Page 2 of Darkbirch Academy

I already hear more clearbloods thundering down the service stairwell. I can’t command the spirits of my grandmother and her biddies again after such a brief interval without them getting waspish with me, but I have other methods. Jax isn’t at full capacity, obviously, but he does his best to keep up with me as we race through the corridors toward the main entrance. There aren’t many exit points in this building, and we may as well leave in style.

I pour on the speed when the giant oak doors of the main entry hall come into view. We spill into the room.

Something crashes behind us, sending tremors through the floor. My brother groans and drops to his knees on the floor beside me, though I cannot see what injury caused him to falter.

I whirl around to lay eyes on an imposing figure dressed fully in dark-gray armor. He has apparently leaped down at least a flight of stairs and hurtles toward me with speed that surprises me.

“You’re not going anywhere, darkblood,” a deep, baritone voice, dripping with malice, utters from behind his visor. He’s close enough that I catch the reflection of my pale face, mostly concealed by a black mask, and dark hair in his metal face guard.

I am not sure whether to flame him for his arrogance in attacking my injured brother or for threatening me as he did, and I decide to do it for both.

Just as I claw my hands, a voice bellows from the staircase. “Mazrov, STOP! You’re not strong enough yet! We can’t risk losing you!”

The words catch me off guard. My hands involuntarily still. My focus shifts. I stare into the mysterious person’s visor. He’s close enough that it no longer hides everything.

Electric-blue eyes lock onto mine, edged in something impossible. Fire.

A gasp escapes me.

Who—what—is he?

He halts, apparently listening to the reprimanding voice, and noticing that I have not yet counterattacked.

My brother groans again, more deeply, and I realize I need to pivot. As much as I hate leaving any Heathborne collegian upright, this one will have to wait.

I grab a small syringe from my belt and inject my right arm’s vein with the blood-orange liquid it holds. An uncontainable surge of energy rockets through me, lending me the strength to both drag my brother to the door and yank it open with impossible speed. Outside, our ride awaits.

2

Isander sweeps toward us from the shadows of an oak tree. His icy, much-paler hands brush against mine as he takes my brother from me and pulls him onto his back, then engulfs my waist with one steely arm. His silver-speckled midnight eyes and jaw, too chiseled for his own good, are inches from my face, and I expect he has ulterior motives for putting me in the front seat—so to speak—but I say nothing for now.

We need to go.

Our vampire colleague extends his powerful, leathery-black wings and launches us into the air. I grip my brother’s arms, which are secured around Isander’s neck, ensuring his hold stays firm as the ground speeds away from us.

The mages spilling out of the academy quickly become mere dots.

That’s a downside to mainstream magical society persecuting perfectly useful creatures like vampires: they seek refuge with enemies.

We are now above an immense, pitch-black lake, but even that soon becomes obscured as Isander rises higher, into a stretch of clouds. He does well to hide our tracks completely and, as I pull off my face mask, I consider encouraging him.

But then his head lowers. I feel the strands of his dark hair tickle my skin and the cool caress of his lips against my neck.

“Es, just one time,” he whispers against me and I admit it sends a shiver down my spine. His hold around my waist tightens, pulling the contours of my body completely flush against his. “You’ve kept me waiting so long.”

I release one hand from my brother and grip Isander’s jaw with it, raising his head to meet my death glare. He knows not to test my boundaries further and yields, though a smirk plays on his lips.

“Will you ever give in?” he breathes.

I ignore his question, his hooded eyes, and the huskiness of his voice. Truth be told, I have a penchant for vampires. They’re my favorite kind of influx into our academy, and Isander—one of our newest recruits—has somehow sensed my weak spot quickly. Perhaps I’ll consider his proposal later. But right now, I am concerned for my brother, who hasn’t lifted his head since being placed on Isander’s back. I still don’t know what caused him to fall to the floor in that entrance hall. He has no additional visible wounds.

“Jax,” I call. “What happened?”

He is breathing but doesn’t respond. My stomach tightens.Who was that bastard back there?

We pierce through the darkness of Darkbirch Coven’s protective shield. Agonized screams engulf us, each belonging to spirits of clearbloods who preferred to sell their souls to us and live in an eternal purgatory, rather than risk passing on and finding out what death holds. Now they form our barrier and help keep us safe.

To be honest, death was probably the better deal.

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