Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Lena
After forfeiting a few more of my matches this morning, I jumped into the ring three more times toward the end of class. I lost all of the rounds, getting pinned in two and tapping out on the last when a particularly buff woman choked me out with her thighs. It sounds sexy, but it wasn’t.
After I made it through three hours of physical and mental beatdowns, Coach Leon explained that we should expect our rankings and team assignments in the next forty minutes.
Instead of practicing in combat games today, we were instructed to meet our soon-to-be-assigned team members for an afternoon picnic to “get to know one another” and “strategize” for our assessments.
Which sounds a lot like “forced socialization” and “more torture” to me.
I couldn’t be bothered to walk up the stairs to my room—especially with my neon backpack heavy with books—so after Boden turned down his own wing in Havard Hall, I doubled back and went outside in search of some fresh air.
Is it a little sneaky? Yes. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And this babysitter thing is getting obnoxious. For the love of poorly made decisions, I’m a grown-ass woman!
Now I’m lying in the grass beside Havard Hall, looking up at the canopy of trees and waiting for the text with my group assignment and meet-up location.
I found a nice little cozy spot among the wildflowers and tucked into my history book.
Since I got my books last night, bound and determined to situate myself, I’ve been making my way through this one whenever I have a free moment.
But if human history is complicated, the added intricacy of magic makes magica history near labyrinthine.
The residence hall overlooks a small section of fields and forest and a small river before the ground abruptly gives way to a severe cliff drop.
Unlike the rest of campus, the northern and eastern sides aren’t fenced in.
Instead, the cliff marks the border separating campus from the forest. I haven’t had much opportunity to explore, but I love it back here.
A light breeze blows through the woods, picking up my hair and tossing the red curls across my face.
Leaves rustle throughout the canopy and quiver throughout the underbrush.
The wind carries with it a heady perfume of earthy wood with hints of a sweet floral scent.
Even though I’m bruised and sore like I was hit by a semitruck, lying here with the crisp scent of dying foliage calming my nervous system, this is the most peace I’ve felt in weeks.
Who needs therapy when you can get the ever-loving crap kicked out of you and then lie in a meadow watching the seasons change?
The woods go quiet—eerily so. The breeze dies. The birds stop chirping. Even the gurgling stream hushes. At the rapid absence of sound, goose bumps rise on my arms. It’s time to leave.
I stand, brushing the grass from my legs.
My feet carry me deeper into the woods instead of back to campus, as if an invisible thread is tugging me forward.
It’s a subtle pulling sensation at my core.
The forest grows denser, shadows thickening around me.
I push through a tangle of brush and branches, and freeze.
In the dim forest light, a figure is barely discernible.
I inch around the trunk of a thick gnarled tree to gain a clearer view.
It’s two people. A man has a woman pushed up against a tree.
He has his back to me. She’s moaning quietly, and he is…
yep. Oh. OH. I should turn around, I should go.
I have no intentions of becoming a voyeur this afternoon.
But also, really, the middle of the day in the woods?
In business casual attire? Good for them.
Yet I can’t seem to force myself to leave.
There’s something that is so recognizable about this, the familiarity slipping just out of reach.
Like waking from a dream with no clear memory of it, only the feeling that it’s important.
The air shifts, thickening with a weight that presses down on my chest, turning each breath into a shallow gasp.
The air almost seems sentient. Watching, waiting.
This feeling is indiscernible, a hair’s breadth from primal, niggling at the back of my skull.
This moment sits inside my chest like a weight—heavy, like the sweet and smoky wood-scented air.
A cold dread seeps into my bones, its presence suffocating, as if the afternoon itself has grown hungry.
Then it clicks. I know. I know who he is even without seeing his face. I recognize that heavy predaceous air as his, his oppressive force.
I take a step back; a twig cracks under my ugly highlighter-colored sneaker. The man stiffens, lifting his head from the woman’s chest. Although he’s blocking most of my view of the woman, I can still see it. Blood. Blood dripping down her neck and pooling over the swell of her breast.
