Revyn’s breath is warm against my ear. “You alright?”
I nod stiffly. “Just reminiscing about life in the wilds,” I lie, hating its bitter taste on my tongue. Regardless of my feelings toward mating Alistair, mating Revyn is also off the table. Wild wolves are notoriously rejected from shifter packs—as evidenced by the steady stream of denials we received over the years we spent touring the realm. We’ve been lucky not to have been killed on sight any time we roamed into pack territory, and that waswithoutofficially mating.
If we ever complete a mating bond, we will never be accepted into a pack. A piece of my heart cracks, and I draw a sharp breath. Revyn notices and rubs gentle circles onto my back, across my shoulders, and down the length of my spine. It’s a comfort that I don’t deserve and one I shouldn’t encourage. I force myself to lean forward rather than lie back and accept more of his attention.
He deserves someone who will accept him exactly as he is, not someone who’s running from it.
I take a deep breath and force myself to focus. Having men on my mind is not going to help me ace my classes. If I’m going to join a pack—which I have every intention of doing—I need to graduate top of my class first. Then, and only then, can I choose a mate; one from a high-ranking pack that will have no choice but to accept me once I prove my strength as the best shifter of my academic year.
My gaze finds Alistair’s across the room, and a bolt of lightning ignites the blood in my veins. The blonde bitch isn’t merely clinging to him—her hand isin his lapas she feels him up in front of the entire first-year student body. The only gratifying thing about it is that Alistair looks as annoyed as I feel, the pulsein his neck throbbing as she palms what looks like the most flaccid dick in the realm.
I’ve felt his cock—if it’s hard, there’s no way it’s fitting comfortably inside those tight fucking pants.
Still, to openly allow someone else to touch him?—
A growl catches in my throat, and I have to claw it back into the depths of my soul.
What an asshole.
Then again, my kiss with Revyn was displayed in perfect clarity mere hours ago, the holo-feed capturing even the moment he slipped his tongue into my eager mouth.
Damn Professor Aesir.
But . . . heisright.
My bond with Alistair may be incomplete in its current state, but beyond that, itisbroken—with no possible mend in sight. His inability to heal the burn I mistakenly gave him is evidence enough of how toxic our bond is.
Being true mates, it turns out, is fucking overrated.
Gemma and the male merfolk return to their seats. We sit in silence as we wait for Hardwicke to hammer the point of that little demonstration home.
She wastes no time. “Choosing your mate is the most important decision you will ever make.” The gravity of her statement fills the room with tension so thick that I can feel the grit of it on my tongue. “The purpose of this academy is to ease the process. How you treat each other within these next three years, however, can either attract a mate or repel one.”
Her gaze narrows on Alistair, causing the female attempting to resurrect his limp dick to pull her hand from his lap and pretend to be modest. As soon as Hardwicke moves on, Blonde Bitch arches her back and clings to Alistair’s side, damn near pushing her perky tits in his face. His jaw clenches as he looks everywherebutat her.
I barely suppress a snicker, but Revyn laughs out loud, earning both of us death glares from the Dire Pack Alpha-to-be.
“I’d argue how big your dad’s dick is matters too,” I joke, leaning back against Revyn’s knees for a welcome moment of normalcy between us.
He wraps an arm around my collarbone and nestles me between his thighs, his midnight eyes glittering with mirth as he latches onto my meaning. “She can’t wait to impale herself on Daddy’s alpha cock,” he murmurs, brushing the pad of his thumb along the hollow of my throat. “Since Alistair can’t get his up.”
We both glance at Alistair again to find his eyes glowing bright gold, like he can actually hear us—which,shit, he might be able to.
A few students surrounding us barely cover their snorts with coughing fits or perfectly-timed foot stomps. Even Callum shakes his head on a subtle laugh.
That doesn’t sit well with Professor Hardwicke.
“Ms. Ashburn and Mr. Malus, please join me at the front. You, too, Alistair. Let’s see how compatible you all are.”
Revyn waits for me to descend the stairs first, my feet touching the landing moments after Alistair. We glare at each other as Professor Hardwicke positions us beside one another: me in the center between both men. Once she has secured two clean glass bowls and set them on the table in front of us, she flips the dagger in the air and catches it at the handle, as though eager for what comes next. “Hold out your hands, palms up.”
One after the other, we obey, and like Gemma before us, none of us flinch as the blade kisses our skin.
My blood drips into both bowls while Alistair’s and Revyn’s keep to their own. I bite my lip as our professor sloshes a clear liquid into the basins and swirls them one at a time. “This won’t be entirely accurate on account of mating bonds having more todo with soul bonds than bloodlines, especially among shifters, but it will give us an idea—” She takes a quick breath as Alistair’s bowl begins to glow faintly, our blood mixing together to mimic a softer shade of gold than our eyes. “See how the fated pair harmonizes when combined? Now, when we compare to her other choice of mate?—”
Hardwicke’s voice falters as the liquid inside Revyn’s bowl coagulates. Most of the solution evaporates, leaving only the faintest threads of silver and gold weaving together until they suddenly darken to pitch, melting the glass until the bowl warps and barely holds its shape. A putrid scent wafts from the mixture, and I clench my bleeding fist as my heart threatens to explode.
I’d recognize that stench anywhere, because that’s exactly what the rot overtaking the wilds smells like.
