Page 44 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)

Mina

Ziggy has been phasing back and forth between the school and Cora’s nest, ferrying me back and forth so I can check on her and the egg.

Every time we arrive, my senses are greeted by the flickering glow of enchanted lanterns and the faint, musky scent of dragon scales and nesting herbs.

Warrick, is trying to be the model mate, stands at attention like a sentinel, obeying all of my commands without a single complaint.

I can still picture the sterile gleam of the physician’s tools during Cora’s latest checkup—I’d placed temporary stitches in my bag and made sure I had clotting powder on hand, just in case.

Cora has healed well since her birthing.

The low hiss of steam from the hot springs soothed her minor tear as she drifts through the water like a languid serpent.

We spent hours snuggled on the couch afterward, the soft, worn fabric of the cushions pressing against my legs as the comforting warmth of her body lulled me into a hazy sort of peace.

The subtle crackle of the fireplace in the neutral area of the house wrapped us in its cozy embrace.

It’s there, in the den, that Cerce eventually joins us, her perfume drifting on the air like spiced flower petals.

What was supposed to be a brief visit morphs into a girls’ day out—laughter, soft chatter, and the aroma of pastries we indulge in filling the space.

My guys don’t think to question where I am until their own day is nearly done.

By then, Ziggy has phased Abraxis to me.

Ziggy lingers for a short while, his presence tingling in the atmosphere, before he heads back home.

Abraxis’s gaze fixes on Cora’s egg; the intensity in his eyes is something I understand all too well.

I feel it echo in my chest whenever I look at my cursed eggs.

As I lean my head on Abraxis’s shoulder, I breathe in his earthy scent, tinged with an underlying hint of brimstone.

Across from us, Cora curls up next to Warrick, looking peaceful despite everything she’s been through.

If I hadn’t witnessed her agonizing struggle to lay her egg, I might be tempted to birth ours sooner.

But the memory of her raw cries and my own frantic efforts to keep her safe still clings to my mind.

When the night grows late, Abraxis and I say our goodbyes, stepping outside into the crisp, moonlit air.

The flight field stretches before us, bathed in silver light.

There’s a whisper of wind, carrying the scent of dew-kissed grass and the faint tang of dragon smoke from the distant training ground.

“Am I being selfish waiting until I’m older to start laying eggs?” My voice sounds small against the hush of the night, and I cast a sidelong glance at Abraxis. His gaze drops for a moment, the moonlight tracing the resigned set of his jaw.

“I’ll admit I’m jealous of my sister having her firstborn,” he murmurs, pulling me close. I savor his warmth as he kisses my temple, the press of his lips sending a ripple of heat down my spine. “But hearing what she went through... I don’t want you to suffer like that. ”

I let out a soft sigh, nestling into the crook under his jaw.

“I understand. Still, I feel selfish for wanting to finish school first.” Gently, I place my hand on the egg carrier strapped to my stomach.

Inside, the two cursed eggs rest, half the size of the one Cora pushed out.

My fingertips tremble, sensing their dark power.

Abraxis runs a hand over my hair, his voice calm and reassuring.

“You being healthy and older is more important than having a hatchling right now. Just wait until Cora’s little one hatches.

It’ll be chaos once it’s up and running around, torching everything in sight and refusing to sleep.

” A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “I remember the havoc my sister caused at that age. The nest isn’t quite prepared to handle another mouth to feed and another tantrum to quell.

Plus, we need to build our own space—a proper structure to keep our young safe. ”

I offer him a small, grateful smile. Practical as ever, Abraxis knows how to ground me. We enjoy the flight home weaving around each other gliding on the thermals. Tomorrow is another day, and back to classes I go.

“Wake up, my love…” The gentle whisper brushes against my ear, and I feel a pleasant quiver course through my body.

Soft lips press to my forehead, a tender warmth radiating from the point of contact.

A calloused thumb grazes my cheek, urging my eyes open for just a heartbeat before I let them drift shut again.

“I don’t wanna,” I whine, burrowing my face deeper into the pillow and drawing closer to him.

The bedroom is comfortably warm, almost cocoon-like, with barely a hint of the chill that grips the corridors outside.

Leander’s scent—fresh and bracing, like stepping into a cool winter morning—wraps around me, and I can’t help but sigh contentedly.

“I have a class to teach, and you have classes to attend,” he says in that low, soothing rumble that always makes me want to melt.

“Well, maybe not first period—we don’t want you anywhere near Lysander alone.

” Another lingering kiss lands on my forehead, his breath fanning warmly across my skin.

“Go hang out with Abraxis and spar more.”

“Oh, okay … I’ll suffer through watching my mate half-dressed, swinging swords around,” I groan dramatically, flinging an arm over my eyes for emphasis. In truth, the very thought of Abraxis training—powerful muscles flexing with every practiced movement—sends a flutter through my stomach.

“There’s the spirit. Now get up and start your ogling,” he teases, a husky laugh shaking his chest. He slips out of bed, and I shift on the soft sheets so I can watch him better.

The room isn’t cold in the least; I don’t even feel the slightest chill as Leander stretches, his arms rising above his head and his back arching in a slow, deliberate motion.

My gaze roves over the defined lines of his shoulders and his sculpted waist, each muscle shifting under his skin like a living work of art.

He glances back and catches me staring. I push myself up against the headboard, a playful grin tugging at my lips.

“What? I’m doing exactly what you told me—ogling my mate. ”

He smirks and shakes his head as I swing my legs out of bed.

The plush carpet greets my bare feet. I rummage through the nearby trunk for my fighting leathers, the scent of well-worn leather mingling with the slight tang of my dragoness undertones.

