He acted so noble, but her mind flashed to the little bird and the cruel net—evidence that they clearly didn’t care if the creatures were hurt.
Study, my ass.
She doubted the other participants were any more willing than her bird, based on how the elf’s smooth voice made his prey sound more like ingredients.
Appalled and more than a little protective of the bird she harbored, she tore her eyes away before she did something foolish, like launch herself at him and slice his lying throat.
No doubt she would find herself at the top of his study list.
Ward acted as if he hadn’t heard the conversation at all, his sole focus on the ruined castle. Not an ounce of emotion showed on his face, but the stiff way he held himself warned he was barely holding his shit together.
Not good.
Only one of them could be the loose cannon—and no way in hell could she be the voice of reason.
She’d get them both tossed in the dungeon even before they set foot into the elves’ precious, decaying castle.
A deep-chested, victorious howl interrupted her thoughts, and she whirled toward the sound, her heart lodging in her throat. “Ryder!”
Chapter Seven
“Woo-hoo!” Draven yodeled from the ramparts, pumping his fist in the air. “Where the hell have you been?”
Morgan sprinted the short distance toward the castle, her eyes locked on her guys, who were standing at the edge of the thirty-foot wall. When she would have shouted a reply, she was stunned to see Ryder sail over the ledge.
Even knowing the fall wouldn’t kill him, the sight of his plummeting form caused her breath to catch in her throat and shaved years off her life.
He landed in a crouch, every inch the wolf staring back at her in his human form.
“Dammit, wolf boy, wait for me.” Thankfully, Draven raced for the stairway instead of giving her another fucking heart attack.
Then her attention swung back to Ryder as he slowly straightened to his full height and stalked toward her, and her breath caught again at the delicious, totally captivating loose-limbed gait of his. It screamed one night with him would never be enough.
Hunger darkened his whisky brown eyes, his gaze a combination of wolf and human as he boldly stared at her, refusing to drop his gaze, his natural reserve around others vanishing when he was with her.
His shoulder-length brown hair had beautiful highlights that invited her to touch. The strands were wild, like he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly. With each step, he grew larger, almost a giant of a man she’d mistaken him for when they first met. His aversion to touch, his reserve around others, left him often mistaken for being stupid, but the quiet cunning of his wolf stood out boldly in his eyes.
And he clearly had one thing on his mind.
Her.
A rumbling growl worked up his throat when he strode within touching distance. He wrapped her up in his arms, swept her off her feet and enveloped her in a hug, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his fingers dragging her hair out of its ponytail. He inhaled deeply, a small tremor running through him, and she knew he was fighting to remain human. The clean scent of wildness reminded her of wide-open places and freedom she associated with him.
She was concerned about his reaction, his continual silence disturbing. He was almost completely wolf, so much so, she doubted he could even form words at the moment. In less than a day’s separation, he had devolved so much, acid churned in her gut.
“My turn.” Draven didn’t wait for an invitation. He shoved at Ryder’s shoulders, ignored the snarled reply as the big man delicately lowered her to the ground. He refused to release her completely, keeping hold of her hand as if afraid she would vanish again. Draven snatched her up in his arms and squeezed so hard she lost her breath. “You had us worried, little one.”
Morgan was shocked by Draven’s voluntary touch. He was always so careful to keep his distance, now she wasn’t sure how to react. One wrong move might send him scurrying back into the hard, protective shell he used to maintain his distance from everyone. She slowly wrapped her arms around him, afraid he might skitter away like a feral cat.
The heavenly, sugary-sweet smell of brownies and chocolate goodness enveloped her, and it didn’t surprise her one bit how many women gave into the delicious urge to taste him.
Suddenly uncomfortable at the turn of her thoughts, she reluctantly pulled away.
He wasn’t hers.
She had enough trouble with her mates. She didn’t need to invite more into her life…despite the temptation and the urging of her body.
When he released her, Morgan saw the lines of strain on his face—lines put there by her disappearance—and sorrow pierced her chest like a lance. None of the fun-loving jokester remained, his eyes flat and hard as images of murder and rage danced in his head.
He was losing control.
What little progress they made at the Academy to chase away the demons of Draven’s past had completely vanished.
He grabbed her hand, lifted her arm up away from her body, and studied her with those frosted blue eyes of his, scanning her from head to foot. Only when he concluded his exam and found her relatively unscathed did he relax and smile for the first time.
He glared over her shoulder, his happy mood fading when he spotted the contingent of elves watching, then tugged on her hand. “We should head inside.”
She wasn’t sure what triggered his protectiveness—the falling darkness or the troop of elves descending on them.
“How many people from the school survived?” She forced the question out past her dry lips, terrified of his answer.
“The school evacuated us, opening every portal and pulling us through.” He scowled at the answer, clearly disgruntled. “Then it fell with barely a fight.”
Morgan was shocked, but secretly relieved to know everyone made it out alive…almost everyone. “And the gargoyle? He was being swarmed when I left. Did he make it through the gate?”
