Page 31 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)

Callan then moves on to red dragons, and I feel the room’s temperature shift.

It’s not real, of course—just a trick of my dragon-born senses—but I swear I feel the heat rise, like the breath of a forge.

“ Their temperament puts the black dragons to shame,” Callan says.

“Red dragons are unrelenting when they have a score to settle.”

“That explains Arista trying to turn students against Greenie back there,” one of the third years in the front row says offhandedly.

The scrape of his voice makes me sit up a little straighter, my shoulders stiffening.

I catch the flicker of Callan’s gaze sliding toward Abraxis.

My mate’s golden eye narrows, his chair creaking as he pushes back and stands.

The soft thud of Abraxis’s boots on the wood floor reverberates like a death knell.

He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t have to.

He just grips the third year by the collar and hauls him from the room.

The heavy door groans on its hinges as it closes behind them, the sound sharp and final.

I exhale, but the tension doesn’t leave my shoulders.

My dragoness stirs restlessly, her scales rasping against the edge of my mind.

I can only imagine the conversation Abraxis is going to have with that student.

More than likely, Balor and Ziggy will have fun interrogating him in some forgotten, hidden dungeon somewhere on the school property.

The thought makes my throat tighten. My fingers curl instinctively against the grain of the desk, the wood cool and solid beneath my touch.

I shake my head, trying to banish the image of cold stone cells and whispered screams echoing in the dark.

I don’t want to know what my mates do to protect me.

I know, deep down, that some of their methods would make my stomach churn, would probably go against some ancient dragon peace tenet inscribed on a dusty scroll somewhere.

I stare at the spot where Abraxis disappeared, the silence that follows unnerving. My heart thuds in my chest—a slow, deliberate beat—as I lean back in my chair again, trying to focus on Callan’s lecture. But the taste of tension lingers in the air like smoke, acrid and inescapable.

Honestly, the rest of the lecture is a blur—a monotonous drone of Callan’s voice and flickering images cast from the projector.

The sharp hum of the machine buzzes faintly in the background, punctuated by the occasional scrape of someone shifting in their seat.

Something doesn’t sit right, a gnawing unease that coils in my gut, tightening like a vice.

The male’s casual betrayal of Arista feels too easy, too clean.

When the lecture concludes, the harsh snap of the projector shutting off jars me back into the present.

Callan motions toward his office across the hall.

The wooden door creaks as Vaughn and I step through, the air inside thick and stale, like it hasn’t been disturbed in years.

The faint scent of old paper and ink mingles with something sharper—coffee, maybe—clinging to the room’s shadows.

We settle into the chairs near Callan’s worn desk, their fabric stiff beneath me.

“We’ve been hearing rumors of her trying to instigate a fight between you and the other students,” Callan says.

His voice is low and hollow, words landing like stones in the silence.

“With the third year admitting to hearing about it, we’re going straight to Lysander.

That’s where Abraxis is now, with the student in tow. ”

I force a laugh, though it sounds brittle even to my own ears. “Here, I thought he was being taken to some torture chamber in the bowels of the campus.” The words barely leave my lips before I see Callan’s expression—a blank, cold slate of seriousness that chills me to my core.

“Wait … there is a torture chamber?” My eyes dart to Vaughn, who shifts in his seat beside me, silent but alert, then back to Callan .

“Yes, there is one,” Callan replies, voice even, his gaze unwavering. “No, that’s not where he’s going to end up. He’s going to the prison at Blackhaven. Vox is going to handle him.”

The weight of his words sinks like lead into my chest. A chill brushes the back of my neck, and for a moment, I can almost see it—Abraxis’s massive dragon form, scales black as midnight, talons sinking into the student’s clothes as he carries him, struggling and screaming, through a storm-filled sky.

Blackhaven’s prison looms in my mind, a fortress of jagged stone and eternal dark.

The image is vivid, and it curdles my stomach.

“Oh, shit…” The words tumble out, my shock plain. The lengths my mates are going to … it hits me, sudden and sharp, like a blade pressing against my ribs.

“Ziggy is going to phase him to the cell and then come back. We can’t afford to have Abraxis too far from you if trouble strikes,” Callan adds.

The air grows heavy, a suffocating weight that makes it harder to breathe.

Callan’s words settle into my bones like frost, and I feel my dragoness stir uneasily in the back of my mind.

There’s a real threat lurking, something dangerous and hidden beneath ten tons of makeup and a magister’s title.

My pulse quickens, a dull throb in my throat, as I swallow the truth: this isn’t over. It’s just the beginning.