by A. K. Koonce
A strong hand grips the side of my neck and with two sudden steps he lifts me and pins me with a hard clash against the metal bunk bed across from his. Blazing eyes search mine, aggression radiating off him in a way that should. Not. Turn. Me. On.
“If you want me calm, then let me do what I’m supposed to fucking do.” He bites the words out like a threat but his chest melds to mine.
My lips brush over his.
“Then fuck me,” I challenge with a slow flicking kiss.
And it’s a dirty fucking challenge that I know he loves. He loves sex even if he can’t feel it.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s envious of what he makes others feel. And fuck is he good at making me feel every fucking inch of him.
He leans closer with a pureness in his emerald eyes, his lips pressing to mine with surprising gentleness. Long fingers slide beneath my jeans just as his tongue slides perfectly over mine. He takes his time with dedicated slowness, stroking down my cock, inch by inch, before bringing the heel of his palm right across my head and making me groan into his claiming mouth.
The squeal of the hinges is the only sound and even that telling noise isn’t enough to make me pull away from the way he’s sucking my lower lip.
“Um...” Her quiet voice hums right into me, making my dick pulse in Phoenix’s hand just from the soft sound of it. I pull back, but we never untangle ourselves. I’m still grasping his neck and he’s still...he’s still grasping my cock. “I—I really need my notes.” Izzy’s dark lashes flutter closed, heat flushing across her pretty face the longer she stands awkwardly in the doorway, not daring to cross the two of us in the middle of the room.
The smirk pulling at my lips only grows the longer her uncomfortable situation drags out.
Finally, I shift out from beneath Phoenix’s big body, his frustrated sigh growling right out of him as he releases me.
The black binder near her bed catches my attention and I bring it to the poor girl still standing with her eyes closed.
Is she humiliated or turned on?
With her small body inches from mine, thoughts of how perfect she’d fit pressed right between Phoenix and I fill my head. I push the binder into her hands with so much slowness my fingertips caress each curve of her knuckles.
“Anything else?” I ask with a —hopeful—hinting smile.
She shakes her head hard. But then her big amber eyes open, looking up at me with the strangest, confusion shining there.
“I—I didn’t realize you two were—”
The single step I take closer to her, eliminating any suggestion of space, cuts her words away in her throat, her pulse drilling wildly there.
My lips brush there at the base of her neck, tasting her apprehension and loving the way her heartbeat kisses my lips.
The warmth of her body sends old memories of how hot blood used to taste along my tongue.
Once upon a time.
“We’re not,” I whisper, lingering, waiting and watching and hoping like fuck she’ll steal my confidence and come inside like we both know she wants to.
She’s an enigma. Sometimes she’s quiet and reserved. And sometimes she forces her assertiveness to shine out to hide how weak she is in this place without a dependable Prod within her to protect her.
“Don’t be late, Feck. Wouldn’t want another night of isolation,” Phoenix taunts coldly from just behind me, all but pissing over my fantasies.
My jaw clenches so hard I hear teeth crack just slightly.
Those lashes flutter as if she’s washing away a crazy thought in that pretty mind of hers.
And then she turns and walks away.
Why is he like this? Why does he hate everyone?
Including me.
My fingers dig into the wooden doorframe, letting it splinter down the center beneath my anger.
And then I walk away, too.
“Where are you going?” His voice crawls down the dark hall after me.
I don’t have the control to face him and not walk right back into him.
If I look at him, if I meet those tortured green eyes, I’ll be sucked in all over again.
And I’m not doing that. Not today.
“I’m going to find your feck. You promised to be there for her during gym. She needs someone there.”
His curses whisper down the corridor to me for several seconds.
Then his steady footfalls are following after me. The smallest smile tilts my lips.
He cares. He cares about me and he cares about her. He just doesn’t know it.
Fifteen
Izara
Gym: Welcome to Hell.
Enjoy the under-boob sweat, embrace your ass jiggles with every lap you run, and by all means, try not to cry too much as you cling to the bottom of a hanging rope and attempt to understand what the fuck this is preparing you for in life.
I wonder if the devil himself is the coach inside this quaint little gymnasium.
I stand before the building and I don’t want to go in. Cardio? Weights? This academy is trying to kill me. If I promise to be a good little Prod and not murder any more boyfriends, will they let me skip?
Probably not.
Striding footsteps sound behind me and I don’t know how I know, but I know it’s Saint. He just has that air about him. He walks like someone who doesn’t look at price tags when he shops, someone who doesn’t pay attention to the pump when he gets fuel, someone who just uses whatever credit card his careless fingers land on.
That’s what his pretentious footsteps sound like, if you can believe it.
And I don’t want to face him or any of his Phoenix excuses right now. I can’t be friends with Malek, but Phoenix can give his best friend a hand job? What kind of shit is that? It’s a roommate mess where I live. Someone please fucking explain the rules and regulations of fake relationships because we are hopeless.
I rush forward even as Saint calls my name.
Steeling myself for the worst, I push open the wide double doors of the building and step inside.
And it’s like being dropped face first into the middle of a Tolkien battle.