Draven’s hand tightened on hers, and she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer. “The statues and wolves bought us time to escape. None of them were transported through, so I’m not sure if any…” He broke off at her expression. “…I’m not sure who survived.”
The pain of loss carved out her insides until breathing hurt.
The stone tucked close to her side heated, as if offering her comfort, and she was suddenly absurdly glad that a part of the gargoyle had survived. As long as she had the figurine, at least part of him would live.
Ryder let out a grumbling growl at her distress, glaring at Draven over the top of her head, and tugged her into the warm protection of his body.
“Sorry, big guy, but you can’t protect her from life.” Draven was clearly annoyed with Ryder. “If you have something to say, use your words.”
She squeezed both their hands, and they glanced at her with matching scowls on their faces. “Anything I should be worried about?”
Draven rolled his eyes so hard, it was a wonder he didn’t hurt himself. “Your boy there is wolf in all but form. It seems he’s forgotten how to speak.”
Morgan was appalled. “How long has he been like that?”
“Since you were taken.” His frosted blue eyes darkened with worry, then he flashed her a charming smile. “Don’t worry, though. Now that you’re back, his wolf will settle down like a good dog.”
Ryder swung his arm, his long reach easily passing over her. Draven ducked, but couldn’t escape the sharp smack to the back of his head.
“Ouch!” He rubbed the injury with his free hand, giving her a wounded look, searching for sympathy, and the tightness in her chest loosened at their antics.
They’re alive!
“He’s only managed to remain human by the skin of his teeth.” Draven tightened his hand on hers, whether to reassure her or himself, she wasn’t sure. His eyes flickered up, a scowl darkening his face. “They were watching him every second. The instant he changed, I have n
o doubt they would’ve put him down, or worse, caged him with the other specimens they’ve been collecting.”
She almost tripped over her own feet at what the elves had in store for Ryder. Rage sizzled along her nerve endings, triggering her magic, dragging it from deep in her bones with the need to kill every last one of those cold bastards. Her necklace did nothing to stop the barrage of seething, angry energy.
“Shite.” Draven jerked his hand back like she’d burned him, while Ryder grunted, then spun her around and pushed her up against the castle wall, edging closer until she was sandwiched between the cold wall and the hot, hard muscles of his body.
He ducked his head, and her breath caught in her throat, half expecting him to ravish her mouth. Her heart hiccupped, and the magic scattered like ashes to the wind, her rage turning into a passion of a different sort.
She tipped her head back in a silent demand for a kiss when Draven leaned against the stones next to them, his head propped on his hand, a coy smile on his face. “Don’t mind me. I enjoy watching.”
Her eyes widened, her spine tingling at his seductive tone, her imagination catching fire. Ryder growled, and goose bumps erupted all over. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop her reaction to them.
Draven’s smile faded, his frosted blue eyes shimmered, and his breathing sped up slightly. Then he pulled away, blinking repeatedly, as if waking, roughly raking shaking fingers through his hair. “Jesus.”
He looked as dazed as she felt.
Ryder nipped at her bottom lip, startling a yelp out of her, and she mourned the loss of him when he stepped away. When he held out a hand for her, she gladly took it, her world righting at his touch.
Draven gave a dry chuckle, then he reached out, snagging her free hand. Touching both of them had a soothing effect, and she suddenly felt foolish about her intense, bewildering, and completely unexpected fantasy.
She eyed Draven suspiciously, but knew it wasn’t his siren abilities affecting them.
No, it was her.
She was losing her immunity to their charms.
Not good.
Draven gave her an uncertain smile, sensing her unease, and she squeezed his fingers, allowing him to tug them both through the gates of the castle and into a bailey of sorts. She pushed away her emotions to worry about later. For now she needed to concentrate on their surroundings and the enemy slowly circling them like a school of sharks.
The conditions inside the castle weren’t much better than the exterior. Every student who could carry a weapon was practicing defending themselves.
Well, trying at least.
One kid took a nasty blow that sent him tumbling ass over teakettle.
“They’re…” She had no words to describe the chaos.
“Awful.” Draven was grim, any lingering awkwardness between them vanishing. “Each assassin was assigned a group of students to train. The only way we can protect them all is to teach them how to defend themselves.”
His eyes flicked upward, and she followed his lead, taking stock of the castle walls. Not only were there a number of elves patrolling the grounds, more than a few were standing on the outer wall as well.
And all of them were watching the activities in the bailey instead of the more dangerous surroundings outside the castle.
“They’ve kept us segregated from the rest of the castle, everyone under constant watch.”
Morgan raised a brow at him in amusement. “Then how did you get onto the roof?”
“Very carefully.” He gave her a rueful smile, but it quickly faded. “We wanted to send out a search party for you, but they refused. So Ascher and Kincade slipped out before they could be stopped.”
“With one of you no doubt creating a diversion?” She raised both eyebrows at him this time, and he shrugged nonchalantly.
“Maybe.” He guided her around a group of fighters, up a set of wide steps and led her through the large castle doors. The interior was more of the same, a number of witches giving the young students lessons on defensive and war magic. Harper was their taskmaster, her stringent voice carrying through the room more effectively than any drill sergeant.
