What Morgan could lay at Harper’s feet was blackmailing her into being the one to train her.
Every other morning for the last six weeks, the two of them beat the crap out of each other.
While Morgan had strength and training behind her, Harper had magic and loved to cheat. No matter how much skill Morgan had, she was a novice at magic. Though she had the raw strength of pure power, she had yet to learn the finer aspects of how to control it.
The one time she tried to strike back at Harper magically, she accidently left a crater in the ground and knocked herself on her own ass.
She’d since been banned from casting, allowed to use magic only as a shield.
As she raced up the last set of stairs to her new room, she suddenly veered right, toward her old dorm, needing a few minutes to regain her composure before she confronted the men.
And saw a man leaving Neil’s room, carrying a box.
“Son of a bitch.” Her hand unconsciously formed a fist, the metal cuff around her wrist melting, slipping through her fingers to solidify into a black blade. The relic was a magical weapon said to be able to kill anything.
She ran, then dropped and slid, taking the guy out at the knees. The box hit the floor with a crash, and barely missed crushing her. She twisted and brought up her weapon, resting it against his neck when he tried to sit. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The guy reached for the weapon at his side but froze when her blade touched his neck. “Ahhh—”
She pressed the blade harder, stopping just short of drawing blood. “We don’t steal from the dead.”
“Neil was a traitor. His stuff should’ve been cleared out and burned long ago for disgracing our family name.”
Morgan turned to see a young woman standing in Neil’s doorway, her long black hair stretching down her back, her pale skin flawless, her beauty stunning if not for her hard, dark eyes. “Now either let my brother up or kill him.”
She turned away, vanishing back into the room without another word.
Morgan lifted the blade and registered that while the kid was large, he was young. She released her hold on the blade, and the metal melted down, snaking up her arm to re-form into a decorative black cuff, and hastily got to her feet. “Sorry.”
“You’re Morgan.” The kid didn’t move. “He talked about you. He said you were different.”
Morgan blinked, not sure she liked having people talk about her.
When she didn’t say anything, he carefully got to his feet, never removing his gaze from hers, as if she was a predator and not a person…which might not be too far from the truth most days. By the time he straightened, she was surprised to find him towering over her.
“I’m his brother, Kalvin.”
When he thrust out his hand, Morgan ignored it, unwilling to touch a stranger. She cocked her head and studied him. “While you have a bit of magic, you’re not like Neil.”
“No, I’m not dying. My magic is dormant.” He dropped his hand and gave her a crooked smile, and she saw the resemblance to Neil for the first time, and pain lanced through her chest sharper than any blade.
He was what Neil would’ve looked like if he’d been healthy and not eaten up and driven insane by magic. Kalvin’s brown hair was thick, with a touch of wave, his brown eyes bright rather than dulled by pain, his body filled out, almost brawny if he ever grew into his large, bony shoulders, nothing like the sharp elbows and angles of Neil’s skinny form. Where Neil’s eyes teemed with secrets and intelligence, Kalvin’s were full of hope and promise.
No cynicism.
No desperation.
Tears burned at the back of her throat at what might have been had she noticed Neil was in trouble sooner, if she’d realized her magic could have saved him.
Morgan stooped and began shoving the fallen items haphazardly back into the box, her hands shaking when she came across Neil’s glasses, and tears threatened to fall. “He wasn’t a bad man, he was just scared and afraid to die.”
Kalvin crouched in front of her, avoiding her eyes as he plunked the rest of the objects in the box. “You’re the only one who has anything kind to say about him. The family won’t even speak his name.”
“I miss him.”
Kalvin exhaled loudly, his voice only a breath of air. “Me, too.”
“Don’t let them erase him. He might have been misguided, but he gave the last minutes of his life to save mine.” Morgan glanced up at him, then held the glasses out to him. When he touched them, she felt something stir in her bones, a warmth that startled her.
The runes on her back remained cold, a dead weight against her skin, the magic having sunk into her blood and bones after the ritual Neil gave his life to save her from.
Since then, the magic had never returned to the runes.
She wasn’t sure what the warmth meant, other than that Kalvin was important.
“Keep them.”
She was startled out of her thoughts when he shoved the glasses back at her. Her hands automatically closed around the frames, and she held them to her chest.
“Maybe between the two of us he won’t be forgotten.”
A box thunked to the ground behind them. “Get moving, Kalvin. I want to get out of here by the end of the hour.” She marched down the hall without another word, the bitch too much of a princess to even bother carrying a box.
“Ignore Olivia. She hated Neil since the day they were born, blaming him for taking the magic that should’ve been hers.”
Morgan swung around to watch him lift the box and add it to the others. “What do you mean?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Kalvin blinked at her, then shook his head. “Of course not. They were twins. She resented him from the moment he first drew breath. He stole her birthright. Her magic. Her admission to the Academy. She never forgave him. The last thing he did was take the only thing left to her by tarnishing the Delany name.”
“No doubt she made his life hell.” She didn’t have to guess. She followed Kalvin into the room, carefully pocketing the glasses, saddened to see the dorm room stripped bare, Neil’s life obliterated in a couple of hours.
