Page 5 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)

Abraxis

This is going to be one hell of a battle of wills between the headmaster and my mate.

Mina’s dragoness, stubborn and unyielding, ignited two eggs at the Choosing—and now she’s claimed the black egg by reigniting it.

I glance at her, the weight of the storm brewing in her sharp eyes.

She’s unrelenting, and it makes me proud, even as I brace for the fallout.

The knock at the door finally comes, shattering the tense silence. Mina’s low, guttural rumble fills the room, primal and raw, sending a shiver down my spine and making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“Let’s hear what he has to say for himself,” she growls, and I lean in, pressing a kiss to her cheek in an attempt to soothe her dragoness. My hand lingers at her back, steadying her. Her scales shimmer faintly under my touch, betraying the heat of her emotions.

The door swings open, and Lysander steps into the living room, his posture calm and deliberate, like he’s walking into a predator’s den. My gaze shifts to Mina as her scales ripple across her exposed skin, a subtle but dangerous sign of her rising anger.

“Mina, the black egg needs to be returned to the chamber,” Lysander says, his voice so maddeningly calm that I feel my irritation flare. He’s provoking her, whether or not he realizes it.

“No,” she replies flatly, not bothering to mask her defiance. She presses herself closer to me, sliding under my wing, peeking around my arm at the headmaster like she’s daring him to push her further.

Lysander doesn’t flinch. “Mina, it’s a direct order. Return the egg to the chamber,” he repeats, his tone measured, as though he’s trying to outlast a storm.

A growl tears from Mina’s lips, deep and threatening, reverberating in my chest. The sound sends a ripple of scales down my arms as my dragon reacts to her fury. She is fire and defiance incarnate, and I can’t help but admire her even as I feel the tension mounting.

“I suggest you not push her,” I warn, my voice low and steady, though my claws itch to strike.

“The egg chose her. Twice. By ancient rights, it’s hers until it hatches or goes dormant.

” I flex my wing, pulling it tighter around her, a barrier between her and the headmaster.

My scales press against her, an instinctive attempt to calm her volatile energy, though I know her dragoness is far from soothed.

Lysander watches us, his calculating gaze flicking from Mina to me.

Balor steps in front of us, hands raised in a placating gesture, his calm presence a sharp contrast to the tension crackling through the air.

“Let’s see how this all plays out,” he says, his voice smooth and measured.

He motions toward Mina and me, his gaze steady as he speaks.

“The red egg has never ignited for anyone. The black egg? Dormant for over three hundred and eighty-five years, and it’s ignited twice for her. ”

His tone softens the sharp edge of Mina’s tension. She relaxes, stepping out from under the protective curve of my wing, and I can’t decide if I’m relieved or frustrated.

“Basilisk to Basilisk,” Balor continues, his eyes meeting Lysander’s. “If I thought there was danger, don’t you think I’d handle it? You know what we’re capable of.” His words are pointed, a quiet reminder of their shared abilities—their stone gaze, their venom, their unmatched lethality.

Mina zips both eggs into her hoodie with swift precision, then moves behind Balor.

She steps close, rising onto her toes so her lips brush near his ear, but her fiery gaze is locked on Lysander.

“You forget one tiny detail,” she says, her voice low and lethal.

The wicked smile that curves her lips makes something cold and sharp settle in my gut. “I’m immune to both.”

She flashes just enough fang to send a ripple of unease through the room before stepping away from both basilisks. Lysander’s face drains of color, his pale complexion nearly ghostly. Balor, of course, is smirking—because he already knew.

Without another word, Mina saunters into her room, shutting the door behind her with a firm click, leaving the rest of us in the living space.

Silence thickens, broken only by Lysander’s shaky breath.

“How do we know what she says is true?” he asks, his voice teetering between doubt and desperation.

His eyes land on me, and I can’t help but laugh.

“This bonehead,” I say, gesturing to Balor with a grin, “let his basilisk get away from him and looked directly into Mina’s eyes.

Nothing happened.” I clap Balor’s shoulder, my amusement only deepening as I glance at the headmaster.

“As for toxins and venoms? It’s a common green dragon trait, not to mention iron dragons. Mina’s both. ”

I stride toward Mina’s door, placing myself just outside, leaning casually on the frame. My eyes stay locked on the room, watching them all. They can question her all they want, but Mina’s already proven herself—and I’ll make sure no one forgets it.

Almost an hour of back-and-forth discussion later, Lysander finally leaves the nest. I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and go to open the door.

There she is—my mate, curled protectively around the eggs in her human form.

Her presence is like gravity, pulling me in, grounding me in ways nothing else can.

Iris sits at the edge of the bed, her tiny form bristling with a quiet determination, her eyes locked on the door like a fierce tiny sentinel guarding what is hers.

“I’m just checking on my mate,” I say softly to Iris. She eyes me for a moment, her sharp intelligence cutting through the tension before she stretches languidly and pads up the bed to nestle into the pillows.

