by Alex Lidell
The door crashes open behind me, magic coursing through me stronger still as Ellis steps into the room. From the corner of my eye, I see him hold his forearm against the storm as he forges his way toward Quinn and me.
“Don’t, Devinee,” Ellis shouts. “The arse will answer for what he did, but you aren’t a killer.”
“You’re the one who was working on making me one, weren’t you?” The anger and darkness inside me spiral upward in concert with my growing power. I flick my hand, and the torrent of air stops, the solid oak of Bernadette’s headboard suddenly sprouting branches that pin Quinn’s wrists and ankles. Just as Quinn would have held me down. The way the rapists in the foster system grabbed only little skinny wrists, because the children—because I—had no power.
Guess what, asshole? This pup grew up.
The vampire screams, arching against the restraint. For a moment, I’m certain that his muscled body will rip through my hold, but it doesn’t. No. This time, it’s me who has the upper hand.
“Stop,” Quinn screams as I take a step toward him, my stake aiming for his heart. His dark eyes are wide, the dilated pupils speaking of a sad attempt at compulsion.
I shake my head. Quinn didn’t stop, did he? Not when he attacked me. Not when he murdered Bernadette. None of the other Quinns of the world stopped either. I draw my hand back and—
Strong hands grab me from behind, and I inhale a familiar male musk as Ellis shoves me away from Quinn. Before I can recover, Ellis pulls a wicked-looking blade from his boot and, in a single violent motion, slices it across Quinn’s throat. Blood spills onto the vampire’s chest, pulsing with a rare occasional beat of his heart as it slowly drains away, every last drop.
Numbness settles over me, the dead vampire’s sightless eyes filling my vision. Dead. Quinn is dead. Ellis killed him. The oak vines holding Quinn’s body in place die as well, the magic inside me flickering in too many directions to do much of anything.
Dropping the knife, Ellis wraps his arms around me and turns me away from the scene. My face presses into his clean shirt, his wild fresh scent filling my lungs as the steady beat of his heart grounds me in reality. The horror of what almost happened to me, of what I almost did, of what Ellis did do.
“Why did you…” I bury my face in Ellis’s shoulder, my whole body shaking as the male holds me tight—the male who answered my call, who came to help. To save me. Not from Quinn, as it turns out, but from myself. “You said I wasn’t a killer, but you…”
“Because I am what you are not,” Ellis whispers into my hair, his callused hand rubbing a soothing circle between my shoulder blades. “Don’t ever become me, Sam.”
34
Sam
Ellis gives my shoulder a squeeze before releasing me as a horde of people rush into the room. Asher, Reese, the Academy guards with blades drawn.
Raising his palms in proof that no resistance will be offered, Ellis steps toward them and lowers to his knees. At Asher’s nod, one of the guards retrieves Ellis’s bloodied knife, two more twisting the male’s hands behind his back. The snap of handcuffs around his wrists is deafeningly loud.
Loud enough to restart the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Wait!” I step forward, Reese’s hard arm blocks my path. “Wait. He was protecting me. Quinn was going to—”
“Quinn does not seem to have been capable of doing much of anything,” Asher snaps, jerking his chin toward where the dying oak vines are still holding the dead vampire in place. Throwing Quinn’s corpse a look of undistilled hatred, Asher orders the guards to take Ellis to lockup.
My heart pounds.
“Asher!” My words hit the fae male’s broad uniformed back, his mussed hair.
Grabbing the top of my arm, Reese yanks me in the opposite direction.
Three hours later, I’m sitting in a sterile infirmary room, the stern medic who examined and sutured me having tossed me a set of scrubs to change into before leaving. That was two hours ago, and the locked door has not opened since. Hearing a key scrape the lock now, I get anxiously to my feet.
Stepping inside, Reese runs his eyes over me, his expression cold. “No life-threatening injuries,” he says, reading from a clipboard in his hand, his tall, lithe body turning even that routine motion into a dance. “A mild concussion. You are released.”
“What’s happening to Ellis?” I ask, my pulse speeding anew.