“You have no idea.” He heaved a sigh and picked up the last two boxes. “At least he got to escape.”
Morgan watched him walk out of the room and felt bad for the kid. She followed him out into the hall. “Is there no escape for you?”
He stiffened at her question, peered at her before quickly dropping his gaze. “I don’t have a sponsor. Unless I’m called to the Academy, my life will be spent protecting Olivia until she’s mated.”
She glanced at the empty room, then back at Kalvin, the magic in her bones warming as an idea began to brew at the back of her mind. “What if you took Neil’s place at the Academy?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “If only it were so easy. I would need my own sponsor. Unfortunately, I don’t have the same talent as Neil or the fighting skills of a warrior.” He sounded matter-of-fact, but a blush darkened his face.
Morgan grabbed one of the final boxes, and by mutual decision, they began walking down the hall. She knew what it was like to be alone and at the mercy of others. The least she could do was try. “What if I can find you a sponsor?”
The kid fumbled the boxes, blinking his big brown eyes as if stunned. “That’s not how it works.” His voice was thick with repressed emotions.
“Why not?” Morgan glanced around the hall, then dropped her box and shoved it against the wall. “Put your boxes down and follow me.”
Without waiting for him to respond, she navigated the twists and turns of the Academy until she stood outside a familiar door, then waited for Kalvin to catch up. When he came to a stop next to her, his brown eyes wild, his sandy brown hair standing up a little, his chest heaving, she gave him a wicked smile and knocked briskly.
“What do you want?” Taking that as permission to enter, she shoved open the door and stepped across the threshold. She ignored the way Kalvin stood fr
ozen, standing awkwardly in the hall as he peeked into the room with wide eyes.
The MacGregor sat behind a monstrous desk he had somehow managed to cram into his room, the old man barely glancing up when she halted in front of him. The burly warrior was well past his prime, reminding her of a gnarled old grizzly, and as grumpy as one, the past few weeks of inactivity making him more of a caged beast than ever.
A knotted, twisted scar climbed out of the collar of his shirt, wrapping around his neck, announcing to the world that he had nearly been beheaded. Half a dozen new scars littered his body, a few roughly healed, until his skin resembled a jagged jigsaw puzzle. He looked a wreck, his silver hair wilder than normal, so instead of resembling a shaggy sheepdog, he looked like he stuck his finger in a socket. Wrinkles creased his face, giving him a severe expression, made worse because he hardly ever smiled anymore.
The room was twice as large as a normal dorm, more of a suite of rooms, and every surface was packed with books, papers, and an assortment of weapons that he would never carry into battle again due to the severity of his injuries.
He was trained in the old ways.
True warriors didn’t retire.
They died in battle.
“You’re snarly and bored. What if I can find you something to do?” That caught his attention, and his head snapped up like a hound scenting prey. Sharp, faded blue eyes raked her from head to toe without giving away a hint of what he was thinking, the intelligence in them intimidating, even after all the years she trained with him.
He’d nearly been killed two months ago in battle, during which he lost the mansion where he was the leader of an elite crew of warriors and witches. It was unknown when the bespelled mansion would be rebuilt, or whether a new MacGregor would be selected, but by the slump of his shoulders, her old mentor knew.
His last task would be to train his replacement.
Mistress McKay was keeping a strict eye on him ever since the last skirmish. If left to his own devices, the old man would only get into trouble.
Being relegated to an advisory position, not being in the thick of things, was driving him batty.
He was the closest thing she had to a father, and nearly losing him scared the bejesus out of her, but coddling him would only lead to disaster. He was teetering at the end of his rope. She was terrified it would take only one push to turn it into a noose.
“What do you have in mind?” MacGregor eyed her suspiciously, and rightly so. The two of them got into trouble more often than not, sneaking around the Academy, the school helping them disappear for a few hours at a time to train like old times, and they both caught hell for it.
Morgan reached into the hall and dragged the kid in behind her. “This is Kalvin.”
She gave him a shove, and the kid stumbled until he was in the center of the room. Then she began to back up. “I think you need a squire.”
Both men turned toward her. MacGregor scowled, while Kalvin gaped at her. “Morgan—”
“This is a castle, and you need a project or you will go insane. Think of it this way—if you’re busy training, you won’t be stuck in your room at the mercy of anyone who walks past.”
MacGregor’s eyes shone at the chance of escaping his warden, Mistress McKay, and he turned to study the kid speculatively.
She eyed Kalvin, commiserating when she saw he was as white as a sheet. “This is your chance to escape your sister.”
She gave both of them a stern look. “Make this work.”
The MacGregor narrowed his eyes on her at the order. When she lifted her brows and nodded at the kid, understanding finally flickered across his face.
He was the one who taught her to trust her instincts, and they were screaming at her that Kalvin was important.
She backed out into the hall, then slammed the door on their astonished faces. She hovered in the corridor until she heard them start to speak. “Neil was my older brother. I’ll understand if you ask me to leave.”
“Do you plan on following in your brother’s footsteps?” His gruff voice was harsh.
“No, sir.” She could practically hear Kalvin gulp.
