Last Chance Academy

by Alex Lidell

  My chest tightens for a moment at the memory of the purring ruby, a deep longing for it spilling into my blood before I blink the nonsense away.

  “Demifae and demivampires are products of imprudent pairings with unsuspecting humans, who usually find themselves with offspring they cannot control. Worse, if the human was compelled by the vamp beforehand, they end up with no memory of how the child came to be or who its other parent is,” Asher says without looking at me. I listen to him numbly, barely able to take it all in. “As a result, most demis themselves don’t know what they are until they create enough problems to get the Council’s attention and land themselves here, sponsored by the full-fae and full-vampire communities respectively.”

  Ah, sponsored. That begins to explain the glossy entitlement oozing from them. Fuck. Not only are vampires and fae real, they have damn trust funds. It would all be morbidly funny if it wasn’t happening to me. My pulse quickens, and though I try to listen to Asher, pulling air into my lungs is suddenly an effort. This can’t be real. A dream. Or a high. Except I don’t do that shit. Did someone—

  “Samantha?” Asher’s tawny eyes are very real. And very fucking pissed at having caught me with wondering thoughts.

  “I’m listening, sir,” my well-developed sense of self-preservation replies at once.

  Asher nods. “The demifae come believing their powerful bodies and quick healing are products of their gym excursions, while the demivamps credit their superior intellect instead of compulsion as the reason behind people doing their bidding. Talonswood sets those things to rights and ensures all creatures’ obedience to Council law.”

  “Council?” I say, shutting my mouth quickly as I remember Quinn’s warning and see Asher’s eyes flash in displeasure. “Sir,” I add quickly, not sure if I’m making things better or worse for myself.

  No, of course vampires and fairies are real. Of course there are half-magical assholes running rampant around the world. And of course there’s a Council of higher-up magical assholes ruling them all. Who was I to think I needed more information?

  Asher’s lips press together, making his stern face look even more devastatingly perfect. “In short, the Council enforces basic rules of creature conduct in the human world. There is more to it, but there will be time for history and civics later.” Bending down, Asher picks up the garden hose that seems responsible for the wet earth, flicking the water on with his thumb. “For now, put your things down and strip.”

  “Are you insane?” I wheel on him in time to see one blond eyebrow rise. “I mean to say, are you insane, sir? Because I can get you a straitjacket if you’d like.”

  Asher turns on the hose, aiming the frigid water straight into my chest. “My record at standing here with a cadet is ten hours,” he informs me, voice as cold as the water. “But please, make it twelve. Unlike you, witch, I’m immortal and have all the time in the world.”

  I gasp, choking on the spray, my hands coming up to cover my chest from the icy onslaught. He can’t be serious. He can’t be. Breath hitching, I stare at the two males standing fully clothed before me, their legs spread wide apart in a steady stance that is so at odds with my own curled-in shoulders.

  “We have company.” Reese jerks his chin behind me, and, just when I think the moment could get no worse, I see Ellis walking toward us, golden eyes seeming to gleam impossibly through the encroaching dark.

  A tight look I can’t read passes over Asher’s face as he points to a spot right beside me, repeating the same order he just gave me. “Strip.”

  I wait for Ellis to balk, secretly glad to have someone else fighting against insanity, but the male is already pulling off his gray V-neck. Wet cloth slides off a body a sculpture would envy, revealing that the lithe hard muscles I saw on Ellis’s forearms were only the start. Tanned skin stretches over the eight hard ridges of his abdomen and hugs the pointed crests of his hips, which flow into corded thighs and—I try and fail not to notice the large cock anchored between his legs.

  My face blazes as I realize the man has caught me looking and now grips my gaze with a nonchalant amusement that makes me long for the earth to open.

  Right up until I look more closely at said earth. At the fact that the water running off Ellis’s back is tinged red with blood.

  Holy fucking hell. The gravity of the place I’ve gotten myself sent to crashes down on me with enough force to make me stop breathing. I picture Janie’s face—the reason I took Ellis’s job and Bryant’s deal, the reason I’m here, learning truths about myself I’m not even sure I want to know.

