25. Callan
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— my mate —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.
“Fucking nightmares,” I grumble under my breath, slamming a book down on top of the ungraded papers. They shift under the sudden force, but I don’t care. Nothing feels solid right now. “What do you want me to say, Leander?” I lean forward, the sharp scrape of my chair’s legs against the stone floor echoing ominously. “I know she’s my mate. I know she can feel the pull because of being mated to Abraxis.”
I push up abruptly; the chair rolling back until it crashes against the wall with a dull thud. The sound is almost satisfying—almost enough to drown out the thoughts that won’t leave me alone. “But I’m useless to her!” I jab a finger at my empty socket, the empty chasm where my eye used to be. “I can’t protect her. I’m blind on one fucking side. I could get an ersatz eye, sure, but it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same as the real thing.”
My voice breaks at the end, a bitter, hollow sound. Slowly, the anger drains out of me, leaving nothing but a heavy, suffocating despair. I drop back down into the chair, shoulders slumping under the weight of my inadequacy. “I’m not what she needs. I’m not enough…”
The words hang between us, filling the silence with their awful, undeniable truth. Leander’s gaze softens—sympathy, maybe pity, lurking in the depths of his eyes. I hate it. Hate him. Hate me . My fingers curl into fists as I fight the urge to punch something, anything.
But what’s the point? Hitting things won’t change the fact that she’s out there, and I’m in here, safe and sound. Broken and scared.
“Callan,” Leander murmurs, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re not useless, and you’re not broken. You’re just … scared. And there’s nothing wrong with that. ”
I scoff, turning away from him, staring at the empty socket reflected in the glass of the framed picture on my desk. The empty space mocks me, a constant reminder of my failures. “Easy for you to say. You still have both your eyes.”
“And I’d trade them both if it meant getting you out of this damn office and back into the world.” His words are quiet but firm, laced with a determination that makes something tighten in my chest. I can’t look at him. If I do, I might crumble completely.
“Mina needs you, Callan,” he continues softly. “Maybe not to fight for her. But to be there. To believe in her.”
“I don’t even know if I can do that,” I admit, my voice so low I’m not sure he hears.
But he does. Leander always does.
“Then start by believing in yourself.” He stands, resting a hand on my shoulder, squeezing once before turning to leave. “You might be flightless, but you’re still a gryphon. Stop letting fear clip your wings.”
The door swings shut behind him, leaving me alone once more with nothing but my own bitter thoughts for company.
Believing in myself? I let out a humorless laugh, fingers brushing against the worn edge of the book in front of me. Easier said than done, Leander. Easier said than done.
Several hours later…
Still no word from the Malivore Conservatory about whether Willamina is alive or … My jaw clenches at the thought. Would I even feel it if she were gone? The thought twists like a blade in my gut, sharp and relentless. Shaking my head, I push the unease aside and focus back on the task at hand—teaching Abraxis’s class on siege weapons to the third years. The field we use for class, once a place of solace for me, now feels like a cage. The chatter of the students is like a swarm of bees.
Today, we’re covering the construction and use of ballistas against flight shifters. I glance at the three massive examples positioned in the field, their menacing silhouettes stark against the overcast sky. The students gather around, shifting uneasily under my gaze as I explain how these weapons pierce through the scales of a full-grown wyvern mid-flight. Their nervous energy mirrors my restlessness.
The class drones on, a monotonous blur of voices and half-baked theories. One particularly stubborn fire drake decides he knows more than me, puffing up his chest as if to prove his dominance. A flicker of irritation ignites within me as I watch him fumble with the mechanism, nearly severing his own hand in the process.
The ensuing chaos is a flurry of activity—healers rush in, their expressions tight with disapproval, and several elders appear from nowhere, all sharp eyes and whispered critiques. I can barely keep my temper in check as I let the class out early, my voice cold and clipped.
Walking back to the Shadowcarve Campus, the usual quiet is shattered by a buzz of activity I haven’t seen since Mina first stepped foot through those massive double doors. The courtyard is alive, students and staff alike murmuring and gesturing toward the center. My heart lurches, a strange mix of hope and dread twisting inside me as I push through the crowd.
