6
Alaric
Lightning slammed into a tree as I stomped back to my apartment. High above, the rain clouds crackled with energy, feeding on my rage. Being a storm mage had its advantages, but not when my emotions were so volatile.
Anyone who knew me would take one look at the churning sky and realize I’d lost my shit.Again.
That fucking witch.
How was it possible? Me, the highest-ranked mage in the academy, soul-bonded to a pathetic little nobody like her?
It had to be a mistake.
The trees writhed and hummed with energy, lightning crackling in the air with each stride I took. The first spots of rain bounced off the path, saturating the walkway. By the time I reached the penthouse entrance to our building, hailstones hammered my head and shoulders, each one a stinging reminder of how fucked I now was.
If my father found out I had a soul-bond to someone other than Kinara, he’d lose his ever-loving shit.
When I walked into our apartment with water dripping down my face, Arron looked up from the window seat. I threw off my saturated shirt and tossed it into the laundry room. My pants were wet too, but first, I needed a fucking drink. Something strong, like shifter moonshine. Maybe then I could forget about the hideous ache in my chest that threatened to steal my sanity.
Was this what my father experienced every fucking day? If so, his mental instability made perfect sense.
“Is the storm your work or a random event?” Arron called as I reached into the refrigerator.Fuck my life. All we had was weak-as-piss beer.
Ignoring Arron, I disappeared into Jamieson’s room and scanned his bookshelf. A brown bottle lurked behind a stack of papers.Bingo.He’d saved some of the good stuff from our last party. Grabbing the bottle, I quickly changed out of my wet pants and pulled some shorts on.
The night was cool, but the lightning in my veins burned so hot there was a real risk I might incinerate this fucking apartment if my control wavered.
Oh well.
Montgomery had my father’s credit card on file. The bastard could afford it.
Arron raised one eyebrow when he saw I’d snagged Jamieson’s moonshine.
“You know he’ll kill you, right?”
I shrugged and gulped down some of the potent brew Jamieson had procured from his wolf-shifter friend. The shifters were assholes, but they made strong liquor. Way better than the weak shit the humans produced. It needed to be. Shifters could metabolize normal alcoholridiculously fast, which made it difficult for them to get drunk. Hence why they distilled liquor so strong it would kill a human in minutes.
It didn’t kill us mages, but only because of our magically boosted immune systems. It did, however, get us very drunk. The hangovers were miserable, but I wasn’t thinking ahead. My only goal right now was to get blitzed so I could forget about the pretty little witch with the sparking violet eyes.
“Okay, spill, before I cast a truth spell on your ass,” Arron grumbled, dropping his potions textbook on the floor. Outside, the storm raged so hard I was slightly concerned the roof might fly off.
There wasn’t much I could do to calm things down. Not while my magic was so out of control.
“In your fucking dreams,” I snorted before drinking another mouthful of moonshine. The liquor burned my throat and stomach, coating my magic in a thick caramel sludge, easing the buzzing in my veins.
Arron watched me drink while juggling small balls of ice. When a tree branch slammed hard against the window next to him, he dropped one. I peered through bleary eyes as it melted instantly, leaving a wet patch on the rug.
“Seriously, Ric, talk to me,” he said eventually. “You haven’t lost it this badly in ages. Has Tiberius done something?”
I shook my head. “No.” Arron was my best friend, but I couldn’t tell him. Saying it out loud made the nightmare real, and I wasn’t ready for that. Perhaps I’d gotten it wrong. I’d been in a foul mood when I entered the dining hall, still annoyed after my father’s call.
The little witch with the violet eyes had been in my way when I approached the food counter, desperate for calories after an intense workout. Knocking the soup bowl out of her hands was unintentional; I’d been so in my head that I hadn’t seen her.
A nicer guy would have apologized, but I had an image to uphold. People would talk if I suddenly acted like a Good Samaritan, and if that happened, it would get back to Dad.
He wanted other magicals to fear us. It made it easier for him to push his twisted agenda.
“Okay, if Daddy Dickhead isn’t the problem, what is?”
