by Rhea Watson
“She always does,” I rumbled, rolling my eyes and grazing the tender flesh above that white lace collar with my fingers. Goosebumps lifted as far as the eye could see, but before I could do anything further, slip my hand between her parted thighs so that her heart beat right out of her chest, Alecto grabbed my face with both hands and tugged.
I could have resisted. Her strength was nothing to me—a fly pestering a bear.
But I indulged her, letting her guide me back to her wild eyes, her smudged lipstick, her frizzy hair.
“Shit that matters this time,” she insisted, heartbeat slowing, breath coming easier. The slight flick of her brows had me conceding with another eye roll, big and dramatic for her to see this time. Even though I didn’t exactly scamper away, she still managed to shimmy off the counter and turn around, her ass nudged right up against my aching cock. Scowling, I stepped back to sort the insistent bastard out.
Next time, we wouldn’t stop.
Next time, I’d bend her over this counter and plunge into the exquisite hellfire between her thighs before I ever walked away.
Unfortunately, this meeting seemed to matter to her, so it mattered to me. Therefore, I let her attempt to fix her makeup in peace, watching as she removed the lipstick smears with a wet wipe. When she turned that makeup remover on me, I indulged her once more, allowing her to clean the telltale red from my lips, my chin, my cheek.
Savage thing, marking me up like that—announcing her claim to all other women. This one’s mine, the lipstick declared.
No one had ever claimed me before.
“What… did you mean by that?” I asked a few moments later, more myself again with the monster locked in his cage. “Iris said some shit… When?”
“Come on.” Throwing her hands up, Alecto scrutinized her reflection with a Well, it’ll have to do scowl, then motioned for the door. “I’ll tell you on the way up.”
While I followed her into the echoey stairwell as usual, she barely made it two steps before I snagged her hand.
Threaded our fingers together.
Made a claim of my own, listening to her whispered tale about the run-in with Benedict and Iris last night.
Gripping hard, assuring her I had her back.
Not letting go—not even when we marched into the staffroom and found Iris Prewett in Jack’s usual spot at the head of the table.
Not when Benedict Hammond sneered at us from Prewett’s side, her new right-hand man.
Not when we settled at the opposite end, me putting Alecto into a seat between myself and Gavriel, the fae frowning down at our clasped hands for a beat before leveling that confusion onto Iris.
And definitely not when we all learned things at Root Rot Academy were about to get worse.
Much, much worse.
3
Alecto
“That was the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.” I glared out at a black horizon, legs dangling, feet weaving, an ice-cold beer clutched in both hands on my lap. The only protection against the March chill came in the form of Bjorn’s massive knit sweater, which smelled so deliciously like him I could live in it forever, but I was too pissed about everything that had gone down in the last hour to focus on how small and cozy I felt wearing it.
In fact, I was too pissed to even process that I was currently seated on top of the staff tower—literally on the lip of the roof that flared out, its rigid steepled point soaring over my shoulder, a vampire to my right and a fae to my left.
“Jack didn’t even do anything,” I grumbled, eyes watering as another gentle whoosh of cool night air washed over us, toying with the curly fuzzies that had escaped my braid crown. “He… He was ready to sacrifice himself for us so we could get away, and they fucking fired him for that?”
“You have to admit, he should at least be under some sort of investigation,” Gavriel mused, meticulously patting his herbal mixture into a long, thin wooden pipe. “I mean, one of his students died.”
His silvery gaze reflected tonight’s unfettered starlight as it slid my way. Briefly, he looked like he was waiting for me to agree with him. Gnawing on the insides of my cheeks, I shoved my can of Guinness in his face, then cracked it open right under his nose, the obnoxious sizzle telling him exactly what I thought of his opinion.
The fae didn’t even flinch. His eyes narrowed slightly, and a beat later, he rolled them to the high heavens.
“Pout all you want,” he muttered, back to fiddling with his pipe. “You know I’m right.”
