Chapter 18 Nyx #2
Before I know it, I’m halfway across campus, rounding the rear of the Planetarium when I stop short. The girl holding a lit cigarette in one hand and scrolling on her phone with the other is just as startled as I am when my arrival disturbs the tobacco and weed-laced smoke.
After an awkward moment of silence, she finally asks, “What are you doing here?”
With a heavy sigh, I drop my backpack and lean against the wall opposite her. “Hiding.”
“From?” she asks, crooking an eyebrow.
“Everyone.”
She laughs, looking me up and down and assessing me before taking another hit of her spliff. “Want a drag?”
“Oh my God, yes.” I sag, eagerly taking the cigarette she offers. The smoke burns as it fills my lungs, and I can’t help but cough, relishing the sweet relief that warms my chest soon after.
“Rough day?”
“Rough month,” I answer, handing the spliff back to her.
“What’s your name?”
“Nyx. You?”
“Brynne.
“Thanks. For that,” I nod towards the cigarette she’s taking a hit from.
“You’re the new girl, right? The dud?” I still at her question, instantly dreading where this line of questioning is heading, but decide if she’s going to fuck me over, then at least I’ll die with a smile on my face.
“Guilty as charged,” I mutter, and she hands the cigarette back to me.
“Got all those Legacies’ panties in a fucking twist. It’s hilarious.”
I scoff. “For everyone else, maybe.”
“Feels like something David Attenborough should be narrating,” she muses, and her random comment makes me choke in surprise.
“What?”
“You know, how they’re all peacocking.” I look at her, still confused, before she begins a truly dismal impression of the famous narrator.
“As the new female enters the campus, the males interests are piqued—they circle her, testing her for compatibility. Meanwhile the reigning females prance around them with renewed vigor, flaunting their plumage to recapture the males attention while harassing the newcomer, determined to drive her out before the males select the new female for mating.”
I blink at her, trying to process the absolutely ludicrous image of the Legacies surrounding the Heirs, plucking at their feet like colorful, angry chickens. Laughter bubbles up unbidden, and then we’re both doubled over and breathless.
“See? Peacocking.” She nods, both of us wiping our eyes.
“I really fucking needed that,” I gasp out, but the vibration from my phone’s alarm brings me back down to earth.
“I gotta go. Thanks again,” I say, hefting my backpack over my shoulder.
“See you around, Nyx.” She says with a cheeky smile before inhaling deeply.
Tuesday is no better.
Neither is Wednesday.
And I know going into Physical Training on Thursday, it’s going to get a whole fuck ton worse.
Sometimes I hate being right.
Which is why I’m staring at the heavy metal door to the gymnasium instead of opening it, because I’m dreading what’s waiting for me on the other side.
For so long, I’ve done everything possible to avoid people who want to hurt me, but now it’s apparently a fucking pre-requisite at this school.
The memory of Luther twisting my body until I was pinned beneath his heavy weight as his massive hands held me captive makes something that I refuse to name twist low in my stomach.
I hate that I liked it.
I fucking hate that there’s a small part of me that misses the bruises he left on my body.
And I’ll die before I ever admit that I traced the map of mottled marks on my skin by the dim moonlight in the lonely dark of my room, pressing into each one. Pretending they were gifts rather than punishments.
I’ve been telling myself it’s just because I haven’t been with anyone since Cole, and that was months ago. My body’s just… confused.
It’s a natural response.
Totally normal.
Fuck my life.
With a quiet sigh, I put my hands on the metal bar and open the door feeling like a prisoner walking towards his execution. Familiar sounds of inane chatter, shoes squeaking on the parquet floor, and thuds of fists against punching bags fill the cavernous room.
“Byrke.” I look around to see Coach Carrick motioning for me to join him. A tremor of anxiety snakes through my veins as I make my way over, ignoring the scowling shadow that lurks behind him, tracking every step.
Instead, I look anywhere but him. I see who I now recognize as the Legacy of Lust, Calanthe Beauchamp, speaking to a group of men and women in the far corner.
She sneers when I catch her eye, but the cruel twist of her lips doesn’t diminish her stunning looks.
A lanky guy leans down to whisper in her ear and they both laugh before going back to pretending I don’t exist.
I steel my spine, defiance in the face of their casual dismissal. The flare of that rebellion tempts me to lock eyes briefly with Luther before settling on Carrick.
“You’re with the rest of the class after warm-ups.
