Page 9 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)

Mina

The cafeteria is pure chaos—a clanging, banging war zone of noise and motion.

Students talk over each other, shoving past in a desperate attempt to navigate the packed tables and narrow pathways.

The air is thick with scents and energies from dozens of species, most of which I’ve never encountered before.

My eyes dart around, tracking the constant movement, my instincts on edge.

So many prey species in one place—it’s overwhelming, a feast of motion and sound that sets my pulse racing.

“This is why dragons have their own kitchens in their living spaces,” Vaughn says, his voice soft but close enough to tickle my ear.

I glance at him just as a group of males wave their arms, vying for his attention. Vaughn laughs, the sound deep and rich, as he steps ahead of me. “Come meet my clan,” he says, leading the way.

Navigating the crowd feels like a battle.

Vaughn’s presence clears the path, with a few low growls cutting through the chaos when necessary.

Finally, we reach his clan mates, a group clustered together at a table near the back.

Vaughn pulls me to his side, tucking me securely under his arm.

His pride radiates off of him as he announces, “I’d like to introduce my mate, Mina, to everyone. ”

I lift a hand in a polite wave, smiling just enough to seem approachable. “The pleasure is mine.”

“She’s a dragon…” one male stammers, pointing at me with a shaky hand.

Vaughn kisses my temple, the gesture both possessive and affectionate. “Yup, that she is.”

“Does that mean the naga might finally leave us alone?” A female gargoyle pipes up from behind a massive male who, I assume, is her mate.

I zero in on her words, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my lips. “Nagas, are giving you trouble?” My tone is calm, almost too calm, as my gaze sweeps the room, hunting for potential targets. “Are they related to Samara at all?” I glance up at Vaughn, waiting for clarification.

“No,” he replies, scanning the chaos with a hint of curiosity. “Entirely different species.”

I arch a brow at him, my smile sharpening. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Vaughn asks, his voice tinged with amusement and wariness.

“When are they usually here?” I ask, keeping my tone casual as I look at the female gargoyle for an answer.

“Dinnertime,” she says hesitantly.

“Perfect.” I smile, a plan forming. “Make room for three at your table tonight. There will be a pair of dragons in the hall. ”

Before Vaughn can question me, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, full and unapologetic, right in the middle of the chaos.

The cafeteria falls silent. Exactly as I wanted.

Every eye is on us, and I let the moment linger.

Maybe the naga bullies will hear the rumor.

Maybe they’ll think twice about bothering the gargoyles when they know a dragon is loose in their halls.

Science drags on as expected, Kai droning at the front of the room like a relentless storm cloud.

He’s as much fun as a bellyache. Poor Nigel had an actual meltdown in art class earlier, his creativity unraveling like a frayed thread.

Vaughn, in his calm way, set up his easel beside mine.

We painted together in companionable silence, the occasional brushstroke our only communication.

Leander stopped by at some point, dropping off more food—his usual offering since Callan was busy teaching the fourth years during this period.

By the time we reach Art of War, my focus has gone to shit.

Watching Callan teach a room full of students with me in it is almost comical.

I take a seat in the far back corner with Vaughn, deliberately separating ourselves from the rest of the class.

I flip through the pages of the textbook, already familiar with most of the content.

It feels more like reviewing then learning.

“Is there anything in this school you don’t know?” Vaughn’s voice is low, barely a whisper meant only for me.

Suppressing a laugh, I glance sideways at him.

“Not sure. I still have two more years here. I’m sure they’ll eventually find something I haven’t been taught yet.

” With a shrug, I open my jacket slightly and check on the egg carrier strapped beneath it.

Both eggs are secure, untouched. The black one gleams like a piece of the void itself, its surface smooth and almost hypnotically dark.

The red egg, in contrast, swirls with shades of blood and silver, vivid and alive even in stillness.

“Mrs. Havock?” Callan’s voice pulls my attention to the front of the room. Using Abraxis’s surname tells me one thing—not everyone here knows I’m his mate yet.

“Yes, sir?” I straighten my posture and zip my jacket shut, hiding the eggs.