“And you know Jack is the best thing that has happened to this academy in years,” Bjorn countered. We both glanced at the vampire, his skin paler than usual in the moonlight, a stunning porcelain god in nothing more than a white undershirt after chivalrously insisting—demanding—I wear his sweater. “He deserves more than some… abrupt dismissal.”
Huffing, I slurped down my first sip of bitter dark stout and busied myself with the stars. Both of them had a point, of course, which meant the situation was way more complicated than our newly appointed—temporary—headmistress had made it out to be. Even though many of my coworkers were scattered around Europe, the US, and South Asia on their spring vacations, Iris had still opted to call a Sunday night meeting to announce Jack’s dismissal.
I’d nearly lost my shit.
Twice.
If Bjorn hadn’t squeezed my hand to the point of almost fracturing bone, I might have been fired on the spot for aggressive insubordination.
Because it was all bullshit.
Absolute garbage.
The way Iris framed it, Alice’s death fell squarely on Jack’s shoulders—and I’d been nothing but a witless pawn against the might of some secret siren clan who had found their way into the castle. No discussion of the portal, of magic far too complex for simple sirens to conjure. No mention of Jack’s bravery, his sacrifice on that altar to save us. Not even a hint of the fact that I had fought off a battalion of sea psychos all by myself. Nothing. Nothing but some fluffy version of the truth that made my blood boil.
The high council of academies had no choice, apparently: the only logical course of action was to remove the guilty party—Jack Clemonte, the best headmaster Root Rot Academy had ever seen… in my totally unbiased opinion—and find a new captain of the ship. Until then, of course Iris would do her duty for this academy and its students.
Which I guess meant beating the shit out of delinquent teenagers, because she had immediately launched into some overly rehearsed rant, dramatic pauses and all, about how we would return to more traditional reform-school practices. Nothing had been elaborated on, but she offered everyone around the table the same deal she gave me last night: generous severance packages plus a letter of recommendation for those who couldn’t stomach the old ways.
Awkward glances and uncomfortable whispers galore plagued the staffroom tonight, and Iris had ever so generously given us the week to think it over, while also casually dropping the news that she had professors ready to take over all our classes and finish out the academic year.
You know, grown adults who had no qualms in following standard—barbaric—reform procedures.
Just…
Fucking bullshit.
In hindsight, it was better that I hadn’t flipped out in front of everyone. I deserved a medal for the restraint, what with Iris’s fanciful retelling of the siren incident that painted me as a useless victim and Benedict Hammond’s goading sneers from her side… This was the most difficult staff meeting I had ever endured.
But I got through it.
Mostly thanks to the vampire with his arm stretched out behind me, curved ever so slightly around my hip. Hell, even the fae to my left igniting his pipe with just his fingertip had played a small part in nudging me over the finish line. After all, Gavriel was the one to invite me to the roof—to his and Bjorn’s supersecret, no-girls-allowed clubhouse on top of the tower. Apparently they came here all the time to drink and smoke and bitch about… everything. Students. Colleagues.
Me, probably, since I had something with both of them.
Something cozy and all-consuming with Bjorn, like sliding into a hot, sudsy lavender bath at the end of a long day and feeling every muscle relax.
Something feisty and combative with Gavriel, the electricity between us keeping me on my toes in the best way possible—one that made me examine myself and try to be better without judging my flaws.
And then there was Jack, that something solid as an oak, the eye of the storm. Jack Clemonte represented a true stability I’d never had in my life before, a companionship that came with a little pain and a whole lot of cuddles. A fucked-up combination to some, but one I had come to realize I felt the safest in when the walls were crashing down.
Now he was gone—just like that. A snap of Iris’s bony fingers and, poof, my life-support here at Root Rot was down by one.
No one had let me see him today. Not in his private hospital room and not up at his suite, a pair of burly, thick-headed warlock guards insisting Jack Clemonte was strictly off-limits to all faculty and students.
