Kill or Be Killed: A Reverse Harem Paranormal University Academy Romance (Cain University Book 2)

by Lucy Auburn

  It's just physical.

  Nothing more.

  Chapter 14

  "How far can you reach your awareness? Are you able to touch on the emotions of any animals outside the university gates?"

  Instructor Abarra paces back and forth in front of me, Wyatt's hand warm, broad, and tight in mine. I should be concentrating on using my Emotional Affinity to find animals to communicate with—Abarra made it clear that I wouldn't be getting the chance to release more of the university's lab rats, snakes, birds, or cats—but my mind is other places.

  Grayson didn't show up to training today.

  He left Wyatt with a note to give us; apparently he's "sick." I don't believe it. It's clear that he's avoiding me. Ever since I developed the ability to take away the guys' weaknesses when we maintain physical contact, he's been afraid to get close enough to brush against my sleeve. And just because I know why doesn't mean that I appreciate being treated like a disease carrier.

  Besides, there's something I want to try with my Spiritual Affinity. So far I haven't been able to tap into it at all unless we were touching. He owes me the chance to figure it out—he's my Conduit for a reason, after all. It frustrates me that he's blowing our training off when it's so important.

  "Something wrong?" Wyatt eyes me sideways, curiosity in his eyes. "You seem... distracted."

  I can tell it still surprised him when he can speak for long stretches without stumbling over his own tongue. The words leave his mouth at a clipped pace, as if tumbling off his tongue, falling carelessly from his lips. I'm happy for him—and irritated at myself for not paying attention to the task at hand.

  "Just frustrated. I wish my powers made sense."

  "They will," he reassures me. "Mine didn't really start to work well, until one day, they just did. Then the weakness came." The grimace on his face makes it clear how he feels about that. "You'll know that your powers have settled the day you find your weakness."

  I wonder what it was like for Wyatt, suddenly waking up one day to discover his voice had been strangled by a wayward tongue. Or Levi, walking along a tightrope only to hear a groan and a clatter as his graceful body made more noise than it should have. For Mason it would've taken a wound—maybe one of the scars across his face showed him his weakness. And of course, Grayson would've stumbled in pain, unable to walk, and sought answers in the form of a pill bottle.

  Shaking off the thoughts, I quip at Wyatt, "I hope my weakness turns out to be the inability to fart."

  He grins. "Me too."

  "Now, about these powers..."

  Concentrating, I let my awareness ripple out. During Emotional Class we learned how to center ourselves, take deep breaths, and release our worries with a simple sigh. Telling everyone what I was concerned about wasn't top of my list, but I gave a few bullshit, simple confessions to the group: I was worried about my classes, about graduation, and concerned about the man who kidnapped me.

  Well, none of those are lies. But what weighs on me most these days are thoughts of my mother's killer. I have to find him, no matter what it takes. No more thinking or planning or ruminating—time to take action in any way that I can. And I know just how to do it.

  With a plan in mind to find my mother's killer, I'm able to let go of my emotional worries and focus on the present instead. My awareness expands to find the little emotional energies of every animal on campus. More than one is an animal I released; Penny is pleased with herself, grooming her ears, while deep in the courtyard, a rat snake slithers through the rosebushes, tongue testing the air to find its prey.

  Chewing my lower lip, I try to reach out further, but seem to knock up against the academy walls. They hedge me in somehow, holding me and my power inside.

  Frustrated, I snap back to myself and frown at Abarra. "My powers won't leave the gates at all."

  "Exactly!" Looking pleased with herself, she glances back at Levi and Mason. "Can anyone who's been here longer tell her why?"

  Sounding aggrieved, Levi says, "Because the wards around the campus keep our power in."

  "That's right. Spells to prevent any particularly unstable Affinity from affecting what goes on outside the university's walls." So she just had me try something futile. Great. "It's important to learn the limits of our power, though. In reaching beyond the gates, Ellen, you found that you can expand your Affinity to its limit—something that will come in handy in the field. After all, who among us wouldn't like to command a venomous snake to take out a Mark for us, or use a diving falcon's claws to distract our foes? A useful ability, if you ask me. For more than just releasing animals from cages."

