Chapter Nine Mallory
The raw note of crisis in Ronin’s bellow changes everything.
One second, I’m floating in a sea of endorphins and Mogadon pheromones, with my rational First Girl mind totally blown and my poor defenseless heart a quivering blob of jelly. My stretched, stuffed, and no longer virginal vag is pulsing around the last electrifying spasms of Jae’s incredible dick, buried deep inside me and still spurting jets of liquid heat.
Simultaneously, I’m slowly backing off Draco’s shaft (which is somehow still hard, even after he definitely came in my mouth) while placing little licks and kisses all along his length so he doesn’t feel totally abandoned. But he came a lot (which I loved!) and I swallowed all that, and I just need a little breather to process everything that’s happened.
I mean, mission accomplished, right? I’m no longer the last remaining virgin at the Icarus Academy.
I’ve lost my unwanted innocence.
Finally.
Too bad I might also have lost my heart in the process.
That’s when Ronin’s urgent shout of “Fire!” shreds my floaty haze of euphoria—and the looming threat of heartbreak—to ribbons.
A startled sputter of yells and curses, peppering the air around the dance floor and the mangy couches, tells me the school orgy is ruined.
In a blink, Draco snarls one of those incomprehensible Icelandic oaths. Suddenly his mind-blowing cock is gone, because he’s stuffing himself roughly into his discarded leather pants. Jae slides out of me like greased lightning, pausing just long enough to steady me on my wobbly knees as I sway on the gift table, so I don’t fall over.
The second Jae pulls out, a warm flood of shifter semen spills down my thighs.
Gosh, that’s embarrassing.
It’s Sploosh City down there.
That spectacle is apparently diverting for Jae, who gives a low velvety purr of satisfaction. He dives in for a hard sniff and a long lick up my inner thigh—lapping up our mingled juices—that wrings out of me a breathless squeak.
Geez Louise, McSnicker. Great way to sound like a cartoon mouse in front of these two totally hot guys you just boinked—
“Head in the game, Jean-Emilien,” Draco grinds out. “Get our girl dressed and stay with her. I’m goin’ in there with Pendragon.”
Our girl?
I guess Draco’s trying to be nice to me, you know, since his dick was just in my mouth?
My heart gives a painful ping of disappointment. But I have to be smart about this. The three of us just hooked up at an orgy.
It’s not like this is true love.
I mean, at least, not for them.
Jae growls in agreement, assesses the mounting pandemonium with a single sharp glance, then leaps for a pair of pants I don’t even think are his—because I dimly recall he shredded his (along with my whole dress).
Draco tosses his shirt and my panties in my direction, then shoulders brutally through the crowd after Ronin.
I blink through the haze of rapidly thickening smoke (plus a few threatening tears) that’s already burning my eyes and stinging my lungs. Ronin’s diving back into the den. At least the visual impact of glimpsing my former crush—the reigning hottie of the Icarus Academy—spectacularly naked is greatly reduced, since I’m now totally fixated on Jae and Draco instead.
More worrying is the way the lurid flare of fire from the den is growing. Fingers of smoke curl through the open door and creep along the ceiling like wraiths.
A sudden stab of fear for Zara (and Maxim, who’s also still in there) steals my breath. I slide my legs into my panties at warp speed and just ignore—as best I can—the cum-sticky mess Jae left behind down there.
Gosh, I’m a disaster. Practically naked, hair a riotous mane of curls spiraling in every direction, with kiss-swollen lips and werewolf cum dripping down my bare thighs. Honestly, I couldn’t look less like a proper First Girl if I tried. If our headmistress ever sees me like this, she’ll probably have an apoplexy.
Then I’ll get clapped in detention until I’m ninety.
But right now, a conduct infraction is the least of my worries.
My naked classmates are scattering every which way, some frantically searching for their clothes, others running right outside into the snow without coats or shoes. A few airheads scramble up the stairs into the main domus , shrieking in a blind panic.
I grimace in exasperation as I drop Draco’s oversized tee shirt over my head. That warlock is way bigger than I am, so the soft fabric falls to mid-thigh, even on my giraffe-like legs. Plus, bonus, the shirt totally smells like him. His bracing and now familiar scent of juniper and bergamot envelops me like a hug.