Slipping into the vest, I toss Leander a mischievous smile.

“Oh, you meant Abraxis … my bad.” I can’t resist brushing past him and giving him a playful slap on his ass on my way out.

I head into the common area and find Callan seated at the table, the cursed eggs securely strapped to his chest. There’s a subtle, unsettling hum that seems to pulse from them, pricking at my awareness.

“I’m going to go spar with Abraxis and the fourth years this morning,” I inform Callan, recalling how easily my father disarmed me in that vision.

The memory churns in my stomach—I have to improve if I’m going to stand a chance when we meet again.

Leaning down, I plant a quick kiss on Callan’s temple, catching the faint scent of parchment and coffee that always clings to him.

He hands me a steaming takeaway cup and a toasted bagel. Rich coffee aroma wafts up, mingling with the faint ancient scent coming off the eggs. “Balor is waiting outside for you,” Callan tells me, briefly touching my hand as I move past him. “Have a good day, yeah?”

“You too.” I flash him a brief smile before ducking out, leaving the comfortable warmth of our private quarters behind.

The hallway beyond carries a slight draft, but my dragoness is already stirring inside, keen on the challenge of sparring.

Cup in hand, I stride forward with renewed determination.

I need to be stronger—strong enough to face the nightmares looming on the horizon—and if a little eye-candy in the form of Abraxis’s sparring drills comes my way. Well, that’s just a bonus.

I draw in a breath tinged with the stale scent of old stone and centuries-old dust as Balor falls into step beside me.

Our footsteps echo in the narrow corridor of Malivore; the flickering overhead lights reveal a corridor scuffed with decades of students’ passing.

There’s a slight chill in the air that seeps through my jacket, making me acutely aware of each slow, deliberate breath .

“You’re quiet…” His rough voice catches me off guard, sending a light tremor up my spine. The warmth of my coffee cup presses into my palms, grounding me as I turn to glance at him.

“The vision where my dad disarms me and stabs me keeps playing on an endless loop in my mind,” I murmur, my voice low, barely above a whisper. I sip my coffee, letting the bitterness roll over my tongue as I recall the sharp pain of that moment—both physical and emotional.

“I can see why that’s bothering you.” Balor’s reply is gentle, though there’s a tension in his words that tightens in my chest. He draws in a deep breath, the sound rasping in his throat. “Where am I during the attack?”

His question is almost a whisper, and it grips me harder than the cold, suffocating air of the corridor. I come to a halt, suddenly dizzy, and close my eyes to picture him in the vision. My pulse thrums loudly in my ears.

“Fighting…” My voice wavers. “You’re trying to get to me…

” The world dips and I wobble on my feet.

The leather of my jacket squeaks as Balor grips my elbow, steadying me.

With my eyes still shut, I turn my head, trying to look around in my mind.

“Arista is over there.” I raise my hand, pointing at nothing but empty space in the hall.

“Where? I can’t see what you’re seeing.” His words echo, tinged with concern.

“The tunnel from Ranathor Keep. That’s how they got in…

” I blink several times, clearing the remnants of the vision from behind my eyelids.

When I refocus, I find Balor’s basilisk gaze locked on me.

A faint tremor quivers in my chest. He’s so close I catch the faint scent of leather and steel radiating from hi m.

“It amazes me you can do that.” He lifts a gloved hand to cup my cheek, the fabric scratching lightly against my skin, before he pulls away to guide me the rest of the way toward Shadowcarve.

My bottom lip feels tender where I gnaw it, trying to shake off the swirl of unsteady warmth his gaze stirs.

There are too many what-ifs where he’s concerned.

We push through the tall wooden gates of Shadowcarve, the creaking of old wood sending a shiver of familiarity through me.

The instant we’re inside, a weight lifts from my shoulders.

The air here is still cold, but it feels fresher, safer.

Shadowcarve. My safe place. At least … for now.

I follow the clang of metal on metal echoing through the conservatory, my steps stirring up the faint scent of sweat and polished steel.

The morning air is crisp against my cheeks, carrying a slight tang of freshly turned earth from the planters lining the path.

A steady hum of energy crackles in the distance—the fervor of students’ training, their grunts and sharp exhales punctuating each strike.

Soon I spot the wide sand challenge ring, its gritty surface dotted with footprints and specks of darker crimson—traces of previous bouts.

Abraxis stands in the center, wings half-furled, the tips dragging faint lines in the sand.

He disarms a student with a deft twist of his sword, and a hiss of steel bites the air.

With a final flourish, he sends the blade skittering out of reach.

Steam curls from his lips in the chill of dawn, his chest heaving from exertion as he glances around for his next opponent.

Dropping my bag, I set my takeaway cup down, the faint aroma of bitter coffee drifting up as I loosen my grip.

My twin short swords rasp quietly when I draw them, the worn leather hilts fitting snugly in my palms. My scales rise, sliding into place over my forearms, chest, and throat with a soft rasp, a protective tingle running beneath my skin.

I arch a brow at Abraxis. He nods, and the subtle twitch of his lips tells me he hasn’t forgotten the nightmares gnawing at my sleep.

Leander’s presence wards them off somehow—perhaps part of his Nightmare lineage.

But here and now, only focus and adrenaline will keep me safe.

I press my heels into the sand, feeling the cold grit shift beneath me, and a pulse of determination steels my spine.

The ring smells of anticipation and old battles—of fear and resolve intermingled.

I clench my swords, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.

Training harder, pushing myself further—that’s my only path forward.

Today is not a good day to die.