  A question occurs to me. In the Black Serpent's pocket dimension, we weren't able to use our powers—for the most part. But when we held hands they worked, even though they shouldn't have. "Is there some reason why the wards might break? A way for magic to get in?"

  Leaning towards me, Wyatt says, "Good question. I've been wondering how the campus could fall to an attack ever since we wandered into a moment in the future."

  I wasn't thinking of that at all, but I don't admit it aloud, because I know it should be a bigger worry of mine. But whatever happens in the future to destroy half the campus and empty it of students and teachers, I can't let myself worry about it—that's Headmaster Shu's job, after all.

  "Magical wards can break," Abarra tells us, sounding thoughtful. "Time is their biggest enemy. They grow weak in places. Smaller creatures, and small bits of magic, wander through. That's why we have our wards rebuilt every four years—a difficult process, since they have to be destroyed first to be built up again, leaving the university temporarily vulnerable."

  Alarm pricks the back of my neck. "And when exactly will that happen next?"

  "Oh, you don't need to worry about it." Abarra waves away my concerns. "Just worry about your training. Now, if you could try something new: call a flying animal to us. I want to see what you're capable of."

  Sighing, I squeeze Wyatt's hand—buoyed by the squeeze he gives mine in return—and reach out, above my head, to feel for any birds, bats, or butterflies that I might be able to influence.

  Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll find a bird that can swoop by Grayson's room and poop on his head on the way here.

  He deserves that, and more, for not showing up to training today.

  As soon as training is over, I knock on Grayson's door. I know that he'll be in there–Wyatt said as much—and more importantly, I got Wyatt to agree to give me some time with his roommate. He said he'd hang out in Mason and Levi's room, and left it at that.

  It takes a few long minutes of knocking, but eventually I hear a grumbled curse, then the sound of a cane hitting the floor. Grayson opens up the door and leans against it, glaring at me, his position giving me a brief glimpse of the small, messy room beyond.

  "What do you want, Ellen?"

  I swear, whoever put a bunch of twenty-something killers in a university plopped in the middle of literal nowhere and made them share rooms really wasn't thinking. If there haven't been at least a handful of deaths here related to roommate arguments, I'd be shocked. There's barely space for two full beds, two desks, and a single bookshelf in there. No wonder the Fuckfaces all want so desperately to become members of the Shadow Fold and move on—Eve's room, and her house, are clearly better than these little rooms they put them in. No wonder Grayson rooms with Wyatt—anyone else would've strangled him by now.

  "You clean up," I tell him, though the room is still messy. "It almost looks like I could... yep, I fit right here, going in."

  Grayson grumbles as I push past him into the room. Surveying the two desks, I pick the one with the least amount of shit piled on top of it, and plunk my butt down in the chair. Standing by the open door, Grayson glares in my direction, refusing to move into the room with me.

  "I'm sick," he says, in a very unconvincing tone of voice. "You'll get sick too if you stay here and breathe my germs. It's," cough cough, so fake, "very bad."

  "Shut the fuck up." He
glowers harder; I glare in response. "You bailed today."

  "So? What are you, the truancy officer? I seem to remember you bailing on plenty of classes so far."

  He has a point. But we both know he wasn't slacking off. Something occurs to me. "Are you mad that I beat you today in class?"

  "No." He snorts, dismissing the idea with a condescending twist of his lips and a wave of his hand. "Professor Vervaine is fine, and good at what she does, but her idea of what makes a good Mental Affinity is... narrow. I don't care about changing the shape of a little spirit man some dead person trapped in a clock for some inane reason."

  Thinking about it, I find myself agreeing. "Magic is dumb."

  "What do you want, Ellen?" So brusque and to the point. "Because you're not here to tell me off for skipping out on training, that much is obvious. So just spill it already and spare us both the continued torture of your presence here."

