Chapter 27
Lesson One
Sinta
My Monday classes passed by without any outstanding drama.
Admittedly I’d received some stares, had to ignore some gossipers, and had people I didn’t even know going out of their way to say hello to me in passing.
Kenya thought it was funny, and explained that it was normal.
I was a new power in the little world of Fairview Academy – or a new player on the chessboard of power, as she put it.
I’d stated I had no intention of getting mixed up in all of that.
She’d laughed and said it didn’t matter what I wanted. I had been thrust into the spotlight.
I was more determined than ever to keep my head down.
The guys had become aware of my new ‘status’, and I’d faced one hell of an inquisition Monday night because I didn’t tell them everything on the weekend.
They’d seemed pretty upset that I had glossed over just how brutal the fight was, but I’d argued that it hadn’t seemed all that important to me.
Tomashi had muttered something about me being an ignorant idiot and not understanding Fae culture.
The others had forgotten my transgression in favour of teaching me how to play one of their video games.
Now, Tuesday afternoon and finishing my latest Art class, my muscles still sore from the gruelling workout Trevone had put us through in Fitness this morning – I swear he was punishing me the only way he could – I walked stiffly beside Imelda and Yelana as they led the way to the Library.
It had rooms in the back you could rent for Tutoring or quiet study, and they’d booked one in advance for the rest of the year.
Yelana had yet to tell me where our Combat lessons would be taking place.
“Are you still sore?” Imelda murmurs, her sharp eyes missing nothing.
“Yes, I think I might have pulled something.” I admit, wincing when my leg cramps up.
I keep walking but it’s awkward and I’m limping.
“Do you want to stop—”
I wave her off. “No, no, I’m worried it’ll lock up if I stop.”
“Do you usually cramp up after a workout?” Yelana inquires.
“No.” I admit.
“Do you often get cramps of any kind?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Have you felt off today?”
“No—” I wince, halting my hobble walk and sighing. “I’m hungrier than usual. Like, I ate three bowls of pasta for lunch. I’m never that hungry.” I groan, realising what Yelana was getting at.
“Symptoms.” Imelda states with a nod. “Were there any over the weekend?”
“……..A few stomach cramps and some nausea, I lost my appetite on Sunday, but nothing as bad as this.”
“Do you want to rest?” Yelana asks and gestures to a bench further along the hall.
“No, I don’t want people knowing I’m…. off.”
I’m not sure why. But everything in me screams ‘act normal’.
“Instincts. It’s your Dr—beast.” Imelda quickly covers. “It doesn’t want to show weakness. It’s a normal reaction, a defence mechanism of sorts. No true predator will admit a weakness unless forced to.”
“Oh.”
In my middle, my Dragon rumbles a sound and languidly rolls – not exactly concerned but aware.
“We’ll cover some of that today. Are you able to continue?”
I nod and hobble along beside them.
“Ah, Imelda. Taking in strays again, I see.” Grande purrs, coming to a halt before us with her posse in tow.
I scan their faces and relax when I see Aletha isn’t present. I also notice the female Aletha had ousted – Penelope – isn’t there either.
Yelana palms my shoulder and gently pushes me into a shallow bow along with her.
I do so awkwardly and feel my face flame when I stumble.
“Simply aiding a member of our race. Like any good Princess would.” Imelda coolly responds, her stiffly polite smile in place.
“Of course.” Grande drawls, her own smile stiff. “The girl that beat Tremore, I remember. She caused quite a stir.”
Blue eyes hard like diamonds, perfect features accentuated by a professional make-up job, Grande takes me in from toes to hair with an unimpressed frown, her delicate nose scrunching.
“She doesn’t really live up to the gossip, does she?” She eventually hums, face pinched. “I understand good help is hard to find, Imelda, but scraping the barrel? Really? We have a certain standard to uphold, you know.”
My eyebrows had to have been touching my hairline.
For one, I was right fucking here.
For two, being a mean girl was one thing – but Princess of the mean girls?