  And still, I would endure far worse than this to keep Janie out of harm’s way.

  As Asher’s spray of water returns to me, I find my hands moving to the zipper of my leather jacket, then the hem of my tank top, my cold fingers fumbling on the clasps of my bra as I strip bare before the cadre who now owns my life. As the new world of Talonswood closes its vise around me, I cling to one desperate mantra.

  Don’t feel. Don’t feel. Don’t feel.

  8

  Asher

  Asher put his hands into his pockets, his stance casual as he leaned against the bay window of the common room in the instructors’ suite he shared with Reese. At least he hoped to hell he looked casual, because inside, he felt anything but. Even as he gazed out at the darkening sky, all he could see was Samantha Devinee, her furious hazel eyes, her cargo pants hanging on the crests of her hips as she finally pulled off her shirt. Her heavy breasts as she pulled off her bra, rosy nipples peaking in the cold as if begging to be sucked. Never. Never in his life had he looked at a naked cadet with anything but cool detachment.

  Now it felt like his body had betrayed him. And he hated Devinee for it, whether it was truly her fault or not.

  Though the little witch barely reached Asher’s shoulder, she took up space. Too much space. Certainly enough to set Asher’s cock pulsing painfully, as if he was some colt, not yet grown into control of his primal urges.

  Of course, he’d been expecting to feel things when he met her—the first witch he’d laid eyes on in four hundred years. Oh yes, he’d expected to feel lots of things, none of them nice.

  And that was what made all of this twist his insides so tightly. It was wholly unacceptable. Not only was Sam Devinee a cadet, she was a witch. After what had happened to him and the others at the hands of a spell caster, that in itself should have made Asher enjoy watching her torment.

  Instead, all he’d felt was irrational fury as he got the full view of the round scars of cigarette burns crawling along her arms, of the other marks wrapped around her too-thin body. Seeing what state the cadets showed up in was most of the reason Asher had instituted that particular intake procedure, though it had the side benefit of setting the tone of who here was in charge. Talonswood cadet residents didn’t end up here by being model citizens—they got snatched up for causing enough trouble among humans to get the Council’s attention.

  Except Samantha. She’d been the victim, not the bully, hadn’t she? Of her birth, of her own unfortunate beauty—too tempting for the scum of the world to ignore, no matter how hard she tried to cover it up with loose clothes and hair dye—of King Bryant’s scheming, of the ancestors who were no longer around to guide a young witch to a power locked inside her.

  Ironically, as much as he’d dreaded her arrival, the petite spitfire Samantha Devinee was the one person in the whole Academy who had done nothing wrong, even if the red streaks in her brown hair betrayed her rebellious nature.

  Red. Asher’s jaw tightened.

  Like the crimson that had run from Ellis’s back for crossing Quinn over the damn girl. Quinn was an ass who Asher couldn’t get rid of, but to have to order the snot-nosed brat to whip Ellis sent a new dread spiraling through Asher’s gut. The witch had not been at the Academy a day, and already there was blood seeping into the ground. She pitted creatures against each other without even trying.

  Hell take him, Samantha’s mere presence was pitting Asher’s ow
n body against him.

  That was the problem with witches.

  It wasn’t fair. To her, to him, to anyone. Barely over twenty, the girl didn’t even know creatures existed, much less that she was one of the last surviving members of her species—but that didn’t stop the trouble she brought with her. And it would not stop Asher’s nightmares of what a witch had done to them from getting a rerun in the coming nights—or Ellis’s or Reese’s, he was willing to bet. Luckily for Cassis, the vampire ran a high-end club off campus and wouldn’t have heard about her yet.

  Asher snorted. It was the first time the four horseman were together since Sienna’s torture chamber four hundred years ago—and it, once more, involved a witch. The bloody irony was not lost on him.

  Let’s not overstate “together,” Asher reminded himself. Ellis and Reese hated each other, and Cassis cared for no one. Not anymore.

  Though Reese has stayed silent as the witch stripped, Asher knew the vampire was just as displeased about a witch’s arrival. Beyond displeased, most likely. When it came to females, Reese got… bristly. Asher suspected that Reese’s frequent stints in the human special forces were simply the surest way of staying away from the female of any species.

