Page 37 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)
In all the years I’ve known Abraxis, I’ve never seen him look lost. His face, usually so composed, now holds a shadow of despair.
Deep down, we all know this might be the last time any of us get to hold her like this.
The thought chills me, more than the damp air clinging to my skin.
Klauth is an unknown factor, a storm on the horizon we aren’t ready to face .
I back slowly out of the chamber, the soft scrape of my boots echoing faintly.
My retreat is halted as I nearly collide with Leander and Balor, their expressions as grim as the gloom surrounding us.
Ziggy’s displacer beast form prowls the length of the tunnel and into the open space beyond.
His sleek, otherworldly silhouette bending and doubling with his shifting projections.
The faint scrape of his claws against stone sets my teeth on edge.
“Why is he shifted?” I ask, motioning to Ziggy as he prowls past again, his movements restless and predatory, tail flicking with agitation.
“He’s worried it’s not easily defended,” Leander replies, his voice tight, his gaze following Ziggy’s path. “Vox and Cerce said they’ll shift in the main chamber and watch over us tonight. Apparently, that isn’t enough.”
We both watch as Ziggy’s pacing carves a nearly visible path in the stone dust, his unease as palpable as the cool air. The tension in the tunnel presses down on us, a constant, inescapable reminder of the storm looming just out of sight.
Morning comes far too early, the faint glow of dawn barely reaching the chamber.
The air is damp and cool, carrying the lingering smell of earth and faint traces of smoke from the torches.
Abraxis and Leander are summoned back to the front to deal with a skirmish at the northern border.
Their hurried footsteps echo as they disappear down the tunnel, leaving an uneasy stillness in their wake.
I shift into my gryphon form, my feathers ruffling as the change completes, and settles on the rough, uneven ground. The gritty texture of dirt and stone presses against my talons as I wait for Vaughn to help adjust Mina under my wing.
When she’s finally tucked against my side, Vaughn, and Ziggy return, the crunch of their boots against stone accompanied by the aroma of freshly cooked food.
Ziggy carries a tray, steam curling from bowls of porridge and fresh bread, but my attention locks onto the basin of fish.
The rich, salty scent of them makes my beak twitch.
“I’m going to toss the fish to you, Callan,” Ziggy says, gripping one by its slippery tail.
I dip my beak in response, the smooth curve glinting faintly in the dim torchlight.
He tosses the fish with a flick of his wrist, and I catch it midair.
The fish’s cool, slimy texture slides easily down my throat as I crunch it with two quick bites, savoring the burst of flavor.
Carefully, I motion with a wing for the basin to be set before me.
“I think Callan wants to feed himself,” Vaughn says, pushing the basin toward me with a scrape that echoes in the chamber.
“Probably for the best. My aim isn’t always solid,” Ziggy admits, glancing uneasily down the tunnel. His eerie green eyes glimmer in the low light as he gestures to the cramped space around us. “I hate this. It doesn’t feel safe enough.”
The feathers on the back of my neck bristle at his words, a cold prickle running down my spine as I instinctively scan the chamber. Vaughn places a steadying hand on Ziggy’s shoulder, his fingers tightening in reassurance.
“We have two dragons in the main chamber ready to torch anything that gets too close. Plus, you can get us out of here before anything can happen,” Vaughn says, his tone calm but firm .
Ziggy exhales sharply, his chest rising and falling as he tries to relax.
“You’re right,” he mutters, though his restless gaze keeps darting toward the shadowy hallway.
He looks down at the sandwich in his hand, picking at the crust absentmindedly, as though the answer to all his worries might be hidden within. “Two more days,” he murmurs.
“I just hope we don’t get attacked at the end this time,” Vaughn says, his voice heavy with frustration.
I snap my head toward him, fixing him with a sharp glare from my good eye. The amber gleam of it catches in the torchlight, and Vaughn raises a hand in mock surrender.
“Not getting attacked would be ideal,” Ziggy says, breaking the tension as he steps closer. He brushes his fingers against my wing, the contact light but insistent, drawing my attention. “Callan, lift your wing for a second. Vaughn, her arm needs adjusting—and her leg too, so she doesn’t bruise.”
I shift carefully, lifting my wing with a faint rustle of feathers. Vaughn crouches beside Mina, his hands sure and steady as he makes the adjustments.
Once she’s positioned safely, I press the smooth, curved top of my beak to her forehead, a soft whistling sound escaping me—a soothing sound only gryphons use for their own. The faint floral scent of her hair mingles with the musty earthiness of the chamber.
Lowering my wing, I settle around her and the eggs, curling protectively as I feel the steady warmth of her body beneath me. Sixty more hours. Just sixty more hours, and this will be over for the year. Then, of course, comes the next challenge: the attack and Klauth hatching to save Mina.
No pressure, right? Said no gryphon ever.