“The diagram on the board,” he says, gesturing toward a chaotic sketch of battle formations. “Which side wins with the current configuration?”

I stand to get a better view, studying the crude lines and symbols.

“Currently, it’s a stalemate without knowing the strengths and weaknesses of both sides.

Bilateral siege weapons with no indication of what they’re launching only suggests a capability for distance attacks. Can you provide more details?”

Callan steps aside, staring at the diagram like he’s weighing the additional information. “The stalemate is correct. As for the rest: drow versus elves, launching fireballs.”

I take a step down the aisle, closer to the board. “What time of day?”

“Dusk,” he replies tersely.

“The drow win,” I say, turning back toward my seat.

“How do you know?” A third-year from the front of the room blurts out, his voice tinged with skepticism.

I let out a slow breath, glancing at him.

“Drow see better in low light. Their genetic adaptations for dark vision far surpass those of elves, who can only see about twenty meters in the dark. Drow, on a clear night, can see up to eighty meters. Chapter eighteen, page two seventy-three. Know your enemies and you know how to win . ”

Callan smiles faintly, clearly pleased with the response. “Mrs. Havock, how would you win if you were the elves, given the current parameters?”

I settle back into my chair, tilting my head thoughtfully. “Set everything on fire. Blind the drow with light. They never attack during the day because it’s too bright for them.”

Callan turns to address the class, launching into a series of follow-up questions sparked by my answers. I lean back, tuning out the noise as my mind drifts. This class feels endless.

My last class today is Abraxis’s third-year course on siege weapons. Vaughn is off to spy craft with Ziggy, though watching him pout about leaving me was almost comical. He’s worse than a hatchling with a shiny new toy.

The training field is set up with nine siege weapons this afternoon, most of which I already know inside and out. But there’s one unfamiliar design, and it immediately draws me in. I make a beeline for it, inspecting the launch mechanisms with a focused intensity.

“Did we finally find something you don’t know about?” Balor teases, his tone light as he leans casually on the wheel close to where I’m standing.

I glance at him, smirking faintly. “I’ve never seen this design before.” I gesture toward the strange contraption. Unlike the others, this one has a seat positioned between two forks instead of a cradle for launching projectiles .

“It’s something I’ve been working on for the last ten years,” Abraxis says as he approaches, his deep voice stirring a warmth in my chest. Smiling, I abandon the siege weapon for a moment and dive into his arms, nuzzling against his chin before catching myself.

“What does it do?” Standing on my toes, I brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth, but I pull back quickly, remembering we aren’t alone. The weight of Balor’s amused gaze—and half the class—is enough to make me retreat.

“Cade, come here,” Abraxis calls, motioning for one of the students. Cade steps forward, looking a mix of curious and apprehensive. Abraxis gestures toward the seat. “Sit there.”

Cade obeys, bracing his feet against a board in front of him.

With a deliberate motion, Abraxis pulls the lever.

The machine springs to life, launching Cade high into the air.

My breath catches as I watch him arc upward, shifting seamlessly into his dragon form once he’s high enough.

He circles above us before landing smoothly.

“That’s brilliant!” I can’t contain the excitement in my voice. The possibilities whirl in my mind at lightning speed. “That’s a faster way to get fighters into position without being seen until it’s too late. It could change everything on the battlefield.”

Abraxis grins at my enthusiasm, his pride obvious. “That’s the plan. I’ve launched myself a few dozen times to ensure it’s safe.”

I freeze at that, staring up at him like he’s lost his mind. “You launched yourself?”

He meets my incredulous look with a calm shrug. “I never ask my men to do something I wouldn’t do myself.” When he puts it that way, it’s hard to argue. Still, the image of him flinging himself into the air is almost too much .

“I’ve got a different kind of battlefield for us to navigate tonight,” I say, shifting the topic.

Abraxis raises a questioning brow, his mind clearly wandering somewhere completely inappropriate.

“We were invited to dinner with Vaughn’s clan,” I clarify, my tone deadpan.

