Page 17 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

Cora lets go of my arm, snickering. “Can you even call it a class when you’re the only one in it?”

“Fine, it’s an intense tutoring session.” I shoot her a grin. “But at least Callan’s easy on the eyes. There’s something about a guy with scars.”The thought of him, all stoic and serious, makes the corners of my mouth twitch upward despite the weight of the day. At least that’s something to look forward to.

The gates to the campus creak as they swing open, and I slip through, glancing around the dimly lit grounds. The cold bite of the evening air nips at my skin, but the warmth building inside me—rage or something else—I’m not sure yet, keeps the chill at bay. I march toward the north tower, where Callan’s office waits. My heart pounds as my boots strike the cobblestones, every step an echo, my shadow looming, mimicking my hurried pace as I ascend the winding staircase.

The silence feels oppressive, thickening with every step, and just as I reach the top, my frustration explodes. The door flies open, and I whirl around, eyes locking onto a fourth-year idiot who has been trailing me since I entered. My voice is a snarl before I can stop it. “For fuck’s sake, I’m here! I made it. Callan will not let anything happen to me, so back the fuck off!”

Heat surges through me, my talons extending as scales race up my forearms. The shift comes too quickly, too easily, and I grit my teeth, fighting it back. Damn it, Cora’s right—my temperament is shit lately. The poor guy turns pale, stumbling over his own feet as he bolts down the stairs, disappearing into the shadows.

I let out a heavy breath, trying to calm the storm inside me as I turn to face Callan. But as my gaze sweeps across the room, I freeze. All four instructors—Leander, Ziggy, Balor, and Abraxis—are standing there, having witnessed my little meltdown. Leander and Ziggy have the sense to raise their hands in surrender, taking a cautious step backwhen my eyes lock with theirs. But Balor and Abraxis? Those bastards just smirk.

Narrowing my eyes, I mutter, “Oh look, the four horsemen of the apocalypse have graced me with their presence.” Rolling my eyes, I flop into the chair I always claim, digging out my notebook and textbook for class, trying to ignore the heat still coursing through me. My fingers twitch, the urge to claw something—or someone—still there.

“Well, hello to you too, terror,” Balor snarks, tossing a small bag in my direction. It lands with a soft thud in my lap. “Here, have some cookies. Maybe it’ll make you less hangry.”

A low growl slips from my lips before I can catch it. The sound shocks me.What the hell was that?My gaze darts around, trying to pinpoint the source.

Abraxis, always annoyingly calm, speaks up. “It’s your dragoness,” he says, his voice soft, almost patient. “As you get closer to your birthday, she’s going to make herself known. That’s why you’re on edge. Everything will piss you off until you settle into the change.”

His words settle like stones in my chest. I glance down at my hands, at the scales shimmering with the colors I inherited from my father. They’re edged with silver, sharp, and cold like my mother. “Who knows what I’ll look like once the shift is complete.” I twist my hand, watching the scales catch the light. “Maybe a blend of both parents.”

Callan steps forward, leaning over his desk to examine my hand. His eye flickers with something—admiration? Fascination?—before he catches himself and leans back, clearing his throat. “From what I can see, it looks like a good mix of the two. The current blending is... complimentary.” His voice trails off awkwardly.

He clears his throat again, his posture stiffening as he looks at the others. “Gentlemen, we’ll continue this discussion later. In the meantime, it seems Miss Bladesong here will require an escort, someone... larger, whom her dragoness will respect.”

As the instructors leave, I feel a strange tug in my chest. A flicker of something I can’t quite name. Why does it bother me that they’re leaving? Is one of them... mine? My heart stutters at the thought. Is one of them my mate, and I just don’t know it yet? I stare at the door for several beats too long. Callan starts today’s lesson and we fall into our usual rhythm.

Callan walks me to the door, his frame filling the space as he leans against the frame, his presence comforting yet intense. “Do you need to spar?” His brow arches, and I catch the faint glow of gold flickering in his eye—a sign of his shift just beneath the surface.

I shake my head, sighing. “It’s probably not safe to do so. Thank you for the offer, though.” My voice is softer than I intend, weighed down by the exhaustion of the day. I lower my head slightly in respect before stepping away.

“Remember, the school’s Shadowblade section is recruiting,” he calls after me, his tone casual but laced with warning. “Or should I say abducting members? Only the strong survive.” He gives me a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I pause at the threshold, returning the smile with a wink. “I’ve been abducted almost thirty times in the last ten years by elder blades. They were all sorry they took me when I was done with them.” Hischuckle follows me as I step out into the open, but there’s a heaviness in the air now.

The sun is sinking, casting a kaleidoscope of fiery colors across the sky—deep oranges, purples, and reds blending like spilled ink on a canvas. The courtyard is eerily still; the shadows growing long and sharp. Something feels off, a prickle at the back of my neck, and my senses kick into overdrive.

Crunch. The sound of boots on gravel. My breath catches as I listen, heart pounding in my ears. The shift in the air, the faint disturbance of something moving too quickly towards me.

I dart to the side, and the whistle of a bow staff slicing through the space I just occupied sends my pulse racing. Barely a miss. My eyes narrow as I turn to face the attacker—a male I’ve never seen before, his stance poised for another strike.

“If this is an abduction, you’re really shitty at it,” I snarl, my fingers already reaching behind me to the hidden daggers sewn into my backpack. The comforting weight of the hilts press against my palms.

He laughs, dark and guttural. “Abduct you? No, sweetheart, I’m here to kill you. Our future nest mother won’t be robbed of the male she wants.”

The words barely register as he lunges again, the staff whistling past my leg. A bird cries in the distance, its eerie call mingling with the rising tension. I focus on my attacker, every fiber of me coiled and ready. If he’s here to kill me, then let him try. He does not know what he’s unleashed.

I drop the pack, my fingers shifting into armored gauntlets, silver talons gleaming in the fading light. His eyes flicker with a hint of hesitation, but it’s too late. When he charges, I sidestep and rake mytalons across his right biceps, the sickening sound of muscle tearing filling the air as ribbons of flesh hang from his arm. Blood spills onto the ground in thick splashes.

Footsteps echo around us, but I don’t care. Let them come. I’m too far gone. Rage is curling inside me, blinding me to everything but the man in front of me. I want his head on a pike.

“Fucking bitch,” he growls through gritted teeth, his body contorting as he shifts. Scales ripple over his skin, bones snapping and reforming until a massive ambush drake stands before me, its eyes gleaming with predatory intent. A flightless dragon, built for stalking and killing like a great cat.

A low growl rumbles deep in my chest, primal and fierce. Instinct takes over. Before he can react, I launch myself at him, my talons finding the vulnerable spot between the plates of his neck. Flesh gives way beneath my talons as blood sprays in a crimson arc, coating my arms, my face—everywhere. I strike again and again, lost in the savage rhythm of tearing through him. Rage blinds me, a red mist descending as I rend him apart, piece by piece.

Strong arms wrap around me, yanking me away from the corpse. I thrash, still screaming, “I need to kill it!” The bloodlust surges, wild and uncontrollable.

“Mina!” Abraxis’s voice cuts through the haze, his hands gripping my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes burn into mine, steady, and grounding. “It can’t hurt you anymore. You killed it.” His voice is calm, soft in a way that makes something inside me falter.

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