“I assure you, I have no desire to involve your father any more than you do.” He raises his hands to placate my hair-trigger temper. “My greatest desire as Headmaster is to see my students reach their full potential. And yours is presently going up in smoke.” He nods to where I’m still using my lighter like a fidget spinner in my pocket, the faint clinking sound breaking the strained silence between us.
“That’s not the only reason I asked you to my office this morning. I recently received word from my colleague, Dr. Araminta Mercer in the Medical Center. She plans on announcing a student internship opportunity on her medical team. It’s typically only open to graduate students, but it appears she was particularly impressed with your first-year elemental theory thesis and your consistently high scores in Biology and Physiology. She’s asked whether I would allow an exception if she invited you to apply for the position.” His words make my rising anger freeze. “I’m willing to allow it, provided that you meet regularly with a study group?—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Or,” he continues without missing a beat, “a tutor to bring your grades up in your social sciences and humanities courses. I can provide a list of available tutors who can be discrete?—”
“Roth will find a tutor,” I interrupt again, and he narrows his eyes. We’ve entered the hostage negotiation phase of our meeting.
“I’m not opposed to Mr. Kovacs finding a suitable candidate, however I would require regular progress reports. If there’s no improvement in your grades by the end of term, then I’ll have no choice but to rescind my approval for you to participate in the internship and notify your father.”
“It’s a mistake to threaten me, Church,” I remind him, my demon’s presence bleeding into my voice, but he merely holds my gaze. Despite being an Heir, in this room, with this offer, he holds the position of power here. And we both know it. I fucking hate being manipulated, but the prospect of working in the Medical Center is too enticing to refuse outright, despite the conditional nature of his offer.
My father never approved of my desire to learn medicine. Not even after witnessing my step-mother—the only one I ever knew or loved—toil in agony for days trying to bring my brother into the world, only to hemorrhage after he was stillborn. My father didn’t care that I lost the only woman who ever held me like a son, having already left a trail of sacrifices to his hubris in his wake, my own mother included.
Demetra loved me, though. She was the last one who did.
He didn’t hold my brother's tiny body as his fingers grew cold, or wipe the tears from her cheeks as life faded from her eyes. Even at five years old, the attendants didn’t dare remove me from her bedside before she took her last breath, in fear of my uncontrollable rage. I remember how he walked into the room, the scent of his oppressive cologne mingling with the thick metallic taste in the air, and looked at her in disgust.
As if it were her fault.
I remember how he ordered the servants to take their corpses to the family mausoleum, the same one that now crumbles because he can’t afford the upkeep, despite filling it with more damned brides and dead sons.
The only thing he cares about, that he’s ever cared about, is preserving the power of our bloodline. Creating more heirs to carry his legacy. Even just one more would prove he’s beaten the curse.
When I was younger, I’d try and warn the women he brought to our estate. I’d tell them about Demetra, and how she screamed. About Antonia.
And Inez.
And Portia.
Eventually, I realized these women knew the sad fates of so many doomed women and chose the promise anyway. The promise of carrying Azrael’s Heir proved too enticing to refuse.
Every one of them thought they’d be different.
Every one of them was wrong.
He’s only ever used his power to destroy. But if I could heal with medicine and magic, maybe Fate could forgive a son for the sins of his father.
“Mr. Rorvik?” the Headmaster asks, and the light of this chance slowly burns away the darkness of the past.
“Fine,” I finally grit out. “Are we done?”
“That’s all, Mr. Rorvik. I’ll expect the name of your chosen tutor by end of week.” Without a word, I stand and leave his office, desperate to settle the unease in my stomach.
That’s how Killian finds me a little while later, leaning against the rough bark of an old growth tree not far from the Foundation Stone concealed from the midday sun and shrouded by a cloud of enchanted smoke. He’s trailed by a swarm of sycophants and their queen, Lyra, buzzing with the latest inane gossip around campus. One of the pack breaks off and approaches me despite my “fuck off” face.
“I’ve missed you, Thane,” she says in what she no doubt thinks is an alluring, overfamiliar tone. I have no idea who she is. But then again, I never need to. She’d do whatever I wanted. If Itold her to get on her knees right here, right now and open wide, she’d do it. And the others would envy her for it.
Makes my fucking skin crawl, and I try to communicate as much with a pointed look at Killian but Lyra is draped over him, her arms like coils poised to constrict until he gives her what she wants. Which is everything.
Fitting, as the Legacy of Greed.
“We’re having a little get together tonight if you’re not busy,” the girl trails off, brushing her hand against my crossed arms, and my stomach revolts. Her scent is wrong, and my demon writhes beneath my skin in agitation. Before I get a chance to push her away, Killian slings his arm around her shoulder, coming to my rescue.
“Aw, Chrissy! You’re not going to invite me?” He exclaims with faux outrage and a practiced pout. “I thought I was your favorite.” And just like that I’ve become invisible. Cynthia’s fuming over his shoulder, her poisonous glare disappearing when he turns back towards their little circle, throwing me a wink over his shoulder. I lean my head back against the tree and tune out their chattering.
A few minutes later, my blunt is yanked out of my mouth mid-inhale, and Killian smirks at me as he takes a drag.