My logical thinking finally kicks in, like a fog blowing away with a strong breeze. This isn’t right. This isn’t what I thought. He looks over his shoulder, and I’m staring into the dark eyes of Nikolai Komarov.
My sharp intake of breath gets stuck in my throat and sends his pupils dilating.
I swallowed a marble as a child. It got stuck in my tiny esophagus until Dmitri drew it out through sheer force of will and my well-timed abdominal contortions.
This feels like that. A deep inhuman growl rumbles from his chest, a warning.
I stumbled upon a predator with his kill, and I shouldn’t be here.
“Go,” Komarov growls between gritted teeth.
I take another step back, the woman lets out a quiet lethargic moan. I recognize her from the bar last night. She’s still in the same dress. I can’t leave her to this, I can’t let him kill her.
“No,” I whisper through my strained vocal cords. Gathering my courage, I insist louder, “Leave her alone.”
He turns to face me fully, dropping his hold on her throat. She wobbles, reaching for the tree. With each step he takes toward me, the air grows more weighted until it’s near suffocating—the smell of woody leather and vanilla pushing into my mouth and crawling down my throat, smothering me.
“I said go!” he demands in a low voice vibrating with authority. “Forget what you saw here.”
A fire rears up inside me, burning through his commands and the marble stuck in my throat.
Who is he to give me orders? Why does everyone think they can push me around?
This asshole can’t tell me what to do. I may be a minute away from pissing myself, but that only stokes my fury.
“Fuck. You. You go!” I snap. “I won’t let you hurt her. ”
His eyes widen, before he sighs in frustration. “Miss Solis, I’m not playing a game here. This isn’t class, and it’s none of your business. But this is”—he gestures back to the woman—“consensual. We have an understanding. Nevertheless, I won’t hurt her…past her limits.”
“Oh.” I let out a shaky breath. So this was exactly what it looked like at first glance. Embarrassment heats my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I…uh… didn’t realize.”
Still leaning against the tree, the woman appears sluggish but also irritated.
“Clearly,” Komarov drones, stepping closer to me.
“Miss Solis, I suggest you examine your presumptions. You’re not in the human world anymore.
A lesson magicae must learn very early: We respect the cultural practices of others’ kingdoms and insignia.
And feeding is a most revered practice.” He leans down, lips only centimeters from my ear, and I can feel his breath on my earlobe and smell the tang of coppery blood on his skin.
“A word of caution, never interrupt a Devorare when they’re feeding.
Not every vampire is as self-controlled as me.
Such actions are liable to get you killed. ”
“My apologies, Professor,” I mumble, shame coloring my face. I grimace in embarrassment as the woman adjusts her dress, covering up a set of bloody puncture wounds on her chest. “Sorry. Um…have fun?”
Komarov straightens and shakes his head, before turning back to the woman and whispering in a voice too low for me to hear.
I quickly head for the campus buildings, rubbing my hands over my face as I jog.
Feeding? I knew vampires sustained themselves on others’ blood, but no amount of knowing or reading was going to prepare me for seeing that play out live.
It was consensual and definitely sexual.
But it wasn’t just a fetish. That was survival and clearly reciprocal.
And also, sort of grotesquely beautiful in its own horrifying way.
What must it feel like to be fed on like that?
To be someone’s source of energy, of power?
To offer up the kind of pleasure that woman was very clearly giving Komarov?
Even more, I wonder what it’s like to feed?
To take that kind of power? To own it. What must it feel like to hold it in your hands?
Is that what’s drawing me to Komarov? Is that heavy air I always feel when he’s around the gravitational pull of his power?
I received a message in my class portal with the names of my team members for combat games and my ranking.
Surprising exactly no one, I’m ranked 401.
The whole student body is split into teams of ten.
Except my team has eleven, and I get the sense that the extra person is intended to be more of a liability and not a beneficial bonus team member.