The way he took care of me—took care of both of us—and kept us all safe? Just the thought of that gruff Nordic giant, with his mafia ink and scary rep, charging off into danger to protect us?
This reminder of Draco’s strength and his nearness is a definite comfort in this emergency.
The reason I’m exasperated is because literally no one’s following the protocol we’ve practiced (repeatedly) in the school fire drill. That drill’s really important, because some of our students can actually summon fire, and we’ve had accidents before at this academy.
Of course I know the fire protocol forwards and backwards, because I’m not only the First Girl. I’m also a hall monitor.
Now Draco too has vanished into the den— with the fire—and there’s no sign of Zara or the others coming out, which is really worrying. Next to me, Jae’s swearing a blue streak in Cajun French and struggling to retract his claws and belting someone’s pants (which are clearly way too big on him) around his lean hips.
He’s reining himself in. Getting his wolf under control.
But it’s taking him a while.
Since no one else is following the fire protocol (which exists for a reason, darn it), I bolt for the fire alarm mounted on the wall. The device is geriatric, but one of my hall monitor duties is keeping the safety gear in this domus in working order.
I flip back the plastic cover and pull the lever.
The bone-rattling ring-a-ling of the fire alarm fills the air.
That bell is critical, because we have Mistress Aggie asleep and a few diligent students cramming for midterms upstairs. Everyone who’s not actively fighting the fire (which definitely includes my eighty-year-old asthmatic headmistress) needs to get out and stay out until this situation is contained.
What’s also important is that the bell is supposed to be the cue for designated students to form a fire brigade. Because we don’t have an actual fire department on this enchanted and mostly uninhabited island, hidden behind magical wards, in the middle of the ocean.
Jae hovers at my side, still shirtless, literally swimming in some other guy’s belted-on pants like a clown suit. By now, his wolf ears and fangs have retracted, so he’s fully human.
Not gonna lie, he’s a welcome sight.
His beaded braids stream in disarray around his taut shoulders and alert face.
But he’s one of the only people in this basement who’s not totally panicking.
His sinewy arms engulf my shoulders in a quick hug. I’m still (ridiculously) feeling too shy and uncertain to give him a full body hug in return. I mean, it’s not like he’s my actual boyfriend or anything.
I need to be careful and not get confused.
Awkwardly I raise my hands to grip his arms in a steadying squeeze.
“Mallory, chere .” In the smoky pandemonium of this basement, his golden eyes burn with concern. “We need to get out of this firetrap, oui? ”
“No, actually, the fire brigade needs to fight the fire,” I say as calmly as possible. “If we can’t contain it, that’s when we leave. I’m on the brigade and I’m deputizing you. Come with me.”
His brow furrows and his mouth opens, but I don’t give him a chance to protest. I wrap my fingers around his hand and tow him with me toward the bar where the fire extinguisher is kept.
Due to the thickening smoke and generally poor lighting down here, it’s getting really hard to see. In my platform heels, I stumble over something and almost go down.
Cue my trademark McSnicker clumsiness.
The last thing we need, on top of everything else, is me breaking an ankle and adding a medical emergency to this crisis.
“Careful, chere.” Thank goodness Jae’s right there, gripping my arm to steady me against his wiry strength. “These shoes, they’re a menace, oui ?”
“You may have a point.” Giving his hovering frame a wry look, I grip his arm for balance, toe out of my sparkly shoes, and gather them in one hand so no one else trips over them. Then we both pad barefoot across the gnarly floor, sticky with the residue from generations of keggers and other excesses, (ick) to the abandoned bar.
Fortunately, the fire extinguisher is right where it should be, mounted behind the bar and clearly marked. I march over to the clunky red cylinder, wrestle it down from the wall, and spin toward the fiery den with purpose.
“Fout tonè!” Jae pulls me to a hard stop, puts himself between me and the fire, and bares his teeth at me in a grimace.
“I have literally no idea what that means,” I tell him as patiently as possible. “But I’m a hall monitor and I need to fight the fire. You can relax, okay? I know how to use this equipment. I’m trained for this.”
We’re eye to eye, toe to toe, almost mouth to mouth. Since I’m the tallest girl at the Icarus Academy, we’re basically the same height. I’m facing down the last purebred Cajun werewolf east of the Greenwich Mean Line.