  With a sigh, Asher turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of good whiskey from a shelf. Ellis was going to need a drink.

  “You are not supposed to be in the cadre quarters, cadet,” Asher called over his shoulder, setting down the bottle just as the door opened behind him. Extending Ellis a filled glass, Asher shook his head at the blue cadet’s uniform his half brother now wore, his pale blond hair dripping wet. “Are you all right?”

  Taking the offered drink, Ellis downed half of it in one gulp before slowing to savor the full-flavored taste as he sat down on the couch. “Hell, this is good. Is the bloodsucker here?”

  Asher nodded toward the door to Reese’s room and sat. It was bad enough Sam had walked into his world and set it on its ears, but now to have Ellis here under his watch… “About Quinn earlier—”

  “It was the right call. I mouth off, you punish me like anyone else, even if it was practically a child holding the whip. I don’t imagine today’s order will be the last one you issue.” Ellis lifted his chin in challenge. “Unless you’ve gone soft since your navy days? Did you exchange the cat for a time-out?”

  Ignoring the taunt, Asher poured them both another drink. Asher had no problem ordering discipline—it was the norm among immortals, and he’d personally ordered it more times than he could count when he’d led human armies of less modern time. But this was different.

  Ellis had broken himself many times over to keep Asher alive when Sienna captured them, and this new status of Asher being his brother’s senior, it wasn’t how such sacrifices were repaid.

  But Ellis was right. He’d known the cost of insulting Quinn and had done it anyway. Because Ellis was just self-destructive enough for that. Fucking hell. They were all broken toys. Deadly. Honed. And broken. “At least let me see your back.”

  Ellis savored another sip of his drink. “I have a runny nose. Will you wipe that for me as well?”

  “What am I supposed to do with you, Ellis?” Asher snapped, setting his own glass down on the table. “Run you around with the rest of the first years when you can decapitate half the Academy’s cadre without breaking a sweat?”

  “That’s my understanding, yes.” Ellis started to shrug but stopped, stiffening almost imperceptibly. The male could refuse to admit that he felt pain, but he did. “If you want details, ask Dad. So long as I keep the witch alive, that fulfills my sentence—and I have a very loose definition of alive. I can’t tell you how little I care what happens beyond that.” Ellis lifted his glass, speaking over Asher’s shoulder. “Oh, hello there. I can’t say I’ve missed you. I’d worry we would be having a full-on reunion, but I presume Cassis at least is too busy entertaining his cock to bother me.”

  With a sigh, Asher looked up to see that Reese had stepped out of his bedchamber and now stood with one forearm braced against the doorframe, dark hair loose to his shoulders, his other hand holding a glass of blood.

  “I smelled blood.” Reese took a slow sip from his crystal glass. “Fae blood, I mean. And iron. Quinn took an iron tip to you, didn’t he? We don’t allow those to be used on our fae cadets normally, but then, you aren’t one to tell. You probably enjoyed the hell out of it.”

  Ellis snapped his fingers. “Reesand. Now I remember—I meant to bring you some straws. I’ve seen several decrepit humans sip their dinner that way, and thought of you immediately. Hunting is sooooo… Crude, after all. Chewing too.”

  Reese growled, stepping forward into the room with his chest out just as Ellis rose from the couch. The vamp, who usually lost his temper over nothing short of world war, now stood with nostrils flaring, Ellis’s face dancing with amusement.

  “Enough with the bloody monkey dance.” Getting between Ellis and Reese, Asher shoved the males apart. They had bigger problems. Unlike fae and vampires, the witches were mortal and able to practice outright magic in the mortal realm. That Samantha Devinee had no idea how to cast anything didn’t mean she couldn’t. She’d be a valuable weapon in the wrong hands, including her own, once her power was unlocked. The Council had been content to let Asher run Talonswood, but it wouldn’t stay that way now. And once the creature hunters caught wind of the news, they’d be lighting pyres.

