The Chronicles of Kerrigan Prequel Series Books #1-3: Paranormal Fantasy Romance

by W. J. May

  Argyle, on the other hand, was upset. “But this is your only night off,” he complained. “I thought we were going into town tonight. Maybe renting some movies.”

  “We’ll do it some other time,” Simon said as he simultaneously peeled off his jacket and replaced it with the one he saved for his workouts. On the way out the door, he paused upon seeing the look on his friend’s face. “I’m sorry, Argyle. There isn’t anything I can do. It’s a summons.”

  With that, he bid his friend goodbye and took off back across the campus lawns, heading towards the shining dome of the Oratory. His smile got even brighter with every step he took, so that by the time he yanked open the double doors he was positively beaming.

  “So, you just couldn’t stay away, could you…”

  His voice trailed off as he saw not one, but two people waiting for him in the center of the training room floor. And just like that, his good mood melted clean away.

  This…can’t be good.

  Tristan looked just as surprised as he was, although he was in decidedly worse shape. His left arm was slung across his chest in a loose sling. Coincidentally, it was the same arm that Simon had broken just a short time before. But the arm was just the start of it. There was a gruesome parade of cuts and bruises travelling down his entire body, and he was sporting a shiny black eye.

  It was a rather chilling sight, considering who he was looking at. The fact that anyone would be able to catch him long enough to do such a thing was a wonder in and of itself.

  But if there was one person in the world who could do it. Jason.

  And this kid certainly had it coming.

  “Evening guys,” Simon said brightly as he sauntered up to them. “Having a little party without me?”

  “You’re looking a lot less furry than the last time I saw you,” Tristan sneered.

  Simon just grinned. “Nice arm.”

  He flashed Jason a conspiratorial smile, but, much to his surprise, Jason didn’t smile back. He just stared at Simon a moment, before answering in a dangerously sweet voice.

  “Indeed, we were having a party. And gossiping like a bunch of school kids, too.”

  Simon’s smile fell. “I don’t—”

  “Tristan, get the door.”

  As Tristan trotted off to shut the door Simon had left wide open, Jason finally gave Simon the smile he’d been waiting for. But it did nothing to steady his nerves. In fact, the decided edge to it made things much, much worse.

  “For example, I heard the funniest thing.” Jason might have been smiling, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in his eyes. “I heard that you confronted Tristan in front of the whole school, before calling him out later at lunch.”

  A nervous chill raced up the back of Simon’s neck as he struggled to defend himself. “Yeah, the lunch where he turned me into a freaking wolf!”

  “A mistake he’s since answered for. But you, Simon…” Jason’s face was cold, though the smile remained. “Someone’s feeling a little cocky. Like that all-powerful warlock can’t be beat, huh?”

  At that moment Tristan reappeared, glancing nervously between them as he took his place obediently at Simon’s side. Together, the two of them bowed their heads and waited for whatever was coming next.

  “It seems the two of you just can’t seem to get along, can you?” Jason’s voice was soft, but the very sound of it seemed to chill the air. “It seems that while I’m in here day and night, trying to help you develop your tatùs, you’re having fights in the lunch line.”

  Simon had never been more humiliated in his life. When phrased like that, the entire epic struggle for dominance between him and Wardell was effectively reduced to a playground squabble.

  Perhaps rightly so.

  “Well, I’m washing my hands of it.” Jason stepped back abruptly. “You two are going to fight it out. See who comes out on top. And that’s going to settle it. Permanently. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” both boys chanted back in unison.

  They took a step back to face each other, but there was a different tone to it now. A tone of fierce determination, each one aching to prove himself as the best.

  He might have strength and agility over me, but with Jason’s tatù, I’m actually faster. I might just have a shot of winning this thing.

  From the look on Tristan’s face, he was giving himself a similar pep-talk.

  But, as always, Jason had other plans.

  “Good.” He stepped between them. “Tris—hold out your arm.”