“Mina,” I whisper close to her ear, my voice barely audible.

My fingers trail over her cheek, soft and reverent, as though she might vanish if I’m too careless.

“You need to eat something. Ziggy’s making chicken wings and fresh coleslaw—the way you like.

” I carefully climb onto the bed beside her, pulling her into my arms, wrapping her in the protective cocoon of my wings.

A soft yawn escapes her lips and she snuggles closer, her warmth seeping into me like sunlight on a chilly day.

Her voice is low and melodic, vibrating with the quiet authority of a queen.

“Thauglor, this is my mate, Abraxis. To hurt him is to hurt me. He and Klauth have an understanding.” Her lips brush the black egg tenderly, as if sharing some silent vow, before she holds it out to me .

For a moment, I hesitate. The weight of the egg is more than physical—it carries significance, trust, and the fragile balance of power.

Slowly, I take it from her, cradling it as it pulses softly in my hand.

“Thank you for allowing me this honor.” My voice is low, reverent.

My free hand reaches out to touch Klauth’s egg, and I feel its answering thrum beneath my fingers.

“Our mate is healthy and strong,” I murmur to it, a teasing lilt slipping into my tone, “but she’s being stubborn about eating. ”

The pulse from Klauth’s egg grows brighter, almost scolding.

“You tattled on me?” Mina stretches lazily, her lips quirking into a mock pout. “Fine. Let’s go feed me. These two are worse than you are about me eating.” She rolls her eyes, but her playful smile tells me she’s not mad. If anything, she looks amused.

Apparently, both eggs speak to her now. Of course they do. She’s their center—our center. The thought fills me with a fierce pride. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe.

I follow Mina out into the living space, my steps silent, eyes locked on her.

Where does she go? Straight to Callan. She climbs onto his lap, lays her head on his shoulder, and closes her eyes.

The faint lines of exhaustion on her face are impossible to miss.

The gauntlet took more out of her than she’s willing to admit.

“Mina, I have food.” Vaughn’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He drags a stool close to where she sits, offering her a chicken wing.

I watch as mate number three feeds her, his movements careful, almost reverent.

Vaughn’s a good guy, heart in the right place.

But it doesn’t stop the flicker of concern that settles in my chest. Gargoyles are known for their temper.

If he ever loses it, there’s no telling how long it would take to pull him out of a rage.

They’re almost as bad as a dragoness guarding her nest .

“What are we doing about tomorrow?” I ask, my voice low but pointed. My primary concern is Mina—whether she’ll be up to running the gauntlet again in the morning.

“It’s an all-day event,” Callan answers, his lips brushing her forehead in a soft kiss.

The tenderness he shows her sets something in me on edge, but I shove it down.

“Mina can go last, like before. We’ve got all four years running, so she can go after the fourth years.

That puts her run around dinner.” He threads his fingers through her hair, untangling the knots with practiced ease.

“I want to run with my class,” Mina mumbles, pouting as she takes the wing from Vaughn and sits up straighter.

“You are your class, Mina. Remember? Everyone else died.” My tone is flat, matter-of-fact. There’s no sugarcoating the truth.

“Oh, shit. That’s right.” Her casual, almost innocent acknowledgment catches me off guard—and apparently Balor, too.

He nearly chokes on his drink, coughing as laughter dances in his eyes.

The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself.

Mina, oblivious and utterly unapologetic, never fails to surprise me.

Leander sets a plate of wings and a stein of beer in front of me. “What are we doing with the trophy?” he asks, motioning toward the bucket shoved into the corner of the room. The faint but unmistakable stench has been creeping closer for hours.

“It’s starting to stink,” he adds, grabbing another plate of wings to bring over to Vaughn, who’s busy feeding Mina. She tears into the wings with an almost feral intensity, her eyes glinting with amusement as she looks up at me.

“Who cleans your skulls, Abraxis?” she asks between bites, licking sauce from her fingers. Her tone is casual, but there’s a challenge in her gaze that I can’t ignore.

“Usually, I do it myself,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. The laugh that escapes me is sharp and jagged, the kind that comes from the absurdity of the moment. “Your other one’s hanging to dry. I guess I’ll drop this one in the bleach next.”

Mina arches a brow but doesn’t press further, which is somehow worse. She shovels another wing into her mouth, and I can’t tell if she’s amused or unimpressed. Both, probably.

I carefully set my plate down on the island and grab the bottle of bleach along with the bucket. The weight of it isn’t the problem—it’s what it represents. Heading outside, I dump the contents of the bucket into the grass before rinsing it with the hose. The smell clings to me, sharp and metallic.

I pour the bleach in, watching the pale liquid swirl and bubble before I add water, just enough to submerge the whole thing. The ambush drake skull barely fits in the bucket. Shaking my head, I stare at the contents. As the bucket fills, a soft laugh escapes my lips, almost involuntarily.

The things we do for the ones we love.