Page 13 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
I somehow manageto slip away from Balor and make it over to Shadowcarve to hunt down Callan. The cold air whips around me as I run, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and distant rain. It will not be long before Balor realizes I’m missing. His tracking abilities are far too good to be fooled for more than a few minutes. I need to act fast. My heart pounds against my ribs as I run.
Using my talons, I approach the side of the building and prepare to climb to the second floor faster. The brickwork is cool and gritty beneath my fingers, tiny particles crumbling away as I dig in. One thing I didn’t account for is the damn dress I decided to wear today. The midnight blue fabric clings to my curves—and the persistent wind that seems determined to expose me. I only make it several feet off the ground before I have to drop back down with a frustrated hiss as I struggle to maintain a semblance of modesty. The fabric settles back against my thighs, still fluttering in the breeze.
Racing up the stairs instead, my shoes click-clacking against the wood steps. I shoulder the door open with a satisfying thump and run down the hallway. My ears pick up the low murmur of voicesbefore I reach the door. Callan is in his office with Thauglor, their deep voices carrying through the partially open door as they go over this year’s teaching plans.Damn, I was hoping to catch him alone.
I step in, trying to appear casual, the hardwood floor creaking beneath my weight, and take a seat on the arm of the couch. Callan’s scent fills my nostrils—cedar and old books with a hint of something spicy that’s uniquely him.
“Mina, aren’t you supposed to be in physics right now?” Callan tilts his head, looking at me with that penetrating gaze. He wiggles that eyebrow over the eye socket that irks me. The empty socket seems to stare just as intently as his remaining eye, dark and knowing.
“Yes, but this is important.” I pout and then look at Thauglor with the same practiced expression, feeling my bottom lip jut out slightly. The surrounding air seems to shimmer with barely contained power, making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.
Thauglor raises his hand to silence Callan. “What is so important?” With the way he has his head tilted, he already knows why I’m here. His scent differs from the others—stone and time and something primordial that makes my scales ripple beneath my skin.
“I want to gift Callan a scale.” I shift both of my hands, feeling the familiar tightness as my skin transforms, and pluck one from my right wrist. The pain is sharp but brief, like ripping off a bandage. The sound echoes in the quiet room—a soft pop followed by the metallic scent of my blood. “The one I gave Ziggy lived. I want Callan to have one.” My bottom lip quivers just how I practiced, a subtle tremor that I know Thauglor can’t resist. He’s a sucker for the bottom lip action. The scale in my palm glimmers in the office light, silver-green and alive with an inner pulse that matches my heartbeat.
“It’s a sound reason. I wish to see it for myself.” Thauglor leans back in his chair, the ancient wood groaning under his weight as I movecloser to Callan. My mate’s breathing quickens, his pulse visible at his throat as he opens his button-down shirt to me. The fabric parts to reveal skin marred with old scars, and the steady rise and fall of his chest.
I kiss the place over his heart, tasting salt, and warmth, and look up into his eye. The gold is almost swallowed by his dilated pupil, a mix of anticipation and trust that makes my heart stutter. “This is going to hurt,” I warn, my voice husky and low. Before he can say anything, I plunge my talon into his chest, feeling the resistance of skin, then muscle as I break through. The metallic tang of blood fills the air as I insert the scale, the slick warmth coating my fingers.
We watch as his skin slowly knits around the scale. The wound seals itself with a faint sizzling sound, like water on hot metal. The scale remains vibrant, pulsing with life, as alive as it was when it lived on me. A small trail of blood trickles down his chest, ruby bright against his pale skin. I wipe it away with my thumb, feeling the raised edge of the scale now permanently part of him. The bond between us pulses, stronger than before.
I smile, staring at my scale on Callan’s chest, and reach out to trace the edges with my fingertip. The surface is cool and smooth beneath my touch, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat. The creak of the door behind us warns me that Balor has finally caught up to me. The familiar scent of him fills the room before I even turn.
“It worked,” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder at him. The words have barely leave my lips when Callan pulls my body flush against his. He kisses me silly, his mouth tasting faintly of coffee and cinnamon. Callan is like the first rays of the sun touching your skin in the spring—warm and full of promise. He is warmth and safety and security. His heartbeat thunders against mine, strong and steady. He is selfless and damaged like I am. Out of all of my mates, he understands the never-being-good-enough thing better than the rest of them.