  Tristan glanced up in confusion, before suddenly realizing what was being asked of him. Like flipping a switch, he turned pale as a sheet and backed away with supernatural speed.

  “Wait. What?! No! Hell no!”

  Jason’s eyes flashed. “Tristan—”

  But the guy didn’t back down.

  “No, Jason! You can’t be serious. I’m not letting him touch me.”

  “It’s the perfect way for the two of you to train,” Jason said with strained patience. “It puts you on exactly even footing. On that note, it’s the only way to see who’s the better man. Now do it.”

  “No way.” Tristan was shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”

  Jason cocked his head, then stepped forward with a rather terrifying expression.

  “Aw, Tristan. You thought you had a choice.”

  Tristan paled, but stood his ground—albeit in a softer, almost pleading voice.

  “It’s not natural, that he just…takes it.” He shot Simon a scathing look, as if the nature and capacity of his ink was within his control. “It’s not right.”

  Jason didn’t blink. “Why don’t you let me decide what’s right and what’s wrong. In the meantime, you can get your ass back in that ring, or you can go back to your dorm. It’s up to you.”

  It was said in such a way that left no doubt as to the question. If he went back to his dorm, there was no reason for him to ever come to the Oratory again.

  He dropped his eyes to the floor in obedience. Obedience that was clearly tearing him in two. Simon almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost.

  “Don’t worry.” He reached out with a smirk as Tristan extended his arm. “I’ll be gentle.”

  “Go to hell.”

  The two guys locked arms with a strength that wasn’t necessary. Tristan jerked back with a slight wince as the tatù left his body, but otherwise they stood strong.

  “Alright,” Jason nodded as the two of them moved to opposite sides of the ring, “are you two ready? Tristan, you good?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “Simon, you have it?”

  Simon nodded, too.

  “Then knock yourselves out. I’ll be in London if anyone needs me.”

  Both guys dropped their fists at once and turned in disbelief towards their teacher.

  “You’re not even going to stay?” Simon demanded incredulously.

  Jason waved over his head and he made his way to the door. “Give me the highlights. I’ll be back for whoever’s left come morning.”

  The door opened and shut, and just like that—he was gone.

  “This is unbelievable,” Tristan muttered, as soon as they were alone.

  Simon shifted nervously on his feet. “What do you want to do?”

  “Well, we don’t have a choice, do we?” Tristan snapped. With a painful grimace, he slipped the strap of his sling over his head and tossed the thing onto the floor. “We fight to the end. Winner takes all.”

  Simon fought back a wave of nerves, and nodded fiercely.

  He was right. It was one of those defining moments. The kind that would stick with him for the rest of his life.

  “Winner takes all.”

  Chapter 12

  There was a certain kind of feeling that came with being in the calm before the storm, Simon realized as he stood facing off against Tristan Wardell. While he had never experienced the likes of it before, he found that there was really no describing it.

  You either fe
lt it, or you didn’t.

  It’s his left arm, Simon thought as he looked his opponent up and down. His left arm is the one that’s broken. Hit him there.

  As if to answer, an indignant voice piped up from the back of his head.

  No! You are not going to hit him in his BROKEN arm! Especially not when you’re the one who broke it to begin with! What the heck are you thinking?!

  But across the floor, Tristan seemed to be doing the same kind of thing. He was looking Simon up and down, searching him for weaknesses. He didn’t seem to realize that he was loudly broadcasting a weakness of his own.

  “Uh…Tristan?”

  Tristan’s eyes flashed up, both guilty and aggressive at the same time. “What?”

  Simon gestured a little awkwardly to the brace on his arm. The one that had been bandaged beneath the sling. “You’re…uh…you’re still wearing the—”

  “Oh! Right.” Tristan’s cheeks tinted pink as he glanced down. “…Thanks.”