“Apparently, some naga have been causing trouble during meals.”

His expression shifts, the wicked glint in his eyes sharpening. I know that look. He hates bullies with a passion, and the idea of confronting them probably sounds like dessert to him. The only reason Arista is still breathing is because of who her father is.

“Should be an adventure,” Abraxis says, his voice laced with amusement. “But first, we finish class. Then we’ll head over after we’ve changed.”

The grin he gives me is pure trouble, the kind that makes my pulse quicken and warns me he’s already scheming. Whatever happens tonight, it’s going to be anything but boring.

As promised, we finish class and head home to change. Vaughn goes on ahead, like always, slipping into the night without a word. I place Iris on top of the cursed eggs, her tiny weight a reassuring presence. “Are you ready?” I ask.

Abraxis leans against my doorframe, his finest fighting leathers clinging to his form, his wing-claws twitching in anticipation. “Lead on,” he says, flashing that wicked smile. He’s ready for this, thrives on the promise of confrontation.

I reach for his hand, but before we even make it out of the living room, he scoops me up effortlessly.

My breath catches as we soar into the night, the double doors of Malivore swinging closed behind us.

“Cheater,” I murmur, the wind whipping my words away.

“It’s the middle building where their food is kept. ”

The flight is quick, a blur of darkened sky and twinkling lights as we head toward the cafeteria. When we land, I take his hand again, the cool leather of our matching attire grounding me. The mate marks on our throats glint faintly in the dim lighting, an unmistakable claim.

Abraxis follows me into the building, his steps languid but dangerous. The table comes into view—Vaughn sits with his clan, their presence quiet yet commanding. I step forward, my voice steady and loud enough to draw attention. “I want to introduce my other mate, Abraxis Havock.”

Standing between them, I can’t help but smile.

The contrast between Vaughn’s silent strength and Abraxis’s unapologetic dominance is a balance I never realized I needed.

The gargoyle clan lowers their heads in deference, their submission a soothing balm.

I’m just starting to relax when I hear it: the unmistakable scrape of scales on tile.

“Leave our table,” a voice hisses, venom lacing every syllable. The head male naga glares, his eyes narrowing at Vaughn’s clan.

I glance at Abraxis, who chuckles, the sound low and menacing. “Who’s going to make me?” he asks, seating himself casually on the edge of the table, his boots propped on a chair like he owns the room.

“I’m not talking to you, dragon,” the naga sneers, coiling his tail tighter. “The pebbles-for-brains need to leave. This table is ours.” His tail rattles, a threat that falls pathetically short.

“That’s not happening,” I say, tilting my head as my hands shift. Silver talons extend, crackling with tiny arcs of lightning. I lock eyes with the naga and take a step forward, daring him to try something.

“Control your female before I do,” the naga snaps.

Fatal mistake.

Abraxis moves faster than I can, his hand wrapping around the naga’s throat and lifting him effortlessly. The naga writhes, his coils snapping up in a desperate attempt to fight back.

Before he can get a grip, I reach out and sink my talons into his scaled flesh, twisting just enough to draw blood.

The scent fills the air, sharp, and metallic.

“I have a bad habit of going into a rage when I’m threatened,” I say, my voice calm but cold.

“I’ve already killed two ambush drakes with nothing but my talons.

I won’t hesitate to add a naga—or an entire den of naga—to that list.”

Abraxis holds him for a moment longer, then drops him unceremoniously to the floor. The naga crumples, hissing in pain, and I retract my talons slowly, wiping the blood on my leathers before licking them clean. My dragon’s eyes surface, golden and glowing as I stare down at the rest of his nest.

The male slithers off, leaving a streak of blood in his wake. The room is silent, heavy with the weight of what just happened. I meet the gaze of every onlooker, daring them to speak. None do. Instead, they lower their heads, one by one.

I exhale, letting the tension drain from my shoulders. Abraxis smirks, lounging like he owns the place, while Vaughn’s calm presence beside me anchors the storm within. I smile faintly, the taste of blood and victory still sharp on my tongue.