“Yeeaaahhh, if you don’t run, you’re going to be late to class.” She grimaced. “You kind of spent too long spiraling out before you snapped out of it.”
“Shit,” I hissed, my eyes seeking out the clock in our kitchen area and snatching my messenger bag from the recliner where I’d left it while I’d gone over the day before in detail with my friends. “You couldn’t have warned me before I spiraled.”
“Sorry, B,” Shadrie laughed. “I wasn’t exactly watching the time, so I only just noticed.”
I groaned, slinging the strap of my bag over my shoulder and bolting for the door. The hallway outside was empty, students already in their last class of the day or tucked away in their dorm rooms. My footsteps pounded against the carpets as I sprinted toward the front doors. The academy felt different without bodies crowding the corridors—too quiet, as if the whole place were holding its breath. I shoved through the heavy doors and into the courtyard, the chill of the fading afternoon air biting at my cheeks. The quad stretched out before me, eerily still, the usual clusters of students replaced by empty benches and silent walkways.
I ran harder, bag thumping against my hip, the rhythm of my breathing ragged in my ears. By the time the training pitch loomed ahead, my chest burned, and sweat dampened the back of my neck, pooling between my breasts. Faint shouts and the crack of magic against magic crackled through the air, as if the pitch itself were alive. I slowed only long enough to drag in a steadying breath before stepping through the arched openingin the walls surrounding the pitch.
“Late,” Rumlock growled, his gaze cutting to me as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Won’t happen again!” I called back, raising a hand in surrender.
“See that it doesn’t.” His eyes narrowed before he jerked his chin in the direction of the locker rooms. “Get changed.”
Heat flushed my face as a few students nearest the gate smirked, their attention flicking between Rumlock and me like they were waiting for him to make an example out of me. I ducked my head, muttering under my breath, and sprinted for the locker rooms tucked beneath the stands.
By the time I reemerged onto the pitch, the matches in progress were heating up. Pairs of students slammed into each other with fists, kicks, and bursts of power that sent sparks snapping through the air. The warded ground drank up the energy greedily, glowing faintly as it absorbed impact after impact. Rumlock’s eyes tracked me the moment I stepped back onto the pitch, his expression unreadable save for the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that said he was still displeased.
“Dreadgrave,” the professor barked, causing me to flinch. “Pair up with Ms. Knight.”
My eyes shifted from Professor Rumlock to Gabriel as the vampire prowled from the training mat he’d been on. Hatred flashed across his face, sharp and raw, a reminder of the bond he’d somehow marked me with that we never spoke of, though neither of us wanted it. My stomach clenched, bile threatening to rise in my throat, and I swallowed hard, forcing it down.
“Move it, Knight.” Rumlock barked, pointing toward my usual training mat.
I scrambled forward, my feet hurrying across the grassy pitch. Gabriel was already there, waiting at the edge of the mat like a predator lying in wait, his arms crossed as he glowered at me. Stepping onto the warded square, I let my body sink intothe stance we’d been practicing, knees bent, fists up, weight balanced, and watched him warily. The last time we’d trained together, he’d thrown me around like I was nothing. Not even the fire magic I now had at my disposal had been able to help me against his superior strength and speed.
Gabriel smirked, like he remembered every second of it, too. “Try to keep your feet under you this time.” His voice was low enough that Rumlock wouldn’t catch it, but laced with venom sharp enough to slice.
“Enough posturing,” Rumlock snapped from the sidelines. “You’re not here to socialize.”
Gabriel’s smirk widened. His body blurred with speed as he lunged. It didn’t matter how ready I thought I was; it could never be enough. His speed made it impossible for me to track his movements. One second, he was on the opposite side of our mat, the next, his fist connected with my stomach. The blow stole my breath and folded me in half. I staggered back, sparks flaring from my fingertips in a wild arc. They fizzled out, as if my stolen breath had yanked the oxygen they needed from them, too, before they could touch him.
“Too slow,” he taunted. His grin widened, sharp and merciless as though every failed strike confirmed his belief that I didn’t belong at the academy.
