Page 4 of Darkbirch Academy

Soren.

My whip uncoils in my grip, its silver blade catching what little light there is. “Watch your step,” I snarl.

The wolf freezes. Massive and muscle-bound, his hackles bristle like daggers along his spine. Moonlight glints in the strands of saliva dripping from his jaws. He hasn’t backed down—he’s just weighing the cost of disobedience.

I let the whip crack. The sound splits the air like a gunshot.

For a heartbeat, he hesitates. Then, with a growl that shakes the leaves overhead, he vanishes into the trees. Probably to tear out the throat of the first animal he finds, or possibly even his mate.

I pick up my pace, pretending not to notice the trio of incubi lounging in the oak branches above. Their barely-there attire—more suggestion than fabric—is designed to tempt ruin. One blows me a kiss, the air thick with jasmine and sin, and something darker that curls low in my spine.

About a minute later, a voice like velvet brushes my ear. “Darling, you’re wound tight.” He emerges from the shadows in a slow ripple of moonlight and heat, a dark fae sculpted from illusion and intent. His fingers sketch circles in the air,and the space beneath them shimmers like disturbed water—half-magic, half-invitation. Then his lips brush the shell of my ear, feather-soft, daringly close. “Let me… loosen you.”

I sidestep his advance with a glare. Honestly, it’s like walking through a supernatural frat house out here.

I heave a sigh when the infirmary finally looms ahead. I close the distance rapidly and shove open the heavy oak doors. The air hangs thick with the scent of crushed yarrow and something metallic. I push through the cluster of eight defense officers crowding Jax’s bed, their uniforms creating a wall of black leather and crimson insignias.

Our defense academy’s head, Corvin, looms at the top of the bed, his scarred hands clutching the bedframe. My mother’s fingers work methodically, smearing yellow ointment across Jax’s temples. My brother’s face twitches violently, veins standing out like blue rivers beneath his too-pale skin.

My mother notices me enter and looks up. “What the hell happened to you?” she snaps before I can utter a word. She finishes applying the ointment and turns to me, hands on her hips. Her cold blue eyes rake over me.

I grip the bedrail. “We were almost out,” I say. “Then this armored bastard—Mazrov—dropped from the upper level. Jax was moving despite the torture injuries, but then… suddenly he was on his knees and it seemed Mazrov did something to him. But I don’t know what. And then someone called Mazrov off. Said he wasn’t ‘strong enough’ yet to take me on.” My nails dig deeper into the wood. “What’s wrong with Jax?”

A dry swallow. A flicker of her tongue over her lips. My mother—rarely nervous—stands too still, her fingers curling into loose fists before forcing them flat again.

“His symptoms are… strange,” she replies. “Mental fracturing. Temporal disorientation. But what’s most concerning is his aura. It’s… weakened.”

I stare at her.What?Our aura is what defines our identity as magicals. More than identity, it is our lifeblood. Without it, we are ash.

“Esme, you need to tell us every single detail you can about this.” Corvin steps forward and I have never seen his dark eyes so serious. His thin lips set in a hard line.

“I saw the man’s eyes,” I say. “They were bright blue, but I saw fire. That’s the only way I can think to describe it. There was… fire in his eyes.”

The air in the room turns to ice. No one seems to breathe. No one moves. My mother’s face is a reflection of the expression carved into every other face in the room: pale, wide-eyed, disquieted.

“Are you sure, Esme?” Her voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a blade.

I don’t blink. “I told you exactly what I saw… What does it mean?”

Corvin’s gaze snaps to my brother’s prone form, his brow furrowing so deeply it shadows his eyes. His jaw clenches—once, twice—before he turns on me with a predator’s stillness.

“You’ll be wanted at a council meeting.”

4

Jax’s pale face lingers in my mind as I head through the woods to the academy.

Council meeting.Those words never bode well. But I’ll have to wait until tomorrow for whatever revelations they have in store. They apparently need time to prepare.

And I need some rest—hopefully at least six hours of unconsciousness.

As I cross the final thicket of trees, Darkbirch Academy rises before me… like a sin that never bothered to repent. Its jagged silhouette cuts into the night sky—black stone bleeding into stars. Unlike Heathborne, all polished stone and moral posturing, Darkbirch doesn’t pretend to be anything but what it is: a ruthless, spell-bound relic of power. Gothic. Vast. Alive. It doesn’t sit on the land so much as possess it.

It’s not welcoming.

It’s not safe.

But gods, it’s beautiful.

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