Root Rot Academy: Term 1

by Rhea Watson

  As security dragged Leroy off, the field emptying, the paths back to the castle full of students and den mothers and professors, I lobbed the snarling shifter a wink and a nice smarmy grin.

  Uppity little shit.

  “That was unnecessary.”

  I wheeled around to find Bjorn frowning at me—judging me. Scoffing, I waved him off like he was being ridiculous, because he fucking was. “Oh, he’s fine.”

  In theory, anyway. Across the pitch, three security officers wrangled a flailing, snarling Leroy to the ground as Jack stalked toward them. Quite the unnecessary display.

  “Shifters need to be checked as they get older,” I mused, watching as Jack beckoned for the guards to let him up, then got right in the whelp’s face. “Especially by someone with true authority…” At Bjorn’s silence, I looked back at him again. Still he frowned, arms crossed, and the words not angry, just disappointed detonated through my skull like a bomb. “You’re a professor, Bjorn. Don’t let him get away with that shit.”

  Animals liked to test their limits, and when a shifter shared traits with beasts who pushed their boundaries and squabbled for control, they needed to be disciplined right the first time or they would come back swinging.

  Bjorn seemed not to share my opinion. With a thin smile, he patted me on the arm in passing and drifted toward the castle.

  “Just let me settle it next time,” he said before he left, taking the last word with him while I glared at his back. Disappointment. It oozed from his tone, his dismissive gaze—like I was in the wrong for putting that little bastard in his place. He had insulted a professor, a centuries-old vampire. Leroy had fallen back on ridiculous stereotypes and insulted a Viking warrior to his face, yet I was the asshole here?

  Bjorn usually reveled in my shenanigans, my attitude, my opinions. Perhaps not as enthusiastically as I would have liked, but the vampire was the closest creature here to a fae, and he…

  Disappointed in me.

  Fuck this.

  Gnashing my teeth together, I stalked for the back gate, needing a breather. This was why I never bothered with these people, never stuck my neck out for them or tried to fit into their community. In the end, we were of different classes—different worlds, quite literally. And if I disappointed the only one I might consider a friend by defending him, then fuck it. No point in trying.

  As I stabbed the number code into the lock at the back gate, the hairs on the nape of my neck stood up. Brushing at them irritably, I whirled around, half expecting Bjorn—and finding Alecto. Not close enough for a conversation, but it appeared she had returned to help escort the stragglers back inside. Loitering near the corner of the pitch, she watched me, stared unquestionably in my direction. A quick glance around showed I was the only one in this back corner, and I resisted the urge to flip her off.

  Because I wasn’t upset at her.

  Not really at Bjorn, either.

  Just… the circumstances of my being here at Root Rot Academy.

  And…

  Well, other things, too. Feelings I didn’t need or want or deserve.

  So I left her, and him, and all of them behind, charging through the gate and slamming it shut, in need of a smoke and a flight over the raging Atlantic to clear my head.

  To remind myself that at the end of the day, as fae, I was better than all of them.

  That a vampire’s disappointment in my behavior, my words, didn’t matter.

  And if I ever wanted to roam the halls of the Ash Court’s palace with my head held high, a low-born fae with the king’s ear, it never, ever could.

  22

  Alecto

  Ugh. This was getting stupid.

  I had an advanced degree in herbalism and taught at some of the best academies around the world—Root Rot notwithstanding.

  I should be able to figure out the footwork for a fucking waltz.

  But I’d been at it for the better part of an hour, curled up in the far corner of one of the staff room couches, closest to the hearth with its fire long extinguished, which offered the warmth without the triggers. Headphones shoved deep into my ears, I had hunkered down after finishing my grading for the night, clocking out relatively early at ten while a few other colleagues carried on at the main table. Laptop open, fully charged, and connected to the magical Wi-Fi network buzzing through campus, I’d searched for a beginner’s waltz video and thought a single watch would be sufficient.

  But nope.

  Fuck me, right?

  Stupid two left feet.