I braced myself, eyes roaming his body for any hints that would help me anticipate his next move, but he was a blur of motion. Pain bloomed in my shoulder as he clipped me from behind, spinning me off balance. I caught myself before I hit the ground, a frustrated growl breaking free of my lips. Heaving myself upright, I called forth a ball of flame and desperately launched it in his direction. Gabriel tucked under it, the heat singeing the air above his head as he drove his knee toward my ribs. By some miracle, I twisted at the last second, catching only a glancing blow, but it had been hard enough to leave my side throbbing.
In a blink, my back hit the mat, his weight pinning me down before I could even gasp. My chest heaved, fury andhumiliation warring as I tried to buck him off. Gabriel was immovable. His speed had put us in this position, and his strength kept us there. And then he lowered his head. Warm breath brushed my skin a heartbeat before sharp fangs grazed my throat. Just enough pressure to sting, but not enough to break skin. My mind slipped back to the day he’d bitten me, my heart thundering painfully against my ribs. Every instinct screamed at me to shove him off, to burn him, to do something before he followed through on the threat he’d made that day, but I couldn’t move.
“Dead.” He whispered, the word vibrating against my pulse.
For the barest heartbeat, I wasn’t on the training mat. I was back in the haze of those dreams. The ones Gabriel had accused me of using magic to cause, the ones I hated myself for having, where his speed and strength weren’t weapons but something else entirely. Where his hands on me, his mouth at my throat, didn’t feel like humiliation but heat. My pulse hammered against my throat, right where his fangs grazed, each beat a mix of defiance and something dangerously close to want. I hated him for it. Hated myself more.
And then his body seemed to tense like he felt it too. His chest rose sharper against mine, his fangs dragging that fraction deeper against my skin, not piercing but lingering. His eyes flicked to mine, and for a split second, they burned with something rawer than mockery. The moment shattered as quickly as it came. Gabriel jerked back, lips curling in disgust, eyes narrowing with fury that looked as much inward as outward. He pushed off me like I’d burned him, rising to his feet with unnatural grace.
“Pathetic,” he spat, voice sharp enough to cut. “The only thing that saved you is the spell on the pitch that won’t allow me to kill you.”
The words cracked across me harder than any blow. My throat still tingled where his fangs had grazed, my pulse racing in a sick, traitorous rhythm. Fury surged hot in my chest, clashing with the unwanted heat that coiled low in my belly. Ihated him. Hated the way he looked at me like I was less than nothing. But worse—so much worse—was the pull I couldn’t explain. The way my body still responded to him, reeling from the ghost of that split second where his mask had slipped. I didn’t fear him. I refused to, but I couldn’t deny that something in me leaned toward him as if pulled by some tether I neither wanted nor understood. Guilt gripped me in its fist. Ihada mate, and my body’s response to the vampire felt like the ultimate betrayal.
I forced the words out past the tightness in my throat, sharp and steady. “If you’re trying to scare me, you’ll have to try harder. All you’ve proven is you know how to pin someone down and gloat. Though, I seem to recall the last time you had your fangs at my throat, I came out on top.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as if he had to grind his fury back before it could crack loose.
Rumlock’s growl cut through the air like thunder. “Enough talking. Stance. Now. Use your magic, Knight.”
Giving the professor a tight nod, I scrambled to my feet, sinking into the fighting stance once more, calling flames to my hands. The rest of combat class blurred into a grueling rhythm of strikes and failed counters. Gabriel was too fast, and his raw strength outmatched me at every turn. I reverted to dirty tactics I’d used on the streets as a child, combining them with the fire magic that was becoming easier for me to call forth with each attempt. None of it mattered. Every move I made, he slipped past, punishing me with effortless precision.
When Rumlock finally signaled the end of class, Gabriel looked as infuriatingly composed as ever. I refused to give him the satisfaction of so much as a passing glance as I limped off the training pitch to the locker room. I worked quickly to scrub away the sweat and grime that coated my battered body before tugging on clean clothes and making my way across campus to the library.