  Simon looked graciously away as Tristan removed the brace with a self-conscious flush. It was a subdued, but rather brutal affair. No matter how hard he gritted his teeth, there was a soft gasp of pain as he did so.

  Simon looked over with concern. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”

  Tristan winced as he delicately peeled it away from his skin. “Probably not. The nurse said I should leave it on for at least a week. But I can’t very well fight with it on, and—” He stopped suddenly. “Why the hell do you care, Kerrigan?”

  Simon’s face turned beet red. He could feel it burning all the way down to his neck. “I don’t,” he muttered. Then a bit more sharply, “So are you ready, or what?”

  Tristan tossed the brace to the side and gave the arm a tentative flex. “Of course I am.” No amount of bravado was able to mask the pain in his eyes, but he was damn sure going to try. “Come on, Simon. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  With a mighty cry—almost like a battle scream—both boys crashed together in the middle of the room.

  It was faster and more brutal than Simon could have ever imagined.

  The ink of the fennec fox allowed them both to do fantastical things that no human should have been able. They dove, kicked, hit, and flipped with a grace and a blinding speed that would baffle the mind.

  That being said, both boys were at a distinct disadvantage. And while the obvious underdog might have been Tristan—simply due to the fact that he was working with only one arm—in reality, the person in the more vulnerable position was Simon.

  Tristan might be broken, but Simon didn’t know how to use his tatù.

  The first hit knocked him senseless. The second sent him spinning across the floor.

  Tristan didn’t pull his punches the way the Jason did, and before Simon could even summon the ink from his skin, he was flying backwards with an imprint of a fist embedded in his temple. He hit the mats with a cry and rolled to the side, clutching at his face as he tried to pull himself up again.

  He needn’t have bothered. The second he hit the floor, Tristan was already there.

  With a skill that even Simon had to appreciate, Tristan leapt into the air, twisting his legs around Simon’s and spinning so they both came crashing to the floor. But while Simon landed on his back, Tristan managed to land on his feet. The next second, he was kneeling on Simon’s chest, hitting him again and again and again.

  “Shit!” Simon yelled, lifting his arms to shield his face.

  He tried to roll out of it, but Tristan didn’t let him; the grip of his legs was too strong. For a moment, the ink floated to the surface, and Simon was able to get in a few punches himself, but from this angle he couldn’t do much damage.

  “Just say when you’ve had enough, Kerrigan!” Tristan panted, timing it out with his rhythmic punches. “Just. Say. It.”

  Except, it was then Simon realized he was only punching with his right hand. The other was being held at a protective angle behind him, creating a slight imbalance in the distribution of his weight. Using every bit of concentration he had, Simon slipped into the ink and blurred suddenly back to life, throwing Tristan off of him and landing a solid kick in his chest at the same time.

  Tristan flew back with a look of shock, and only just managed to land on his feet. One hand dipped down to the floor to steady himself as he sized Simon up and down.

  “Finally starting to get the hang of it, are you?”

  Simon pushed his hair out of his face and glared through the stream of blood dripping past one eye. “Not much to it, really.”

  Tristan laughed sarcastically, but kept a good deal of space between them. “We’ll have to see about that.”

  Without another word, he took off running across the room. Running in the opposite direction of the fight. Simon’s head jerked up in wonder as he struggled to keep sight of him. Seeing Tristan run wasn’t like seeing other people doing it. Only a sudden flash of clothing, or the blur of dark hair stopped him from being invisible altogether.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Simon called as Tristan headed straight for the wall.

  But Tristan didn’t answer. Nor did he slow down. In fact, the closer he got, the more he sped up. In the moment before impact, Simon actually flinched. He may not like the guy, but he didn’t want to see Tristan’s brains splattered all over the mats just because of a not-that-well-thought-out suicide.

  But then, in that very instant, the oddest thing happened.

  Tristan started running up the wall.

