Page 6
The wound’s already healing by the time I step back and flick his blood off my dagger. It splats onto the stone floor. I swear the bloodlust in his eyes deepens, the exact opposite of what I’d intended.
Drake, the mage friend, pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake, leave the Ferals alone.”
My grip tightens on my dagger. I don’t like the way he says Feral.
Bellamy’s shadows retreat, but his gaze strays to my throat, the veins of red slithering through his irises expanding until the color shifts from brown to a deep shade of cabernet, only leaving a tiny pinprick of a pupil. He takes a step toward me, but Rowan, the guy with the bun, slaps his hand to the vampire's chest and steps between us.
The shifter is a mountain come to life. I tip my head and hold his golden stare. While a smarter Feral would back down, fighting is my love language. I’m half tempted to pick one to see how well I fare, but the line starts moving, and Ever clears her throat, nudging me.
Right. Not the time or place. This also isn’t the circuit. I might’ve held my own fighting without magic, but I won’t be able to do the same here.
With a sharp exhale, I relent and spare the three of them one last glare before heading into the auditorium. I don’t know what the fuck that was about. All I know is I need to stay as far away from those Foundations as possible.
From the time I came into Mr. Peters’s care, I’ve learned how to be on my own. None of the paranorms in my school wanted anything to do with me. I thought I had a friend once, but I quickly figured out they were pretending to like me only to go back to their real friends so they could all make fun of me.
Time and time again, life has shown me it’s easier to be alone.
There must be at least two-thousand seats on this level of the giant auditorium, and more than half of them are full. I eye the rows in the back. Maybe Ever won’t notice me straying, but as soon as that thought crosses my mind, she glances at me and smiles, her bunny lines giving me pause. “Do you want to sit together?”
That damn expression is fucking with my head. Telling her no would be like saying no to more memories of Addy. “Sure.”
Ever leads the way, and we find seats closer to the middle of the auditorium. There’s a somber cloud hanging over the students. Our reality is grim, but it’s the Goddess’s will. Who are we to challenge her?
The last of the enrolling students pour into the first floor of the auditorium, filling the seats behind us, and what I assume are second years gather on the balcony. Unease settles in my stomach, hard as a rock. There are so many people here. At least three or four thousand, more than I’ve ever been around my entire life, and I can practically feel each presence grating across my skin.
A strange hum rolls through the room. I glance at the ceiling, where I think it’s coming from, but there’s nothing there. Weird. I swear I can sense something—some type of power or spell—watching me, and it makes my hackles rise in warning.
Or maybe I’m just overwhelmed by all the people.
I count my breaths, steadying myself the way I would before a fight in the ring. A burst of tittering laughter comes from the side of the room. My attention snaps toward it. Wealth blankets the students who have clearly separated themselves from the rest of us, at least a dozen rows of seats between us and them. Foundations wouldn’t deign to sit near us Ferals.
Ever scoffs and side-eyes a cluster of Foundations in designer labels. “You know this is a game to them. They think it’ll be fun to pick us off.”
Ferals can still have strong affinities, but with our blood less pure than Foundation blood, we typically end up less powerful. I can’t help thinking that the university training process is more of a mechanism to weed out Feral blood than it is to train us for the Goddess Trials, but I keep that thought to myself.
“We’ll just have to give them a run for their money, am I right?” a girl beside Ever with rich auburn hair, that’s more red than brown, interjects. Ever and I glance at her and she takes that as permission to continue. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m not going to make it easy on them.” She eyes the Foundations with hatred I feel in my bones. “I’m Bree, by the way.”
Before either of us can respond, a woman with frizzy blonde curls and almost sickly pale skin stands at the podium in the middle of the stage. “Attention!” A hush falls over the auditorium as her voice cuts through the noise without the assistance of a microphone. “Welcome, welcome to you all! I’m Secretary Ashteon, and we are all so pleased you are here.”
Some guys chant the university song. She gives them a tight-lipped smile, the type I recognize and immediately hate. A Feral pandering to the Foundations. “Yes, this is all very exciting. Now, quiet down. Chancellor Tweed?” Her arm sweeps toward a formidable man dressed in a starched gray suit.
The chancellor strides toward the podium the way a soldier might storm into battle, his hard gaze sweeping the students before him, calculating exactly what he needs to do to break us all. I sit a little straighter and notice Ever doing the same. In fact, most of the students do, all but a select few in the group of Foundations.
A chick with long black hair a shade so deep it’s almost blue openly stares at her phone, ignoring him. The chancellor’s eyes narrow on her and he thrusts his arm out. A streak of lightning magic yanks the phone from her hand.
I suck in a breath. By all accounts, stormcraft is strictly a Foundation ability, and I’ve never witnessed it before. The jagged line hisses with electricity.
“Hey!” the Foundation girl screeches, launching to her feet as the device flies toward the stage. The phone smacks onto the platform before skidding to a stop. A few of the instructors step aside, barely even blinking, as if this is all normal. The girl’s manicured fingers ball into fists at her side, and she glares at him.
“Sit.” Power chases the word, ricocheting around the room before slamming into her chest, forcing her ass back into her seat.
Indignation turns her ivory skin scarlet, and her seething is practically a scream in the otherwise silent auditorium. Chancellor Tweed holds her stare, waves of power slamming into us. His gaze shoots across the room as his power quickly pulls away, daring the rest of us to disobey. He pauses on me for a moment, long enough to send adrenaline pouring through my veins. Can he already tell I don’t know how to access my affinities? As suddenly as his eyes stopped on me, though, they skim through the rest of the students.
Every so often, he pauses in that same way, and I sag in relief.
It’s just an intimidation tactic.
Chancellor Tweed leaves the podium and walks to the side of the stage where the Feral Bloods sit. “Some of you will die here,” he begins, searing our side of the room with his stare. “Diremount University will not be easy. It will be brutal, grueling, and it will prepare most of you to pass the Goddess Trial, though some of you won’t survive that.”