Did you have to apply for that position, or did she grow up wishing to be a capital bitch?
“You saw her beat Tremore for yourself, Grande. Smear campaigns are rather beneath you, don’t you think?” Is Imelda’s condescending reply.
The Princess of House Earth and Bronze pins Imelda with a hard look.
Not quite a glare, but not anything you could call friendly.
“I think that allowing one such as her into your circle is a mistake. Next thing you know, her kind will be slithering their way into the Elite.” Face smoothing into a mask of concern, her smile sweetly venomous, Grande shrugs. “I’m simply looking out for you. Your mother can’t be thrilled about this.”
“High Lady Dalimia may deign to monitor who you associate with, Grande. But my mother, Queen Guera Skail, has no need to do such with me. My mother trusts my judgement.”
I don’t understand the subtle digs in that exchange, but it’s obvious Imelda’s has hit home.
Grande’s crimson cheeks and the sudden harsh breeze gathering around her says it all.
Head ducking and lips rolling, I struggle not to grin.
I mean, I’m only female. I may not want to be involved in drama, but I have a soft spot for TV shows with take downs like that.
And Imelda’s flawless performance was worthy of applause.
Obviously I wasn’t going to do that. Not with Grande standing right there.
“If you are too arrogant to heed my warning, then your downfall will be entirely your own doing.” She hisses. “I believe I speak for all Elite when I say we will not offer our help when she proves just how slimy she is.”
“You don’t, but who am I to shatter your illusions? Do enjoy your day, Grande.” Imelda dismisses, waving a hand.
Looking like she wants to say more, but choosing to hold her tongue, Grande storms away.
Yelana prods me into another shallow bow that I just barely manage to hold.
Most of Grande’s posse immediately follow her, but some pause to offer shallow bows to Imelda.
One of them makes sure to slam into my shoulder on the way, leaving me hissing in pain and holding my arm.
“Whore.” She spits at me as she passes.
Yelana turns with a savage growl, ready to go after her.
“Leave it. She’s just a mindless minion.” I mutter and rub my shoulder.
Imelda hums an agreement, watching the female go with narrowed eyes.
“Why did they bow to you?” I wonder aloud.
“Some of them are smart enough to demonstrate respect towards me, even if they serve Grande. If Grande and I ever come to blows, and I win, they think it will protect them and afford them a place in my court.” Imelda explains when we resume walking.
“You have a court?” I gawk.
“I am a Fae Princess, Sinta.” She laughs. “Of course I have a court. Mine is simply more diverse and far spread than Grande’s. My court are intelligent and talented individuals that use their positions to serve me. They don’t flutter about like gnats awaiting orders.”
“The difference between a powerful court, and a court of power-hungry vultures.” I muse.
“Yes. But I learnt to build a court I trusted and could rely on from my mother. Hers is the example from which I built mine. Grande’s mother encourages competition and power-mongering in her court – she is skilled at using both to manipulate her people. Grande follows her example but is not nearly as good a puppeteer as her mother.”
“Influence often builds the future.” Yelana mutters. “Unfortunately for House Earth and Bronze, their future doesn’t look too bright.”
I nod in agreement.
Entering the library, I glance around at the three-story space with long spiral staircases and towering bookcases.
The ground floor was mostly seating interspersed between shelves of commonly used books, and then the second floor had older rarely used tomes.
The top floor was restricted and required permission from the Headmistress to enter. I’d heard it contained dangerous literature like darkly spelled grimoires and artifacts.
There was even a guard at the tip of the spiral staircase that led to it; a suit of gold armour.
When first seeing it I’d thought it was just a statue placed in front of the door, but then its head had turned and I’d run away.
“I booked us the Withersmith room. It’s full of comfortable couches and a nice fireplace, perfect for studying.” Imelda announces and leads the way to the back.
All the study rooms were named after Fae who contributed to the school. One day I was going to find a book or something that told me who they all were and why they had come together to build a magic Academy outside the ruling of the Houses.
It seemed an important thing to know.
