Page 71 of Rebirth Of Order
The bonds that break
ETHAN
We emergeinside the sparring room, and Kyra is agitated as she yanks away from me, shouting obscene slurs. Why? That is unclear on the grounds that I’m hardly listening. She is late, and it’s unacceptable. Being a fay and now part of House Death, she will conduct herself in the manner that represents us.
“I’ve told you about touching and transporting me without permission. What part of, don’t do that, are you not comprehending?” She hunches forward, gesturing oddly. “Also, those images keep flashing when we teleport. What the fuck do they mean?” Her tone is between a squeal and howl.
Parched, my thirst for drawing her blood multiplies with each setting sun. And right now, my list is what is steadying my hands. Even I won’t defy the Gods orders…for now. “Are you upset from being transported or at the images?” I grant her a bit of my attention.
“Everything, Ethan!”
“Okay.” I dismiss whatever she goes on about. This is far from an appropriate time for such conversations. I have training to conduct.
Walking away, I hear Kyra call me an ‘asshole’ beneath her breath, and my fists ball. My nails break skin until crimson liquid warms myfingertips. Every inch of me wants to prove her right. Then it happens. The realization of where she stands as the pace of her heart increases twofold.
“Shit,” she mumbles. “What House are you in, and please don’t say House Death.”
I regard her over my shoulder as she pinches her brows, hiding the terror within those deep-set, hazel orbs. “Language, Kyra.” I swallow a smirk, capturing the way her left eye twitches when she is anxious.
Directing my attention over the group, I see both House Life and Death are assembled. Against my better judgment, today I’m designated to watch over this group of lesser fays. Angie is out searching for more information on Kyra’s order, and unfortunately for me, Alex is still away doing the same. Though, I feel he is doing this on purpose, refusing to babysit.
“Now that I’m back, everyone, separate.” I move onto the low sitting stage, designed with onyx marble, sitting center of the room and to the right of its entrance. “Today we’re doing things a little differently.” I catch sight of Kyra’s arms folding in what appears to be agitation.
She opted for the uniform with a cropped blazer, fitted vest, and black mesh stockings. The skirt is a little too short. Yet something about it continues drawing my eye. That plump part of skin showing between the seams of her skirt and stockings. That piece of flesh, a reddened hue, contrasting with the fabric’s cooler tones, sends a muted rumble over my chest. I’m salivating at the urge to bite it.
I clear my throat and suppress my inner nature. It’s infuriating that my body insists on trying to understand her, but there is no swaying my hand. She willdie. For all the deeds her mother executed and everything Kyra will become.
There are three names left on my list of significance, and hers is the last written. Once I’ve found the other two, it’s only a matter of time until, KYRA, is etched out.
“Listen up. I’ll say this once.” I shift my gaze over the masses. “If Ihear any objections, consider this room your final resting place.” Silence stales the air with increased heart beats responding. Then a scoff.
“More threats, great,” Kyra murmurs.
In less than a second, I stand before her, peering down with a dark expression as her jaw slackens from my sudden approach. My fingers twitch in anticipation of feeling her throat squeeze beneath the strength of my grip.
The softness of her skin becomes riddled with small bumps, and my tone drops to a dangerous vibration as I speak. “Is there something you’d like to say, Kyra?” She has a way of bringing out the slumbering beast within my aura, waking it with promises of blood. She shakes her head slowly, fidgeting with her skirt’s ruffles, and refusing to shy from my glower. “Good,” I respond as we enter nonverbal territory.
My reflection dances within her dull ember eyes. A cage meant for my imprisonment.
“Ethan, you were saying?” One of the other students calls out, and my hands relax as I walk away. Unbeknownst to me, they were back in fists and re-slicing my palms.She’s stubborn without knowing her place. One I’ll happily remind her of.My magic begins mending the injuries.
“You will break off in pairs,” I continue, making it back to the stage. “One from House Life, and the other from House Death. Fight until the clock hits zero. That’s forty-five minutes of combat with fifteen minutes to get to your next class. If any of you are late, don’t come crying if you’re reprimanded.”
A hand shoots up, and I lock onto Ryan–the one who presented a tasteless joke during the Awakening.
“What?” Rotating my wrist in preparation, I pray he gives me a reason.
“Alex and Angie offer about twenty minutes for combat, which sometimes depletes our magic. Isn’t forty-fiveminutes a bit much?” He searches for comradery amongst the group. But other students shift away, and glee rushes magic into my palms.
Here’s my reason.
A gold sigil appears beneath me, expediting my approach to him. “Didn’t you gain twenty points for House Life in Marcel’s class?” The light of my sigil fades from his skin tone, revealing he is paler than before. Afraid, Ryan takes a bottomless inhale, lowering his arm, and I grab it before it reaches his side.
“Y–Yes,” he stutters against his own breath.
“You can either lose those twenty points or lose an arm. Choose.” My declaration stiffens his posture. The vein over his wrist throbs from panic.
“Wh–What.” He tries backing away, but my grip tightens, keeping him planted. A miniature golden sigil slithers up his forearm from a slight twitch of my hand.