  Life would have been easier if Ellis had just killed her. Maybe Asher wasn’t all that sorry for having him whipped after all.

  “What are we going to do about the witch?” Asher asked.

  That got the others’ attention, Ellis returning to his spot on the couch after refilling his and Asher’s glasses and pouring a third glass for Reese.

  “I dinna know what you are going to do,” Ellis said, his words dark with echoes of a different time as he braced his forearms on his knees, “but it’s my fault Devinee is here, and my job to keep her alive.” Throwing back the rest of the whiskey, he put the glass down and headed out the door. “Like I said, however, I have a very loose definition of alive.”

  9

  Sam

  Carrying a stack of starched white shirts, way-too-short plaid skirts, and blue PE gear that Reese silently handed me after he and Asher had their fun, I walk through the lantern-lit hallways of the first-year-cadets’ barracks, skirting around a set of four students on their hands and knees hand-polishing the hardwood floor. The girls make no effort to kneel modestly in their short skirts, showing flashes of silk underwear that I’m sure are intentional. Given the fancy gold-leaf murals along the walls, Talonswood can clearly afford more efficient cleaning methods—which makes this special blend of luxury and humiliation a deliberate choice.

  “Witch crossing,” one of the boys stage-whispers as I pass, his foot snaking out to catch my ankle.

  My whole stack of uniforms splays over the damp floor as I land hard on my hands and knees. Swallowing a curse, I collect the clothes calmly without giving the boy the satisfaction of my anger—and stop at the sight of a large boot holding down the last of my skirts.

  Looking up, I find myself staring at the sharp black widow’s peak at the top of Quinn’s face. “Throwing your clothes off already?” the cadet commander says. “How…unsurprising.” He crouches to get on the same level as me and holds up the skirt with two fingers. “Don’t worry. You’ll be on your knees soon enough.”

  I recoil, but Quinn is already up on his feet, striding over to critique the efforts of the cleaning crew. Gathering all my stuff together, I finally find the stairs and follow the numbers to room 216, as indicated by the slip of paper Reese likewise forked over. A piece of paper. Not a key.

  Because students at Talonswood don’t get keys to their own locks.

  Stopping before 216, I find the nameplate bolted to the door, the small clear compartment fitting two name tags: Bernadette Yalls—demivampire, embossed on thick metal in the top sl
ot, and Samantha Devinee—witch scribbled in marker on a slip of lined paper below.

  I wonder whether my arrival has deprived Bernadette of her single. Glancing over across the hall, I see Ellis’s name marking the door right across from mine. There is no second person on that door. My stomach tightens for a moment, my brain trying and failing to convince itself that having a gorgeous would-be murderer within arm’s reach is somehow a good omen.

  Rapping on the door twice—and getting no response either time—I give Bernadette until a count of five before letting myself inside and surveying my new cage. Unadorned white walls, a light lilac scent in the air, two narrow windows—no curtains, which I’m assuming means no sleeping in. The furniture looks like a lopsided Lego set, with one each of the two identical beds, writing tables, bookshelves, and drawers shoved into a corner like discarded rubbish.

  Sitting behind a writing table on the other side of the room, a girl with a long red braid glares at me over her shoulder, her green eyes flashing with that snarl I know well. Keep your hands off what’s mine.

  “I’m Sam,” I say, smiling—might as well.

  “Yeah,” Bernadette says in a high, velvet-smooth voice, turning back to her work. “I’ve fucking heard.”

  I shrug, dumping my stuff on the floor and pulling out my old flip phone to try Janie. She’ll be out of her mind with worry by now, probably thinking I’m dead in a ditch somewhere.

  “Don’t bother,” Bernadette says without turning. “No internet or cell service off-island for students.” Finally, she turns back around to flick a single chilling glance down my body, from my dripping leather jacket to my baggy camo-green cargo pants with a hole in one knee. “Not that I expect anyone’s waiting desperately for your call anyway.”

  Right. Time to set some ground rules. Grabbing my writing desk—which is currently pressed flush against my mattress, so that I’d have to sit on the bed cross-legged just to use it—I shove the wooden thing right into Bernadette’s drawer set.