“Here we go.” Imelda murmurs as we turn into an alcove framed by curving bookcases, a plain wooden door set deep into the shadowy space.
Grasping the door’s handle, she speaks a word and waits.
A click sounds, and she opens the door.
Letting Yelana enter first, Imelda and I wait a moment until Yelana calls out, “Clear.”
“Wow.” I breathe when I finally see the room.
It's only the size of a small trailer, but it has a huge window with a pillow-laden ledge before it, two large over-stuffed armchairs – one on the right before the fireplace and the other facing the window seat to the left – and a couch that runs along the wall across from the fireplace.
There is a small table beside the door, with packaged snacks piled on it, and a little mini fridge below it with a clear door.
I could see bottled waters in it from here.
Staring at the slim door beside the fireplace, I give in and peak inside as Yelana collapses on the couch and Imelda takes the chair facing the window.
It's a small bathroom – literally just a toilet and a sink.
“The Academy really takes everything to the extreme.” I murmur and move to drop down onto the window seat.
“Only half the study rooms are like this, the others are set out like classrooms during exams.” Imelda says. “I had a look in each before I chose this one. I thought we’d be most comfortable here.”
“Oh, we are.” Yelana murmurs dreamily, soaking up the heat from the fireplace.
She rumbles what sounds like a happy purr.
The sound echoes and vibrates along my skin.
My dragon sits up inside me. If she had ears, I think they’d be up and rotating like satellites.
“What was that?” I demand, blinking.
“Her dragon is pleased. It likes warmth – any kind it can get. As yours comes closer to the surface, you will begin to do that too. Both when you are happy and angry. You can control it, but when in trust-worthy company we don’t tend to.”
I nod.
“Okay, what shall we start with?” Imelda murmurs, removing her black pea coat with gold buttons and settling further into her chair, Yelana reaching over to hand her a cream and blue folder.
I reach for my own bag and tug out a notepad and pen.
“I’ll keep looking on the database while you do that.” Yelana sighs and drags a laptop out of her bag. “Do you mind baring your Marks for me? This’ll be a lot easier if I’m not trying to compare from memory.”
“Would it be easier to just take a picture?” I offer even as I start to remove my T-shirt, which will leave me in a grey singlet.
“Easier, yes. Safer, no. Once a picture is entered into the database anyone in House Fire and Gold can see it. Since we are keeping you hush-hush, its better we don’t do that.” Yelana explains as she types away. “So in order to narrow down your breed, I need to be able to compare the descriptions and millennia-old drawings to your Marks.”
“And how long do you think this will take?”
“If we’re lucky?” She tilts her head, lips pursing. “Possibly this session. If not, maybe two or three sessions. There aren’t actually that many breeds of green dragon, I just couldn’t remember exactly what your scales looked like.”
I nod and settle back against a pillow as she starts to flick her eyes from the computer screen to me and back again, turning my attention to Imelda instead.
“Okay. First thing first, I’m going to tell you something my own mother told me. She did so after my first shift – this is very important. Perhaps the most important thing I could teach you.”
Imploring me with a serious look, her stare willing me to understand the lividity of her words, I nod to show her I’m listening.
That I want to hear it – whatever scrap of culture she deems fit to give me.
Assured that she has my full attention, she sucks in a deep breath. “Sinta, the beast you are endeavouring to unlock belongs not just to you, but to your ancestors before you. The beasts we harbour are creatures that have been gifted to hundreds of generations. We share a soul, but a fraction of that soul is wholly them. Passed down through great bloodlines, as ancient as the land of faerie. Eternal and endless and glorious. When our forms emerge we not only gain a beast, but the legacy of every Fae that beast served before us. Before I gained my dragon, my great aunt bore the form of a Sapphire Scale. My brother inherited his Razor Scale from our mother.”
“So…… my father must be a green dragon?” I try to reason, my mind snagging on the bloodline part.