“He’ll be bleeding a great deal more than you are,” Reese says evenly, his starkly handsome face and flat blue eyes giving nothing away. “That’s as far as I can promise you. Beyond that, it will be up to Count Victor. I don’t imagine anyone from the Council will step in, given it was the count’s own offspring who Ellis murdered.”
“Reese.” Before I can think better of it, I cover the two paces of space between us and grab his wrist, the cool muscles jumping under my fingers as if trying to get away from my touch. A muscle in his hard jaw tics as he looks down at me. “None of this is Ellis’s fault. It’s mine. Well, it’s Quinn’s and Bernadette’s, but if you need to blame someone who’s still alive, then blame me.”
Reese yanks his arm from my grasp with a crisp, deliberate chop. “We are not on a first-name basis, Ms. Devinee.” The coolness of his body matches his tone. “As for who is at fault for what, there’s plenty to go around. Follow me.”
Saying nothing more, the male leads me across the green to the administrative building, the sign Dean’s Office flashing before me as we enter. Asher, Ellis—his hands still shackled behind his back—and Victor are already inside, the count sitting behind a grand mahogany desk with an open laptop before him. Tall windows line the wall behind him, letting in the first rays of misty dawn light.
“…reportedly, the girl had an absurd notion that I would be attracted to a cadet trapped in a cage,” Victor is saying to someone on the screen. “Whatever gave her that idiotic idea remains unknown. However, I can confirm that the body of Bernadette Yalls, demivampire, was found in the woods. Cause of death is consistent with neck trauma.” He glances up at me. “You saw Quinn snap the girl’s neck?”
I blink, forcing myself to sound as firm and reasonable as Victor. “Errr. Yes, sir. I did. He—”
Victor’s attention is already back on his screen, an unfamiliar voice sounding from the speakers.
“Is there evidence of an assault on the witch?”
My face heats.
“She claims Quinn attempted sexual assault but did not succeed. However, several other cadets have come forward claiming the male has done as much to them.”
Silence fills the room, the people on the other end of the video conference seeming to have muted their mikes in deliberation. Taking advantage of the lull, I try to make eye contact with Ellis, but he never deviates from the alert pose he holds. Beside him, Asher is scowling as he watches the ongoing conference call—though from what I can tell so far, Count Victor is actually a voice of bloody reason.
“Count Victor.” The computer speaks again, while the count taps his finger on the tabletop. “Given your relationship to Quinn…the Council is ready to hear your recommendations. It is our hope that the situation can be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. We would, of course, consult with King Bryant before a drastic measure against Ellis is taken, but given—”
“That will not be necessary.” Victor flicks his hand dismissively, both Asher’s and Ellis’s brows drawing together in quickly hidden surprise. “Our good king of Talon has been using his bastard to do his dirty work for the past four centuries and will do little but celebrate the death of one more vampire. I think it best if I manage the situation myself. Someone certainly needs to be handling this mess.”
“What exactly are you implying, Victor?” a new voice pipes up from the computer.
“Exactly what you heard, Dean Javin. That when it comes to running a reform school, you are no more useful than a doormat. I’d have thought the four assaults and two murders that happened on your lack of watch would speak for themselve
s, but perhaps not.” Victor’s tone hardens. “When Talonswood Reform was created, we all acknowledged that we were dealing with delinquents. That this place had to be run with an iron hand, which Dean Javin has either forgotten or overlooked.”
Victor shakes his head at the screen. “It is the responsibility of the Talonswood administration to create an environment where illegal behavior isn’t simply not tolerated, but is not given an opportunity to happen in the first place. A responsibility Javin has shirked. As such, given that I am already here, I call for an immediate Council vote to have Talonswood placed under my command.”
The ringing silence of muted mikes fills the air again, then four high-pitched rings and one low buzz sound from the speakers, making the corner of Victor’s mouth twitch in pleased acknowledgment. “I will report my progress shortly,” he tells the people on the screen before closing his laptop and surveying the room with an ice-cold gaze.
“Playtime is over, Mr. Asher.” Victor’s words send a chill down my spine. “Welcome to the new Talonswood Reform.”
