Chapter 9 Thane #2
I should probably care about my grades, but I’m an Heir.
We’re above things like consequences for our actions.
It’s not like anyone’s going to fail an Heir for bombing a test or three.
I update our group chat as the drugs work overtime to calm my demon and make my way to the Admin building across campus.
Students and faculty alike give me a wide berth.
They fear Roth, lust over Killian, and stay far, far away from Luther.
But they have no idea what to do with me.
The Leviathan.
The World Snake.
The one with such precarious control over his demon that inebriation is the only thing standing between them, and utter decimation.
So I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.
Lyra and her gaggle of Legacies and lemmings are walking out the door just was I round the path, so I quickly detour to the back entrance.
It’s one of the lesser known smoke spots I’ve found, given that most everyone uses the main entrance.
Which is why I’m annoyed moments later when footsteps descend the marble staircase, disturbing my peace.
With a tense inhale, I prepare to square up against whoever might be stupid enough to tell me off for smoking—when dark red-brown eyes meet mine, and I exhale sharply.
When the smoke clears, she’s closer than I expected, startling us both, but then she backs up and shakes her head, trying to clear away the white haze.
“Should you be doing that here?” she asks with a hint of reproach. I can’t help but crook my eyebrow defiantly as I inhale again. Some freshmen still haven’t quite figured out the hierarchy, and this would be the perfect opportunity to let my demon play, but something about her piques my interest.
“Who’s going to stop me?” I rasp, my deep voice raw from smoke. Her cheeks flush and something in my chest stutters.
“What is that?” she asks, nodding to the blunt hanging out of my mouth.
I like the way she’s looking at me.
So does my dick. “Want a hit?” I offer instead, ignoring her question.
“I shouldn’t…” she trails off, and my lip twitches at the longing in her voice.
“Here,” I say, inhaling deeply before sliding my hand around her throat, and my fingers tingle with the thrum of her pulse.
I lower my mouth to hers, stopping just before our lips brush and exhale into her mouth.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s certainly not the coughing fit that brings tears to her eyes as she wrenches my hand away, nor the glare she turns on me.
“Ugh, what the fuck is wrong with you people?” she growls out between hacking coughs, holding her throat.
“What?” I ask, but she’s already crashing through the exit door, taking the haze of my high with her.
My demon tracks her retreat through my eye as the door closes with a heavy click, and the faintest trace of her scent lingers.
The fucker always chooses the most inconvenient times to wake up.
Like now, when I have to meet with the Headmaster, and he wants to slither after whoever the fuck that was.
Get a grip for Fate’s sake.
Scales brush across the back of my mind as he slinks back into the deep recesses of my subconscious, a warning. If I don’t let him out soon, he’ll force the issue. Unable to delay any longer, I march to the Headmaster’s door and knock.
“Enter,” his muffled voice calls out. The Headmaster motions from his imposting desk for me to take a seat in one of the armchairs facing him, and I bristle at the lower position it puts me in. Being an Heir demands a level of reverence, even from a Grandmaster.
Even if my family’s fallen from grace and I’m the last of my kind.
“Mr. Rorvik, thank you for joining me.”
“Church.” His eyes narrow at my informal, dismissive tone, and he clasps his hands on the desk before him.
“I wanted to speak to you about your academic performance. You’re failing every class aside from physical sciences.
However much I doubt any professor would risk career suicide by failing you, my integrity as an educator demands that we have this conversation.
” His brow wrinkles when he frowns in disappointment.
“I cannot allow this apathy to continue without consequences.” It’s my turn to frown as I process what he’s saying.
No one here would dare enforce any—“Mr. Rorvik,” he hesitates, which doesn’t bode well for the knot of anxiety in my stomach, “don’t force my hand and make me contact your father.
” I clench my jaw. I haven’t seen my father in months.
Not since his latest fiancée insisted on meeting her future step-son, when she should have been concerned about surviving my father instead.
“Careful how you speak to me, Church,” I grit out, fiddling with the lighter in my pocket to quell the urge to lash out at his threat.
“I assure you, I have no desire to involve your father any more than you do.” He raises his hands to placate my hair-trigger temper.
“My greatest desire as Headmaster is to see my students reach their full potential. And yours is presently going up in smoke.” He nods to where I’m still using my lighter like a fidget spinner in my pocket, the faint clinking sound breaking the strained silence between us.
“That’s not the only reason I asked you to my office this morning.
I recently received word from my colleague, Dr. Araminta Mercer in the Medical Center.
She plans on announcing a student internship opportunity on her medical team.
It’s typically only open to graduate students, but it appears she was particularly impressed with your first-year elemental theory thesis and your consistently high scores in Biology and Physiology.
She’s asked whether I would allow an exception if she invited you to apply for the position.
” His words make my rising anger freeze.
“I’m willing to allow it, provided that you meet regularly with a study group—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Or,” he continues without missing a beat, “a tutor to bring your grades up in your social sciences and humanities courses. I can provide a list of available tutors who can be discrete—”
“Roth will find a tutor,” I interrupt again, and he narrows his eyes. We’ve entered the hostage negotiation phase of our meeting.
“I’m not opposed to Mr. Kovacs finding a suitable candidate, however I would require regular progress reports. If there’s no improvement in your grades by the end of term, then I’ll have no choice but to rescind my approval for you to participate in the internship and notify your father.”
“It’s a mistake to threaten me, Church,” I remind him, my demon’s presence bleeding into my voice, but he merely holds my gaze.
Despite being an Heir, in this room, with this offer, he holds the position of power here.
And we both know it. I fucking hate being manipulated, but the prospect of working in the Medical Center is too enticing to refuse outright, despite the conditional nature of his offer.