There, in the middle of the courtyard, stands Abraxis, his wings curled protectively around something—or someone. My breath catches. He moves slightly, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her. Mina. She’s here. Relief crashes over me, leaving me almost dizzy. She looks positively radiant, her hair glinting like polished silver and emerald under the midday sun as she glances around, taking in the sight of familiar faces.
“Let me out, you big lug!” She laughs, pushing against Abraxis’s wings. He relents, unfolding them with a soft, affectionate rumble. The crowd shifts, murmurs of confusion and excitement rippling through them. I take a step closer, my gaze locked on her. There’s something in her arms, wrapped carefully in cloth.
An egg carrier.
My feet move on their own accord, carrying me closer. The smell of the egg reaches me—a unique, ancient scent that sends my senses spinning. A dragon egg. But I can’t tell which one. My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I step into her line of sight.
“What did you bring back?” I manage, my voice coming out softer than I intended.
She glances around, her eyes searching for Balor, Ziggy, and Leander before finally stepping closer. The egg and maybe three inches of space separating us. “I want you to see first—well, fourth. Lysander and, of course, Abraxis already saw.” A soft rose blush colors her cheeks, and I feel my face heat at the sight of it.
“Why me?” The words escape before I can stop them, quieter still.
“Because you don’t feel you deserve to.” Her words are a whisper of truth that cuts deeper than any blade. Her hand reaches up, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before cupping my cheek. I still, the contact sending a shock of warmth through me. The nausea that the others spoke about, the overwhelming protective sensation their bonds defenses—none of it hits me like it did them. Instead, there’s only a strange, calm acceptance. Mina’s eyes soften and she nods slowly, acknowledging what this means for us. Carefully, she moves back the flap of cloth.
The sight of it robs me of breath.
A crimson and silver swirled egg, its colors gleaming like freshly spilled blood and molten metal, sits nestled in the carrier’s depths. The faint hum of power radiates from it, filling the air with a tense, electric charge.
“Klauth never chooses anyone,” I murmur, closing my eye briefly just feeling her hand against my face. Other than the healers, over two hundred years ago, I haven’t let anyone lay a hand on me outside of combat. The thought makes me want to lean into her touch, to savor it.
“He and the black egg chose my dragon and me,” she says firmly, looking down at the egg, then back up into my gaze. “She sang to them, and they both lit up. My dragoness wanted an egg. Through her will alone, we were chosen.” Her voice is steady, but there’s a fire behind it, a fierce protectiveness that matches the raw power simmering in the surrounding air. She steps back, her hand falling from my face, and I miss its heat immediately.
The courtyard has gone utterly silent, the usual hum of voices and shuffling feet replaced by an oppressive quiet. She gently scoops the egg out of its carrier, holding it up for the others to see. The third and fourth years watching in the courtyard are struck dumb, their mouths hanging open in awe.
A low, ominous rumble starts in the sky. The smell of ozone thickens. My gaze snaps upward as lightning flashes overhead, crackling and arcing through the clouds. A ripple of current dances up Mina’s horns as her familiar, the faerie dragon, lands lightly on her shoulder. I knew it. She’s been gifted with the ability to wield her dragon’s breath weapon in human form.
She turns, her glare sweeping across the courtyard, silencing any remaining whispers. I almost feel sorry for the students—almost. Never mess with a female with an egg. I’ve seen dragons raze entire countrysides to protect their nests, and the look in her eyes promises nothing less.
“Let’s move this into my office,” I say quietly, stepping forward and placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her. Her eyes widen slightly, and I pull back, suddenly self-conscious, shoving my hand into my pocket.
Without another word, I turn and start toward my office, my mind still reeling from the revelation. Mina, with an egg. I glance back, just once, to see her following close behind, the egg cradled protectively against her chest. The sight sends a thrill of something unfamiliar through me—something dangerously close to hope.