I try convincing Carrick that she doesn’t need me as her sparring partner anymore, but he ignores me too. Apparently, the number of injuries among students in his class has plummeted since I’ve been training with Nyx. Not that he cares she’s been bearing the brunt of my strength.
Imagine that.
But it also means I can’t get away from her—not during the day, and not at night when my dreams are filled with fantasies of fighting and fucking. Not even when I let my demon rise and retreat to the back of my mind. One night, I catch her scent on the wind and track it to the Training Center, only to see her and Mondragon sparring through a clerestory window just below the roof. I sat on that ledge, invisible, and watched as she got her ass handed to her over and over, but she never stayed down. Not that night, or any night since over the last couple weeks. Now when we spar, she’s not the only one walking away with bruises.
I’m icing my knee at dinner yet again when Killian finally pushes me too far.
“I knew you’d fall for her eventually, bro,” he taunts with a smirk after he catches me limping.
“Will you fuckingshut up?” I seethe, throwing my fork down so it clatters on my plate.
“What the hell’s—” he starts.
“I am so fucking sick of hearing about her every goddamned day. If you three want to have a fucking circle jerk, do it on your own fucking time and leave me out of it. FuckingChrist.”
Roth crooks his eyebrow at me. “Luther?—”
“No, dude,” I cut him off. “You don’t get to say shit to me. You’re the one who’s always ten steps ahead of everyone else—how are you so fucking blind to how this is going to blow up in your faces?”
Thane opens his mouth to argue, but I’m done. “She saw you overdose. She knows you’re failing your classes.” I look at Killian next. “She fucked you, and you haven’t touched anyone else since.” Finally, I turn to Roth. “She could ruin them if she talks to the wrong people. You think the Legacies haven’t already noticed something’s up? Lyra will do anything to sink her claws into Killian. Cynthia too, if she thinks it’ll give her a leg up. And if Calanthe even begins to suspect you’re reneging on the betrothal? She’ll either kill Nyx herself or go crying to Laurent, who’ll go crying to Renard. What’ll that cost you, Roth? Will he beat you like the last time you disobeyed him? Or worse, give you to Rebecca, andwe won’t be able to save you.”
I turn on Killian, whose arms are crossed. “How about you? What do you think Preston will do to Claire when he gets word you’re not keeping the Legacies in line and wrapped around your dick because of some powerless nobody? Or you, Thane—” I say, turning to him. “If Soren hears you’re choosingherinstead of breeding more little Leviathans with a perfect pedigree, youthink he’ll let her live? Especially after he propositioned you tofuck his own wife?” I drop my fork onto my plate and stand up, looking all three of them in the eye.
“She doesn’t even have her powers yet. When she does, she’ll either be a player or a pawn. Everything she’s learned will be used tobreak youif it means the difference in surviving this fucking place. She’s already got the fuckingmoratus dragonmaking a claim on her. The Necromancer’s in her back pocket. Not to mention the Hektreia coven possibly backing or even inducting her if she stays friends with them. But no, go ahead Kill, make another fucking joke and see how long you last.”
I stand up suddenly and throw my plate into the sink where it shatters, but ignore it and walk to my room, slamming my door so hard the hinges nearly give out.
I steer clear of them the next day.
The day after that, they steer clear of me, too.
I’m at the end of my rope by the time I step onto the muddy field between the Training Center and the Temple, dreading yet another evening of cock-teasing torture disguised as sparring. It doesn’t help that Carrick got a bug up his ass about toughening up his students in preparation for the Crypteia despite the drizzling rain and cold mud. Like most of the other students, Nyx is clearly unprepared for being outdoors today. Some of them, like Calanthe and her fellow Lust demons, are clearly unbothered by the weather saturating their skin-tight clothes as they run the dirt track during warm-ups. Even though I try to stay at the back of the pack, I can’t stop looking at Nyx. How her yoga pants and t-shirt mold to everyfuckingcurve.
By the time we’ve finished warming up around the dirt track, everyone’s breathing heavy and covered in flecks of mud. We peel off to grab the padded mitts and gloves for sparring and my dick throbs when I can see her hard nipples through her t-shirt, which is now plastered to her chest.
“Should have worn a fucking jacket,” I mutter under my breath, trying to tear my eyes from her pebbled, sweat—and rain-soaked skin.
She scoffs. “I would have, if the TA had notified the class we’d be going outside. That’s your job, isn’t it?” I ignore her, unceremoniously tossing her the padded mitts and pulling on my gloves. Drilling starts slow as she blocks my punches and we find our usual rhythm.
I hate that we evenhavea usual rhythm, and in my growing irritation, I forget to pull my punches.
“Jesus, what’s your deal today?” she asks, wincing as she shakes out her hand.
“You,” I answer before I think better of it.
She pauses, confused. “Me?”
“Yeah. You,” I hiss, striking out again.
She blocks me easily. “What did I ever do to you?”
“You’re fucking with my friends.”
Her eyebrows rise, incredulous. “You mean the same friends who won’t leave me alone?Thosefriends?”
“Yeah.Thosefriends. Stay the fuck away from them.”
“Funny, that’s what I told them. Multiple times. Pretty sure you were there.”
