Page 49 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)

I stumble backward, my breath hitching as I take in the image on the canvas.

The dark, jagged lines and haunting eyes glare back at me, as if mocking my terror.

The metallic tang of paint lingers in the air, sharp and acrid.

My fingers are slick with it, smudges staining my palms like blood.

I can’t look at it anymore. My eyes dart around the shadowed gardens, the faint rustle of leaves unnervingly loud in the silence.

Gripping the edges of the canvas so hard my knuckles ache, I bolt.

My heart slams against my ribcage as I sprint across campus, the chill evening air biting at my skin.

The sharp scent of damp earth fills my lungs, mingling with the faint trace of cigarette smoke and the grease of cafeteria food wafting from somewhere nearby.

Students and staff blur into shadowy figures as I weave through them, their murmurs and laughter fading into a low hum.

I can’t stop. I need Abraxis and Callan—they’ll know what to do.

At the gates, two fourth-years catch sight of me.

Their eyes widen, and without hesitation, they throw the gates open.

The clang of metal reverberates through the courtyard, and Rebel’s frantic caw pierces the air, sharp and grating.

My boots skid on the cobblestones as I try to turn a corner too quickly, my shoulder colliding with the rough stone wall.

Pain shoots down my arm, but I push through it, staggering into the training grounds.

The sharp clang of steel meeting steel fills the air, along with the guttural grunts of effort.

Abraxis is sparring with Balor and Ziggy, their muscles coiled like predators mid-strike.

Sweat glistens on their skin under the flickering torchlight, and the metallic tang of blood and steel hangs heavy in the air.

“Cut the macho male shit! We have a problem!” I scream, my voice tearing through the courtyard like a whip. Without waiting for a reaction, I pivot and bolt toward Callan’s office, the steps hard and cold beneath my feet as I take them two at a time.

The hallway looms ahead, dim and lined with portraits of grim-faced alumni.

At the end, I ram my shoulder into Callan’s office door, the wood splintering as it slams open, echoing down the corridor.

The heady scent of leather and aged parchment fills the room, but it does nothing to mask the suffocating tension.

Lysander stands there, poised like a predator sizing up its prey .

A growl rumbles in my throat as I slap the painting down in a chair.

My arms burn as scales ripple across my skin, the green gleaming like emeralds under the faint light.

Talons burst forth from my fingers, sharp and aching with restrained power.

“Get out!” I snarl, the words scraping like gravel against my throat.

Lysander’s cool smile doesn’t waver. “Miss Mina, it’s a pleasure to see you too.” His voice drips with condescension as he steps forward, the scent of his cologne—smoky and cloying—filling the space.

Iris lands on my shoulder with a screech, her claws digging into my scales. Her tail coils tight around my neck, and sparks of lightning leap from scale to scale, crackling in the tense silence. My dragoness surges forward, her hunger, and distrust boiling in my veins.

“You need to leave…” I growl again, my voice trembling with the effort to stay human. Deep down, I know he’s dangerous—too dangerous. Iris nearly devoured Lemon last week for getting too close. My dragoness isn’t wrong to feel this way.

Callan’s voice breaks through the tension. “Mina’s been on edge since Cora laid her first egg,” he says smoothly, his tone a careful mask. It’s a lie, but it works.

Lysander chuckles, brushing off the hostility like dust. “Next cycle, let her have her own egg. She’ll settle down then,” he says dismissively before striding out of the room, his footsteps fading into the hall.

As the door clicks shut, the tension snaps. The rest of my nest arrives, their familiar scents—leather, cedar, and a hint of cinnamon—grounding me. But I can’t stop pacing, my boots scraping faint grooves into the wood floor.

“Mina, you need to stop and tell us what set you off,” Leander says gently, stepping into my path. His presence, steady and calm, finally cuts through my panic. I suck in a deep breath, the air cool against my overheated skin. Slowly, painfully, my scales retract, and the talons fade.

Wordlessly, I grab the canvas and hold it out. My hands shake as tears spill down my cheeks. My mate … my fifth mate. The thought rips through me like a blade, and I retreat to the recliner in the corner, curling into myself as they gather around.

Their reactions are a storm of emotions—shock, confusion, fear. Abraxis alone remains calm, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studies the painting. The duality of Klauth, stark and foreboding, stares back at us all.

“It happens in three weeks,” Abraxis says, his voice a low rumble. The room falls silent, the weight of his words crushing us. I lower my head, the knowledge like a stone in my chest.

Three weeks.

It’s not enough time.