He lifts a hand, and the etched runes along the arena floor flare to life, lines of violet purple fire racing in intricate patterns.
“First lesson. Ward, shield, and strike. Partners.”
A collective shuffle ripples through the students. Cloaks shift. Glances sharpen.
I hesitate at the edge, no idea how this works, no clue who I’m supposed to pair with, when a shadow falls across me. A figure steps in front of me, and I look up.
Tall, sleek frame wrapped in a worn black shirt. Honed muscle, all fluid lines and coiled power. His hair catches the light, dark auburn with deep red tints that shimmer with every movement. Not a Blood. He doesn’t move like one. There’s a different energy in the way he holds himself. Wild. Controlled, but barely.
His eyes lock on mine, a strange molten mix of reddish-brown and gold, flickering like banked fire. Hot and assessing. Not cold like Auron. He’s hot, alive, and dangerous.
He flicks his chin toward the arena. “You’re with me.”
Not a question.
My pulse stutters. “I…”
Pretty sure that’s a bad idea.
Before I can protest, Professor River’s voice cuts through the room. “Pair off. You have three minutes to prepare. Begin.”
He is already moving, expecting me to follow. My feet move before my brain catches up. The ring hums under my boots as we step onto the etched stone. I glance sideways. He is watching me. Studying.
“Try to keep up,” he says low, mouth curving. Not quite a smile. More like a challenge.
Heat curls deep in my stomach. I straighten my shoulders, some part of me wanting to impress this guy.
“Careful what you wish for,” I shoot back. Not that I even know what the hell we are doing. I just don’t like the attitude.
His eyes glint, hot and unreadable.
“Begin!” Professor River shouts.
The second the word leaves his mouth, the male across from me moves. Fast. Faster than anyone should. One breath and he’s already closing the distance, magic flaring around his hands. Focused. Controlled. And so, so dangerous.
My heart jumps into my throat. I have no idea what I’m doing. No real technique. No practiced defense. And I’m pretty sure there is absolutely no magic hidden inside of me. But something inside me responds.
A low surge, rising fast. Heat builds under my skin, racing through my veins. It bursts free before I can stop it. A raw, wild pulse of magic slams outward.Out of me.
I only equate it with magic from what I’ve seen since I’ve arrived. Because it doesn’t look like anything out of aHarry Pottermovie.
He’s caught mid-step. Lifted off his feet and thrown backward across the ring. The impact hits with a sharp crack. I freeze, wide-eyed, breath caught in my lungs.
“I didn’t—” I dart forward before I can think, hands half out. “I didn’t mean to. Are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at me. He pushes to his feet in one fluid motion, not taking my offered hand. Not acknowledging me at all actually. Tension rolls off him in waves. He brushes his sleeve, gaze cold and flat.
“Again,” he says.
My stomach knots. I’m not sure if I’ve just made an enemy or if he’s always this intense. He’s already resetting his stance, shoulders squared, gaze locked. No emotion. No warmth. No interest in helping me figure this out.
Just a wall of focus. I swallow hard, hands flexing. My pulse won’t settle. Across the ring, students have stopped pretendingto fight. I can feel their eyes on me. On us. We must be a spectacle. Or at least I am.
Professor River stands at the edge, arms folded, expression unreadable. But he’s watching. Closely.
Okay. Just breathe. Try again.
Before I can settle my nerves, my partner moves. Fast again. Too fast. But this time, I’m expecting it. Sort of. His magic flares—a streak of compressed force aimed sharp toward my center.