  With Samhain only a week away, my dress sorted, my fancy heels worn daily to break them in, hairstyle planned and makeup scheme organized—it was happening. Despite the soccer league brawl, everything was still on schedule. All that was left was for the committee to actually set up the event, all our kids permitted to skip classes on the thirtieth and thirty-first to help me and Bjorn decorate. My vampire roomie would even forgo his daily nap to work through the day underground, prepping the dining hall for a night of feasting and…

  Dancing.

  Up until this point, we had discussed the waltz part of the celebration in theory, but now it was almost here—and I was a miserable dancer. Sure, I had rhythm in the bedroom and could jump around at a nightclub, maybe grind seductively on a tabletop with my girls, but I wasn’t one for dances that had actual steps to follow. Arms here and there and head tipped gracefully to the side as you floated around the floor with your partner. Nope. Not me.

  But the headmaster insisted that, like every other academy’s Samhain gala, the professors opened the evening with a waltz—something for the students to take note of and aspire to.

  Really, none of them cared. I hadn’t given two flying fucks as a student whenever my crusty old profs took to the dance floor, and no one would now. Back then, I’d just been waiting with my friends for the real fun to begin, when our music pounded through the hall, tipsy from sneaking a few sips of wine or vodka back in the dorms and ready for a good time.

  Now I was on the other side of things and I was fucking terrified, because I’d been watching this fucking video for an hour and still couldn’t figure out how the woman’s feet moved. Like, it should have taken all of two minutes. The waltz wasn’t complicated; idiots had been doing it for centuries, both humans and supers, but somehow its nuances escaped me.

  Maybe I was just tired.

  I mean, I was. Tired of Samhain and end-of-term exams and Root Rot’s rebels and seeing Benedict godsdamn Hammond strutting through the castle like a preppy freak, always smiling and confident and happy.

  Still no closer to figuring out what to do with him.

  The real Alecto, daughter of the damned and Hades’s right-hand girl, would have broken into his flat and slit his throat in his sleep. Maybe even set him on fire for the sake of karmic symmetry.

  But I didn’t have the stones for that.

  Not only did the thought make me queasy, but what if I was caught? This asshole was masquerading as Professor Ash Cedar, not the long-lost second-born son of the rich and powerful Hammond coven. I’d face a trial by the high council for sure.

  And with his family’s connections, they would probably find a way to hang me.

  So. Given all the professional stress, the organized chaos of managing Samhain—even with Bjorn and the committee—I had pressed pause on my vengeance plans.

  For now.

  Just until Samhain was over and done with.

  After all, maybe the gods would show me a sign on the most important night of the supernatural year. Maybe I’d wake on the first day of November with a clear head and a steadfast heart, and I’d know just how to deal with him.

  One could dream, anyway.

  Neck starting to ache from hunching over, eyes heavy from the screen’s glare, I restarted the video and really focused in on the woman’s feet. Okay, first they move back—

  A crumpled paper ball suddenly smacked into my forehead, making me jump and gasp and flail a little for good measure. Pushing my lapt
op half-closed, I sat up and scowled at the most unexpected pair seated on the couch across from me.

  Bjorn and Gavriel, grinning like schoolboy idiots.

  What.

  I blinked, slowly tugging one of the headphones out of my ear by the wire. Was this a dream? I’d seen the duo casually interacting before, but it hadn’t occurred to me they might be friends. Bjorn was a good guy—Gavriel was very much not. Even their outfits were polar opposites with Bjorn in warm earth tones, his marmalade sweater all cushy and soft, his cotton track pants an affront to Gavriel’s pinstriped grey suit. He might have been missing the jacket, but the fae rocked a waistcoat and everything, his polished leather shoes practically glinting in the chandelier light.

  “What are you watching without me?” Bjorn asked, head cocked and long legs crossed. My gaze dipped to the screen and back again, an embarrassed flush warming my cheeks.