“No. We’d know if there were another green dragon out there. To put it simply, a dragon breed can be as recessive as…. Blue eyes, or red hair. Your parents could both have brown eyes and brown hair, but you might have blue eyes and blond hair, like your great-grandmother. A green dragon could be as far back as five generations in your bloodline….. only to surface in you. And as the last, you not only carry the legacy of your particular breed….. but the legacy of all greens before you.”
“And that….” Licking my lips, I ignore the heavy feeling on my chest. “That is a big deal?”
“Yes, Sinta. It’s a huge deal. In you is the culmination of thousands of years of breeding, magic, history, and inheritance. There are jewels and tomes and estates that, as the very last of your kind, you have the right to claim.”
Yelana grunts. “One of the many reasons we are doing our best to keep you secret. Gods knows how many egotistical asswipes would jump at the chance to manipulate you for that hoard.”
“Hoard…” I repeat.
A rumble warms my sternum. Gods, that sounded like a lot of responsibility.
“It is a tremendous honour, and a heavy weight to bear. But we are here to help you.”
“What does that inheritance… entail?” I question.
The word implies I would receive something, bequeathed by another. Or many others.
I didn’t know how I felt receiving things from people I didn’t know.
“We don’t need to worry about that yet. That’s for after you’ve shifted.” She says.
I relax back into the seat, nodding.
She takes that as her que to move on.
“So I think we’ll start with a biology lesson. It’s short and sweet and will be very important – especially with the Fever making things difficult.”
Yelana snorts a laugh.
The urge to cringe and hide behind a pillow is strong. “Biology?”
“Reproduction and sex education.” Imelda confirms.
I groan and hang my head.
“Trust me, you need to know this shit. The amount of times Imelda’s almost destroyed someone only to realise she was in rage mode from shark week is beyond counting at this point.” Yelana snickers.
“Hypocrisy, thy name is Yelana.” Imelda snaps.
“How much different can it be from how it is now?”
“Well, for one, getting our period after shifting extends it to more of a three-week cycle.” Imelda begins.
“What?!”
“Not in that way. We still only bleed for about three to six days. But for a week directly beforehand we go into what is called the Heat. We are more inclined to sex during this time – it feels like we are flustered and on fire if we do not deal with it.” She explains.
“If we don’t jump some poor guy every few hours, she means.” Yelana adds in.
Cringing at the visual that creates, I quickly jot down some notes.
“Then, of course, we bleed for a few days which tends to be the middle – or second – week. Then for the week after our hormones struggle to return to normal and we can be a tad…..….. destructive. Anger and violence often occur during this week. When my mother has her cycle, she takes no meetings and essentially locks herself away in the house with my father. A female dragon’s cycle and politics do not mix well.”
“Is it only dragons that deal with this?” I demand, slightly horrified.
And I thought dealing with the clean-up and cramps for a week were horrible. But three weeks of hormonal hell?
“No. In fact it is common for Dragon Shifters, Cat Shifters, some Canine Shifters, and I think some types of scavenger shifters like Raccoons, Minks, and Otters…..” She flips through a few papers and then nods concisely. “Yes, and a few Avian Shifters as well.”
“Glad to not be suffering alone.” I murmur and write a shorter version of all that down.
“As your Dragon gets closer to the surface you will experience this, though we can’t tell if you will get the full force of it or a dampened version. Do you know when your next period is?”
“Ah, no. It’s always been erratic. I feel a bit emotionally unstable and, well yeah, horny before I get it. It’s usually a day or two beforehand though.” I admit.
“That’s unusual. Our cycles tend to be predictable, down to the very minute. That’ll likely be because of the delayed shift.” Imelda murmurs and gives me a sympathetic look.
I shrug.
“Okay, on to reproduction. Are you on birth control?”
“Yes. I have the implant.” I poke where it is in my arm.
“That’s excellent. It is actually very hard for us to get pregnant, but its better safe than sorry.”
“Hard? Do Dragons have fertility issues?”