“If you stay, you’ll have to work twice as hard just to be treated fairly. They won’t forget what your brother did. They won’t forgive.”
“I can do that, sir. Anything.” The eagerness in his voice was heart-wrenching.
Morgan grinned at the mischief her meddling would cause and took off down the hall. The MacGregor saved her life, and she was determined to do the same for him. Like a cornered animal, he was snapping at everyone who got close to him. Sooner or later he would go off on his own and get himself killed. She refused to allow it.
And Kalvin was the key.
There was something special about the kid, and her instincts said he shouldn’t leave the school. Until she figured out what it was about him that nagged at her, the two men could keep an eye on each other.
She practically skipped down the hall, her good mood restored.
At least one thing had gone right today.
She halted abruptly when she found herself outside the room she shared with her men. Suddenly uncertain, she grabbed her necklace when her nerves began to fray. What happened in the next few minutes would decide the rest of her life, and she wasn’t sure she was ready yet to make such a final decision.
What if they didn’t choose her?
The decision was made for her when the door was wrenched open, a surprised Atlas stepping aside to let her enter. The elf promptly followed her into the room, revealing none of his emotions. He pretended to be a cold bastard, but she was beginning to suspect it was a lie. He was a man with too many secrets, always maintaining his distance from others. When she caught him studying her when he thought no one was looking, those haunted green eyes of his would darken with some unnamed emotion he refused to allow himself to feel.
“Where the hell have you been?” Kincade straightened away from the wall and stalked toward her, the gargoyle as rigid and unforgiving as his stone counterpart.
She stiffened at his words, lifting her chin defiantly at his accusation. No matter how long they’d been apart, the sight of him always stole her breath, and she cursed the way her body betrayed her. His stern, sculptured face always sent a tingle down her spine, and made her want to both run away and make him smile.
A little over six feet tall, he was deceptively lanky and lean, his muscles like carved granite, a skilled warrior and leader of an elite set of assassins tasked with protecting humans from creatures of the paranormal world. It was a title he earned through hard work, and it was sexy as hell that he could handle himself in any situation. Stubble on his jaw made her fingers itch to touch, but the frost in his green eyes kept her rooted to the spot, and the distance he’d placed between them over the last few weeks came crashing back.
For one crazy second, she forgot they were no longer a team, and her spirits deflated as reality returned.
His voice was low, not even bothering to work up enough energy to yell at her properly, and the pain in her heart rippled through her chest.
That’s when she noticed the rest of the men were staring at her with varying degrees of disapproval—even Draven, that traitor. He was supposed to be her friend, but the devil-may-care man from two months ago had vanished.
She missed him terribly.
As if reading her thoughts, a flash of sympathy shimmered in Draven’s eyes before he turned away, ruthlessly blocking any camaraderie that once existed between them. He was a siren with the ability to get anything he wanted with nothing more than a touch or a softly spoken word. With a trace of a finger or a seductive kiss, he drew energy from others as easily as breathing.
But his powers didn’t work on her.
Morgan wasn’t sure if he was keeping his distance out of fear, or if he had been ordered to do so by Kincade.
Ryder glowered in the corner, the big wolf clearly fighting a snarl as he scowled at Kincade, his beast nearly spilling out of his skin.
He refused to look at her, his shoulders bowed in submission, his fists clenched at his side, and his rejection made the back of her throat ache.
Ascher glared openly at Kincade, clearly disagreeing with how Kincade treated her, but he didn’t break ranks. The hellhound had been her companion for years, and his betrayal bit the deepest.
Apparently, her newness to the team had worn off.
Her attraction to them no longer distracted her from what colossal asses they were being.
Morgan crossed her arms and raised her brow. “You mean for the whole ten minutes that I deviated from your schedule?”
Chapter Three
Kincade tightened his mouth against speaking, knowing he would crumble. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers looked so devastated, he wanted to gather her in his arms. It took all his willpower to stand his ground.
She needed to understand that she couldn’t disobey orders.
He hated the restrictions he needed to impose, but they couldn’t lose her. She was too important, not only to them, but to the Academy as well.
But she was pulling away more and more every day that passed, and the more she retreated, the more he wanted to say to hell with it and take her away from it all.
The only thing holding him back was knowing she was safer here.
She needed to train, needed to know how to protect herself.
As the silence stretched, disappointment shattered her eyes, and she released a heavy sigh. “This isn’t working.”
Panic clawed up his chest as she calmly walked into her room, the defeated slump to her shoulders nearly his undoing.
“She’s going to leave.” Ascher scowled, taking an aggressive step forward, and Kincade faced off with him, welcoming the chance to work off his frustrations.
“You agreed this was the best place for her. She’s safe here.”
Draven snorted. “Safety isn’t the point.”
“Her safety is all that matters.” Atlas leaned against the wall, his expression not giving away anything, the unfeeling bastard. He didn’t understand. Morgan wasn’t his mate. Seeing her every day while forced to keep his distance had become sheer torture for Kincade, the disappointment in her eyes twisting him up in knots. Where she was involved, none of them could remain impartial. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could push his team before they snapped.
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