Chapter Eight #2
The Headmaster starts to stutter but panics when Killian just grins and throws the spear at him to catch.
It's an ancient and priceless artefact, and even I hold my breath as I wait for him to catch it. He smirks as the Headmaster fumbles with the spear and then turns on his heel and leaves, all of us following him, not wanting to stick around for the explosive rant that’s likely to come out of the Headmaster’s mouth next.
We are soon clear of the room and walking the hallways, passing a few students who study us all curiously until their eyes land on Kill and then the rest of us are promptly forgotten.
The son of the king reappearing after an apparently long disappearance is a big deal.
At least, I imagine it is for some of the students.
For the rest, they’re probably just as enthralled by his rugged looks as I am.
“What the hell was that?” Rival asks, his gaze moving to me.
Before I can answer though, Kill interrupts.
“He shouldn’t have insulted her,” he answers with a shrug, deliberately misunderstanding that the question was for him.
“Not that. I was seconds away from doing it myself,” Rival replies, shocking the hell out of me.
It was only yesterday that they all wanted me gone.
“I was talking about what Farren did,” he continues.
“Not here,” Kill replies, seriously looking around at all the other students in the halls and making the others frown.
“Good point,” Rival reluctantly replies as he speeds up, trying to get to our room quicker.
“You know the news of your return will have made it to father by dinner time,” Storm points out, glancing at Killian.
He tenses at the mention of his father, and I fucking hate it.
His father may be the king, but he rivals my own in his cruelty.
At least there was always some tiny shred of hope that I could get out, Killian and I guess Storm, too, had no fucking chance.
No one would be willing to go against the king.
Except for me, of course, but I’m biding my time, and that’s just a vague notion at the moment, not even an idea.
It’s there though, hovering in the back of my mind, ready to turn into a possibility as soon as I give it enough attention. For now, it can stay where it is.
“I know, but we can do nothing about it.” His face is stern as he looks at Storm, “Unlike when I left, he will find me incredibly difficult to control. I have no problem using my unique set of skills to defend those I care about or myself.”
“Careful brother, it only takes one wrong person to hear you speak like that,” Storm cautions, worry coating his every word.
“I am aware,” Kill replies simply.
We unlock the door to our rooms and all spread out around the living room. Rival is practically bouncing in his seat, and I raise my eyebrow at him in curiosity.
“I can’t hold it in any longer. What the hell was that, Farren?”
I grin at his complete lack of patients before deciding to put him out of his misery, “I’m a Weaver.”
“No fucking way!” He exclaims while the others look between us, confused.
“Never heard of it,” Storm grumbles, crossing his tattooed arms over his barrel chest and staring at me unwaveringly.
“Me neither,” Loki adds.
“Why wasn’t it listed as one of your gifts?” Mayhem asks before his eyes widen as he realises something, and he continues without giving me the chance to answer, “Wait, you have four gifts?”
“Erm yeah,” I reply somewhat meekly. I’m not used to admitting it out loud.
“I imagine that was one of the reasons she didn’t have it listed,” Rival starts moving to the edge of his seat, as something like excitement dances in his bright orange eyes.
“The other reason, of course, is that Weavers are extremely rare. There hasn’t been one for centuries.
They died out a few decades before all of the soulmate bonds started disappearing. ”
“Wow,” Loki mutters, looking at me with something akin to shocked awe, before he wrinkles his nose in confusion, “wait, what’s a Weaver?”
“I actually don’t know much about them,” I admit, “I could only find a few brief mentions of the power in the books that my father had, and he has quite an extensive collection.”
“Did he tell you what your gift was called then?” Loki asks.
“It’s always surprised me that your father knows of your Weaver gift and hasn’t tried to exploit it.” Kill mentions casually, and I frown, “What?”
“He didn’t tell me. He doesn’t know about my Void or Weaver gifts.”
“Well, how did you know what your gift was then?” Mayhem asks.
“The same way I always know, the voice tells me when it emerges.”
“The what?” Rival frowns.
“I told you she was fucking batshit crazy,” Storm grins.
I frown heavily. I don’t get what the problem is here. “I don’t understand?”
They all share a look, and Rival sighs taking the lead, “Just to clarify, every time one of your gifts has emerged, you’ve heard a voice that tells you what your gift is called?” I nod, and he continues, “What does it sound like?”
“A female voice. I have never got a bad feeling from it. Why, what do your voices sound like?”
“We haven’t heard voices, Darlin. When we got a gift, we had to ask our parents or tutors what they were. As does everyone else,” Kill says carefully, watching me closely.
I pause as I take that in and study their expression to ensure they aren’t just trying to mess with me. They all look deadly serious, and I begin to wish I kept my mouth shut. The problem is that I am very isolated despite my father being a man in power. I didn’t know it wasn’t normal.
Storm’s snigger only makes my sinking feeling grow worse, and I start to contemplate keeping everything to myself in the future, just in case I prove to be even more weird than I know myself to be already.
Loki reaches behind Mayhem and smacks Storm on the back of the head, responding to his glare with one of his own.
“Don’t shut down,” Killian orders, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“He’s right. Please don’t pull away from us now. I’m sure there’s a reason for it. I’ve only known you for two days, and I can already see that there’s something special about you,” Rival replies sweetly, and Loki pre-emptively smacks Storm before he can say anything to spoil the moment.
I snort out a very unflattering laugh, “There’s nothing special about me, but I appreciate the sentiment. The truth is it’s probably some sort of trauma response.”
A resounding and combined growl echoes throughout the room, the ferocity and inhuman nature of it sending a shot of adrenaline through my veins and making me grin.
God, I love that sound. I probably shouldn’t, it should probably scare me, but my flight or fight responses have always been a bit iffy.
Killian smirks, as he recognises my response to their combined growl and shakes his head, amusement dancing in the depths of his burgundy eyes. He knows me too well. I wink at him as the guys get themselves under control and Rival turns the conversation back to me and my weird voice.