by Angel Lawson
“No.” But we see Luke across the room, sporting a faint ring of black under his eye. I’m not sure if all the rumors from the party are true, but someone punched him in the eye. Not that I blame them.
I spot Armin pouring himself a cup of coffee. He’s still in his instructor’s outfit, a long, dark gray robe. He’s a man that prefers a uniform.
“How was the party?” he asks, handing me the cup.
“Stupid.”
“I heard someone spiked the punch with truth fairy dust.”
I frown. “What’s fairy dust?”
“Depends on the fairy,” Elizabeth replies, stirring a massive scoop of sugar into her coffee. “Truth, lies, desires…I didn’t taste any. I’m calling bullshit on that.”
“Marshal was in rare form. I didn’t stay long.” I avoid the sugar but pour milk into my mug. “I did talk to Luke for a while.”
Concern flickers on Armin’s face. “How did that go?”
I shrug. “I think he’s solid. He’s still pissed at his dad. Marielle is another story, I doubt she can resist Roland’s allure.”
“We’re going to need more than the Nephilim to hold Roland off.”
I think about Darius but keep it to myself for right now. I need to watch him for a bit first.
“I don’t like the idea of picking teams. How is that any different than being in the crusade?”
“Allies are always important—it’s better to have them before the first shot is fired.”
“Since when do you use a gun?” I glance at his biceps. “You know, other than those.”
He frowns and looks at his arms.
“It’s a saying,” Elizabeth tells him and grabs his massive arm. “For these weapons.”
“Ah.” His eyes flick over my face, settling on my lips. “Good one.”
I take a sip of my coffee, pretending my drink is what’s making me warm. Armin is strong. Sexy. Fantastic in bed. He’s also incredibly literal.
A loud, sharp tapping cuts through the loud voices of the students, drawing attention to the elevated stage at the far end of the room. A long table stretches across; it’s where the instructors typically sit. Miya and Agis are there, plates of food in front of them. The interruption comes from the center point of the table.
Roland.
He stands at the edge of the stage, broad-shouldered and handsome. I know that inside is a rotting, vengeful man, but from the outside he’s good-looking and confident. The kind of leader an unsuspecting person would want to follow into battle.
“Students and faculty, I know the past few days have been filled with uncertainty and upheaval. Headmaster Gardner is no longer with us,” his eyes flick in my direction, “and you’ve graciously welcomed me into the fold. As you know, my duties are beyond the day-to-day activities of the students. That responsibility was assigned to Professor Christensen.”
“Was?” I whisper.
Roland’s attention shifts to the edge of the platform, and every eye in the room follows his gaze. A woman appears to materialize from thin air. Had she been there all along? I’ve certainly never seen her before, with fiery red hair twisted in a tight, uncomfortable bun.
“Fuck,” Armin says in a whisper. Both Miya and Agis have stopped eating and stare at the woman.
My stomach twists nervously.
Roland grins. “I’d like you to welcome our new lead instructor, Victorine Keller.”
He smiles at Victorine, who, although she looks no older than I do, there’s a cold, ancient darkness to her eyes. She’s definitely an Immortal.
She steps up to the edge of the stage, her long black cape fluttering over her shoulders. The room is silent as she peers into the crowd. Her eyes skim over each person individually, and when she gets to me, I feel a flicker of a shadow scraping down my bones.
“What the—” I mutter. Armin’s fingers graze mine, an attempt to quell the shudder running down my spine.
It doesn’t work, but the ring on my finger heats, sending a flare of warmth up my arm.
“As of today,” Victorine says in a haunting, authoritative tone, “all classes will be cancelled.”
A loud whoop of excitement rumbles through the room. I see Luke and one of his friends high-fiving across the table from one another.
She smiles, teeth straight and white. “Don’t get too excited. There will still be mandatory activities, including a series of events nightly. Tonight’s will be a special presentation that you don’t want to miss.”