  “I, uh, it’s—”

  “Porn,” Gavriel finished for me with a sharp smirk. “Definitely porn—you dirty bird, watching it in the staff room.”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks, eyes narrowed at him. Even though I’d paid him back for both stealing from me and thinking I was so smitten I wouldn’t notice, I still wasn’t over the incident. We seldom crossed paths during the school week, but I kept expecting him to turn the tables on me—pay me back in kind. Fae were said to hold grudges, sometimes even more aggressively than shifters.

  “I’m… watching a dance video.” I turned the laptop around as proof, then snapped it shut. “Just trying to finesse my waltz before the big day.”

  “Oh, sweet Alecto,” Gavriel drawled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes hungry and mouth sinful. His words said one thing, his tone another, the look of him predator from top to bottom. “If you need a dance instructor, I would be happy to teach you.”

  I reopened my laptop and stared at the screen as it booted up again. “Nope.”

  “But I know how your body works,” the fae countered cruelly, fluttering his lashes at my shocked expression as Bjorn’s eyebrows shot up. “Really, I’m the best instructor for you and you alone.”

  Swallowing down a rush of pure, uncut anger, I flipped him off, pleased that my super-erect middle finger didn’t tremble. “Let me rephrase my previous response… Fuck no. Not now, not ever, ever, ever will I need a man like you to teach me a fucking thing.”

  Unfazed by my outburst, Gavriel grinned like he had won this battle, then smacked at Bjorn’s chest as he stood and wandered toward the others at the staff table. I, meanwhile, just glared at my laptop, frozen in place until Bjorn’s massive body plopped onto the couch beside me, making me bounce a little and bringing with him a waft of subtle sandalwood and cardamom.

  My mouth watered. Stupid… sexy cologne.

  “Since when were you and Gavriel besties?” I asked stiffly, grabbing at the headphone wire and coiling it around my finger, still glowering at the screen. Bjorn chuckled as he stretched his arm along the back of the couch, enveloping me—making me feel both safe and small in his presence.

  “Since when have you fucked him?” He arched an eyebrow when I looked up sharply, realization dawning across his handsome Scandinavian features a beat later. “Wait—is he the one from the first night—”

  “Ohmygodsshutup,” I hissed, jumping at him and clapping my hand over his laughing mouth. Seriously. Rumors about who was sleeping with who ran rampant through any academy, and Root Rot was no exception. On top of that, we had a far younger staff than I was used to, most of us single, a few in some open long-distance thing, which led to a lot of horny professors hooking up in storage closets and locked classrooms.

  Really, we were no better than students.

  In fact, some of my colleagues, even those greying around the ears, acted exactly like students. Gossipy and vindictive and impulsive, we had spent years at academies, first as students, then in preparation for our careers, and now we were back, most of us teaching until retirement. When had any of us had time to grow up?

  Still. Even if it was the norm for professors to hook up, casual or otherwise, I so did not need stories flying around campus that I’d slept with Gavriel. He had enough of a reputation with the Root Rot women as it was, and I refused to become tangled in his web like I was just another fly.

  Bjorn exhaled sharply on my hand, his lips cold but his breath hot, and I pressed harder to make a point.

  “Like I need anyone knowing that—” I motioned between me and Gavriel, the fae chatting up a handful of my fellow lady professors at the end of the table. “—happened.”

  Icy fingers coiled around my wrist, and Bjorn gently pried my hand from his mouth, holding it in front of us with a look that said the secret was out.

  “Well, maybe don’t act like a psycho and shout at him in front of all those gossips—”

  “He deserved to be shouted at.”

  The vampire chuckled, affection glinting in his bright blues. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  Both of us glanced at our hands, mine hanging from his, hot and cold colliding to ignite a storm inside me. Bjorn let go a moment later, shuffling to the side to give us some breathing room on the couch. I shifted upright, readjusting to sit cross-legged, laptop on my left thigh like a useless metal wall between us.

  Even without that huge hand snaked around my wrist, I felt him.

  And it wasn’t the first time, either.

  Nothing worse than having a hot, kind, hot roommate that was totally off-limits because of… Well, because we had to live together. If things went as sour with Bjorn as they had with Gavriel, it would make the rest of my time here a waking nightmare.

