Page 47 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)
Callan
It’s been almost a week since we delivered Mina’s mother’s hands to her.
The memory still makes my stomach churn, the grotesque image of severed flesh burned into my mind.
The faint scent of blood had clung to the package, metallic and bitter, despite our efforts to mask it.
I always knew her father was a sick bastard, but this? This takes the fucking cake.
Balor returned last night, his boots heavy on the stone floors as he brought news of Mina’s sister.
He hid her with his people, a fucked-up protection program that reeks of our desperation.
He mentioned her sister finding a mate within his nest—a twist none of us saw coming.
Even more interesting, the elders warned them about the risk of birthing dragon kin instead of dragons or basilisks.
The thought of it lingered in the air like the scent of scorched wood from the hearth.
We sat around the long, scarred table as Balor recounted his tale.
His voice was steady, but the weight of his words bore down on the room.
Mina just stared at him, her golden eyes flickering between human and dragon as if caught in a storm of rage.
The faint scent of ozone filled the room each time her dragoness stirred, sharp and unmistakable.
Abraxis had to pull her into his arms, wrapping her in his leathery wings to calm her trembling form.
Even then, her growls rumbled low in her chest, vibrating like distant thunder.
This morning, the air is crisp and biting on the observation deck.
The sun glints off the frost-dusted railing, and the faint metallic tang of the cold stings my nose.
Below, the sound of sparring fills the courtyard.
Grunts of exertion, the clash of training weapons, and the sharp crack of impact echo upwards.
Mina and Ziggy are in the ring, drawing a crowd.
Her petite form moves like a shadow, darting and weaving as Ziggy’s massive displacer beast swipes at her with retractable claws.
The beast’s tentacles whip through the air, creating sharp whooshes as they aim for her.
“She’s so afraid of failing,” Balor says from behind me, his voice low and unexpected. I nearly jump out of my skin, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
“Fuck, dude, you scared the shit out of me,” I snap, forcing my breathing to even out. My heart pounds in my chest as I turn to face him, then glance back down at the sparring match below. Mina’s quick movements are a blur, but Ziggy keeps pace, his brute strength countering her agility.
“Sorry about that,” Balor mutters, stepping closer. The faint musk of basilisk clings to him, earthy and predatory. “Yesterday’s discussion in the den hit hard for me, so I came here to hide out.” His tone carries an edge of weariness, like a blade dulled by too much use .
“Mina was in here earlier with similar concerns,” I say before biting back a curse. My hands clench the icy railing, the metal biting into my palms. That was something she told me in confidence.
“What do you know?” Balor’s voice drops, the predator in him rising. He moves closer, slipping his sunglasses over his eyes—a clear sign his basilisk is near the surface.
“Mina’s dragoness is demanding to bring you and Ziggy into the nest fully,” I admit, running a hand roughly through my hair.
The strands catch against my calloused fingers.
“She’s painfully aware of the possibility of producing dragon kin with you.
” Below, Mina and Ziggy grapple, her foam daggers stabbing into his ribs with quick, precise movements.
Abraxis’s sharp voice cuts through the air, scolding them for playing around instead of taking the fight seriously.
“Trust me, my basilisk wants to claim her as his own,” Balor says, his gaze dropping to his hands. The onyx-black scales ripple over his fingers, catching the light like polished stone.
“Is she your mate?” I ask, moving to stand beside one of my oldest friends.
“Yes.” His voice is rough, barely audible.
He steps away and collapses into the chair by my desk.
The leather creaks under his weight. “I knew from the first moment I saw her walking to the gauntlet.” He leans forward, burying his face in his hands.
His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, tension radiating from him like heat from smoldering coals.
“Does she know?” I perch on the edge of my desk, my gaze fixed on him. “I mean, did she know back then?”
He shakes his head, the motion slow and deliberate.
“It was before she had her dragon. She couldn’t even sense Abraxis being her mate back then, remember?
” He sighs and pulls a knife from his pocket, the blade catching the light as he cleans under his nails.
“I buried the bond so deep. It’s there, but I won’t say anything.
It’s her choice.” Abruptly, he stands and strides to the door.
“I’ll walk her to her second-period class. ”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving a faint echo in the still air. I move back to the window, watching as he approaches Mina and Ziggy. She nods, quickly gathering her things. A smirk tugs at my lips as I glance at her schedule. Second period: focused poisons class—with Balor. Sneaky basilisk.
The day drags on, the suffocating lull that makes even the dim fluorescent lighting seem oppressive.
Mina and Vaughn are in my Art of War class, their stations set up across the room.
The simulated battlefield on Mina’s screen flickers in shades of muted green and gray, but her focus isn’t there.
She stares at the scenario in front of her, her movements detached, almost mechanical.
The quiet hum of her simulator feels louder than her deliberate clicks, each one echoing like a hollow metronome.
She hits the button, locking in her programming with a final, definitive press.
Vaughn, two tables over, finishes his simulation with a sharper, more hurried rhythm.
He glances toward Mina, his expression a mixture of curiosity and unease, then subtly motions to his phone.
The slight rustle of fabric as he shifts in his chair draws my attention.
My phone buzzes on the desk, its vibration low but insistent. I glance down.
Vaughn: Mina feels off. What’s wrong?
Callan: Her sister took a basilisk as a mate.
Vaughn: What’s wrong with that?
The corner of my jaw tightens as I stare at the screen, trying to find the right words. Vaughn doesn’t get it—not yet, anyway. My thumbs hover before I type.