  Simon’s jaw fell to the floor as Tristan streaked straight vertical about twenty feet. Then, just as he was beginning to slip, he kicked off the mats and launched into the air, catching himself and spinning around on the set of levitated rings.

  So that’s what those things were for…

  Simon didn’t know what was more impressive. The fact that he was doing it, or the fact that he was doing it with only one arm.

  But the trick wasn’t over yet.

  One second he was on the rings. The next second, he wasn’t.

  In the time it took Simon to blink, he was hurtling back towards earth in a controlled dive; a dive that he pulled out of at the last second by giving Simon a spinning kick to the head.

  Simon saw it coming, but had zero time to react.

  The world went black. Then flickered on and off.

  Simon had no idea how long he was out. He came to in a gust. Like the time he fell asleep in class and woke suddenly, not sure how long he’d been out and shocked that it had only been a minute or two. When he finally opened his eyes, they came to rest on Tristan’s shoes—standing just in front of his face. They followed the shoes up the rest of the body to an arrogant smirk waiting there at the top.

  “Had enough yet, Simon?”

  A dark silence charged the air between them.

  The guy might be talented. Hell, the guy might be as talented as they come. But he clearly didn’t know Simon.

  Simon was just getting started.

  All the while he’d been watching, there had been a tingling hum in his skin. It was almost as if the ink coursing through his veins recognized its companion and rose to the surface. A latent power had been building in his muscles, and when the time came to strike, he was suddenly sure.

  With the speed of a cobra, he leapt off the floor in a spinning kick of his own, catching Tristan right across the face. He felt it as his shoe made contact. A perfect hit.

  A second later, it was Tristan who was lying on his back. Not Simon.

  There was a muted profanity as Tristan turned his head to the side and spat out a mouthful of blood. But Simon didn’t give him a second to rest. He had learned better.

  The next instant, he was towering above him in a rage. He picked him up by the collar of his shirt and threw him into the wall mats as hard as he could. Even with the padding, he could hear a sharp crack as Tristan’s body made impact, followed by a soft groan as he slid to the floor.

  As fate would have it, it
wasn’t his face that Tristan was cradling—even though Simon had kicked him right in the jaw. It was his arm. Apparently, the nurse had a point about that sling after all. And the act of being thrown repeatedly around the room was making an already bad situation that much worse.

  For a second, Simon was tempted to stop. He saw the way Tristan’s eyes watered involuntarily as the broken limb curled into his chest. He saw the way that it was taking every bit of determination the guy had not to make a sound.

  But Jason’s last words echoed in his head like a warning bell.

  ‘I’ll be back for whoever’s left come morning.’

  It was going to be him. It had to be him. And if that meant that he had to destroy whatever was left of Tristan Wardell in the process, then that’s exactly what he was going to do.

  Like an image of hell itself, he stormed across the mats to where Tristan lay bleeding. The boy’s blue eyes flashed up at the speed of light, and the next second he was on his feet.

  There was a strong possibility that bell was ringing for the both of them.

  There was a cry of rage and Tristan’s hand flashed out at the speed of light.

  But for the first time Simon had ever seen it, Tristan missed.

  Wait a minute. Tristan doesn’t miss.

  Sure enough, as Simon turned to block one way, Tristan hit him from the other side. It was a basic trick, but one that could be highly effective if pulled off with the right amount of speed.

  Unfortunately for Simon, Tristan had that speed.

  He slammed backwards onto the floor, a dull ringing in his ears. Again, the picture of the Oratory flickered dim and overly-bright in his eyes. That’s when Tristan kicked him in the face.

  “DAMNIT!”

  There was a dull crunch, and Simon felt sure his nose was broken. What felt like a river of blood poured down his chin, leading back in a guilty trail to Tristan’s shoe.

  That might have been the end of it. The Simon Kerrigan of a week ago might have raised his hands in bloody surrender. No job was worth this. No mentor’s or flippin’ Botcher’s approval.

  Except that was a week ago.

  And things had changed.