“No, not that the healers can determine. It’s more a natural evolution thing.” She muses, flipping through her papers and then making a ‘uh-huh’ sound when she finds the right one. “Whereas other Fae – if they were to have unprotected sex twenty times in a week – have a 60% to 90% chance of becoming pregnant, we only have about a 10% to 30% chance. Healers think its because we live for so long, there is no great need to frequently repopulate our race.”
“Right. Humans repopulate so fast because most only make it to the age of 60, and half of their population dies at least yearly. But if a race lives to see ages of 800 and upwards—”
“There is no need to be constantly popping out babies.” Yelana drawls. “Magic has quite a lot to do with Fae reproduction. Lady Fate likes to keep her finger on the scales to make sure everything is just right.”
Imelda nods her confirmation. “Yes. And some dragon females may choose to give birth in dragon form, like my mother did. Festos and I were born in the same clutch, however he hatched years earlier than I did. We are technically twins, but not. Humans may call it fraternal twins, but Fae call it clutchmates.”
“What if one of you hadn’t been a dragon? Like Aletha and me, she’s a unicorn.”
“Aletha?” Imelda questions.
“My twin. You might have seen her with Grande, we share the same facial features, but she’s paler than me and has blue eyes.”
“I thought you had a doppelganger running around!” Yelana exclaims. “A twin?!”
“She took after our mother.” I explain brusquely. “But what if our mother had been a dragon and chose to have eggs instead of a birth? What would have happened to Aletha?”
“She’d have died.” Imelda bluntly states. “If any of the children aren’t dragons, they are simply stillborn when the mother tries to lay eggs. However, being dragons doesn’t ensure survival either. Most of the eggs born to my clutch haven’t hatched yet, but that also isn’t unusual. They can safely remain in the egg for up to a century without worry. Any longer than that and the egg must be opened by force or the child inside is already dead.”
“Child? Not dragon?” I blurt and stop writing, shocked.
“Child, dragonling. There is no proof, because an egg is like stone and cannot be easily accessed, but it is believed we are in dragon form inside the egg and take humanoid form when it is time to hatch. Then when we are older our dragon is encouraged to surface again. I first shifted when I was nine, guided by my mother. My brother Festos shifted when he was seven. Honestly, what occurs inside the egg depends on who you ask, but no one has ever been willing to give up one of their eggs to be ripped open and studied. Its considered akin to handing over the corpse of your child to be experimented on. Unbearable.”
I nod, understanding that. I certainly couldn’t do it. Just thinking about a poor little dragon egg being crushed or broken made me want to tear up.
My Dragon rolls in my middle, warming my stomach with a hot agitated breath.
I palm my gut and drag in calming air.
“Birthing in humanoid form is much safer, especially if the mother is birthing something other than a dragonling. But, like I said, its something we rarely have to worry about.”
I nod. “I’m glad. The last thing I need right about now is a whoopsie baby.” I laugh softly and write all of that down with very big exclamation marks next to it.
“Amen.” Yelana mutters, her fingers hitting the keys with hard ‘click-clack-click’ sounds.
I wince at how roughly she handles the poor computer. She must need a new laptop often.
“Okay, I think that about covers Dragoness biology……. Let’s switch to instincts.” Imelda chirps.
That was… quick.
“Okay.”
“You’ve already experienced a little bit of that, after all you relied on a lot of your Dragon’s instincts when you fought Tremore. However, our beasts can assist with more than just combat.”
“You mean, like with dogs?” I ask.
Imelda tilts her head, brows furrowed.
“Dogs can sense weather changes, and some people believe they can even tell if a person is not a good individual.” I explain.
“Ah, yes. That’s pretty much spot on, actually.” She nods, pulling out another piece of paper that she quickly reads over, but this one looks like a list. “Our dragons are mostly magical constructs. Beasts of primal and old magic, they are more attuned to things our humanoid halves could never hope to be. For example, they are sensitive to magics, emotions, auras, they bolster our senses and reflexes, they are more observant than us and tend to pick up on the tiniest of details. Their intuition is far greater than ours could ever be, so they act as an extra layer of protection. If your dragon feels uneasy or gives you an express warning, you do not ever ignore it.”