My father never approved of my desire to learn medicine.
Not even after witnessing my step-mother—the only one I ever knew or loved—toil in agony for days trying to bring my brother into the world, only to hemorrhage after he was stillborn.
My father didn’t care that I lost the only woman who ever held me like a son, having already left a trail of sacrifices to his hubris in his wake, my own mother included.
Demetra loved me, though. She was the last one who did.
He didn’t hold my brother's tiny body as his fingers grew cold, or wipe the tears from her cheeks as life faded from her eyes. Even at five years old, the attendants didn’t dare remove me from her bedside before she took her last breath, in fear of my uncontrollable rage.
I remember how he walked into the room, the scent of his oppressive cologne mingling with the thick metallic taste in the air, and looked at her in disgust.
As if it were her fault.
I remember how he ordered the servants to take their corpses to the family mausoleum, the same one that now crumbles because he can’t afford the upkeep, despite filling it with more damned brides and dead sons.
The only thing he cares about, that he’s ever cared about, is preserving the power of our bloodline. Creating more heirs to carry his legacy. Even just one more would prove he’s beaten the curse.
When I was younger, I’d try and warn the women he brought to our estate. I’d tell them about Demetra, and how she screamed. About Antonia.
And Inez.
And Portia.
Eventually, I realized these women knew the sad fates of so many doomed women and chose the promise anyway. The promise of carrying Azrael’s Heir proved too enticing to refuse.
Every one of them thought they’d be different.
Every one of them was wrong.
He’s only ever used his power to destroy. But if I could heal with medicine and magic, maybe Fate could forgive a son for the sins of his father.
“Mr. Rorvik?” the Headmaster asks, and the light of this chance slowly burns away the darkness of the past.
“Fine,” I finally grit out. “Are we done?”
“That’s all, Mr. Rorvik. I’ll expect the name of your chosen tutor by end of week.” Without a word, I stand and leave his office, desperate to settle the unease in my stomach.
That’s how Killian finds me a little while later, leaning against the rough bark of an old growth tree not far from the Foundation Stone concealed from the midday sun and shrouded by a cloud of enchanted smoke.
He’s trailed by a swarm of sycophants and their queen, Lyra, buzzing with the latest inane gossip around campus.
One of the pack breaks off and approaches me despite my “fuck off” face.
“I’ve missed you, Thane,” she says in what she no doubt thinks is an alluring, overfamiliar tone.
I have no idea who she is. But then again, I never need to.
She’d do whatever I wanted. If I told her to get on her knees right here, right now and open wide, she’d do it. And the others would envy her for it.
Makes my fucking skin crawl, and I try to communicate as much with a pointed look at Killian but Lyra is draped over him, her arms like coils poised to constrict until he gives her what she wants. Which is everything.
Fitting, as the Legacy of Greed.
“We’re having a little get together tonight if you’re not busy,” the girl trails off, brushing her hand against my crossed arms, and my stomach revolts.
Her scent is wrong, and my demon writhes beneath my skin in agitation.
Before I get a chance to push her away, Killian slings his arm around her shoulder, coming to my rescue.
“Aw, Chrissy! You’re not going to invite me?
” He exclaims with faux outrage and a practiced pout.
“I thought I was your favorite.” And just like that I’ve become invisible.
Cynthia’s fuming over his shoulder, her poisonous glare disappearing when he turns back towards their little circle, throwing me a wink over his shoulder.
I lean my head back against the tree and tune out their chattering.
A few minutes later, my blunt is yanked out of my mouth mid-inhale, and Killian smirks at me as he takes a drag.
“I think it needs more damiana. Might make the high last longer.” I hum in agreement.
“What’d the Headmaster want?”
“Just bullshit about my classes.” I roll my eyes. “He threatened to call my father if I don’t bring my grades up.” Killian scoffs. “The fucker dangled an internship at the Medical Center so I would agree.”
“He should be grateful Roth wasn’t there.” I smirk in agreement. With one last inhale, he hands my blunt back to me and slaps my cheek.
“Fucker,” I mutter as I pull back, and he grins, completely unrepentant. “You’re lucky I don’t eat you.”
“You’d never get fur out of your teeth and you know it,” he jokes, and my demon peers at him through my eye. But Killian’s grin just grows. We’re brothers by choice if not by blood, and even our inner monsters acknowledge that.
“Don’t forget,” he says as he walks backwards towards the group of girls waiting for him with hungry gazes, “just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” I throw the rest of my blunt at him but he dodges and laughs.
After a quick text, I make my way towards the cliffs beyond the Temple, my skin feeling too tight despite the relaxing effect of the drugs. It’s not long before I get a response.
Thane Rorvik
Tonight?
Roth Kovacs
11pm. My room. On your knees.
My stomach tightens and goosebumps roll down my spine, making me shiver despite the warm winds buffeting the cliffside.
I reach the edge and shuck off my clothes, watching as the churning waves break on the deadly rocks below.
There’s a small beach further down the shore that most people use for bonfires and sunbathing and shit.
But I’m not most people.
I’m a fucking monster.
The rush of adrenaline as I dive is more addictive than any drug Killian could ever create.
The thrill of free falling a hundred feet courses through my blood.
From that height, the water feels like fucking concrete when I hit the surface, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.
The agony of impact releases the demon beneath my skin, a rabid beast breaking free from its cage, reforming my flesh and bones into an eldritch creature of endless hunger.
The sudden silence and weight of the depths quiets the screaming in my head. The monster and I become one, descending into the void where my nightmares can’t follow. They haunt the shore, waiting for my return. But here in the crushing darkness of the abyss, I’m finally alone.