  Bjorn was my port in the storm most days. Calm, confident without being arrogant, delightfully cheeky when he called me on my crap. Someone I looked forward to seeing every day, rain or shine, good mood or bad. I couldn’t risk that.

  I wouldn’t risk that—him, us, the bond we had been forging since August.

  “So,” he started, withdrawing his arm from behind me and crossing both over his broad chest, “don’t know how to waltz?”

  Ugh, right—back to the present issue. “Nope.”

  “Probably a bit stupid of you to push for a traditional waltz as hard as you did, then, hey?”

  I chomped down on the insides of my cheeks again, scowling. At the time, half the committee was pretty blasé on the whole thing, preferring to just dive into the fun part of the evening. But then Jack had been obsessed with the idea as soon as Bjorn and I floated it, insisting that there was always a waltz, that every school needed a waltz to truly begin the Samhain celebrations, and that he was thrilled we were honoring tradition.

  And… I’d wanted to make him happy.

  Our boss never looked happy—but his smiles, few and far between, lit up the room, his excitement beyond infectious.

  So. Yeah. I’d pushed for the stupid waltz.

  Bjorn’s smirk burned into the side of my face, and I slowly glared up at him, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Do you want a tongue-lashing, too?”

  The delicious curve of his mouth had me all hot and bothered again; the vampire was almost impossible to stay mad at, and I rolled my eyes when he held up his hands innocently, cowering from my would-be wrath. With a shake of my head, I popped my earbud back in and resumed the instructional video, frowning down at the dancers’ feet until Bjorn started to get off the couch.

  My arm snapped out, catching him in the chest, and he froze in a little half squat.

  “Bjorn?” I whispered.

  “Alecto?” he whispered back.

  Licking my lips, I sheepishly tugged out my earbud again. “Can you teach me how to waltz?”

  “Of course.”

  His nod, his smile, the soothing rumble of his voice made me warm and fuzzy inside, but my embarrassment held strong as I added, “Without making fun of me?”

  Bjorn stood, soaring gracefully to his full height, then caught me under the chin with his finger, swift but gent
le in the way he tipped my head back.

  “Promise,” he murmured, and the warm and fuzzy exploded to hot and needy. We exchanged quick grins, smiles that weren’t exactly the kind shared between friends, and a shiver cut down my spine when he finally withdrew. Desperate for a breather, I stuffed my earbud back in and went hunting for silly cat videos to cool me down—to act as my cold shower as Bjorn moseyed toward Gavriel, his stride slow and confident.

  My gaze pinned squarely on his fantastic ass.

  23

  Jack

  After weeks of meetings and memos and letters to the high council of academies, finally something had gone right. For the first time all term, a celebration that meant something to the supernatural world, to me, had gone off without a hitch.

  Of course, it was only the thirtieth. Tomorrow was the big one, Samhain in all its glory, students allotted a half day to prepare for the evening celebrations that would go on well past curfew for the first and only time all year. Tonight, however, the bonfire ritual united the entire academy, organized and executed to perfection.

  Just the way I liked it.

  Bleachers removed, the athletic pitch had been transformed to accommodate for the after-dinner affair. In its center thrived a raging bonfire, flames lapping at a black-black sky, not a star to be found, the October chill already giving way to November frosts. While I stood at the edge of the field, surveying, monitoring, enjoying the sight unfurling before me, Alecto and Bjorn had arranged the event to flow seamlessly.

  A long line stretched from the castle to the brink of the fire, students waiting their turn to shed their grievances. Before dinner, I had informed them of the proceedings and the intent behind it: tonight was the night to release their troubles from the past year. Write it down and hurl it into the fire. Let it burn and disappear. While most tossed scraps of parchment, they could also offer objects to the flames—items that were either approved or rejected by Bjorn and a gaggle of den mothers at the front of the line. Professors surrounded the great fire, charming it to climb some fifty feet tall and fifteen in diameter.