“So, say I just met this guy, and I might think he was a bit strange, but my dragon is……. I don’t know, wanting to claw his eyes out – I listen and get away from the guy?” I muse.
“Or gut him. Whichever seems easier.” Yelana throws in.
“Obviously, we would only gut him if there was no other option. But yes, your dragon has likely sensed something that you didn’t and its best to listen.” Imelda agrees.
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Territorialism. Draconic Fae are well known for our territorial displays.”
Nodding, I note it down and bullet point some parts.
“Is that what we’re called? Draconic Fae?”
“It’s more of an old term. Something that was commonly used in the 1600’s and before then, but more recently we tend to use Dragon Shifter. But, yes, some of the older Dragons still use the term Draconic.”
I note that for later, thinking it sounded kind of cool. Ancient and badass.
“So we tend to hog food?” I assume, shifting so my ass doesn’t go numb.
Imelda tinkles a surprised laugh, and Yelana chuckles.
“We don’t hoard food?” I reproach with a wince.
“Oh, no, some of us do.” Imelda laughs. “But I was referring to stuff more along the lines of value. Some dragons can be extremely territorial over certain items they own, things they deem sentimental or important to them. Other dragons can be deathly territorial over people – especially if they care for them – people like mates, bed buddies, siblings.”
“This is an important one, cause we’re pretty sure you kicked Tremore’s ass because he fucked with Kenya.” Yelana points out.
“But I did.” I confirm, confused. “I didn’t like that he hurt Kenya.”
“And that was probably a big part of it, but it would’ve also been because your dragon placed a silent claim on Kenya. Claimed her as yours – part of your hoard, if you want to be specific.” Imelda adjusts her legs and crosses them at the knee, a hand rising to cradle her chin. “Tremore essentially touched something that not only you cared about, but your dragon believes she owns. In this case she very deeply cares for Kenya and was furious someone had damaged her. I have no doubt you yourself were furious that Tremore hurt her, but your dragon would have intensified that by a hundred and aided in the fight to assuage her own anger at her possession being damaged.”
“Do our dragons not see people as…. People?”
“Obviously they understand they aren’t possessions, but they still have people they consider to be theirs. Dragons have what is called a Wing – a group of individuals they trust above all, people they consider to be theirs in every sense. This group tends to consist of partners, husbands/wives, mates, siblings, parents, children, and very rarely extremely close friends.”
“So my dragon kind of adopted her.” I summarise and quickly condense the conversation in my notebook.
They both nod.
“Should I tell her?”
“It would be wise if you did. She needs to know what she’s been signed up for.” Yelana muses. “Unless, for some reason, you decide you shouldn’t tell her. Ultimately, it is up to you.”
“Got it.”
“Alrighty, I think that’s it for instincts……. I wanted to talk about making sure your dragon was comfortable with her surrounds and how to make sure she’s strong, but we can’t do that without knowing what type she is.” Imelda mutters, setting aside her folder to lean over and study the computer screen. “Have you gotten anywhere?”
“Yes, actually. I have three possibilities.” Yelana confirms.
Standing, I walk over and drop to sit on the floor so I can peer at the screen too.
“Option one, Swamp Dragon. Option two, a Venom Dragon. Or option three, a variation of a Flora Dragon. There are five variations of Flora Dragon; Moss-Scale Dragon, Tree-Dwelling Dragon, Thorn-Tail Dragon, Root Dragon, and a Club-Tail Dragon.”
Frowning, I point out, “That’s seven breeds.”
She shrugs. “If you want to look at it that way.”
“How do we narrow it down from there?” I wonder, eyeing the scale descriptions and old-looking paintings of them beside each.
None of them looked exactly like my scales, but they were close. Maybe each dragon’s scales looked slightly different? Like a fingerprint.
“We test you. Each of these dragons have likes and dislikes. Even dormant inside you, she will make it very clear which she prefers. That’ll tell us exactly what breed you are.” Imelda murmurs.
“And we are going to do this testing when?” I ask next. “It’s already 3:50pm, and our session ends at 4:00.”
