by Sadie Moss
Hardwick agrees to my condition without putting up a fight, probably recognizing the same pitfall I do—if I’m billed as some big savior and then fail in the competition, it’ll just make me and the school look worse.
It also makes me look like I was chosen because of my prior actions, because I was the school savior, and I want it known that I got this position fair and square.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. That it was fair, and that I did earn it.
Cam gives me a reassuring hug before I go to my next private training session with Tamlin a few days after agreeing to compete in the Trials. I’m grateful for his support, but I also sort of wish he wasn’t offering it. We’re not in a relationship, and I feel almost like I’m stealing these touches, this time with him, that I’m using him like Alyssa said.
It makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. But I don’t know how to say any of that to him without it turning into a talk about our relationship where he inevitably asks me to date him.
I don’t… I don’t want to have to turn him down.
Cam’s got a great future ahead of him. I know he doesn’t have family connections anymore, but he’s got powerful friends like Asher and Dmitri. I’m nobody, and I’m not going to drag him or the other men down. I’m not going to cause drama. And I’m certainly not going to set myself up to get my heart broken when Cam and Asher move on and leave me.
That’s what people always do. Through death or circumstance or choice. They leave.
Always.
Tamlin’s waiting for me when I enter the large, empty classroom, but she’s not as calm and put together as I’m used to. Her energy is anticipatory, charged, tense.
“That was strong work in the battle royale,” she tells me, smoothing down her turquoise tank top as she walks over. It looks gorgeous against her dark skin tone and perfectly complements her charcoal gray pants. “Your physical fighting skills are admirable, and you did good work with your sonic boom. I also saw you using your wall walking power creatively to reach Alyssa—well done.”
“Well, I’ve only been working on this with you for weeks,” I grumble. “Some of it had to sink in eventually.”
“Mmm.” She folds her arms. “And you used emotion to do it, didn’t you?”
That takes me by surprise. “How would you know?”
Tamlin cocks her head at me. “Do you think professors are blind? I’ve seen how she treats you. You had a lot of anger against her, and I can understand why.”
I suppress a snort. “Sure you can.”
“Of course I can.” Her face and voice gentle. “I know what it’s like to be judged. Especially by insecure women with internalized misogyny.”
“Really?”
She drops her arms, sighing. “Yes. When I was in school, I was rather the same as you.”
I look her up and down—her smooth, dark skin, her perfectly styled hair, her coordinated outfit, her makeup. “Yeah. Sure you were.”
“Fashion isn’t innate, it’s taught. I worked hard to learn how to do my hair and makeup. And I like to look like this, but as a college student, I certainly didn’t have time for it. I don’t judge anyone who chooses to live one way or the other so long as they’re doing it because it truly makes them happy.”
I blink at her. That’s an awesome attitude to have, and one that several people in this school—cough cough, Alyssa—are missing.
“I came from nowhere,” she continues. “I had no connections, no family name to trade on, and no training. My family is non-magical, so I had no clue what I was doing, and when I came to Griffin Academy as a student, I caught the attention of the most popular guy in my class. He was handsome, powerful, wealthy, all the things a girl could want—all the things that the rich girls did want.”
She doesn’t say his name, but somehow, I know she’s talking about Roman. My mouth dries out a little, but I keep my face impassive.
“I got him, and they hated me for it.” Tamlin shrugs. “I wasn’t even with him because of any of that. It wasn’t for his wealth or status or anything. I just loved him.”
Her voice is filled with such open, honest affection that my stomach twists. I feel sick, almost, because that tone is just too warm for someone who doesn’t have feelings for the person they’re talking about.
Does Tamlin still have feelings for Roman?
I know they dated, but I don’t understand exactly why they broke up. I’d always assumed Tamlin dumped him, since she’s so stunning and amazing I couldn’t imagine him voluntarily ending things with her. But according to Roman, their breakup was his idea.
Why would he pass up on someone like Tamlin? And then start up a relationship with me, of all people?
“My point is that people are always going to resent you, and usually it’s for stupid reasons that have to do with their own insecurity and prejudice,” Tamlin finishes. “But I understand, and if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
“Glad to know my professors all know the details of my social life.” I roll my eyes.
Tamlin just looks amused, like she knows I’m trying to push her away and it’s not going to work.
“Now,” she says, changing topics smoothly, “we need to switch your focus a little given that you’ll be competing in the Trials soon. It’s more important than ever that you rely on your mental strength and not your emotions since your adrenaline will be wreaking havoc with you in the heat of the moment. I think…”
She launches into her plan of attack for my training, and I nod along absently, but I’m pretty distracted through the remainder of our session.
I just can’t stop thinking about Tamlin and Roman, and their old relationship. Tamlin still has feelings for him, I can tell, and she doesn’t seem to be hiding them. I don’t think she realizes I’ve put together that her college boyfriend was Roman—so she probably sees no reason to hide the fact that she’s still got feelings for this old flame.
Thank God my relationship with my stoic, handsome professor is still under wraps. I don’t want to like Tamlin, but I do, and I don’t want to hurt her. If she’s still harboring feelings for him, I’d hate for her to find out about the two of us and be hurt.
