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Hate.

I don’t know a lot about love, but boy do I know a lot about hate. I hate having to live life without my parents, I hate that my twin sister is missing, but more than anything in the world, I hate Mr. Peters and that stupid fucking sneer of his. He’s wearing it now as he glances at me in the rearview mirror. I’ve gotten used to the mean glint in his gaze over the last twelve years in his care, and I brace for whatever vitriol he’s about to spit at me.

“You know you won’t have any friends at Diremount.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel, the fake gold rings stuffed onto his swollen fingers gleaming under the sunlight. “You’re nothing like those paranormals. Poor little Raina. No affinities.”

Not for the first time, he reminds me of my inadequacy. There’s no denying I’m a paranorm, with my enhanced speed, strength, hearing, and healing, but all paranorms have magic, or affinities, and I . . . don’t seem to have any. Though sometimes I swear I can feel something inside me, a strange vibration that never rests. That has to be my magic.

“You know that means the Goddess didn’t bless you.”

I pick at the loose thread on the worn back seat of his shitty car, tugging it free and rolling it between my fingers. Sometimes I’ve wondered if that’s the case. If I’ve done something wrong, something to make me different from everyone I know.

Mr. Peters shakes his head. “You know you have no chance at becoming a tether, not with your lack of magic.”

Tethers, incredibly strong female paranorms, become a central anchor for a vinculum—a group of bonded men. Vinculums are rare and powerful. The bonded magic is said to be so strong that they need the tether to help control it. Even if I had magic, I wouldn’t want to be a tether. I’ve had enough of men controlling me.

“You’ll be all alone,” Mr. Peters adds with a bite.

“Maybe it’s better that way,” I murmur, gazing out the back window of his run-down sedan in desperate need of new shocks. Every pothole sends the car bouncing for twenty seconds longer than it should. My nerves are fried from that alone; I definitely don’t need Mr. Peters poking at old wounds. Besides, he’s the last one who should be talking about being alone. He’s never even had a relationship, and I’m pretty sure his temper is a big reason why.

I sit up straighter, straining to see the silhouette of Diremount University on the horizon. There are dozens of buildings: dormrooms, a clock tower, a temple, buildings for the classes. A handful of them have tall spires and the late Gothic architecture paints a foreboding picture, the stone peaks seeming to claw at the sky.

“A lot of first years don’t survive,” Mr. Peters reminds me, taking a beat from huffing and puffing about the cars in front of us to aim that putrid breath at me. “And those are students with affinities. I bet you don’t even make it a day.”

Mages are normally blessed with two affinities. The extra magic is the Goddess’s way of making up for the fact that we can’t transform into beasts like shifters or jump through the shadows like vampires.

“Well, if I don’t even make it one day, I guess I can’t fulfill the mage bargain.” My gaze connects with his, and this time, I don’t look away from the vitriol filling his. For years, I’ve hated the binding magical agreement he forced me to make. Rubbing at my forearm, I recall how young and terrified I was. I had no idea what I was agreeing to. “How will I come back and earn you money if I die?”

I generally try to avoid pissing him off, but I’ll be out of this car in a matter of minutes, and if I survive, I’ll have two years where I don’t have to worry about his anger. Two years to figure out why I can’t access my affinities, two years to find where my sister Addison might be, before I’m forced to return to him and become his little puppet once again.

If I make it to graduation and pass the Goddess Trial, the divine rite of passage, I’ll have no choice but to fulfill the mage bargain. Whoever breaks the bargain dies, and I happen to have hope that I’ll find a way out of his control without dying.

I have to.

“Come the fuck on already!” Mr. Peters growls under his breath, more and more agitated by the traffic, which has started to slow now that we’re nearing the drop-off lane.

I hunker down in my seat as we pass families outside the wrought-iron fence that lines the property, hugging and clinging to one another. Parents squeezing their children tight.

Sadness cleaves me in half, and I grasp at my half of the worn butterfly necklace I’ve had since I arrived at Mr. Peters’s home scared and parentless. I run the little charm back and forth over the chain. Mr. Peters will only shed tears over the loss of the money he earns off putting me in the circuit, the underground fighting ring he operates. He navigates into the drop-off lane, car idling as we wait for our turn at the curb.

Soon. I’ll be mostly free from him soon enough. I keep that thought in my head as I gaze at Diremount University. The dark, sharpened points of the granite spires and pinnacles pierce the ripples of early morning pinks and purples. Hope bubbles in my chest. Someone here will know why I can’t use my magic. Someone will be able to help me.

“Get out!” The car lurches as Mr. Peters throws it into park and climbs out. The back door unlocks, and I all but leap out of the vehicle. I’m half tempted to leave him digging my bag out of the trunk. I need my things, though.

Sighing, I look around. So many families. So much love. It makes me sick to my stomach. Shaking my head, I avert my gaze from all the easy affection, and the university snares my focus once more. It’s a masterpiece of moody, Gothic architecture tucked at the bottom of the foothills of the Green Mountains. It’s close to Stowe, Vermont but remote enough that most humans wouldn’t even realize the university exists. The illusion spell helps with that too. The Paranormal Empire is very careful about hiding our presence, partly because of the results of cross breeding, and partly because humans can be a little dramatic. Especially the politicians.

“Here.” A pack hits my stomach hard, forcing air from my lungs. I cough, ripping my gaze away from the spires to glare at Mr. Peters.

There are a dozen ways I’d like to make him bleed. To make him hurt the way he’s hurt me. Hatred hazes my vision. I grind my teeth together to keep from attacking him.

His lip curls in amusement. Aside from ensuring I owe him a life debt, the mage bargain makes it so I can’t harm him.

I swallow my anger, saving it for another day. Shouldering my bag, I hesitate, testing the weight. It’s too light. “I need my weapons.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He’s lying. That pisses me off the most. Hasn’t he taken enough from me already?

I level him with a look. “I need them if you want me to survive.”