The adventure continues in LAST CHANCE REFORM, Immortals of Talonswood Book 2. If you are reading an ebook version of this book, please continue for a FREE preview of Alex Lidell’s best-selling reverse harem fantasy romance, POWER OF FIVE.
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1. Leralynn
“Lera!” Mimi’s voice bounces through the stable, turning horses’ heads.
“Over here,” I call from the backmost stall, running my hand down a gelding’s velvety neck. The horse whickers softly, his warm sides heaving as steam rises from his coat to mix with the stable’s chill air. The earthy scent of hay and leather, tangled with the grassy waft of horse manure, wraps the stable in a familiarity that has become my refuge from Master Zake’s mix of leers and blows.
Leaning my forehead against the horse, I draw long, steadying breaths. I’m on edge, have been since last night, though I can’t put my finger on what’s making my soul churn. Maybe it’s the way Zake has been watching me lately, like I’m water in a drought—that should either be drunk up before it’s gone or else sold for a tidy sum. Or maybe it’s just the wolf from my dream that’s still frightening me. Gray with black around the muzzle, golden eyes, and a powerful maw of sharp teeth. A foolish thing to be uneasy about. The only forest near Zake’s estate is Mystwood, which separates mortal lands from the fae. If there is a wolf in Mystwood, he wouldn’t venture out. Animals don’t like going in and out of those woods. And I don’t blame them. I feel a shiver anytime I go near the forest’s edge.
Actually, no one but Zake likes Mystwood, and he doesn’t so much like the forest as worship it. Someone long ago told him that a clan of fae warriors shall one day emerge from the forest and take a human with them to the immortal lands. Zake filled in the rest of the tale with images of heroic battles, fawning women, and sparkling immortality. Thinking this too great a temptation to resist, the man built himself an estate at Mystwood’s edge and has spent two decades waiting for fortune to show up with an invitation.
Perhaps I am too hard on the man, though—we all need something to dream about. Then again, mortals who try to cross into fae lands never return, though their bones and ravaged bodies sometimes appear at Mystwood’s edge. Not all dreams are safe.
“Oh, bloody stars.” Mimi puts her hands on her waist and regards me critically. “Get out of there before Zake gives you a new set of bruises. He pays you to mulch shit, not hug livestock.”
“Zake pays me?” I say, raising a brow. I might theoretically be earning wages, but after Zake skims off my room and board and other “upkeep,” as the indentured-servant trade calls it, I see little more than pennies.
Mimi grabs my wrist and hauls me out of the stall. She is even shorter than I am, the age my mother might be if she were still alive, and she works in the kitchens, so there is often a piece of bread or cheese in a pocket for me, together with a smell of flour trailing in her wake. Mimi is as close to family as I’ve had since Zake purchased me from one of the orphan collectors twelve years ago. I don’t remember what happened before then, but I do remember freezing one moment and being hauled atop a warm horse the next.
That was the one and only time I’ve ridden. I think Zake fears that I’ll run off in the middle of the night if I could ride, though there is no place for me to go.
“Zake will give you a great deal more than pennies if you let him.” Mimi brushes stray hay off my mane of auburn hair and arranges the locks over my shoulder. “He’s been waiting for you for years, Leralynn, and I don’t think he’ll put up with your coyness for too much longer.”
“If last week’s whipping was a sign of courtship, I think he might be barking up the wrong tree. Never mind that he is twice my age and in love with a fairy tale.”
Mimi clicks her tongue. “You might be the one in love with fairy tales, dear. Zake is only twice your age, is rough for work, not drink, and he’s never once forced himself on you. How many masters would respect a stable girl’s maidenhead, eh?”
“All the ones who think said maidenhead might fetch them a hefty sum.”
Taking a warm roll from her pocket, Mimi stuffs it into mine, the smell of yeast and fresh bread making me groan. “I, for one, would enjoy calling you ‘mistress.’ You would live in the house, have food and clothing and heat. It would be a better life for you than cleaning stalls.”
“I like cleaning stalls.” Reaching back, I close the gelding’s door, which slides smoothly on oiled wheels. Zake does take good care of his property—when he thinks it will line his pockets.
