Page 58 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)
Mina
What the guys don’t realize is I can feel what’s happening to each of them.
A faint, pulsing energy tethers me to my mates.
The moment Leander goes down, the back of my neck prickles like tiny needles, and my dragoness coils in alarm.
Wherever he is, I can’t sense him anymore.
It’s like he’s fallen off the edge of my awareness—but I know he’s not dead yet; a thin thread still connects us.
Vaughn, I feel solidify the instant he turns to stone.
His bond weighs on me, thick and cold, reminding me of granite under my fingertips.
Abraxis remains lithe and elusive, his presence flickering with every blow he trades.
And Callan... I nearly double over when he’s shot—three sharp jolts stab through my chest, one after the other.
Shaking my head, I press myself into the damp shadows behind the training ring.
The air smells of sweat and iron, and torches crackle in their sconces, casting dancing light over rough stone walls.
My heart thuds as I check each tether carefully.
Both eggs are safe, hidden away in places I’ve picked.
Balor’s basilisk roams nearby; I sense its agitation in the quiet scraping of scales against stone floors, echoing beyond the ring.
It’s hunting—whether for Leander or a new victim, I can’t tell.
My visions didn’t reveal where Leander ended up, and anxiety simmers low in my gut.
Ziggy arrives not long after and moves through the shadows with silent confidence.
Before he can speak, I grab him by the collar and shove him against the wall.
My palm clamps over his mouth, my breath ragged with adrenaline.
“You have to let things play out. I will live through this.” The pungent smell of sweat and adrenaline fills the narrow space between us as I stare into his eyes, watching the glow ebb from their depths.
“I don’t know if I can just stand by and watch you get hurt.
” His voice is thick with worry as he cups my face in both hands and kisses me softly.
The musky warmth of his displacer beast’s presence envelops me, easing the tension that’s coiled in my muscles.
My dragoness rumbles in approval, a purr vibrating low in my chest, and we both share a small, dangerous smile as I break the kiss.
“Ziggy, I promise I’ll be okay. If something goes sideways, I’ll call your name.
” I press my lips to his once more—brief but firm—before slipping away from him and stepping into the ring of faint torchlight.
Five matches stand between me and my father’s arrival.
The stone beneath my boots feels cold and unforgiving, each footstep echoing in the hush that’s fallen around the onlookers.
He plans to make me a dracolich, which means I have to die first. My jaw tightens at the thought, and the sour taste of fear flickers on my tongue. We’ll see who dies first, me or him.
I tug the fighting hood with the face mask further down my forehead, letting shadows obscure most of my face and mask.
As I step into the center of the ring, I reach over my shoulders for the twin swords strapped to my back.
The blades scrape against leather, the high-pitched sound sending a ripple of anticipation through the crowd.
“ Who wants to spar?” I say, turning in a slow circle.
I catch a whiff of old blood from the sand beneath my feet and feel the heat of tense bodies pressed around the ring.
A fourth-year student steps forward and bows; I bow back, never taking my eyes off him.
He lunges first, and steel clashes steel, the sharp ring resonating against the walls.
Each impact sends a vibration up my arms, igniting the aggression simmering under my skin.
My dragoness hisses approval, fueling my strikes.
The onlookers’ murmurs fade into a low drone, and all I focus on is the weight of my swords and the surety of my steps.
Ziggy lingers in the periphery—his presence a subtle hum across my senses.
I know if anyone tries something underhanded, he’ll put a stop to it.
I slam my opponent’s blade aside with a jarring parry, and it clatters against the stone, skidding across the floor.
Defeat flickers in his eyes as he taps the sand in surrender.
Sweat and tension thicken the air, and my heart pounds with dark satisfaction.
Everyone here knows I’ve been training with Abraxis, and they’ve seen how lethal he is; now, they recognize I share that edge.
A hush falls over the remaining students, each one assessing me with wary eyes.
They’re unsure whether stepping forward to challenge me is worth the risk.
For a moment, I savor their hesitation, letting the ring of steel still echo in my ears.
Four matches down, and this is the start of the fifth.
