24. Casandra
I have yet another lecture with Professor Alistair Hawthorne. And I absolutely detest him.
Ever since I arrived at Blackmere Academy, it’s as if the man has made it his personal mission to turn my existence into a public interrogation.
He doesn’t just teach; he performs, and I am his favorite unwilling prop.
Every single class, without fail, his sharp, calculating eyes scan the lecture hall until they land on me.
He singles me out for the most obscure questions, watching with a thinly veiled smirk whenever I have to pause to calculate my response.
It’s a psychological game, and I am entirely sick of playing it.
I push the door open, braced for the usual sea of whispering students. Instead, the lecture hall is completely, deafeningly quiet.
The rows of tiered wooden desks are empty. The only person in the room is Alistair Hawthorne himself.
I instantly freeze on the threshold. Every instinct I possess screams at me to turn around and walk out. I begin to shift my weight backward to slip back into the corridor.
“Do not even think about it, Casandra.”
Hawthorne’s voice cuts through the stillness like a razor, though he doesn’t even look up from his journal. He turns a page, his fingers moving with an agonizing, deliberate slowness. “Come inside and close the door.”
I let out a tight breath, my knuckles turning white against the strap of my bag. I don’t move from the doorway. “Where is the rest of the class?”
“There is no class today,” he says smoothly, finally closing his journal and setting it down on his mahogany desk.
He looks up, his gaze fixing onto me with that familiar, patronizing intensity that always makes my fangs ache to drop.
“I have decided to implement a series of mandatory, one-on-one sessions for a select few of my students. Specifically, the ones I find severely lacking in foundational knowledge.”
A sudden, hot spike of indignation flares in my chest. I step fully into the room, slamming the door shut behind me with a little more force than necessary. “Excuse me?” I snap, my voice echoing off the high stone walls.
“You heard me,” Hawthorne replies, entirely unbothered by my tone. He gestures casually toward the front row of desks. “Sit down, Casandra.”
I remain standing, crossing my arms over my chest, my chin tilting up into a defiant line. “I am not lacking.”
“Right,” he says, his voice dropping into a low, mocking register.
He leans his hips against the edge of his desk, folding his arms.
“Let’s be entirely honest with each other for once. Just because of who your daddy is does not give you the right to act like a spoiled, untouchable brat in this academy. Your actual knowledge of the supernatural world is obviously brand new to you. Anyone with a functioning brain can tell.”
I stand there, my mouth dropping open in shock. The sheer audacity of his words leaves me momentarily breathless.
But beneath the roaring waves of my anger, a cold, icy finger of terror wraps around my heart.
He knows, a frantic voice whispers in the back of my mind. Or he’s guessing.
“You sit in my lectures like a statue,” Hawthorne continues, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing as he locks onto my pale face. “You don’t breathe the history like the others do. You parse it out like a foreign language. So, tell me, Casandra... when exactly did you learn about who you really are?”
The question rains down on me like blows, and my mind scrambles to build a wall against them.
A dark, visceral panic begins to bleed into my anger.
A desperate, heavy weight settles over my consciousness, and a fierce, commanding little voice deep in my head begins to scream at me. Make him stop. Push back.
I lock my crimson eyes directly onto his, leaning into the strange, cold power that suddenly pools beneath my ribs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him, my voice dropping into an unnatural, flat intensity, every syllable laced with a heavy, hypnotic gravity I didn’t even know I possessed.
But while my lips speak the lie, my mind is a raging, silent hurricane, screaming a single, furious command: Stop asking me. Leave me alone.
The smug, patronizing look on his face instantly freezes, his pupils expanding slightly before snapping back into focus.
He blinks rapidly, shaking his head as if clearing away a sudden, heavy layer of cobwebs.
He takes a sharp step back, breaking the suffocating proximity between us, his gaze darting down to his desk as if he’s suddenly forgotten what we were even discussing.
A small, strained smile tugs at his lips, though it looks entirely forced now. He clears his throat, adjusting the lapels of his tweed jacket.
“Well,” Hawthorne murmurs, his voice lacking its previous venom, turning strangely dismissive. “It seems I was mistaken. You are a bit of a lost cause. I was merely trying to do you a favor, but I suppose I cannot help a student who clearly does not wish to be helped. You are dismissed.”
I don’t wait for him to change his mind. I grab the strap of my bag, turn on my heel, and practically sprint out of the classroom, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I lean my back against the stone wall of the corridor, taking a long, ragged breath of the damp hallway air. My hands are trembling. What the hell was that?
“Cass?”
I flinch, my eyes snapping to the left.
Lukas is standing a few feet away, leaning casually against a pillar. His glacial eyes are watching me with a quiet, intense curiosity. He looks like he’s been waiting out here for a while.
I let out a heavy, exhausted sigh, dropping my head back against the stone. “Lukas..”
He straightens up, raising his hands in a peaceful, placating gesture as he steps toward me. “Do you have a minute? Just a quick word.”
“No,” I say bluntly, running a hand through my hair. “I really don’t. My brain is currently fried, and I am about two seconds away from biting the next person who speaks to me.”
Lukas offers a soft, surprisingly gentle smile. “Please, Cassie. Just one minute. I promise it’s important.”
I look at him—at the genuine, unthreatening expression on his face, a stark contrast to the predatory interrogation I just escaped. I let my shoulders drop, my defensive walls lowering just a fraction. “Fine. One minute. Start the clock.”
Lukas takes a slow breath, his posture relaxing as he steps into my personal space, though he carefully leaves enough distance to respect my boundaries.
“I wanted to apologize,” he says, his voice quiet, smooth, and entirely sincere.
“For earlier. For coming on too strong. I realize that my approach was... aggressive, and I completely understand that you are not interested in me romantically. I accept that.”
I blink, a bit surprised by the sudden change.
Lukas lets out a short, self-deprecating chuckle, a classic, arrogant grin flashing across his face for a split second. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—politically and genetically, we would make an absolutely excellent match. The alliance would be legendary.”
I roll my eyes so hard it practically hurts. “Lukas, I swear to God—”
“I know, I know,” he interrupts, laughing softly as he holds his hands up again. “I’m dropping it. I promise. But seriously.. I would really like to at least be friends.”
His expression turns serious again, his glacial eyes darkening.
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
“Look around us, Cassie. With all the crazy species supremacists rising up everywhere—both in the wolf packs and the vampire clans.. It’s dangerous. When the time comes for us to take our seats, you should have a good, solid relationship with the Council.
And I would be deeply honored to be your voice in that room. A friend you can actually trust.”
I stare at him, weighing his words. In a world full of people like Alistair Hawthorne, who want to dissect me for sport, and Nikolai, who looks at me like I am a disease, Lukas’s offer of a clean, strategic alliance is a breath of fresh air. He’s right.
A small, genuine smile finally breaks through my exhaustion.
“Thank you, Lukas,” I say softly, the tension completely leaving my posture. “I appreciate you saying that. And... I’d love to be friends.”
Lukas’s face lights up, a brilliant, triumphant smile spreading across his handsome features. “Excellent. Then as your official friend, let me escort you away from…” He grimaces, looking behind as Hawthorne steps out of the room. “.. that guy.”
I let out a genuine laugh, stepping away from the stone wall and walking in lockstep with him down the corridor.