She steps aside, leaving the room in a roar of chatter.
Miya and Agis both stand as she crosses the stage, exiting the room. They head in our direction. When they arrive, I pull the three of them aside and ask, “You know her, don’t you?”
“Victorine was a partner of Camulus’. A demi-god,” Miya says. “She’s cruel and heartless.”
“Calculating,” Agis adds, arms crossed over his chest.
“She had an affinity for the Immortals, especially Roland.”
An affinity? What the hell does that mean?
This is the most stressed—the most strained—that I’ve seen them.
“Why did he bring her here?” I ask.
“He’s sowing chaos,” Armin replies, quietly. “It’s his specialty. The less focused the students are, the more distracted and swayed by lures of flesh and gluttony, the easier it will be to sway them to his side.”
“And why does he need her? Because from what I can tell, she doesn’t look like a barrel of fun.”
The three warriors look at one another, unspeaking, and it’s then that I see Marshal watching us closely from across the room. Despite the air of disinterest, annoyance flickers in those green eyes. He’s bothered by her presence, too.
Whatever Victorine is doing here, it can’t be good—and if Roland wants to distract the Immortals? I think he just accomplished it.
My hands grip the bed rail over my head; knees bent, spread. Armin’s tongue sweeps between my legs, working diligently. He’s surprisingly delicate for a man so big, so dangerous. Sometimes I think he’s afraid he’ll break me. He’s not wrong. He’s shattered me a dozen times now, drawing out mind-bending orgasm after orgasm.
We’ve come a long way from the shy man afraid to sleep alone.
His tongue glides over my clit, while one hand plays with my pebbled, hard nipple. I breathe, no pant, squirming against the building tension. He places his strong, free hand on my hip, settling me, trapping me, forcing me still.
I stop fighting and focus on the man between my legs. His body is perfection. His face molded by the gods. His mouth may be infused with magic. Whatever it is, he’s patient and focused. Determined. The qualities that make him a good warrior make him an amazing lover. The coil winds, and I fist the blankets, biting down on my lip. The spring that has built and built and built inside of me can go no further. It releases, unfurling in waves, the first the most intense, followed by decreasing force, my hips gyrating, my pussy throbbing, my groan deep and filled with pleasure. Armin breathes against me and even that is too much, I’m sensitive and so, so wet. Sweat coats my body and I look down him and see the small, twisted smile on his lips.
“You do that like you think every orgasm you give me will save your soul,” I say, as he climbs up the bed, giving me a view of his body. It’s all hard, taut muscle. Under his shorts, I see the swollen shape of his cock.
“Maybe it will,” he replies, kissing my shoulder. “It feels like a win-win either way.”
I stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath. With no classes to attend or instruct, we’d sought one another for entertainment. I suspect the rest of the school will fall into same habits, just like Roland wants. Chaos and destruction.
Armin kisses down my arm, in the crook of my elbow, my wrists and each finger.
“Is this new?” he asks, studying the ring.
“I found it in my trunk.”
He tugs against my finger, but it clings to my skin. I should feel panicked, but I
don’t. The metal is warm against my skin.
He frowns. “It’s enchanted.”
“I think so.”
“And you’re not afraid it was left for you by an enemy?” He sits abruptly. “What if it’s location spelled? Or filled with poison? What if it’s leeching your soul?”
There’s not an ounce of humor in his accusations, each one completely, deadly serious.
I pull my hand away, feeling both shame and annoyance. “It’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.” I don’t know how to express the affinity I have for the ring. How it sings to me at times. It’s warm, sending a tingle up my skin. I also know it sounds stupid.
He hops out of bed, giving me an excellent view of his strong back. “I need to tell Rupert—or maybe Christensen.”
“No. Don’t bother Rupert.” He raises an eyebrow in question. “He seems stressed out. This will probably only make it worse.”
“What about Christensen?”