Boden’s ranked number one. He also happens to be my team captain.
In an unhappy turn of events, Katri is my team’s lieutenant, second-in-command.
Which is how I’ve ended up sitting on the steps of the residence hall, waiting for Katri to escort me to the picnic.
Boden elected her to be my bodyguard this afternoon so he could spend time doing whatever it is captains do.
However, none of that can bring me down: not a Latin-speaking seraphim with a superiority complex, not a stuck-up mean girl with an opera house named after her, and not a grumpy, kinky vampire.
Because, by some lucky twist of fate, Naomi is on my team!
I may actually have a shot at surviving the course.
A slim shot, but a shot nonetheless. My phone vibrates with a text from Naomi.
Naomi: Dude, where are you?
Lena: Just sitting here, still waiting on Katri to escort me.
Naomi: Katri got to the picnic 15 minutes ago.
Lena: What? Where’s it at?
Naomi: The lake. Our almighty captain looks like he’s gonna blow an aneurysm.
Lena: Fuck. On my way.
Naomi: They’re arguing now. She told him you never showed and she couldn’t find you.
Lena: Of course she did. She lied.
I arrive at the spot for our picnic to find eight irritated group members, one smirking team lieutenant, and Naomi—who thankfully saved me a sandwich before all the food was spoken for.
“Sorry I’m late,” I apologize to Boden as I take a seat next to Naomi.
“Don’t make it a habit.” Boden glares at me before shooting a stern glance toward Katri in a very stop fucking around kind of way.
“Okay, team, we’re already at a disadvantage.” Boden claps his hands together, looking down from where he stands above us. “We have an extra person and the lowest-ranked trainee.”
I roll my eyes. Of course I’m the problem here and not that combat classes are mandatory.
Boden pulls out his phone and continues his lecture.
“I’ve never lost the combat games tournament, and I’m not going to start now.
Our team will win. I’m establishing a weekly session in the weight room.
” My phone starts pinging with notifications of adjustments to my class schedule.
“There are five of you who fall below the median. That will not stand. You’ll need to train twice as hard as the rest of the team to improve your scores.
I expect you five to begin running every morning as a group.
Unless you’re already in the top fifteen percent, I want to see you rise in the ranks by at least fifty spots by the end of term. ”
How will I possibly make time for all these additional training sessions while catching up on a lifetime of knowledge, keeping up with coursework, finding the answers to my questions in that massive library and god only knows where else I might have to go searching?
Boden runs his hands through his pristine blonde hair. “Solis, since you have nowhere to go but up, consider your assignment to rise one hundred places. Do I make myself clear?”
I munch on my sandwich as the group murmurs their agreement.
Why is everyone else acting so cool about how much of a tight ass he is?
And how is everyone so comfortable with just being told what to do all of the time?
Maybe it’s because I never did the normal school thing, but there’s no way in hell I’m running every morning before class.
I’m not a morning person as it is, and I certainly won’t become one if the morning involves a group activity.
Either because of this sandwich or the forced exercise, my stomach turns, and I grimace in pain.
Boden directs his stormy eyes at me. “Do you have a problem with that, Solis?”
“Honestly, my only goal is to figure out a way to survive this,” I argue. “The extra group activities seem antithetical to my personal goals.”
Katri rolls her eyes.
“Sapientia, Virtus, Diversitas, Concordia. Valor is one of our key tenets, and as such, combat training is mandatory.” Boden lets out a frustrated scoff before removing all the emotion from his face, like he thinks he’s a drill sergeant.
“You will train, you will improve. And if at any point you attempt to disobey this directive, I’ll make your life a living hell. Any questions, Solis?”
I take a bite of my sandwich. “Yeah, how far up your ass is that stick and who put it there?”
His face darkens slightly. “Just for that, you get to start tomorrow morning at five thirty with a personalized training session with Katri.” Katri glares at him and then quickly hides it with a smirk. “Better reevaluate those goals of yours.”
Fucking fuck.