Fire flies past me, almost singeing my eyebrows. Winged Prods push themselves off high rafter beams near the ceiling and soar, only to collide in mid-air. Faerie like girls with sharp features make vines grow in a corner that twist up like corded ropes only to climb up them at rapid speeds moments later. Sparks rain down from the ceiling from a flying creature I can’t even see among the flames. Shifters snarl mid change as they wrestle on soft blue mats, tearing through flesh with tooth and claw.
Sure, there are some dusty treadmills in the corner. And yeah, I think that centaur is doing a basic horse pushup, but the bizarre definitely outweighs the ordinary here.
This is gym?
It’s a battle of beasts everywhere I turn and I don’t know quite where to look first. At the feathery hawk wings of a female as she engages in a fight, looking like a Valkyrie of legends, or at the demon and fae training with gauze around their hands like boxing gloves.
“You must be Izara Castillo.”
I startle when a man suddenly appears before me. It takes me a moment to tear my gaze away from the fray and notice he’s holding a hand out to me.
I look at it suspiciously, knowing this must be some trick. No one is nice at this school, so why is he?
Reluctantly, I shake his hand and pull it away just as quickly. Then I look up at his face and my heart stops cold in my chest.
Fuck, he’s the most alluring man I’ve ever seen. He’s made of beauty that surpasses that of an incubus, a form stronger than a wolf’s, but it’s his eyes that draw me in.
Bicolored and glowing, one is pure gold. Not honey, but actual gold, glittering with shining specks. The other is black. I’m not sure which eye to look, the demonic one or the angelic one, for there’s no doubt in my mind that that’s what this man is. He’s a mix of both things, like heaven and hell somehow collided into an explosion that molded
this perfect person.
And I’m staring stupidly at the older man.
“That’s me.” The way my words fall vacantly from my lips is the opposite of his assured charm.
He smiles dazzlingly. “I’m Professor Shade.”
Professor. This stunning man is a teacher at this establishment? He doesn’t look the part. He’s a far cry from Mr. Toad. His shining black hair with one lone strip of white at the front is slicked back. He looks the very definition of a professional, even wearing a gray pants suit.
His bicolored gaze roams over me, not lewdly, or judgingly, but assessing like a scientist studying a peculiar specimen under a microscope. When those eyes flick back to my face, his smile widens.
“Let me guess… fae?”
Why the fuck does everyone keep saying that?
“No,” I grind out tightly. “My Prod is playing hide and seek at the moment.”
His expression doesn’t change. There’s no pity. Nothing. I almost feel like a normal student and not a feck.
“Never fear, we’ll discover what your Prod is together. That’s the purpose of this class, to push your body to the limit in an attempt to bring out your Prod in a safe, controlled environment.” He turns and I take it as a command to follow.
The doors bang shut behind me and I glance back just in time to meet deep green eyes that burn across my features. So much for Phoenix’s unwavering protection.
He said he’d be here. He wasn’t, and he’s late.
I guess Saint’s dick must have weighed him down.
I hope isolation is a kick in his balls. Not that I’m too worried about him or his balls at the moment. My shoulders stiffen and I follow Profesor Shade.
We weave our way through the destructive bodies of clashing Prods. He’s confident in his stride, meanwhile I try not to get pelted with acid spit from nearby lizard creatures.
“Here you’ll learn to bring out the basest of your beast’s instincts. Training will force it out of you, and I will teach you control.”
We step off the mats and walk down into a hallway. There’s a small office here, and two separate doors.
“Locker rooms and showers,” he indicates with a gesture of his hand. He leads me into his office where he grabs a small key and passes it to me. “For your locker. You’ll find your uniform there already.”
Of course it is. Uniforms are Academy of Six’s number one priority.
My hand wraps around the key, the cold sharpness of it digging into my palm.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Izara,” the Professor says. His tone is soft but firm, his eyes hard and full of determination. “For a girl with an unknown Prod, this class will be hell. You will be pushed and beaten. It’s kill or be killed, but do as I say and by the end of the year, your Prod will show itself and you’ll be reformed in no time.”
I wonder if he knows what I’ve done. If he knows I’ve killed. He knew my name, he must have read my file, even if he feigned obliviousness by calling me a fae. Being Prodless is no easy thing, that’s been made clear. We are discarded, discriminated. But he looks like he genuinely wants to help me.
I don’t know if I should be wary or relieved.
“They say there’s no hope for the Prodless,” I mutter sarcastically.
Those features of his soften. Maybe he does care.
“I believe there is. You just need that extra push and I intend to help you along the way. But you have to listen to me. Trust me. Can you do that?”
“Why would you go out of your way to help a Prodless?” I can’t help the slip of words. “Most teachers seem to hate us.”
Vehemence flares in his multicolored eyes. He leans back against his wooden desk, crossing one ankle over the other, arms firmly against his chest.
“You’ll find, Izara, that I am not most teachers.” He looks away and I notice the tightening of his sharp jaw. When he looks back, there’s sadness in his eyes. “My child was considered a Prodless.”
This captures my attention. I lean forward, my whole body nearly trembling with curiosity.
“What happened?”
