Page 14 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)
Vaughn
I’ve never been the violent type, but after the chaos Serra caused today, I want nothing more than to drive her entire nest into oblivion.
The thought gnaws at me as we walk through the cherry tree gardens where my uncle’s class is held.
My fingers fly over my phone, sending updates to Abraxis about Mina.
I swear I hear his dragon’s roar in the distance.
Shadowcarve isn’t far from here, and his fury feels like it echoes in the air.
When we arrive, I help Mina set up her spot under the shade of a tree, right where she likes to sit.
I stay close, hovering in the way she pretends not to mind.
She stares at the blank canvas as my uncle drones on about the Winter Ball, the one held every solstice.
The same ball where Abraxis claimed her.
Her fingers twitch slightly, her gaze dropping to her hands as if seeing something the rest of us can’t.
Then, without a word, she dips her brush into the paint and begins. My uncle hasn’t even given us today’s subject, and she’s already painting. My stomach drops. Shit. She’s having a vision .
I fumble my phone and send a panicked message to the nest chat. It’s just the guys and me in there.
Me: She’s painting. Vision, I think. No prompt yet.
Abraxis: On my way.
Ziggy: Already here.
I glance over my shoulder and nearly jump out of my skin. Damn him. Ziggy’s leaning casually against a tree behind us, arms crossed as he watches Mina’s brush glide across the canvas.
“You know I hate people standing behind me, Ziggy…” Mina says, her voice steady, not missing a stroke.
“I do,” he replies, stepping to the side with that infuriating smirk of his. “But from here, I can see the entire class. I get why you sit back here.” He shifts to a better vantage point, studying her work.
Her canvas is a mess of shadows and abstract shapes, nothing concrete yet, but there’s something … alive about it. I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Mina’s attention flicks to my blank canvas, and before I can protest, she pulls my easel closer, aligning it with hers. Without asking, she bridges the gap between them with a strip of masking tape. Now the two canvases are one, her painting bleeding onto mine as though her vision demands it.
I swallow hard, caught between the need to help her and the gnawing unease clawing at the back of my mind. Whatever she’s seeing, it’s big. Too big.
Abraxis strides into the gardens, his presence commanding as always, and waves off my uncle before he can join us.
I glance at the others gathered around, our attention fixated on Mina.
Her golden dragon eyes dart across the two canvases in front of her, glowing like embers in the twilight.
The paintings take form under her hand, each stroke heavy with something I can’t quite grasp but feel in my bones.
The mountain range where Mina was born takes shape—a hauntingly familiar scene.
The ruins of the old nest are reduced to rubble, their once-proud spires now jagged remnants of loss.
Two colossal skull dragons loom, one with a weathered white face and the other younger, perched on opposite sides of what must be the new nest high in the mountains.
On my canvas, a scarred red dragon sits, its talons impaling a smaller green one, its lifeless form limp and broken.
My breath hitches at the brutal imagery.
Opposite them, Mina’s dragon roars, its fury palpable even in paint.
And there’s my gargoyle, perched on the crumbling remains of a wall, as if guarding something unseen.
Callan’s gryphon and Leander’s nightmare linger close by, shadows against the ruins.
There’s two shadows, not quite formed close to Klauth.
As if those presences are not clear yet.
Mina sets her paintbrush down with a deliberate slowness, her expression unreadable as she stares at the painting.
The air shifts, sharp and cold, like a blade against my skin.
The icy sting of fear crawls up my spine, settling between my shoulder blades as I take in the image.
It’s wrong, foreboding, but its meaning escapes me.
Before I can speak, Mina rises abruptly. Her movements are swift, almost frantic, as she crosses to Ziggy. Without a word, they vanish, leaving the rest of us rooted in place, staring at the images she’s left behind.
I can’t make sense of it—the ruin, the death, the fury. But the weight of it bears down on me, and I know, deep down, this isn’t just art. It’s a warning.
We carry the paintings back to Shadowcarve, to Mina’s suite that has morphed into a chaotic gallery of her dark visions. The walls are a labyrinth of images—dragons, shadows, and blood—but my attention locks onto the newest additions.