Now my shifter—I mean, the shifter, because he’s definitely not mine— gives me a ferocious scowl. “Are you crazy, you? Me, I’m not letting you anywhere near that fire.”
I hug the extinguisher tightly to my chest. “It’s my responsibility. That means I have to do it. Besides, Zara’s in there, and Ronin, and Draco—”
“Ah, merde .” He huffs out a breath and snatches the extinguisher right out of my arms. “I’ll go. You stay here where it’s safe, oui? ”
“Do you even know how to use that?” I give him a dubious look, because he’s never drilled with the fire brigade like I have. “It’s P.A.S.S. Pull, aim, squeeze, and sweep—”
“Mallory.” He shakes his head and looks for a second like he’s fighting a smile. “Me, I’ll manage. You wait for me here. Yes?”
I’m reluctant to leave him to it, but clearly, his mind is made up. Anyway, there’s more I can do, and the important thing is to get that extinguisher into action as soon as possible.
Realizing that he’s actually waiting for me to agree, I sigh and tell him, “Go!”
Deftly he shifts the extinguisher to one arm, sweeps me up against his lithe torso with the other, and claims my mouth in a hard hot kiss that makes me tingle.
I’m still gasping with surprise when he releases me just as suddenly and whirls away.
Then he’s off like a greyhound at the races (not that I’ve ever seen that, I’m an animal lover, so the entire sport is distressing). My whole body hums with the sizzle of that electric kiss I totally wasn’t expecting.
Was that, I don’t know, a goodbye kiss? A polite thank you for the hookup we just had?
I can’t let myself believe it means anything more. Otherwise, I’m headed straight for the Heartbreak Hotel.
Pulling myself together, I pivot back to the bar. Unfortunately, we don’t have running water down here, because of the whole medieval dungeon thing.
But we do have a huge bucket full of ice and longneck beers just waiting to be pressed into service.
That bucket’s way too heavy for me to lift, but I only need to tip it over. There’s an extremely sketchy speakeasy-era rug lying right here. Soaked with water, that big rug will smother any blaze short of the Great Chicago Fire.
Moving as quickly as possible while the fire alarm rings merrily, the smoke continues to thicken until it makes me cough, and the last panicky students scatter into the night, I pull out the remaining longnecks and set them safely aside.
When there’s only ice left inside, I strain to tip the big bucket.
I’m not a particularly strong person, I’m kind of a wimp, and it’s hard to work with my eyes watering and my lungs burning from the acrid sting of smoke. I hunker down near the floor where the smoke is thinner.
But I’m determined as heck.
Draco, Jae, Zara, Ronin, even Max the dragon shifter need my help.
When I finally manage to tip the bucket, sending a bone-chilling cascade of ice and melted water over my bare feet to saturate the rug, a thrill of satisfaction rushes through me.
I give a happy little hop, the rug squishing underfoot, and exclaim, “Yay!”
Finally, I’m making progress.
Now if I can only get someone to help me drag this sopping wet rug to the fire—
The night splits under the rumble of a deep bronze bellow. I shoot to my full height with a cry. That’s a Jurassic Park -like sound I’ve heard before, we all have, cowering at midnight in our dorm room beds with the blankets pulled over our heads.
To be precise, that roar is the sound of the witching world’s last fully manifested male dragon shifter—Maxim Rasputin—in a towering rage.
Wow.
I guess Max is airborne. In dragon form.
There’s a window in the den, or at least, there used to be. That has to be how he’s escaped—
A second scream soars over Max’s and makes the night air quiver. Higher pitched, more melodic, less tyrannosaur, more Hogwarts phoenix. That’s a dragon too, has to be (because there’s no such thing as a phoenix in my witching world textbooks).
But there’s only one other dragon shifter on this entire island…
“Zara!” I gasp and spin toward the outside door. Clearly she’s airborne too, also in dragon form. That den window is definitely history, and maybe the other guys—including my two—are using it to get out.
Except I’m pretty sure Draco and Jae would never leave me behind in a burning building. They’ve been weirdly protective, both of them, since our threesome—
Another dragon scream almost splits my skull.
Ouch .
That scream is shrill with rage, punctuated by a flare of ultraviolet lightning that lights up the night like a nuclear blast.
