Page 34 of Lost and Bound

The one with platinum-blond hair seems the most approachable, but he’s also making it obvious he’s not there to chat, despite students continually trying to speak with him. He wears a hoodie similar to mine, and the deep purple marking him as a magik user makes his hair stand out even more.

Next to him, in a Thales sweatshirt, is the vampire of the group. His hair is the color of light caramel, and he wears it short on the back and sides, a little longer on the top. He looks like he could change into a suit, broker deals with the world’s most influential people, while being right at home.

The third is older by a good few years. His hair is dark brown, and he’s got it pulled back and tied up. His facial hair makes him stand out, as does the Thales-issued staff polo and matching shorts he wears.

Even if he was wearing the standard black staff shirt, as opposed to the green polo he is wearing, I’d think I’d know he was a supernatural being. He’s got something very wild and savage about him.

While he talks, his eyes continually assess everyone gathered. I freeze like a deer in headlights when they move over me. Even when he’s looking at the next person, my heart thuds like I’ve run a marathon. I stare down at the ground, willing myself to control my heart rate and my breathing. The last thing I need to do is fall on the radar of these predators.

“Warm up.” When he speaks, there’s authority in his tone that has me moving, along with everyone else.

I fall into the group of Noms, and together, we trail behind the others. Unlike with Coach, who is usually in charge of gym class, the new guy doesn’t run us into the ground. We do a single lap, and then he directs the various groups around the field, allowing plenty of room between them. Once he leaves the others with another set of instructions that has them stretching, he comes to speak with us.

The closer he comes, the harder I have to work on my reaction. It’s not like I haven’t been around good-looking people before, but I feel like a duck out of water as my response continues to hurtle up and out of my control.

He stops at a distance and looks over us in one of his quick sweeps before his gaze settles on us as a group, as opposed to individuals. His awareness is off, and I don’t want to say there’s prejudice marring his handsome features, but it’s also pretty obvious he’d prefer to be speaking with the others.

“Obviously we’ll mix up today’s training because Nom numbers are down. If you’re with a unit you’ll be rotated out so everyone gets the chance to practice. I don’t want to hear any complaints.” He doesn’t give us time to voice anything. As soon as he finishes speaking, he turns and walks away.

And I get a life reminder that sometimes good-looking people are only pretty on the outside. He’s one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen, and a part of me is so freaking disappointed that his ego is stopping him from being a nice person. He treats Noms with the same disdain as everyone else here.

“Who’s that?” I whisper to the guy standing next to me, who I realize belatedly is Tyler. “Hey, thanks for the other day.”

Much like he was in class, Tyler is wary of me and everyone else. He hardly moves his lips. “Professor Cane. Go away.”

I take a small step back, though no one else notices. I don’t do it for anyone but Tyler. If he doesn’t want me talking to him or trying to engage, there’s a reason. And he’s entitled to it. I get I’m a newbie to Thales and this whole supe thing, but I would have thought it would be better for us to unify as a minority rather than survive alone.

We don’t get a chance to speak, since a shrill whistle and a series of finger jabs split me from my fellow Noms. I get placed with a group of purple girls around my age, and they continue with the whole ‘Noms are beneath us’ routine that’s getting old but appears to be the norm.

I stand on the sidelines while they completely ignore my presence and talk among themselves. From the outside, it’s kind of obvious that out of the four, two think they’re leadership material, while the other two are trying to appease the tension. There’s an equal measure of posturing and reticence, but the push-pull energy of the group is full of saccharine smiles and veiled glares.

They’re going around in circles until the tall, willowy one lifts her chin defiantly. “We’ve practiced your sequence enough to know it doesn’t adequately highlight our abilities, Vanessa.”

Vanessa bristles at the suggestion, and one of the other girls rushes in to comfort her. “I think focusing on your setup is a great idea, Selene, but why don’t we warm up with Vanessa’s routine?” The way she stops talking and swallows nervously is overshadowed by the crackle of Vanessa’s energy.

I assume that it’s magik making the air pop in my ears. It’s hard to know, since no one is bothering to explain who they are, what they can do, or what we’re doing here.

Interestingly, Selene doesn’t say anything; it’s like she already knows Vanessa losing her cool would be better for her. There’s a tense standoff for a few moments before the heavy press around us dissipates. Vanessa flicks her hair back, then agrees with a calculated smile. “Sounds great.”

Honestly, when they skip to their places, I half expect them to break out in a cheer. On a silent cue, they start their little routine, and I’m impressed with how they flow around each other, but I struggle to see the purpose.

It seems like I’m not the only one.

“What are you doing?” Across the field of people yelling and shouting, my sensitive ears pick up Professor Cane’s voice.

Focusing on the group I’ve been assigned, as opposed to watching him stalk closer, I get to see the girls finally share something that makes me happy I’m not friends with them. They’re bitches. They’re looking at Professor Cane with hearts in their eyes but at the same time it’s pretty obvious they’re also eyeing him off as a prize and not really seeing him. Well, that’s how I interpret their fakeness.

“Sorry, sir,” they chorus out as they swivel to face him.

I turn with them, catching sight of his obvious frustration. He’s close enough now that I can make out the green of his eyes when they glance over me. They’re otherworldly, the green so vibrant and alive. Calling his eyes green doesn’t do them justice. It’s like saying all vanilla ice cream is the same when, in fact, vanilla has over a hundred different taste and smell profiles.

“Why is she,”—he hooks his thumb toward me—“standing over here? You’re supposed to be practicing as if you have your Kleis. Or when they arrive you’re not going to have a clue what to do.”

The magiks mirror each other’s expressions at his suggestion; sucking on a sour lemon is the best way to describe their faces. They keep their focus on him, though, not paying me any credence.

“Sir.” The most assertive of the women steps forward, her voice husky. “Can’t we work with someone else? She reeks of human, it’s super off-putting, but Vanessa’s got this…”

I don’t bother checking for stench, but because she speaks loudly, groups around us shuffle closer, so I watch the ground. I have to, or every person on this field would see the rising irritation in my eyes. My mom always said I wear my emotions on my face.