The spark of magic lingered strong in the air, like tinder waiting for a match to be struck, but she didn’t think the danger came from the students.
“Where’s Atlas?”
“Somewhere around here, no doubt.” Draven shrugged, a bit disgruntled and completely unconcerned. “Come. There’s someone waiting for you.” He dragged her away from the training room. Ryder went along, distractedly rubbing his thumb back and forth over the inside of her wrist, sending a tingling heat up her arm.
When Draven stepped aside, Morgan’s heart lifted.
“MacGregor!” She pulled away from the guys and flung herself at the curmudgeonly hunter. The old man barely had time to open his arms when she hit his chest. She inhaled the scent of old leather and metal, her legs suddenly weak at learning he had survived.
“I knew you would make it, lass.” He cleared his throat and patted her back awkwardly.
Morgan reluctantly pulled away, feeling foolish for her emotions, only to halt when his arms tightened.
“We aren’t out of the fire yet,” he murmured. “Trust no one.”
“I know.” Morgan pulled away and smiled up at him. “What would you have me do?”
With a crafty smile, he said, “I have the students infiltrating the entire castle, each assigned to recon different areas. When a few more return with their reports, we should have a full layout.” He nodded toward Mistress McKay, who was surrounded by a group of students, blocking anyone from seeing her magically build a 3D laser version of the castle with a skill Morgan envied. “We should have a plan soon.”
Morgan raised her eyebrow at him, glad to have the crafty old coot in charge again. “How can I help?”
“There’s nothing for you to do yet.” He shook his head, putting his hands behind his back as he led her away from the rest. “Only a fraction of the students were sent to the Primordial World. The majority of them are now scattered throughout other covens.”
“You think we were chosen and sent here for a reason.” It wasn’t a question.
“Did you notice which students are present?” His tone was gruff as he nodded to those practicing.
It only took her a moment to make the connection. “Witches with significant magical talent, and many of the elites—most of whom are less than human.”
“The Academy sent every student who could survive the magical atmosphere of the primordial realm.” Morgan watched as a number of people began to break away from their groups and follow them, one at a time.
“So, do you think the attack was a way to flush me out, or a way to force us into the primordial realm?” She didn’t want to tell him what she suspected…that by removing them, no one would be left to protect the world while primordial creatures fled the realm.
MacGregor shook his bushy head, while watching everything around them, as if waiting for an attack. “Both?”
“But why?” Harper pushed her way forward, and asked the question that was at the tip of Morgan’s tongue, but she’d been too afraid to ask.
Morgan feared she already knew.
Her.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Olivia sauntered over, disdain etched on her face, her sneering look sweeping over the group. “The Academy has been under attack in one way or another ever since you took up residence. Do you really think it’s a coincidence?”
Her snide voice carried across the room, drawing people’s attention, and a crowd began to gather. Two familiar hunters strode forward, distrust on their faces as soon as they saw her, and she recognized them from the first day of training—Tweedledum and Tweedledee. They were pissed when she was selected to train with Kincade’s team, no doubt feeling neglected and overlooked because she won a spot on the elite team and they had not.
Ryder bristled at her side, his low growl vibrating through his chest, what little control he gain
ed over his wolf in the last few minutes evaporating. She grabbed the back of his shirt when he would’ve leapt forward to eliminate the threat. “Don’t.”
She was afraid if he acted his wolf would burst free. His fresh green scent had sharpened, the need for freedom rising sharply as his wolf edged forward. If he attacked and harmed a fellow student, he could be considered feral and banished, not only from the Academy, but the outpost as well—if not killed outright.
She would not allow anyone to take him away from her.
When Morgan marched forward to confront Olivia, Draven grabbed her arm, his eyes completely devoid of emotions—the assassin in him had taken over completely. The palpable need to eliminate the threat in any way possible, despite the consequences, was like a craving for him that he couldn’t control. “The elves warned us not to cause trouble.”
“Or what?” A trail of ice-old air ghosted over her skin at his grim warning. The change in him was so rapid, it was like a light switch had been flipped, and knots tightened in her stomach to see his control degraded to such a degree that the darkness in him was almost completely unrestrained.
“They will separate us.” He never once took his attention away from Olivia, as if poised to take action if the viper attacked.
Kalvin cut through the crowd toward them with a scowl, stopping at the edge of the circle, frustration oozing from him since he was powerless to do anything to muzzle his sister.
“You’re Neil’s sister, right?” Harper strode forward, her face hard, her voice full of condemnation. “How odd that you would show up the day of the attack.” She blinked innocently at the captive audience. “I mean, ever since you got here, you’ve been schmoozing with our hosts, spreading your legs for any who asked, doing everything to gain their favor.”
“How dare you!” Olivia stomped forward threateningly, only to back down when a thread of pink magic snapped between Harper’s fingertips. “They are the only good thing about this miserable trip that makes our stay here bearable.” She speared the group with her withering gaze. “I’m cultivating contacts. They’re the only ones here worth my time.”
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