He pushes himself off the desk and walks to the door.
His short, clipped words linger in the room until it crawls up my skin and into my chest with the weight of his expression alone.
“He died.”
I try not to dwell on his words as I change into a blue and red shirt and shorts, but they resonate through my mind like a song on repeat.
He died.
I pull my hair back into a ponytail and go out to join the others.
He died.
These are my only options in a future that’s set in stone. Control myself or die.
And I don’t want to die.
All the Prods gather around Professor Shade.
Malek’s dark eyes meet mine and he takes quiet steps until he’s at my side, his warm shoulder lightly brushing mine in a dominating stance.
Phoenix doesn’t look my way, gaze intently held straight ahead.
“Welcome to hell, Prods.” The Professor’s hands clasp behind his lower back, walking a line back and forth like a military drill sergeant. “Let’s talk semester final exams.”
A cacophony of groans ring out.
“We just started school,” someone complains.
Professor Shade ignores it. “The final exam will consist of one thing and one thing only: winning.” A hush falls over us all. He definitely has our attention. “You will be separated into teams and pitted against each other. You each will have two goals: protect your flag, and capture the opposing team’s flag.”
Excited murmurs shudder like a wave through the crowd of students.
This, this sounds like the gym I expected. If he mentions the words touch football or scrimmage after this, I’m gone.
“The rules are simple. You will fight, you will use your magic and unleash your Prods. You will do this to disarm, not to maim or kill. Do so and you are disqualified and will be expelled. Do nothing and you are disqualified and will be expelled. This activity is mandatory, any refusal to cooperate, you will be disqualified and expelled.”
I am so fucked. Or should I say expelled.
“The next few weeks we will train to prepare you for the exam. You will push your bodies and learn the control you lack. I suggest you take it seriously.”
His alluring gaze shifts over each of us individually. Then without another word, he separates us into groups.
Surprise, fucking surprise, I’m with Phoenix, Malek, Saint, Syko and a poor faerie girl with resting bitch face who has absolutely no idea what kind of Prod drama she’s signed up for with us.
It’s a pattern I notice. He puts together winged creature, demon, shifter, vampire, fae, and a Prodless in every group. Sometimes warlocks and witches get thrown into the mix, but for the most part, the class seems lacking of them.
I guess he thinks we’ll be each other’s strengths and make up for each other’s weaknesses.
And maybe we will.
If we don’t kill each other first.
Sixteen
Syko
Karlyn’s back hits my bunk just as a large man falls on top of her, a nasty scar slicing right across his face from one brow, across his nose, and down to his lip. His thrusts against her are so hard, I’m sure he’s going to break the faerie’s hips before he ever gets to fuck her.
It’s been three weeks. Three weeks, and we go through this every single fucking week.
My gaze flashes to my sister in an instant and the color in her eyes flickers like a bad signal just before a storm.
Shit.
“Karlyn. I think... I think we discussed visitors. Yeah, we definitely had an agreement.” I stand from my bed just as Scarface pushes down Karlyn’s pink panties as if I never even fucking spoke.
I try a different approach. “You know you’re like the third guy she’s fucked this week, right?” My statement is followed by an uncaring silence and frantic gasping breaths. “Wouldn’t be a bi
g deal, but it’s only Monday afternoon, you know?” I shrug, my attention slipping back to my little sister, who’s whole body is now flickering dangerously in and out of focus, not just her eyes.
Shit.
I slip past them as a sharp and fucking terrifying shriek claws up the fae’s throat as Scarface thrusts in. She’s part banshee, I think. Her orgasms sound like a pissed off security alarm. And not in a good way.
The door slides open, banging into the guy’s shoulder, but he just keeps on going. My eyes roll hard and I nod for Kayos to follow. The two of us trail out into the quiet hall and I pull the door shut behind us.
Being out here soothes the building storm inside her. I see the discreet breaths she’s taking, the ones we learned were calming from watching all those yoga videos together. I’ve looked for so many ways to keep her anger at bay. For her own safety, as well as everyone else’s.
“We got an hour to kill it looks like.” I stretch my arms over my head, cupping my hands to the back of my neck in a casual stance.
“I give him four minutes, tops,” Kayos says like the total smartass that she is.
She makes me so proud some days.
Quiet footsteps trail up the hall and the sway of her hips alone in that short khaki skirt tells me exactly who it is.
“Don’t embarrass us this time.” The warning hiss from my sister goes unheard.
Izara’s limping, her face scrunching up as if with every step she takes her muscles are screeching in violent protest.
“You look like you’ve been through hell.” The way my hands sink into my pockets is mostly to make sure I don’t do something stupid.
Like shove my neighbor up against the wall and see if I can get her to say all the dirty things I know she bites back when she looks at me.
I could force the truth out of her. But... I’ve learned my lesson from using my abilities for all the wrong reasons.
I think…
“Not hell. Just gym.” Her shoulders sag and she turns the knob of her dorm door without another word.
She’s just about to shut the door when she peers up and finds us still standing aimlessly in the middle of the dark hall. Like lost puppies without an owner, I’m sure that’s what she sees.