Because of fucking course he was. Just the icing on the cake, that.
Benedict had tried to linger after the meeting, the worst thorn in my side by far, but with Gavriel and Bjorn glaring him down right alongside me, he bailed before the staffroom cleared out. He knew me for me, just as he knew I knew him for him—the game was on, war on the horizon. Corwin against Hammond, just like before.
If I didn’t watch my back, he might just stick a knife in it.
Up here, however, with a spectacular view of the grounds bathed in moonlight, sandwiched by Bjorn and Gavriel, Guinness slowly willing my body to relax, at least I could breathe a little.
Which was a far cry from how it had started, me clinging to Bjorn’s back and squealing while he literally climbed out a window and scaled the tower’s rocky exterior. Gavriel hadn’t been around to witness that, thank the gods, off to fetch my beer and his pipe contents, but now that I was seated and settled, it was actually a really nice spot.
Private. Secluded. Quiet.
With a long sigh, I slugged back a good third of my beer in a single go. The last forty-eight hours had been such a whirlwind; at this point, I was just drained. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Alice, Jack, Iris, Benedict—the gorgeous creatures on either side of me. It was all… a lot.
Except for that kiss.
Oh, gods, that kiss in the bathroom had made a swarm of butterflies ten thousand strong pinwheel around my belly…
I wanted to go back to that, to kissing Bjorn and not caring about my ruined makeup.
Everything else disappeared when his lips met mine, and what I wouldn’t give to live in that hot, happy little bubble forever.
As if sensing my train of thought, Bjorn readjusted his arm across my back, shifting closer and cupping the curve of my ass beneath all the excess wool. His touch had an oddly possessive quality to it, totally unexpected but very welcome, the firm, confident grip promising me he wouldn’t let me fall—in more ways than one.
Goosebumps skittered up my arms, my neck, and I ignored the vampire’s smirk out of the corner of my eye.
“So,” I started up again with a huff, “we’re basically going back to the way things were?”
“Iris never let the old guard die,” Gavriel insisted, his smoky words drifting to the left, caught on an easterly breeze. “She maintained a pretty tight grip on the den mothers and security—most of them were her hires, and I think Jack’s presence has been the only thing keeping them in line.”
I couldn’t picture den mothers manhandling their charges, but who knew; maybe I had a romanticized view of those shifters, thinking of the students as their cubs. Iris had announced at the meeting that all new security would arrive tomorrow, some elite freelance warlock unit that had patrolled the best academies in the world—here to lay down the law and cull this year’s mischief. Rage curdled in my gut, making the stout I usually enjoyed heavy, sitting there like a lead weight.
“And what did you two do before?” I looked left and right, Gavriel to Bjorn and back again. After all, they both had more years in this place than me or Jack. “Y’know, when they beat kids and called my oak the fucking whipping tree.”
Bjorn looked away first, his icy sapphire gaze plummeting to the trees on either side of the academy’s entrance walkway, the very same I had stumbled down with six trunks in tow, a bored Iris waiting by the main doors to give me the world’s most patronizing castle tour.
Gods, that felt like a lifetime ago.
Gavriel, meanwhile, exhaled a cloud of light grey smoke that slowly curled and twisted into the silhouette of the courtyard oak tree—which I ruined with a swipe of my hand, annoyed that neither had a response ready for me.
They… They couldn’t have been involved in the old practices. Not Bjorn. Gavriel could be an asshole sometimes, but he generally steered clear of students altogether.
Unless they caught his eye for Darkwell, probably.
“I requested all security and den mothers stay out of my classroom during lectures,” Bjorn admitted, still studying the ebb and flow of the canopy below. “I’d proved I could handle student outbursts and altercations… I did my best to keep my class a safe space.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever mingled with students,” Gavriel said shortly after, shrugging, pipe in hand and the air tinged with the scent of caramelized sugar—like a smoky crème brûlée. “The others have more contact. I generally just put my head down and work—make sure the rest do the same.”