“This is the second time she’s painted Klauth killing her father,” Abraxis says, his voice steady but heavy, as he points to the smaller green dragon clutched in Klauth’s talons.
I step closer, eyes narrowing on the details. “Who’s the second skull dragon?” The question hangs in the air as I search for answers in the thick strokes of paint.
“That’s Thauglor,” Mina says from behind us, her voice soft but commanding.
I turn to see her emerge from the hallway, her presence a steadying force even in the storm of uncertainty.
She strides to the paintings and rearranges them, her hands deftly shifting canvases until the new piece fits seamlessly into the sequence on the wall.
It slides into place after the one where Klauth’s crimson eye reflects the smaller green dragon.
She pauses, staring at the image for a long moment before sinking onto the couch, her body carrying the weight of too many secrets.
“Where’s Balor and Ziggy?” Callan asks, breaking the silence. Mina’s head tilts slightly and she looks away, her expression unreadable.
I glance back at the painting, something nagging at the edges of my awareness.
Wait . My heart jumps, and I move closer to the canvas, leaning in until the fine details snap into focus.
The marks—our mate marks—glow white, almost luminous against the dark paint.
My pulse quickens as I silently trace each mark with my eyes, pointing them out one by one.
Abraxis. Klauth. Callan. My gargoyle form.
It’s only then that I notice them. Thauglor. Leander. And two shadow outlines.
The air leaves my chest in a rush, and I stumble back, twisting my head sharply to where Leander stands behind us. “What?” he asks, stepping forward, his gaze flickering between the painting and me.
I don’t need to say it. The truth is already staring him in the face.
Two half-moon white marks gleam on the thick black neck of Thauglor’s painted form.
They’re unmistakable. They match the marks Leander bears.
He stiffens, his focus snapping to Mina before darting to Abraxis, as if searching for confirmation.
“Oh,” Abraxis breathes, stepping closer to examine the painting. His sharp features soften with realization.
Mina’s silence is deafening. She doesn’t even look at us; her gaze fixed somewhere far away, as though bracing for the impact of what she’s just revealed. The truth presses down like a suffocating weight: Mina didn’t just paint her mates.
She painted all of her mates. And two unknown shadows.
Klauth. Thauglor. Leander. All of us bound to her—and to each other—in ways we’re only beginning to understand.
Abraxis pulls Mina onto his lap, his arms curling protectively around her.
She melts into him, as though his touch is the only thing keeping her steady.
“When does this happen?” he murmurs against her temple, his lips brushing the soft skin there.
His voice is quiet, almost tender, but the weight of his question fills the room .
“Sometime between now and my third year,” Mina replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She sighs, a heaviness in her tone that makes something inside me tighten.
I glance at Leander, noticing how pale he’s gone.
The fear in his eyes is raw, like he’s bracing for the worst. The tension between him and Abraxis is palpable, but I don’t look away.
“When does Leander become a mate?” I ask, cutting through the silence.
Leander flinches, his gaze darting toward Mina as if searching for reassurance.
Mina’s shoulders slump. “I realized last week,” she whispers, her voice cracking at the edges, “when I kissed the crown of his head as I passed him … and neither of us got sick.” Her breath hitches, and tears slide down her cheeks, glistening in the dim light.
“My dragoness chose him. He has the choice to not accept, though.” She pauses, trembling, as she presses her forehead against Abraxis’s neck, hiding her face.
“He just needs to look into our eyes and reject the bond.”
Abraxis holds her tighter as she shakes in his arms, her muffled sobs betraying the strength she’s trying so hard to maintain. The sight of her vulnerability twists something deep inside me, a blend of frustration and helplessness.
“What do you want me to do? Tell me, and I’ll do it,” Leander says, stepping forward. His eyes are locked on Abraxis now, steady despite the fear shadowing his expression.
Abraxis lifts his gaze to meet Leander’s, his jaw tight, but his voice surprisingly calm. “Take time to think about what you really want. Then make the best decision for you. You will not be kicked out of the nest if you reject the bond.”
Without another word, Abraxis stands, cradling Mina in his arms like she’s something fragile and precious. He carries her into the back room, away from the weight of our stares and the tension in the air .