Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
"Like I said on the mat. Fuck. You."
The way his full lips curve so slightly I could almost imagine it is… confusing. My brain says this man is a threat. His words say he's a threat. The fact that he just choked me out and probably internally bruised me says he's a threat.
But there's a heat pulsing just beneath his surface that makes me understand how moths can be drawn to flames, even though getting close will spell their doom.
"Hmm," he says, voice little more than a low rumble.
And all he has to do is lift his eyes to mine.
Gods. That look feels like having his rough hands on my body—like something intimate in all the wrong ways. A promise and a threat wrapped together in burning amber.
Heat rushes to my face, and I hate my traitorous body for responding to him when I'm pretty sure he wouldn't think twice about killing me if it suited his purposes, no matter what he's trying to imply with that heated gaze. Frankly, my best guess is he just likes toying with his food before he delivers the death blow, and we're in the "play" stage.
I force a glare, hoping he feels all the venom I try to put into the look.
Instead, his attention falls to my lips, lingering there before lifting back to study me with renewed interest. "Angry. That's good. You'll need anger here if you plan to survive."
Then he walks away, rejoining the fire affinity section as if our exchange never happened, leaving me standing alone with too many questions and not nearly enough answers.
Bastian grips my arm as soon as Raith is gone, his touch cool compared to the lingering heat of Raith's fingers. Again, I feel that strange sensation of energy passing from his body to mine.
I need to find out what the hell that sensation means. Am I draining elemental power? It certainly seemed like it on the mat.
"What was that?" Bastian asks. "One minute, he had you pinned, then I looked away and you got out somehow. What happened?"
I shake my head, still struggling to process everything myself. "I... don't know."
He licks his lips, leaning closer and lowering his voice to ensure we're not overheard. "Whatever is going on... you need to be careful until we have a better idea of what you are."
We?
I can't decide if the way Bastian wants to take my problems on as his own is flattering or suspicious. He hardly knows me, yet speaks as though we're bound together in this. But I'm still trying to catch my breath, my thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, so I just nod, even though I have no fucking clue how to be careful with something I can't control—something I don't even understand.
"I need to go," Bastian says, his eyes darting to where the other legacies are watching us with undisguised curiosity. "I won’t be able to talk to you regularly. It’ll draw too much attention. Remember, I’ll bring the book when I can. Until then… be careful, Nessa. You have no idea how much danger you’re in.”
He's already gone before I can respond, disappearing into the crowd without a backward glance. Before I can fully process what just happened—the fight, the strange fire, Raith's reaction, Bastian's concern—the sparring matches are declared over and we're being sorted into dormitory assignments.
The instructors talk about our schedule and lodgings while two older students drag a lifeless body from the room. I try not to look at it. Try not to think about it.
I do my best to focus on what I’m being told. Like how our schedule will include regular combat, weight training, and a full barrage of academic and magical training classes.Today, we're being shown a rare mercy and allowed to get settled in our rooms and rest for the remainder of the day.
Hoo fucking ray.
The instructors divide us by affinity, their voices cutting through the haze of exhaustion that's settled over us all. We're led from the training area through winding and confusing passages which are almost all lined with massive oil paintings depicting primals locked in battle—their elemental companions taking the forms of beasts from wolves all the way to fearsome dragons or great land worms large enough to swallow horse carriages.
I notice more than a few of us are limping, bleeding, or already swelling with bruises as we travel. The sounds of pained breathing and occasional whimpers echo off stone walls that I imagine have witnessed centuries of similar processions.
It must be settling in on everyone, just like it’s settling on me. This is real. Hours ago, we may have expected to die. To be sacrificed. Executed. Maybe even something worse. None of us expected to be thrown into a military academy and trained.
The castle itself is magnificent, I have to admit—all polished stone halls lined with lush carpets and tapestries in empire gold, silver, and black. Magical lights illuminate our path, hovering in ornate sconces and pulsing gently with arcane energy colored to match one of the four affinities. We pass countless rooms, some of which are occupied by older students already taking classes. They glance as we pass with expressions ranging from pity to disdain, seeing in us what they once were—or perhaps what they're glad they never had to be.