Callan’s handsframe my face, his palms slightly calloused against my cheeks, before he kisses me again. I feel his emotions like they are mine—joy, wonder, gratitude—the bond between us stronger than it has ever been. Everything is right in the world, and he is a big part of that joy. When we break apart, I’m breathless, my lips tingling from the pressure of his. Thauglor reaches out, his ancient fingers cool and dry as he moves Callan’s shirt to the side to examine the scale.
“It’s healthy and strong, just like the dragoness that donated it,” he murmurs, his voice deep and resonant, vibrating in my chest. He leans forward and kisses my forehead, his lips barely grazing my skin. “How many mates are left to get scales?” Callan releases me, the absence of his warmth immediately noticeable in the cool air of the office. Thauglor takes me into his arms and wraps his huge black wings around me. The leathery membranes block out the light, creating a cocoon of safety that soothes something deep within me. The scent of him—stone and something primal—envelops me completely.
“Two,” I purr softly in his embrace, the sound rumbling from deep in my chest. I rest my head on his chest, mindful of my horns. The smooth, hard surface of them brushes against the fabric of his shirt.
He rumbles deeply to me, the sound more felt than heard, a vibration that travels from his body to mine. I can’t help but smile against his throat as I kiss it, tasting salt on my tongue. “Go find the last two and bestow your gift, my love, my greatest treasure.” He presses his lips to mine, the kiss gentle but firm, before opening his wings. The sudden light is almost blinding after the darkness of his embrace.
I feel dazed when he releases me, my head swimming with so many emotions that crash over me like waves. The biggest, strongest emotion is love—bright and warm and all-encompassing. I close the distance between me and Balor, my heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor, and take his hand in mine. His skin is warm andslightly rough, his fingers immediately intertwining with mine. “Lee should be here with us today. Let’s go catch up with him.” I let Balor lead me out of the room and down the hall, the sounds of distant voices and footsteps echoing around us.
“Are you going to get changed?” His eyes slip over my body, dark and appreciative. I feel it like a gentle caress, heat blooming wherever his gaze lingers.
“No, not until later,” I reply, adjusting the diadem on my head, feeling the cool metal against my scalp as I smile at him. “The shock factor is totally worth it.” I smile up at him and wrap an arm around his waist as we walk. His body is solid and reassuring beside mine, radiating heat even through his clothes. Balor would burn the world to make sure I’m safe without a second thought. The knowledge settles in my chest, heavy and comforting at the same time.
I stare up at him while we walk, taking in the sharp angle of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes, the slight curl at the corner of his mouth. I can’t help but really look at him, cataloging every detail of his face. He never complains about anything when it comes to me. Not once does he say he would rather be teaching or dealing with the classes. His dedication makes my heart clench painfully in my chest.
“Why are you studying me, Mina?” Balor asks as he stops walking and moves to stand in front of me, his body blocking the hallway. The scent of him grows stronger, wrapping around me like a blanket.
“I’m one lucky dragoness,” I say, the first thing that comes to mind, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
“Staring at me made you decide you’re lucky?” He smirks, looking at me, then touches the tip of my nose with his finger, the brief contact sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m the lucky one.”
“Nope, it’s me.” I bounce up and kiss his lips quickly, catching the brief taste of him—dark and rich like espresso. “You always put me first. No matter what’s happening, I’m your priority. You’ve given upteaching for me.” I bite my bottom lip, feeling the slight sting as I look up at him, guilt washing over me. “You didn’t have to quit teaching. I’m okay, honest.” I place my hands on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palms, and look up into his eyes. They shift to the crimson of his basilisk, slits and all, the color vibrant and hypnotic.
“I would burn this campus to the ground to keep you safe,” he says with a low laugh I feel more than hear, shaking his head slightly. “Not teaching those little fuckwits has been a welcomed vacation.” He chuckles to himself as he arches a brow at me, the crimson of his eyes deepening. “Have you considered being a teacher here? Shadowcarve could use you.” He presses his lips to my temple, the warmth of his breath fanning across my skin, and I smile, inhaling his familiar scent.
“When did that become an option?” I laugh a little to myself, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. Balor just spilled the beans ahead of time, his expression shifting to one of mild panic.
“Um...” He stammers as I walk towards Leander’s classroom, my dress swishing around my legs, the fabric soft against my skin.
I lean outside the door, listening to Leander retelling a battle to a bunch of first years, his voice animated and passionate, carrying easily through the wood. When he concludes the class, the students come walking out. Some trip over themselves when they see me standing outside of the classroom, their eyes widening, whispers following in their wake. Leander walks out slowly, his focus on the book in his hand, brow furrowed in concentration.
“Hey, babe,” I say softly, my voice cutting through his thoughts.