Callan: Balor…
Dots appear on the screen, flashing, then vanishing, as Vaughn struggles with a response. His hesitation feels loud, even across the room, the faint creak of his chair punctuating the silence. Finally, his reply comes through.
Vaughn: Anyone with eyes can tell he loves her. What’s he waiting for?
Callan: Her to choose him, too.
I glance up to find Vaughn watching me, his simulator idling with a faint buzz. His sad smile is subtle but telling. The air between us feels heavy, like we’re caught in a tragic play—some twisted rendition of Romeo and Juliet , where loyalty and love come second to survival.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Mina moving.
Her hand dips into her top, retrieving a milky white vial.
The glass catches the overhead light, glinting faintly, and she stares at it, her thumb tracing the smooth surface.
The beat stretches too long; her focus too sharp, and my stomach knots.
Quietly, I grab my phone and snap a picture, the shutter sound barely audible beneath the steady hum of the simulators.
I fire off a quick message in the group chat.
Callan: Can anyone identify what this is or who gave it to her?
Abraxis: No clue.
Ziggy: Looks like a poison or antidote tube. Balor?
The chat goes silent. The stillness in the room grows thicker, pressing down on me like a weighted blanket.
Then, the faint squeak of the classroom door opening draws every eye.
Balor steps in, sunglasses perched on his face, his presence as calm as it is unnerving.
Mina doesn’t even flinch, her attention glued to her simulation.
The vial disappears back into her top with a single fluid motion.
The faint ding of my phone punctuates the silence. Balor’s message appears.
Balor: It was mine. I gave it to her after the gauntlet. Psychic defense.
He lingers for a beat longer, then leaves, the soft click of the door closing behind him almost imperceptible.
Mina’s simulator lights up with the words Flawless Victory in bold green, her precision unmatched as usual.
Across the room, Vaughn lets out a triumphant exhale—his first win, barely scraping by.
His shoulders rise with the smallest hint of pride, like he just conquered the world.
Mina rises from her seat, the faint scrape of her chair breaking the quiet.
She moves to Vaughn’s side, her voice low but sharp as she points to his screen, dissecting his choices with clinical precision.
Each correction is swift, decisive, leaving him nodding along like a chastised soldier.
Her tone is calm, but the tension in her posture doesn’t fade.
The lingering weight of the vial she hides stays with me, coiled in the back of my mind like a serpent waiting to strike.
“I’ll walk with you to your last class.” I offer Mina my arm, and she slips hers through mine, her fingers brushing my forearm.
The warmth of her touch steadies me, even as the weight of everything unsaid lingers between us.
She leans her head on my shoulder, her hair soft against my jawline, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and something darker—something uniquely hers.
The quiet hum of footsteps and muffled conversations echoes faintly down the dimly lit hallway.
The air is thick with the scent of old stone and the faint bitterness of alchemical fumes wafting from nearby classrooms.
We walk in silence to the poisons class, a place that always feels colder than the rest of the academy.
The doorway looms ahead, its glass pane fogged slightly from the temperature difference.
Balor’s shadow stretches long behind his desk, the faint clink of vials audible even through the heavy wood door.
Just outside the classroom, Mina stops abruptly.
Her movements are deliberate as she slips the cursed egg carrier off her shoulders, the faint creak of leather straps breaking the stillness.
She secures it to me with a practiced ease, her fingers brushing my chest as she tightens the straps.
Her eyes, deep pools of unspoken grief and determination, sweep over me slowly.
Then, she rises onto her tiptoes, her lips finding mine in a kiss that is brief but grounding.
The softness of her mouth contrasts with the weight pressing on both of us.
I pull her into an embrace, letting the curve of her body mold to mine as I breathe her in deeply.
Her scent—a mixture of lavender soap, ash, and ozone—wraps around me, settling the turmoil inside.
“I’m here to talk if you need me,” I murmur against her temple, my lips brushing her skin in a lingering press.
I will every ounce of my love and strength into that touch, hoping it will somehow reach the cracks in her armor.
“I miss Cora. I miss my sister.” Her voice is soft, barely audible over the faint hiss of air through the old pipes lining the walls.
Each word lands like a stone in my chest. A breathy laugh escapes her, bitter and raw.
“I even miss Addy and Garrett, of all people.” She looks toward the glass of the door, her gaze distant and heavy.
Balor stands inside, watching us with an expression I can’t quite read, his presence a silent reminder of the weight we all carry.
Mina raises her hands, her fingers moving in quick, precise gestures.
Her smirk when she turns back to me is fleeting, but it lights a small spark in the gloom.
“I told him I’ll be there in a moment. That I’m okay.
” She tilts her head, studying me like she can see every thought in my head.
“It’s a Shadowblade thing. We can speak with our hands like those who can’t hear do, except our language is different. ”
She smiles, her lips quirking in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and kisses me once more.
This one is softer, more fleeting, but it lingers all the same.
Then, without another word, she turns and steps into the classroom, her boots making a faint tapping sound on the worn stone floor.
She takes her seat in the far back corner, where shadows seem to gather around her like a cloak.
I stand there for a moment, watching her.
Balor’s gaze flickers to me briefly before settling back on Mina.
The air feels heavier now, filled with the unspoken weight of what’s to come.
Turning away, I walk back down the hall, my steps echoing in the emptiness.
Fear twists in my gut—the fear of the unknown, of what might be waiting for us all.
Maybe, just maybe, if we survive this summer break, I’ll find a way to play cupid. Maybe I can help those two—find something that lasts. For now, though, the uncertainty is a shadow I can’t outrun.