Page 6 of Escaping Hallow Hill Academy
“I haven’t decided,” I tell him flatly, but I climb the many steps to his side anyway.
He nods to me. “Yes. I understand. Nonetheless, I am an Academy board member and Headmistress Krist’s personal advisor. You may call me Marcen.”
“I didn’t ask, baker.” I don’t pause for Board Member Advisor Marcen. I head straight for the pretentious golden door, and even I’m surprised when it opens with ease beneath my palm. I’m even more surprised that it’s warm to the touch.
It seems like all I do is blink, and there he stands.
The one I came here for. The male Sekar.
Messy blond hair that’s more silver than honey hangs over cold, cutting gray eyes. I’m sure it’s a dye job when his thick, dark brows lower even farther, if that’s possible, as his scrutinizing gaze drags down my lithe frame. The tattoos that are so similar to my own cover him, twining across his bulging biceps and forearms. They disappear up his sleeves, the tips of the runes stark against his neck. But instead of shining with magic, his Sekar runes are black. Ashen.
Lifeless.
A million emotions tremble through my body, making my heart stutter uncomfortably. I make sure none are visible on my face. I can’t stop staring at the runes on him, trailing delicately up his strong body. Our runes are a gift from our Lady. It marks us as Sekar, makes us unique. For every soul we take in a tribute to her, more runes appear. He has about the same number as I do, some faded with time. The ones around his neck are most prominent. I squint to get a closer look and notice he’s wearing a collar around his neck. Black and metallic, it tightens around his throat. I’m starting to see a theme here with those hideous things.
First baker and now him.
“You’re the other Sekar?” I cock a sharp brow at him, but he seems just as unimpressed by my appearance. There’s a dull glow of gold around the rings of his eyes that just seem like they’re stones covered in dirt. Or shit. They don’t flare but are pale and glaring. Every hope I harbored of connecting with the mysterious Sekar shoots to hell.
Even if the tiniest part of my fangirl heart squeaks at just how much he looks like Zero Kiryu fromVampire Knight.
Something has sucked the soul from him. Our kind thrives on unity, on worship, prayer, and death. How long has he been without a coven? Is that what I’ll look like if I go so long without my own?
Ew.
“Were you expecting Prince Fucking Charming?” he asks through teeth that are still tightly clenched together.
What a total asshole.
But maybe that’s just the cold magic we both share. I shift on my heels as I consider that little tidbit. Is it a trait of our heritage, or is being an asshat just a pretty crown we both wear?
Why do I care?
I don’t. I won’t even be staying.
Another pulsing eye roll hums through my blade as I fold my arms hard over my chest.
And note how his steely eyes follow the movement to linger on the curves of my breasts.
“Sialen, would you please escort Miss Lucero to Headmistress Krist’s office?” Marcen asks on a flowery flow of words. He looks bored with our whole interaction. Fuck, I’m bored, too. I came here expecting to feel elated at seeing one of my own kind. So far, the Sekar has fallen short of what I’d expected.
He’s a knock-off compared to the powerful, magic-blessed man I expected.
Marcen smirks at me as if he can hear my train of thought. He’s like a damn house cat. All elegant grace but a deadly shine to his watchful eyes. I feel that gaze hot against my back even as I follow after Sialen’s careless stride. His gray shirt is pulled tight across broad shoulders and a tense spine. He says nothing.
In return, I, too, keep quiet as I check our surroundings.
Chandeliers bathed in gold illuminate the spacious foyer in a hue that matches molten pools of sunlight drifting across the surface of water. Rugs of expensive threads that look imported from foreign countries and polished tables with no purpose linger in the rooms we pass. Vases that look like they cost more than all my internal organs and manga collection combined adorn the surfaces. It’s all . . . perfect.Rich.
It’s real fucking rich.
Two women in tight button-down shirts and flowy, dark knee-length skirts pass me with hard stares in their eyes. I don’t meet their gazes. I simply feel the slice of their attention against my skin as I take note of the rings around their irises and the leather-bound books in their hands that readIntroduction to Necromancy: The Supernatural Guide of the Dead. Their pulse kicks up just a small pounding beat. I know this, because I can sense and taste fear as thick and as sweet as honey. Interest seems to flare to life within them at the sight of a newcomer like myself. They smell . . . oddly similar. It’s a dirty, masculine scent that stands out and wafts around both of them.
I see more of them than they see of me. I’m sure of it. I’m clearly better at spying.
But they’re better at pettiness, it seems.
“Witch,” The redheaded woman hisses to her friend in a tone that sounds like a spitting insult, while her eyes stay warily on me. “Another slutty witch for Krist to play with,” The slender redhead continues with a sharp, nasty smile.