It’s just drilling, but Luther will keep an eye on you.
Hey!” Without a second glance, he walks away to yell at someone, leaving me and Luther standing awkwardly.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I turn sharply and make my way to the track where the rest of the class is starting to jog.
I keep a steady pace at the back of the pack, even if I could probably overtake them thanks to the rigid conditioning routine Carrick’s got me on.
Aside from a few side glances and scowls directed my way, no one bothers me.
It’s a welcome relief after the constant harassment the last couple of days.
It doesn’t last long.
“Keep your fucking hands up,” he snarls as my partner—Prosper, the lanky guy with a mop of brown hair that was talking to Calanthe earlier—lunges at me for the umpteenth time in the last 45 minutes and we fall to the sweat-soaked mat. I can’t tell if it’s his or mine. It makes my skin crawl.
He untangles our limbs and with a scoff. “Pathetic.” I roll to my hands and knees, closing my eyes and breathing through my nose. I swallow thickly to suppress the urge to scream, even as it threatens to choke me.
“Get up.” Luther’s massive arms are crossed as he glares down at me from beside the mat, like I’m nothing but dirt on his shoe.
Less than dirt.
I bite back a retort, tasting blood on my tongue.
This time, Prosper doesn’t wait until I’ve reset before charging me again.
I react before I realize what he’s done, ducking beneath his outstretched arms and letting his momentum carry him over my foot to trip him.
For a split-second, I think I’ve managed to evade his attempt to take me down.
Before I can step back to reset, he reaches back and grabs my knee, wrenching it sideways until a devastating pop and stab of agony make me cry out.
It happens so fast that I can’t bring my hands up in time to break my fall, and my head bounces against the floor with a crack.
I cry out again as my vision whites out, and cradle my skull protectively as my body curls into ball—as much as I can at least, with my leg limp and useless.
“Fucking idiot.” I hear Luther growl low, and whimper as his fingers pry open my eyelids. The sudden brightness is like a knife stabbing into my brain until he lets my eye close again.
“What happened?” I hear Carrick approach, but he doesn’t bother checking on me.
“Took a dirty hit.”
“Take her to the Medical Center.” I’m suddenly lofted into the air by strong arms under my shoulders and legs, but I cry out again when the movement jostles my fucked up knee.
My eyes open just enough to see Luther frowning down at me as the gym recedes behind us.
If I wasn’t almost certainly concussed, I might think he actually cared that I was on the verge of passing out in his arms. Like some dumbass damsel in distress.
I’m delirious.
I’m jolted as he pushes open the main doors and the Autumn air instantly freezes my sweat-drenched clothes, making my muscles seize and shake.
“C-cold,” I stutter. He grunts, but doesn’t stop me when I huddle into the warmth of his chest. He smells like sweat, but underneath that, his cologne is rich and potent. I breathe him in, zeroing in on that scent instead of the pain wracking my body.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.
“If you throw up on me, you’re walking the rest of the way,” he murmurs.
“You’d deserve it,” I whisper back without bothering to open my eyes.
I don’t know how much time passes when he opens another door, and warmth slowly begins to thaw my frozen limbs as he walks through a large hallway, footsteps echoing off the wall.
I must pass out for a moment, because when I next open my eyes, I’m no longer cradled in his strong arms but lying on some kind of exam bed.
“What happened?” a female voice asks as cool hands begin to palpate my neck.
“Took a dirty hit,” he says from my left. “Knee’s fucked and she her head hit the floor hard.” Those cool hands gently pry open my eyes again, but I groan as pain lances through my head.
“Get the lights. Thane, and bring me an ice pack,” she orders.
Thane’s here?
The same Thane that called me a “social climbing whore”?
Well now it’s a fucking party.
“Stabilize her head while I get her leg.” Large, warm hands cradle my skull, careful to avoid the still-bleeding cut on the side of my head just as the ice pack is placed on my knee.
“You got this?” Luther murmurs to his friend, and I open my eyes enough to see them standing shoulder to shoulder.
The sight of them looming over me—with Luther’s arms crossed so tightly I can see the veins in his arms through his shirt and Thane leaning close enough that I can feel the warmth from his skin—makes my breath hitch.
Fucking Christ, this is not the time.
Or place.
Or people, for that matter.
But I’m in too much pain to argue with myself, so instead, I steal whatever twisted comfort I can get from their presence.