Thank fuck they have funders with deep pockets, I suppose. Makes fixing everything so much easier. They can’t just roll over and let the Academy die, not when there’s power, corruption and archaic traditions to uphold.
A new era began the moment this little princess stepped onto campus and turned the Hunt on it’s head. The moment the first gun was fired, it all changed. The rules were rewritten. Without the Kings backing the leaders born through the Academy, their safety is a big, fat question mark.
No doubt they’ll buy some other crime syndicate to keep them safe, because how the fuck else do you keep your shadow dealings from exposure?
I keep to the shadows, every sense tuned for the crunch of boots behind me. Dahlia’s hair, still spattered with someone else’s blood, leaves a wet trail on my skin as I walk.
A crow launches from a tree, black shape cutting across the moon, and for a second I think about how easy it would be to drop her here, cover her body in leaves, make her part of the landscape. It’s the sort of thing my father would have done, backbefore Colton’s dad pulled me out of the pit and gave me a name. I almost smile at the memory.
My past made me a hard asshole, one who never hesitates to cut down anyone in my way and even now, even with her in my arms, willing to be claimed, I still struggle with the demons stirring inside me.
I probably always will.
Dahlia shifts, trying to look up at me. Her face is raw. She’s not even pretending at the princess thing now—eyes swollen, lips chapped, hair an absolute wreck.
“You can put me down,” she says.
“No.”
She snorts, and for the first time all night, I want to laugh.
“Are you always this dramatic?” she asks.
I adjust her, careful with her feet. “Only when I win.”
She shakes her head, forehead creasing like she wants to say something sharp, but she just shoves her face back into my chest. I keep going.
“Is this your lair?” she asks as I approach my cabin, her tiny voice muffled by my shirt.
I grunt. “Something like that.”
“You sleep here alone?”
I let the question hang. Truth is, nobody comes here. The Feral Boys had their dorm, the Board their tower, the Kings their embassy. This place is just mine—three rooms, one bed, a bathroom with a shower and a tub. Sometimes Julian would crash after a bad bender and Colt was still going, but he never asked about the locks on my door or the metal plates bolted inside the walls.
I did my own upgrades the minute Rhett and Issy moved out here. Can never be too careful.
My car—old, black, and dented—sits in the dead grass, windows fogged with ice. I circle once, just to be sure, then climb the steps to the porch. The boards groan under my boots.
Dahlia’s head comes up. She takes in the place, the way it’s set away from everything, the camera over the door, the steel bars on the windows.
“Nice,” she says. “Cozy.”
I nudge the door with my hip and it squeaks as it opens.
Inside, the heat hits hard. Smells like old leather and cedar and something that is probably dead in the walls. The lights are off, but I know the layout blind. Straight ahead is the living room,bare except for a couch and a coffee table, a weight bench, and a mantle covered in knives. The kitchen to the left—never used, except for coffee and whiskey. Down the hall, my bedroom. No mirrors, no family photos. Only the weapons rack and the calendar I use for tracking fights.
I set Dahlia down on the couch, then lock the door behind us. Every deadbolt slides home and finally I feel like I can breathe.
She sits there, not moving, just looking around. I see her file it all away—the tactical shit, the way I always put my back to a wall, the way nothing here is soft. Not even the towels.
“You gonna frisk me?” she giggles.
“Already did,” I say, and she actually laughs. Just a huff.
She shifts, rubbing her hands together. Her nails are cracked, polish bitten off. She doesn’t hide them. I like that.
I go to the kitchen, grab the first aid kit from the drawer, and toss it to her. She catches it left-handed, then digs through, pulling out the alcohol wipes and the butterfly tape.