But at the same time, I feel this strange possessiveness, like a pacing tiger in my chest, growling and starving, hungry only for Roman.
Maybe it’s because I don’t understand why he’d choose me when someone like Tamlin is right in front of him.
The moment our training session is over, I go straight to his room. Classes are out for the day, so I know he’s not teaching right now.
I wouldn’t normally be this bold; we’re usually super careful so we won’t get caught. But right now, in this moment, I don’t give one tiny little flying fuck.
He’s conveniently lying on his bed, reading up on some obscure math-based magic that I can’t even begin to comprehend, when I barge in and close the door behind me.
He sits up at once, setting the book aside. “Elliot? Is everything okay—”
I cut him off by walking across the room and grabbing his face, kissing him fiercely.
Roman makes a startled noise against my mouth, then grabs me, helping me as I climb onto his lap. I’m not usually like this, desperate, clawing at his clothes to get them off, kissing him like there’s a timer counting down.
Sex between us gets intense, sure, but not like this. Not like I’m trying to crawl inside of him.
I can’t begin to explain what’s possessing me right now. It’s like I’m not even a person anymore, I’m a hurricane, fueled by a singular, desperate emotion that I don’t dare name. I could say it’s jealousy, or possession, or fear, but those are all just an offshoot of something else, something bigger, and I’ll be completely lost if I even think that word.
Roman doesn’t seem to care, giving as good as he’s getting, touching me back with just as much hunger. It makes me wonder if he’s been holding back on me somehow this whole time, if he’s relieved I’m showing this much… passion, I gue
ss you could say.
His shirt is somewhere on the floor behind me, and his pants are hanging open. He keeps trying to undress me, but I won’t let go of him long enough for him to pull my shirt over my head. My open mouth trails greedily over the sculpted muscles of his chest and neck, licking, sucking, biting. He gives up on my clothes for the moment and drops his head back, giving me better access, as a growl rumbles up his throat. He’s already rock hard for me. His hands grip my hips, pulling as me down against his erection, grinding me against his cock.
It’s not enough. It’s not enough.
It’s not making this feeling go away. This need—this insatiable hunger. This longing.
I tear myself away from him just long enough to scramble over to his nightstand and pull out a condom. I toss it on the bed and then tug my own shirt off before shoving my pants down my legs. I kick them off, along with my shoes, and Roman’s cobalt eyes flash with fire as I stand before him in just my bra and panties. When I unclasp the bra and slide it down my arms, his broad chest rises and falls with deep breaths, and he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties and pulls, tugging me toward him.
His arm wraps around my waist as he drags his nose up the plane of my stomach, like he’s trying to absorb me. He presses a kiss between my breasts, and my whole body shudders, my pussy clenching hard around nothing. His fingers slowly work my thong over my hips and ass, and when it falls to the floor, he moves backward on the bed, shucking his own pants quickly.
Without a word, I follow, grabbing the condom and tearing the wrapper open with my teeth. I watch as he lays back, his hard cock jutting out, long and thick and heavy, and he watches me right back as I roll the condom down over his shaft. I keep one fist wrapped around him as I straddle his hips, and then, because I can’t wait any fucking longer, I line him up with my entrance and sink down, impaling myself on his length.
Oh… God.
I don’t speak, and neither does he as I begin to ride him. We’ve had sex numerous times by now—slow, fast, soft, hard—but this isn’t like any of those times. There’s something hovering in the air between us as we move wordlessly, finding our rhythm, synchronizing our breath. It’s there in the silence, in the words we’re not saying. And when my orgasm crashes over me and his follows soon after, I drape my body over his and kiss him deeply.
Afterward, I stay, even though I know I shouldn’t.
Even though I know I’m already in way too deep.
I stare at the ceiling, Roman’s arm casually flung over my waist as he naps—and God knows he needs a rest, with all the running around he’s been doing preparing for the Trials, on top of his teaching and administrative duties.
I want to deny it. I really do.
But I can’t.
Even if I don’t name anything, label anything, even if we never talk about it… this is getting serious.
And I have no idea the hell what I’m supposed to do about that.
Chapter 10
One tiny, itty-bitty little thing everyone apparently forgot to tell me about the Trials?
We’re hosting them.
I guess since we’re the new school in town, we have to prove ourselves a bit by hosting everyone else. Personally, I think it’s some political bullshit—the rest of the academy heads and the magical world are hoping we’ll fail and land flat on our faces—but that could just be my dear old pessimism raising its head.
Everyone is caught up in a flurry of preparations over the next week. It’s not just the competitors who will be here, but people coming to support and spectate, professionals in their fields who want to scope out the burgeoning talent at the academies, and people who want to record it for the livestream—which is apparently something that’s only happened in the last couple of years. Hooray technology.
They’re not all staying here, thank God. I assume they’re getting hotels or something nearby, but they’ll be here for the few days surrounding each of the events.