“Now, then.” Mimi claps her hands. “Pay attention, girl. The kitchens are abuzz with rumors of a wolf stalking the estate grounds. Master Zake’s on his way back here to go hunting, and I thought it might be nice if you had a horse ready for him when he comes. Tell him to stay safe, fuss a bit. It wouldn’t hurt.”
I freeze, my mouth going dry. “Wolf?” I lick my lips. “What kind of wolf, Mimi?”
“I don’t know. The meat-eating kind, I presume.” She sighs. “You are focusing on the wrong part of the news. If you aren’t going to be useful, then perhaps scram before Zake comes, eh? You don’t need to be rejecting the man outright. And you might change your mind too.”
Yes. Leave before Zake arrives heated for a hunt. That’s exactly what I need to be doing.
Except I can’t. I need to save that wolf. And I have no idea why.
“I can’t scram—the horses want their dinner,” I say mildly, as if my heart isn’t galloping. “What has the wolf done?”
“Nothing yet.” Mimi waves a hand dismissively. “With stars’ fortune, Zake’s men can put it down before it causes trouble and brings pack mates to help.”
Pack mates. Yes, the wolf likely has those who’ll mourn him and howl at the moon in loneliness, which I know too well. All because the innocent animal crossed Zake’s property line.
The sounds of men’s voices and clanging weapons ring from outside the barn door, and Mimi’s face tightens. Unlike me, Mimi does what she is told and has almost saved enough to pay off her upkeep debts. “Come, girl. Either support the man or disappear from sight, eh?”
“You go.” I push Mimi out the back stable entrance just as Master Zake pulls open the sliding front door. By the time his heavy boots echo through the stalls, I’m standing in the middle of the aisle again, my thick locks billowing in the sudden gush of wind.
The icy cold cuts my skin, making even my freckles shiver, but I tighten my hold on the hay-filled wheelbarrow and curtsy. “My lord.”
Around forty, Zake is large, healthy, and muscular, with a thick head of wiry brown hair. He’s amassed a series of scars to go along with his sharp temper, including a long slash across his face that gives him a perpetually displeased expression. Frowning at my wheelbarrow, Zake lifts a heavy saddle with one hand and carries it into a stall. “You should have finished with that ha
lf an hour ago, Leralynn,” he calls. “Once I return with this damn wolf’s pelt, you and I shall discuss the meaning of punctuality.”
Bile rises in my throat. “Don’t. Please, Master Zake.”
Zake sticks his head out of the stall, his gaze raking my body and making his scar stretch. “Don’t whip you for laziness?” he inquires with more interest than the question warrants.
I hug my arms over my chest. “Don’t hunt the wolf. It . . . it might be a female.” It isn’t. But I don’t know how I know this, or what else to say. All I know, deep inside me, is that hurting that wolf would be very, very bad. “Maybe she has cubs. Little ones who nurse from her and need her and—”
“Shade is most definitely not nursing cubs.” The unfamiliar voice, rich and musical, comes from the open stable door. Where there was only wind moments ago, now I see a tall man with deeply carved muscles, red hair, and amused emerald-green eyes. Dressed in supple brown leather armor that bares his long, corded arms, he moves with a feline grace that should be impossible to achieve. His mouth, which seems to be caught in a permanent smile, flashes white teeth with just a hint of point on the canines.
I’ve never seen something so beautiful.
He cocks his head at me and my breath catches.
Ears. Delicately pointed ears, one of which is crowned with an intricately worked silver earring. The man isn’t a man at all, but an immortal fae male from beyond the Mystwood forest.
Zake seems to realize the same thing just as I do, and he gasps, eyes wide. Stepping in front of me, my master bows low to the visitor. “Welcome, High One.” Zake’s voice shakes a bit. “I’ve been awaiting you.”
The man—the male—snorts, his eyes skipping over Zake to focus on mine. The nagging feeling inside my core pulses in recognition, but my mind remains blank. I have no idea who this male is, though my body seems to know him. I take a step back, my hand closing around a pitchfork.