“Let me see if anything happens first, okay?” I twist the ring and it hums, vibrating against my skin. “I’ll be careful, and if anything weird happens, I’ll let you know. But if it’s something evil or dangerous, we need to know that, too.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Well, it’s my decision.”
I don’t say it, but the rest of the sentence is implied. I’m the leader. I make the decisions—not Armin or the other Immortals. If I want to wear the ring, I will.
He nods and reaches for me. I’m on my knees on the bed while he stands next to it. He wraps his arms around me.
“Be careful. Anything—and I mean anything—out of the ordinary happens, you let me know.”
“I will.”
He kisses me, strong and with intent. Armin’s loyalty runs deep. The instant we partnered up and the moment I crawled into his bed, something shifted for him. I can feel it. It’s both flattering and terrifying.
“Any idea what’s going to happen tonight?” I ask, scratching the back of his neck. He purrs like a jungle cat.
“Not a clue,” he replies, fingers tight and possessive against my hips. “But I can promise you one thing, it’s not going to be good.”
4
Hildi
Elizabeth and I walk down the steep basement stairs together. Other students are in front or behind us, all anxiously eager to find out what’s on the other end. Armin suggested we go as a group, but even though boundaries are slipping, I want to maintain my image as a student. It’s strategic positioning, no matter what the students may have heard about me and the guys the night Gardner was killed.
When I killed him.
I anticipate that we’ll head to the training room—the one where Luke and Agis came to blows, but torches light the corridor in a different direction and soon we’re lead down a damp, cold path underground.
Goosebumps pebble across my skin. They’re not just from the cold, but from the memory of the soul-sucking chill of the abyss. We’re crossing under the realm of the monsters. I glance at Elizabeth. Her face is pale.
“Do you know where we are?” I ask, fighting the sensation of cold, evil fingers wrapping around my skin.
“Although it looks like the Academy is in the middle of nothing, it’s really linked to a million different worlds. There are access points all over.”
“Like the portal we fell through when we arrived.”
“Exactly. Portals, doorways, gates, halls, tunnels, mirrors, paintings…” She shivers and takes a shuddering breath. “They’re sealed off with magic. The students aren’t really given permission to come and go freely. Especially not when something like the crusade is going on, but the administrators can open certain ones for the school to use.”
“Any idea where this one is leading?”
She shakes her head. “Hopefully somewhere warm.”
“Come on,” I encourage her, taking her hand. A flicker of warmth radiates between us and we both look down. The ring gleams in the faint torchlight.
We hurry to the end of the path.
The room we enter is a normal temperature, like the Academy. A low howl echoes in the distance. I release Elizabeth’s hand, but she grabs it back.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
But I do. I’ve felt it before, and suddenly, I know why the ring doesn’t scare me.
Those thoughts are overtaken when we’re squeezed and pushed by a growing crowd, down another passage. This one has large marble pillars, columns flanking both sides. Above is a clear, starry night. After a long, herded walk, we spill out of an opening at the end.
My jaw drops when I see where we are.
I’ve been in stadiums before. Coliseums. Fighting rings in different realms. But this one is different. The seats are in a wide, long oval, flat and made of stone. There’s nothing overhead but the night sky. The air feels warm and clean. Floating just over the sides are white, fluffy clouds. I’m certain if we jumped off, we’d fall down for ages before we hit the ground.
“It’s based after Olympia,” Luke says, easing next to me.
He looks as impressed as I feel.
“My father has tried to replicate it—although it’s mostly used for public humiliation and beheadings. It had to have special enchantments to clear out all the blood.”
This one is opulent. Glorious.
We file in and find seats. Elizabeth is on one side of me. Luke, the other. I’m sure he’s here to keep tabs on me. It works. I want to keep tabs on him, too. I scan the crowd for the Immortals. None are in sight. Maybe whatever bothers them about Victorine has kept them away.
“Look,” Elizabeth says, pointing to the field. In the middle of the emerald-green grass, a massive cage materializes. I can’t see what’s inside, but I can hear it; the howling cry that haunts my nightmares.