Oh my gosh, that’s Zara for sure. The Gemini queen is famously (or infamously) both a lightning witch and a lighting dragon.
Clearly, she’s in real distress.
I spare one last agonized look toward the den, where an industrial-grade hiss and the reek of chemicals tell me someone’s at least figured out how to use the extinguisher.
Attaboy, Jae. Thanks for not letting me down.
Then I sprint for the outdoors.
I need help anyway. With the rug. So I need to deputize someone from the actual fire brigade to help.
And I really need to understand what’s going down out there with Zara.
As I burst through the door, an icy fist of winter air encases me like a Compulsion spell. I gasp and dive back inside just long enough to snatch someone’s discarded parka from the pile on the nearest couch. It’s not regulation Academy uniform, but I’ll deal with the conduct infraction if it comes. Someone’s left a pair of moon boots tossed in the corner, so I cram my big feet into those too.
Then I burst back out (clumping like a lumberjack in my borrowed boots and parka) and gaze into the starry sky.
This far from civilization, the constellations glitter like diamonds, and the moon’s swollen orb hovers close enough to touch. A massive black dragon hammers across the vast arc of sky, wings fully extended and jaws gaping, with a column of crimson fire pouring through his fangs.
That terrifying sight is Maxim.
He’s plummeting from the sky after a scatter of those Tiberius kids, who I suddenly realize are responsible for the tongues of crimson fire licking from our shattered den window. One of those morons is still clutching a lit Molotov cocktail, which is clearly how this whole mess started.
I should’ve known.
My Tiberius bullies are allies of the last queen. The Aquarius queen. Who doesn’t want to step down for her Gemini successor. Very clearly, those Aquarius idiots just tried to take out Zara.
I say tried , because the small teal dragon streaking like a furious arrow after Max is definitely Zara.
And she is clearly furious. At her own guy . Even while I watch, she coughs up a bolt of purple lightning that arcs over Max’s horned head.
For an eyeblink, I’m confused. Then I get it.
She’s just fired a warning shot at her flying T. rex of a suitor. To keep him from roasting her bullies to a crisp.
Zara’s a badass. But she’s also soft-hearted.
Too bad Max isn’t into the concept of restraint.
That alpha dragon is in a flaming fury. Someone just tried to kill his queen. So I seriously doubt any warning shot will deter him.
Screaming in terror, the Tiberius gang scrambles onto the rocky cliff below our domus that plunges down to the sea. One guy lobs his Molotov cocktail wildly toward Max, which just inflames that dragon more.
Holy cow. The dragon’s not listening to Zara, like, at all .
He tilts his wings, angles his massive body for another pass, and almost splits my eardrums with a bellow of rage.
Hidden in the shadows against the leaning bulk of our domus , right above the dangerous plunge of the cliff, a furtive flicker of movement snares my gaze. Like I said before, my kind have enhanced senses, and we’re used to being hunted.
That’s the only reason I even see that big oaf—Lev Uranus, the absolute worst of my bullies from Villa Tiberius—hoisting a loaded crossbow toward the sky.
Geez Louise.
That thing looks lethal. It’s the size of a small catapult. And it’s loaded for bear.
I mean dragon.
Lev isn’t gunning for Max, who’s totally fixated on the gang of miscreants scrambling down the cliff. Roaring like blazes, Max doesn’t even see the real threat.
Lev is aiming his crossbow at Zara .
His faction’s rival queen. While Zara herself is winging furiously after Max and completely distracted trying to keep her new boo from going Game of Thrones medieval and roasting the rest of those bullies to a crisp.
I glance hastily all around me, looking for help.
Yep, help would be good right now.
But there’s no Mistress Aggie or Master Aries (our resident disciplinarian and another of Zara’s alphas) anywhere in sight. Jae and Draco and Ronin are all still inside, battling the blaze. My fellow captain of the fire brigade, First Boy Neo Mercury, is normally a reliable ally (and another of Zara’s harem). But Neo isn’t even here tonight. He’s probably back at his dorm, cramming for midterms.
So, clearly, it’s up to me.
Mallory McSnicker, class geek, to the rescue.
Lev Uranus, who’s big as an orc and about as intelligent, steadies the crossbow against his hulking shoulder and squints along the wicked bolt at Zara.