  The thing is, though, Grayson doesn't look tortured. At least, not in the condescending, put-upon way he implies. He keeps staring at me, only to look away when I glance at him. Fiddling with stuff on the desk, I feel his eyes, and wonder why it is that he looks like a parched man in the desert when I stare back at him.

  Maybe he's just thinking about how amazing it would feel to not be in pain anymore.

  That must be it. The hollow, haunted look in his eyes—that's just an addict staring at his next possible fix. No wonder he warned me that he might chop my hand off.

  Too bad I don't believe he'd really go there. And if he tries, well—I have my great-great-grandfather's knife tucked into a sheath around my ribs, courtesy of Eve intervening and making one for the blade. I can defend myself from Grayson if it comes to it.

  "I want you to help me speak to ghosts." His mouth thins, and I jump in quickly to add, "It's important. Very important. I want to know who killed my mom."

  "How are you going to figure that out?"

  "By asking her."

  "Ah. Now the reason why you're here is clear. You want to use me for my body."

  Irritation prickles in my chest. "Levi. Now you. Stop making it sound so dirty."

  "You're in a fine mood. Normally a little joke doesn't make you snap so easily."

  "And you know me so well, after about a week? Don't even try to change the subject. I need your help. Are you going to give it to me, or come up with some reason why you can't help me find my mother's murderer?"

  His eyes flash in anger, and he snarls as he takes a single, tortured step towards me. "We talked about this. I made my position clear."

  "You can't fake sick for every training session."

  "Can't I?"

  "You're so stubborn!" I throw my hands up and rise out of the chair, facing off against him. "I don't understand why you're treating me this way."

  "Would you prefer that I not protect you from me? I'm an addict, Ellen. But clearly you don't understand."

  I stare at him, sensing something beneath the surface of his words, something hidden. He told me that he was an addict, and I believe him, but I don't think his deep confession came from a need to tell me the truth or get close to me. There's something else he's hiding, and the addiction is just an excuse to push me away. The frustration of knowing I'll never get the whole truth out of him makes me clench my fists in anger.

  "You're maddening," I tell him. "You've been an ass to me from the start, and it was uncalled for. You've never apologized for treating me poorly. And that mouth of yours—sometimes I wish I could slap it off your face. Maybe I will."

  I take a step forward, anger burning in my veins. Grayson leans back, his nostrils flaring with temper, his icy blue eyes cold as he stares at me. There's a line of tension running through his jaw, his teeth no doubt clenched so tight that his jaw must ache.

  He says, "What use would an apology be? What would be the point?"

  "We're stuck together," I point out. "The least you could do is make it a little less awful."

  "Why? So we can—" Grayson swallows, eyes darting away, then back to my face. "Getting close is pointless. Dangerous, even. At least this way everyone is safe. Except for stupid Mason and his soft heart."

  Just as I'm about to snap to tell him he's stupid to think I'm worried he'll cut my damn hand off, I pause, mind running over his words. At least this way everyone is safe. He's talking about himself, not me. He's afraid of what will happen if I touch him and his pain goes away—and of what will follow, as we grow close, close enough that he might actually care. There are only three people Grayson is close to, and only one who's given me an inkling why.

  "How did you save Wyatt's life?"

  He blinks, looking thrown off guard by this sudden topic change. "Who told you... Wyatt. Of course. It's an exaggeration to say that I saved his life. All I did was stop him from being expelled. It wasn't hard—I just changed Headmaster Shu's mind."

  What he's saying isn't that he talked to her and convinced her of something. He must've used his powers to literally change her mind. "He was going to be expelled?"

  "He failed to kill three Marks in a row. She was getting impatient with him—said he was hopeless." Grayson's mouth thins into a line. "Plenty of students have failed to kill their first few Marks. Even Shadow Fold assassins fail on their missions. But she was impatient with him. Everyone thinks he's stupid just because he can't speak clearly, but he's not—his mind is full of intelligence. Clearly Shu was having a bad day when she declared that he'd have to be wiped and expelled. So I used my powers to push her in another direction."