Classes are being rearranged, food is being prepped, and through it all, I’m getting my ass handed to me by Roman, Tamlin, and every other professor I’ve got as they try to train me for this damn thing in time. Everyone seems to have been caught a little flatfooted. I’m a first-year, and I don’t think any of them expected that. They probably thought they’d be training a third-year, or maybe a tenacious second-year. But nope, we’ve got an amateur on our hands, folks.
Fun, right?
To add to the excitement, my magic—the sonic boom especially—has started acting up on me. It’s becoming harder to control, more difficult to call up when I need it. I’m sure it’s directly related to the whole “emotions versus mental strength” thing Tamlin’s been telling me about, but knowing that doesn’t exactly fix the problem.
I’m so full of nerves I can barely eat, and I feel like I’m going to throw up half the time. I know the guys are concerned about me, but I try and wave it off. I don’t want to worry them. This is just a stupid competition. I’ll get through it. I’ll probably make a spectacle of myself while I’m at it but damn it, I will get through this.
The day the other schools arrive is… interesting.
The Phoenix Training Program, which governs all the schools for elementalists, sends a representative from each of their top academies—one for each element. I’m proud to learn that the water mage representative is from Maddy’s school, Neptune Academy; the training there must be top notch.
There’s also a fire mage, an earth mage, and a wind mage from different elemental schools. Then there are the three other types of magic users: illusionists, enchanters, and potion brewers.
The seven pillars of magic.
I’ve learned in my History of Magic class that seven is a hugely powerful number in magic. And unfortunately, Unpredictable magic kind of screws with the beauty of that harmony, according to a lot of people—which is just another reason why regular magic users tend to fear and resent us.
I watch from the sidelines as the contestants, spectators, and administrators from the various schools are greeted by Dean Hardwick before being directed to the guest dormitories where they’ll stay while they’re here for each Trial.
The more I watch, the more I start to realize how… alike everyone seems to be.
The fire elementalists from Vulcan Academy, for instance. Jesus Christ, talk about extroverts. They’re in the middle of everything, full of energy, and honestly, it’s a little intimidating. They’ve got so much passion and aggression. They’re excited and happy right now, so it’s kind of a good aggression at the moment—but, oh man, I wouldn’t want to get on their bad sides.
The illusionists all seem a bit out of it. Spacey. Like they’re high, or their minds just… aren’t here right now. Think of the hippie stereotype and you’ve got a pretty good picture of the students from Houdini Academy.
The potion brewing students from Blackburn are all very serious, quiet, and focused. The earth elementalists are laidback, the air elementalists flighty. It’s almost disconcerting how much their magic seems to define them.
It makes me realize for the first time just how diverse our school is. Everyone here’s got a different personality. There’s no one set group dynamic. We’re not all bubbly and vivacious or arrogant and calculating or thoughtful and poetic. I don’t think I could nail down the “dynamic” of our school if I tried.
We’re not all cut from the same cloth, that’s for sure.
And to my surprise, I’m… grateful for it.
I like that we’re all different. When I’m feeling shitty about something, it always gives me a pick me up to remember that nobody else is like me. Not that I’m this special snowflake or better than anyone else—but I’m the only person who’s lived my life and been through my experiences, so that makes me the only person who can be me.
For the first time, I find myself glad I’m an Unpredictable. If I have to have magic, I want it to be the kind of magic that doesn’t make me a part of a crowd. My sonic boom, my spider craw
l, those are all mine and mine alone.
I’m me.
And hopefully, that’ll be enough.
The morning after everyone arrives and gets settled in, there’s a huge ceremony. Asher wakes me in the soft gray light of pre-dawn so I can get ready. Ugh. I hate waking up early.
“Why did we have to host this stupid thing?” I whisper. The other men are getting up too, Cam yawning and Dmitri looking like he’d slaughter someone for a cup of coffee, but the rest of the dorm is probably still asleep so we’re trying to be quiet.
“I’ve only seen the Trials once, but from what I’ve heard, some of the challenges can get… destructive,” Asher notes. “If there’s going to be damage to a school, they’d probably prefer it was our school.”
Great. So it’s a way of adding pressure, just like I thought. What the hell is it going to take for other academies to stop seeing us as lesser?
“Don’t worry about it,” Cam tells me, springing out of bed. He’s gone from half-asleep to chipper in two seconds, sans coffee, which makes sense since he’s the early bird who always drags my sorry ass out of bed for a jog through the woods. “You’re going to kick ass.”
“Just don’t burn down our dorm,” Dmitri grumbles, still in bed and hugging his pillow like it’s his tether to this realm of existence.
For some reason, I can’t work up too much indignation that our school is being set up to fail—or at least to get saddled with a large repair bill. I’m feeling oddly proud about having Unpredictable magic today. Nervous as all hell about this opening ceremony and the Trials, but proud.
I wish I could feel this way about myself all the time.
The four of us make our way to the auditorium. I have to sit up at the front with the other contestants, so I can’t join the guys in what’ve become our usual seats. Asher and Cam hug me and tell me good luck, while Dmitri just grumbles at me not to die.
“Why, you’d like that privilege for yourself?” I cock an eyebrow at him.