Our eyes met through his next inhale, and my lips thinned into a Sure you do, buddy line that had him arching a challenging brow, daring me to call him out. Even though my deep dark secret was no longer a secret to Bjorn, I’d given my word to keep Gavriel’s—but he definitely did more than work in this castle, forever on the hunt for the next worthy Darkwell Academy applicant until he reached his quota.
Which… wasn’t great.
But we had worse shit to deal with in the very near future.
And even if Darkwell was the Devil’s school, at least it didn’t have a reputation for beating their students bloody to keep them in line.
“Well, I’m not leaving so they can torture my kids, and I hope everyone else tells Iris where to shove her stupid severance package,” I snapped. “Seriously, that reform school procedure crap will not fly around me.”
“Don’t give her a reason to terminate you.” Bjorn smoothed his hand around further, fully tucking me under his arm, the pressure of his touch enough to cool my spiking temper. “You can’t take down Benedict from outside the ward.”
“His ward,” Gavriel added, like I needed the reminder. It wasn’t up yet, but that impenetrable magical barrier was set to launch tomorrow, and naturally the academy’s spellwork professor would be overseeing the process. He wasn’t the only one involved, however.
“Your ward, too.” Although rare, two magical casters could, in theory, combine their power to craft an even more powerful ward. Iris had gone on about the indestructibility of warlock and fae magic threading together to create the strongest ward any academy had ever seen—as it should have been all along.
Jack had spearheaded the campaign to remove Root Rot’s original ward, insisting that the walls were enough—that allowing students the chance to breathe, to not feel like they were in a prison, would foster trust between everyone.
But then a clan of sirens embedded a portal in the school—supposedly.
“Well, you know, I’m hardly surprised she sought out the might of the fae to—”
I slurped my beer noisily to drown him out, staring at him the entire time, unimpressed that he chose this moment to stroke his ego. Seriously, fae were so up their own asses it was laughable. Even Bjorn shot him a look, easing forward to peer around me with a Know your audience expression that had Gavriel rolling his eyes again.
“Honestly, it’s like I can’t say one fucking word with you two.”
“We
ll, stop saying stupid words and we’ll stop calling you out on them,” I muttered over my beer can’s rim, then downed another third with a scowl. Easy as it was to descend into a sniping match with Gavriel, it was just a fun distraction. Everything was crumbling under our feet, and if Jack was well and truly gone—please, gods, don’t let that be true—this academy was in for a rough ride.
And I couldn’t just stand by and watch it happen.
Which put Benedict on the back burner—fucking again—for the sake of kids who needed someone to fight for them.
“I feel… helpless,” I admitted, knowing their sensitive hearing would catch my whisper even as the wind charged across the tower. Bjorn hugged tighter to stop the breeze from taking me with it, and Gavriel cupped a hand around his pipe to keep the embers lit. When it all died down, I nuzzled into Bjorn’s side, suddenly aware that at some point, mine and Gavriel’s thighs had nestled together, feeding off the other’s body heat. “Like, about a lot of things.”
A fingertip suddenly jumped into the corner of my left eye, and I flinched back and smacked Gavriel’s hand away when he tried to go for the huge angry bump on my forehead. Benedict might have hurt me last night, but I’d drawn first blood, the slashes on his cheeks from my nails waxy and pink tonight, almost healed over—visible only if you knew to look for them.
And I did.
With relish, I took in each one with a smug, goading little grin of my own.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to just kill him?” Bjorn offered, gaze lingering on the bump as well, hand suddenly creeping up my waist, then smoothing over across my upper thigh. “It’d take five minutes at the most—”
“If we are finally resorting to physical violence,” Gavriel interjected with a dramatic groan, “then I call the first crack at him. I can’t stand the fucker—he’s even more insufferable now that I know he chose Ash Cedar as a pseudonym and landed on Root Rot of all places for his interminable exile.”