They take a moment to think on that, so I stand and stretch and shake out my leg.
The burning cramp has dissipated, but I still felt off.
I’d never so much as been sick, so this whole Fever thing was messing with me more than I wanted to admit.
Sighing and tugging my T-shirt back on, I decided I was going to have a nap when I got back to the House. It was someone else’s turn for dinner tonight anyway.
“I think we’ll do it tomorrow.” Imelda decides, her gaze still focused on the laptop. “I’ll need to gather some items, and tomorrow’s session is an hour and a half, so we should have plenty of time.”
Yelana nods her agreement. “Yeah, I’ve got contacts that can get some of this stuff for us quick for a price. Tomorrow is best.”
“It’s not going to cost you too much, is it?” I ask, concerned about how much they may have to spend just to do some testing.
I could pay them back, but I had a feeling that would quickly bankrupt me.
“Nah. A few favours, maybe a party or two, no biggie.” Yelana waves off my concern and starts to pack up.
“It’s fine, Sinta. We said we’d help you and we will.” Imelda reassures me, standing and tugging me into a quick hug.
I liked that it was firm but fast. It satisfied my need for contact but didn’t trigger my issue with touch.
She had a strange knack for understanding people that I really respected.
“We have to race off for a language class. Will you be alright?”
“I’m fine, I’m just heading straight back to the House – all of my classes are done for the day.” I sigh, grabbing my bag and jacket.
“Text me when you get there. I’m not entirely confidant Grande will leave you be, now that I’ve publicly claimed you.” Imelda mutters.
“Spoilt, crafty, vain bitch with her disease-riddled crotch.” Yelana gripes.
I share a look with Imelda.
“I will.”
“Good. I’ll also compile a list of books you can read about our kind. Some will be mandatory, but others you can choose to read for more context and history.”
I nod and thank her with a smile.
We leave the study room and then the library, exchanging more quick hugs before parting ways.
It wasn’t raining outside, only slightly windy, so I left my jacket off while I walked.
Even feeling off and more tired than usual, I felt a step close to my future, a step closer to my culture.
It was definitely something to smile about.
No one answered when I entered the House, so I went right up the stairs to my room and changed into my PJs.
Feeling worse than before with a strangely dry mouth, I searched the room for my water bottle and realised I must have left it downstairs that morning.
Groaning, I opened my door and stepped out into the hallway.
Freezing in place, I wasn’t prepared for the liquid heat that roared through my pussy and ravaged my mind.
Tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, eyes wide, my pussy clenching, I couldn’t do anything but stand there and take in the porn-worthy sight.
Until common sense kicked in, then panic at what exactly I was intruding upon, and I quickly hot footed it back into my room.
I shut the door as quietly as possible.
Leaning against it, a fist pressed to my lips, I stared out my window but all I could see was Tomashi and Rapid making out against Rapid’s door, both of them naked from the waist up, completely absorbed by each other.
Tomashi’s hand down Rapid’s pants.
Rapid’s long fingers curled into Tomashi’s fine black hair, moaning as he devoured him.
Just thinking about it made my heart race.
But they weren’t together? I mean, nobody said they were together…….
And Rapid had been hitting on me. Hadn’t he? Had I imagined it?
Wait, Fae tended to have a relationship with more than one person. Heck, some ended up with multiple mates.
But that didn’t make hitting on me okay if he’s with Tomashi.
Is this why Tomashi hates me? Because he thinks I’m sleeping with his boyfriend?
His bed-buddy? His lover? His…. Whatever the fuck they were!
Thoughts racing, my head officially aching, I check the bathroom is empty and then turn the tap on to take a drink.
I splash some water on my forehead.
I don’t know what I just witnessed, and it wasn’t at all my business.
But it didn’t change the fact that I was officially confused.
And hurt.
And I was mad at Rapid.
Feeling all kinds of lost and starting to ache again, I stumble my way to bed and collapse into it with a pitiful moan.
Sleep. Sleep would fix everything.