Page 43 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)

She snatches the first bag, rummages through it, then takes the second one.

With her free hand, she thrusts the first bag back at him, her attention suddenly snapping toward Warrick.

A low, menacing growl rumbles from her throat, vibrating the floor beneath me.

My pulse thunders in my ears, and a prickling sensation creeps across the back of my neck.

Even the surrounding air seems to thicken with her warning.

Mina thanks Ziggy curtly before slipping back into the chamber and shutting the door with a soft click.

Ziggy exhales and lowers himself onto the bench beside me. The wood creaks under his weight, and an herbal, almost sickly sweet aroma drifts from the other black bag in his lap.

“What did Mina need?” I ask, jerking my chin at the satchel that reeks of bitter roots and pungent leaves.

He shudders, eyes flicking to the door. “Apparently, several toxic herbs can work as a numbing agent if applied topically. ”

Warrick, who’s been watching us with dilated pupils, blurts, “Your mate is all up in my mate’s privates?

” His words are crass and echo sharply in the hallway.

Before I can shoot him a glare, Balor’s hand cracks across the back of Warrick’s head with enough force to send him sprawling off the bench.

The impact echoes like a thunderclap, reverberating through the confined space.

“Be careful how you speak of Mina,” Balor growls.

His voice is low, dangerous, matching the sudden shift in his energy.

His sunglasses slip down his nose, and I see his eyes bleeding into the crimson hue of his other form.

Warrick cringes, covering his face with trembling hands as if Balor’s gaze might petrify him on the spot.

“I’m sorry…” He huddles on the floor, looking more like a frightened animal than the arrogant fool from moments ago. Balor steps closer, looming over him.

“You better be. And you better pray that my mate can save yours. Because if my sister dies or is … ruined…because you couldn’t keep your shaft to yourself?

No one here is going to stop Mina from tearing you apart.

” A growl rumbles in my chest, the thick scent of Warrick’s fear curling into my nostrils like a potent fog.

He cowers even lower, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

We all turn to stare at the closed door, its dark wooden surface seeming to pulse with tension. Time drags on, heavy and stifling, the silence broken only by our shallow breathing and the occasional drip of condensation from the ceiling.

Suddenly, a sharp scream knifes through the air from inside the chamber, tearing through the stillness.

My heart lurches, and I’m on my feet in an instant.

My father is right behind me, the two of us charging toward the door.

When we reach it, we realize it’s barred from the inside.

Another scream slices through the thick door, followed by frantic splashing that sends images of water or blood thrashing in my mind. Then— silence.

The ensuing quiet is worse than the screams, pressing on my ears until I feel a dull ache building in my skull.

My father and I turn to Warrick with matching glares, our combined anger crackling in the air.

He recoils against the wall, hands still shielding his face.

All of us wait, tense and grim, for whatever outcome lurks behind that closed door.

Eventually, the door creaks open, and a rush of stale, cool air wafts into the corridor.

Mina steps out, her bare feet slapping lightly against the stone floor.

She’s clutching a towel to her chest, and I catch the faint, metallic tang of blood clinging to her skin.

Her eyes glow with dragonic fire—vertical slits rimmed with embers—fixing Warrick with a glare so intense it sends a ripple of static through the air.

“I got the bleeding under control,” she growls, her voice raw with suppressed anger. Her clenched teeth practically grind as she struggles not to unleash her fury in a shout. There’s a crackle of electricity around her horns, and the taste of ozone prickles at the back of my throat.

She shifts her focus to the towel in her arms. I spot thin trails of steam rising from its polished shell—it radiates warmth like something alive and pulsing.

“Cora is going to need to be babied for the next few days,” Mina says, the mild tremor in her voice betraying her concern.

Her gaze snaps up, locking on Warrick again.

“If I hear she had to lift a single fucking finger to wait on your ass, I swear to Tiamat I will strike you with the biggest lightning bolt I can muster.”

I can practically feel the static building in her body.

My skin tingles where it meets hers as I move forward and gently draw her into my arms, trying to rub circles along her spine in a soothing gesture.

The scent of her—warm skin, a faint spice of dragon musk—settles my own nerves.

“I’m sure Mom and Dad will keep a very close eye on everything,” I say softly, pressing my lips against her damp forehead.

Tiny sparks crackle between us, but she relaxes just enough for her shoulders to unclench.

“Do you want to see the egg?” she asks, pivoting so her back blocks Warrick from view. Her voice drops low, as if wanting to shield this precious moment.

“It’s my…” Warrick starts, but before he can finish, Mina whirls on him with a fierce snarl.

The air hums; scales sprout along her forearms in a gleaming cascade, and lightning skitters across her horns.

He stumbles backward, the soles of his boots scraping against the stone floor as he falls onto his ass.

Mina inhales sharply through her nose, as though trying to steady herself, and turns back to me.

Her fingers tremble just slightly as she lifts the towel’s edge.

The egg she reveals is glossy obsidian veined with burnished brass and bright streaks of red.

Its surface, warm to the touch, catches the faint torchlight and gleams like precious metal.

“It’s viable,” she whispers, a note of relief softening her tone.

The tension eases from her stance, and a small smile tugs at her lips.

She offers the egg to my father, who cradles it reverently. I can see his eyes widen at the subtle pulse of life within the shell. Mina exchanges a quick glance with him before disappearing back into the chamber to care for my sister. The soft rustle of her towel trailing behind her.

Moments later, the corridor falls into a hush, and I’m left with the echo of her protective fury still buzzing in my ears. It’s on days like this that I thank Bahamut for blessing me with a mate who embodies both savage power and unwavering compassion.