My heart pounds a furious rhythm in my ears, nearly drowning out the roar of the crowd.
The stench of sweat and metal lingers in the air, mingling with the acrid smell of scorched sand underfoot.
My lungs burn with each breath, and my throat tastes of copper.
Despite the surge of adrenaline, I can’t help but let my gaze flick past my opponent’s shoulder, searching the ring of onlookers.
I know my father’s out there; every instinct, every prick of my dragoness sense confirms it.
Consciously, I raise the scales over my abdomen and ribs, then the ones encircling my throat. The sensation is both reassuring and unsettling—like donning a second skin. My father may be lurking, but I refuse to die today .
He attacks with two blades, steel flashing under the dim torches lining the arena’s walls.
My feet shift on the gritty floor, trying to find stable footing in the dust and blood that’s settled there.
After several harsh clashes, I knock one of his blades away.
The clang reverberates in my bones, and a sudden hush falls over the spectators—like the moment just before lightning strikes.
He dives for his lost weapon, and I seize the moment with a sharp kick, driving my heel into his ribs.
The dull crack under my boot tells me I landed a solid blow.
He sprawls across the sand with a guttural grunt.
This is it, the moment from my vision. My pulse thrums, and my scales bristle with anticipation. I stand over him, pressing my blade to his throat, the cold steel biting against his flesh. My breathing remains remarkably steady. I lock eyes with him, my voice a low growl. “Do you yield?”
A prickling sensation crawls up my neck—an instinct screaming at me.
His gaze flicks over my right shoulder. Without a second thought, I pivot, lifting both blades just in time to meet a vicious strike meant for my head.
Sparks spray into the air like fireflies gone mad, lighting up the narrow space between us.
I stare into the hate-filled eyes of my father, his black hood and mask concealing most of his face.
Only the glimmer of malice in his eyes is visible.
My stomach twists with dread as I feel his raw intent.
I do the one thing I’ve been avoiding. I reach for Klauth’s tether and yank it with all my might.
Desperation floods my veins as I send him every ounce of energy I can spare, urging him to hatch— now.
“Kill or be killed—that is how I trained you,” my father’s voice rumbles, resonating with dark authority. He swings again, the blade whistling through the air.
My muscles burn as I parry his blows, each impact jolting my wrists. Sparks fly in frantic bursts, and the metal-on-metal shriek scrapes my eardrums. He fights with calculated brutality, testing every defense I have.
My father’s smirk is a cruel slash beneath his mask.
He feints with one blade, then slams the other into mine.
Pain explodes through my wrist as my second blade goes spinning out of my grip.
Panic claws at my ribcage. Where are my mates?
I dart a glance skyward, catching a glimpse of wyverns and green dragons tearing through the academy walls in coordinated destruction.
The air reeks of ozone and burnt mortar, as flames lick at shattered spires overhead.
Teeth gritted, I cling to my remaining sword, but my father capitalizes on my split-second distraction.
A final, brutal strike disarms me completely, the blade ringing out like a death knell as it hits the ground.
An icy shock of vulnerability surges through me.
Then it strikes—an inferno igniting through Klauth’s tether.
It blazes through my core, a frantic, pulsing heat.
Abaddon—my father—towers above me, sword raised high for the killing blow.
The torchlight gleams off his blade, and I swear I can smell my fear, sharp and bitter.
My last thoughts aren’t of terror but of my mates—and the precious eggs.
My heart clenches, a last burst of determination flooding my veins.
I can’t die. Not yet .
My father presses the cold steel of his second sword against my shoulder, and I grit my teeth.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid, my nostrils flaring as I take in the gritty smell of dust and old sweat lingering in the sparring ring.
My glare is full of hatred, and despite the pain lancing through me, a fierce heat flares at the back of my mind.
The tether with Klauth grows hotter, sharper.
A thunderous roar erupts from somewhere beyond the academy walls, the sound rumbling through the packed dirt floor and up into my bones.
My ears ring, and for a moment, my vision wavers with the force of it.
The roar comes again, echoing off the ancient stone buildings of Shadowcarve.
It’s the unmistakable bellow of an enraged drake.