  Now I understand. Wyatt is loyal to Grayson because he wouldn't be here without him. Being expelled doesn't always mean being wiped and sent outside the walls, that much Eve and the headmaster have made clear. If the wipe hadn't taken, Wyatt would've been killed, not just expelled.

  A worry enters my mind, "So if we don't manage to kill this uber hard Mark she's given us..."

  "Yeah. This weekend will be interesting." Grayson laughs bitterly. "Five students expelled at once? That's one for the books."

  "It doesn't have to be that way," I argue. "If we just train together, our powers will be that much stronger. You won't have a weakness. We can take on anything."

  A frown thins his mouth, and he shakes his head, pushing a hand through his red hair. "You really believe that, don't you? You actually want to train together."

  "I don't see how there's any other option."

  "No," he says, staring off into the distance, "I guess there isn't."

  Not exactly the admission I wanted. Life would be easier if Grayson threw himself head-first into training together. I don't see why he shouldn't—of all the guys, he's the one who must want relief from his weakness the most. Taking my hand to get rid of the pain should be an easy choice to make.

  After all, it's not like he cares about me enough to refrain from using me.

  Unhappily, he adds, "You'll regret it soon enough."

  "Regret what?" I ask, scowling at him. "Stop being vague."

  "You'll regret getting close to me. Asking me to train with you." He stares me down, something intense in his eyes, bitterness in his voice. "Everyone who gets close to me regrets it. Even Wyatt. Do you know what he called me when I asked him to fight you in the arena?" A laugh, low and choked sounding. "If I hadn't saved his life, he'd have nothing to do with me. You should just leave me out of your training, find some other way to tap into your Spiritual Affinity—because keeping me around won't end well. I hurt the people closest to me."

  There's real truth in his voice, something deep and wounded, like a feral animal with a broken limb that never got reset. The pain is his voice is rawer and greater than the physical pain that twists down his mouth when he puts weight on his leg.

  I wonder how young he was when he witnessed his whole family's death and stabbed his own brother in the back in self-defense. He had to have been just a little boy, turned so quickly into a killer, like me.

  A monster like me, with the wounds and bared teeth to prove it.r />
  "Stop making excuses," I tell him, voice rough, knowing that he won't respond well if I try to push into his emotional wounds and talk some more. This isn't feelings class with Professor Warren, after all. I'd bet everything I own that none of the tissues in this room have ever been used to wipe away tears. "Just take my damned hand, you coward. I'm not taking no for an answer."

  Grayson slides his eyes back to me, and his brows raise a little, mouth slightly curved. "Is that a fact?"

  "It is. I'll stab you to death if you don't help me with this. I'm crazy Killer Ellen after all."

  "A hundred and one pieces," he muses. "Maybe I am the one who should be afraid. You sure you washed that hand of yours?"

  "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. You're taking it either way."

  I shove my hand out, palm up, staring him down in challenge. My heart is beating faster than I care to admit, because my instincts tell me that whatever happens next, we won't be able to turn back. It's one thing to have this crackling anger between us, to be forced together by fate, the headmaster, and professors alike. It's another thing entirely to put my hand out towards him because I chose to, and to hope he'll chose the same.

  Staring at me, he says, "I am sorry. For being such an ass. I guess it's in my nature. I shouldn't have judged you so harshly. God knows I don't exactly make the best first impression myself."

  "You're going to have to do more than that if you want me to refrain from punching the smug off your face," I point out. "That was a little lackluster."

  He grinds his teeth and narrows his eyes. "This is hard for me, you know. I have pride."

  "And an ego."

  A sigh, and a frown, from Mr. Fuckface himself. "I know I was wrong, Ellen. What I don't know is how to make it up to you. I don't exactly have a lot of experience with forgiveness—giving or getting."

  An idea forms in my head. There's more than one ghost we need to talk to. But the only way I can pull off what I'm thinking is with his help.

  "You can earn your forgiveness by helping me out. Take my hand, Hughes. Before I change my mind."