Page 40 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

Lysander’s face is a mask of calm detachment. “Call to the eggs,” he instructs. “Either with your voice or with your dragons. Whichever egg responds is yours until it goes dormant or hatches.” He takes a measured step back, aligning himself with a tile identical to Abraxis’. They stand like sentinels, guarding the ritual.

I turn my gaze to the eggs. Their shells shimmer faintly under the candlelight, each one unique in its pattern and hue. My dragoness stirs within me, her presence a heavy, insistent thrum. She wants one of them. I draw a deep breath, feeling her power coiling low in my belly. It builds and builds, a tension that finally releases as a low, resonant pitch vibrates from my throat.

The sound fills the chamber, reverberating off the stone walls and sinking into the eggs’ shells. Her intent bleeds into every note—desire, strength, promise. I let her take control, allowing the song toswell, filling every crevice of the room until the air hums with it. Both males behind me gasp softly as the last note lingers, echoing long after my lips have closed.

Slowly, I open my eyes and see it—the black and red eggs glowing softly, as if awakened from a deep slumber.

“Neither is a safe choice, Mina,” Lysander cautions, his voice strained as he steps closer to me.

I glance back at him, noting the tightness in his jaw, the barely suppressed worry flickering in his eyes. My gaze shifts to Abraxis. He meets my stare, his eyes flicking over to the red egg, a silent message passing between us.This is it.Stepping off the quartz block, I walk slowly toward the eggs, every instinct screaming caution.

But my dragoness purrs with satisfaction as I draw nearer to the red one. The surrounding air hums with barely contained power, the crimson, and silver swirls pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

“Thank you for choosing me,” I whisper softly, my voice meant only for the life stirring within the shell. I reach out, fingers trembling slightly as I touch its smooth surface. Warmth spreads through my palm, and I draw in a deep breath before gently lifting the red egg.

A thrill runs through me as I cradle it close to my chest. The weight of it is perfect—solid, but not too heavy. It hums in my arms, vibrating softly against my skin. I look up to find Lysander staring at me, his face drained of color.

“The red egg never chooses anyone,” he murmurs, voice hollow. He looks almost haunted, like he’s seeing a ghost.

I glance at Abraxis. He stands tall, shoulders back, a look of pride lighting his features as he lowers his head to me in acknowledgment. We did it. I hold the egg tighter, unwilling to let go. Not now, not ever.

“We will get a suite ready for you and your mate to live here with the egg,” Lysander says finally, his voice distant as he turns to leave the chamber.

“There are multi-room suites here,” I call after him, voice stronger now. He pauses, glancing back at me with a frown. “I want one of those. I need Zigmander, Leander, and Balor here for my safety. Oh, and you may as well move Callan here, too.” Abraxis steps forward and opens the door to the hallway as I cradle the red egg protectively against my chest.

The hallway outside is deathly silent as I step through. My dragoness is near the surface, claws ready to strike out at any threat. I feel her daring anyone to come too close.

“That isn’t done—” Lysander starts, and I spin on my heels to face him, rage snapping through me like a live wire.

“Neither is having the red egg choose someone,” I snap, voice edged with a dangerous calm. The smell of ozone fills the air, and I watch small tendrils of lightning flicker through my hair, dancing up to my horns. “You know as well as I do what it means if he hatches. I want my team, and that’s final. If I have to, I will rip this entire campus asunder to feel safe.” My voice reverberates with power, the stones beneath my feet shivering in response.

Abraxis steps in smoothly. “Send word when the suite is ready. We’ll go gather her team in the meantime.” His calm voice cuts through the tension like a knife, and with a firm hand on my back, he guides me and the egg away from Malivore—for now.

Callan

“You stupid, stupid fool,”I mutter for what feels like the hundredth time, my voice barely above a whisper. The words reverberate in the empty room, bouncing off the cold stone walls as if mocking me. I can still see her, even now, in my mind’s eye—Abraxis carrying Willamina off to what could very well be her doom. If I wasn’t such a coward … If I had just said something to her…anything.

I let out a heavy sigh and shake my head, glaring down at the disorganized mess of papers on my desk. They’re supposed to be graded, but I can’t bring myself to focus. The printed text blurs together, an unholy amalgamation of failed assignments and broken promises. No matter how many times I try to will myself to be productive, the thought of her—mymate—lingers like a festering wound.

I’m damaged goods. A flightless gryphon. One of a kind, in all the worst ways. The last war took my eye and the skies from me.

But that’s not the whole truth, is it?

I took the skies from me, because I’m too afraid of what I might not see coming on my blind side.

“Why do you look like someone just murdered your puppy in front of you?” Leander’s voice cuts through the silence like a dagger. He doesn’t bother knocking—never does—and I watch as he saunters into my office, casually dropping himself into the chair across from me.

“Why are you here?” I snap, my patience already threadbare. “Don’t you have a class to teach?”

I arch the eyebrow over my empty eye socket, relishing in the way Leander’s face contorts. It’s petty, I know, but watching him squirm makes me feel a little less pathetic for just a moment. He cringes, looking away, his bravado crumbling for a split second before he smooths it over with a smirk.

“The fourth years are split up into two teams, plotting a mock war against each other using the diorama in the war room,” he explains, leaning back and propping his boots on the edge of my desk. My desk. The insolent bastard. “But enough about me. Answer the question, Callan. Why do you look like someone stomped on your heart and served it to you for breakfast?”

I clench my jaw, shuffling the papers one more time in a desperate attempt to appear busy, to ignore the weight pressing down on my chest. “It’s unimportant.”

“Let me guess,” Leander drawls, his gaze turning shrewd. “It has emerald and silver hair, two regal horns that shine like a polished sword, and a two hundred and eighty pound, six-foot-three mate permanently attached to her hip?”

His smirk tells me he already knows. He always knows. The arrogant asshole.

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