“No,” I say, heart lodged in my throat.
Luke grabs my arm, the skin on his hand pale. “Is that a—”
“Fucking Roland and his fucking games,” I mutter. “We need to get out of here.”
The three of us stand at the same time a whirring sound cuts through the night. At the opposite end of the stadium, a gaping hole appears. Five people are pushed out by guards wearing shrouds over their heads.
“Are we going?” Luke asks.
I’m frozen in my spot, trying to figure out who is under the shrouds. Is it the Immortals?
A figure strides across the field. There’s no mistaking the red hair and long flowing cape.
“Students,” Victorine says, when she reaches the center of the field. Her voice booms without a microphone, magically enhanced. “Tonight will be the first of many important challenges. No longer will you spend your time in the classroom learning about ancient wars, or tedious skills. No more noses in dusty books. Tonight begins a journey that has only one end. Winning.”
I’ve barely taken a breath, so consumed about who is under the shrouds.
“Unlike Headmaster Gardner, this administration is here to prepare you for the battle of many lifetimes. We’re not here to tip-toe around the truth. We want winners. Warriors. Fighters. If you don’t think you’re ready for that, leave. Now.” When no one does, she smiles wickedly and holds up an urn. “Five students have been selected for tonight’s event. They will step forward according to their number drawn. Guards, remove their hoods!”
The head coverings are yanked off, revealing five students—none of them one of my Immortals. At first I don’t recognize any of the kids blinking into the bright light, trying to acclimate their eyes, but then in the middle, I see a familiar face.
Darius.
Victorine’s eyes flick to the cage. Only a few of us know what’s in there. What she’s about to reveal.
“Each will battle the creature in this cage. The winners? They will be rewarded. The losers…” she grins wickedly, “They’ll meet a different fate.”
It’s ominous, but it’s obvious the Academy royals find it e
ntertaining, cheering in response. Of course they do, they’re not the ones about to get eaten by an eight-eyed, fanged, flying monster. At least not yet.
Victorine plucks a number out of the urn, then holds it into the air. “Number three. You’re first.”
Darius steps forward, and I gasp, feeling sick. He doesn’t look afraid, his chin lifted up, making the long braids on his head hang down his back.
“Who is that?” Elizabeth asks.
“Darius Blackmon,” Luke replies, watching the boy closely. “He’s a shifter.”
“What kind?” she asks. I haven’t said a word.
“He’s from a tribe of Shamans. He can turn into whatever animal, person, or creature he wants.”
It’s true. I’ve seen it. Is he as good as his uncle?
“Including eight-eyed flying monsters with claws like razors?” Elizabeth asks.
He nods. “If he’s fast enough.”
As though the monster can smell his prey, it shrieks again, claws scraping against the metal crate. It takes four guards to open the cage door. Darius doesn’t look scared. Just thoughtful. The crowd hums with excitement. I feel nauseous, and Elizabeth holds my hand. She hasn’t seen one of these creatures on her own, but she witnessed first-hand what it did to Armin’s leg.
The door slides open and the guards scatter. A scaly black wing appears first. The students around us quiet, aware for the first time what’s about to happen. From up in the stands, I see Darius assessing the monster—he only gets one second—before the beast flies out of the crate, jaw open wide, talons outstretched. The shift is instantaneous. A blink. Then there are two monsters on the field, swooping toward one another. Howling identical, bone-chilling cries.
I should look away. I should walk away. I don’t. I’m frozen in my seat like every other spectator in the room. Watching and waiting for the massacre to begin.
Darius, the Shaman, prevails. The others? Only one manages to avoid complete annihilation. For a moment, I think they’re dead. All four, but, as they carry the bodies off the field, I sense the magic. It’s similar to the fighting rings back home. The monster itself is an illusion. Real enough that spectators actually watch someone die. The person involved actually feels like they die. But it’s fake. It’s a test.