refuse to die today.
He attacks with two blades, steel flashing under the dim torches lining the arena’s walls. My feet shift on the gritty floor, trying to find stable footing in the dust and blood that’s settled there. After several harsh clashes, I knock one of his blades away. The clang reverberates in my bones, and a sudden hush falls over the spectators—like the moment just before lightning strikes. He dives for his lost weapon, and I seize the moment with a sharp kick, driving my heel into his ribs. The dull crack under my boot tells me I landed a solid blow. He sprawls across the sand with a guttural grunt.
This is it,the moment from my vision.My pulse thrums, and my scales bristle with anticipation. I stand over him, pressing my blade to his throat, the cold steel biting against his flesh. My breathing remains remarkably steady. I lock eyes with him, my voice a low growl. “Do you yield?”
A prickling sensation crawls up my neck—an instinct screaming at me. His gaze flicks over my right shoulder. Without a second thought, I pivot, lifting both blades just in time to meet a vicious strike meant for my head. Sparks spray into the air like fireflies gone mad, lighting up the narrow space between us.
I stare into the hate-filled eyes of my father, his black hood and mask concealing most of his face. Only the glimmer of malice in his eyes is visible. My stomach twists with dread as I feel his raw intent. I do theone thing I’ve been avoiding. I reach for Klauth’s tether and yank it with all my might. Desperation floods my veins as I send him every ounce of energy I can spare, urging him to hatch—now.
“Kill or be killed—that is how I trained you,” my father’s voice rumbles, resonating with dark authority. He swings again, the blade whistling through the air.
My muscles burn as I parry his blows, each impact jolting my wrists. Sparks fly in frantic bursts, and the metal-on-metal shriek scrapes my eardrums. He fights with calculated brutality, testing every defense I have.