I square my own shoulders and march right over there, bare legged in the snow, swimming in my puffy parka and moon boots.
Time to interrupt the cycle of violence.
“Hey, you!” I use my hall monitor voice, the one that makes the freshmen nervous. “Knock it off, Uranus. Having a weapon like that on school grounds is a violation of the Academy Codex.”
Lev lowers the crossbow a hair and lumbers around to face me. When he finally works out who’s challenging him, the slack look on his thick features hardens into meanness.
“Mind your own business, McSnicker,” he snarls.
Crap. Of course, that big lug isn’t afraid of me. He raises the crossbow, steadies it on his shoulder, and takes aim. Zara’s zipping straight toward us, trying to get between Max and his targets.
Lev’s going to get a clean shot.
“Don’t even think about ignoring me.” I’m clumsier than usual in these moon boots, but I break into a clunky run—straight toward my horrible bully. “I’m reporting you to the Dean, Lev Uranus!”
That’s the worst threat I can think of, because the Dean is much scarier than Mistress Aggie.
But my threat only seems to annoy my bully.
“You freak.” He scowls and swings around to retarget that crossbow—straight at me. “Maybe I’ll do the school a solid. No one’ll even miss a skinny, spotty, know-it-all nobody like you.”
I’m never graceful, even under the best of circumstances. Encumbered by this snow gear, I’m even slower than usual. There’s no way I can reach Lev in time.
But I can still buy crucial seconds for Zara.
Because, with my enhanced eyesight, I can see there’s only one arrow notched in Lev’s flight groove. If he fires at me, he’ll need to reload. And I bet that takes time.
“Take your best shot, Uranus,” I yell at top volume (because a little help would still be good). “I dare you.”
Lumbering along at my fastest run, I pump my arms with effort and churn through the snow toward my bully on a burst of adrenaline and fear fueled by anger.
How dare this jerk threaten my friend?
This time I’m not running away and hiding.
Even if it kills me.
Like Lev just said, I’m a nobody. I’m a joke. I’m a freak who can’t even claim my power.
But I can still make a difference.
By now I’m two yards away from the guy, way too close for him to miss. In what seems like slow motion, Lev’s sausage-like finger tightens on the trigger.
Right next to his ear, a blur of motion explodes through the window with a howl of wolfish rage.
Oh my gosh. That’s Jae.
Leaping to my defense.
He’s shifting from man to werewolf in midair.
Bestial and snarling, sprouting fur and claws and barely bipedal, Jae collides with Lev’s big body at full force.
Under the bone-crunching impact, my bully yells in surprise and rage. The crossbow bolt discharges with a hum. The bolt thunks harmlessly into the side of the domus .
Propelled by the blind fury of Jae’s maddened werewolf, the two guys fly sideways through the air. The crossbow spins out of reach to one side. On the jumble of rocks at the cliff’s edge, slippery with snow and ice, I glimpse a confused scramble and thrash of limbs as those two locked bodies tussle for advantage.
Then…
With a savage snarl and a bloodcurdling scream…
They fall.
I’m already moving.
I think I never stopped.
I’m tearing the encumbering parka from my shoulders. Slipping and struggling over the ice-rimed rocks. My back and shoulders blaze with fiery heat. I catch a wild glimpse of two figures pinwheeling through the air below. Lev is screaming in an endless spiral of raw terror.
But Jae falls in fatalistic silence.
Plummeting toward certain death on the jagged rocks.
Somewhere far above, two dragons are locked together, entangled in their own desperate struggle. I can’t spare a second to look, but I already know there’s no one close enough to help. No one to save my wolf. No one but me.
And suddenly, I realize, I can .
Millenia of instinct, the cell-deep heritage of my hidden species, hurl me over the cliff after my wolf like a falling star.
I fling myself into open air, launched and propelled by the atomic flash of revelation that I’m more than Mallory McSnicker, ugly duckling and class joke, First Girl on the Dean’s List.
I’m Aurora Artemis Aurelius, Eagle of the Air, Queen of the Light-Born Fae.
I’ve always been uncrowned and unacknowledged by my kind because I’m half-mortal. I’ve never been able to summon my wings. So my Light Fae kin wrote me off as a dud, a freak, a wingless wonder.
And the mortals don’t even know I exist.
The Seelie—the Light Fae—we hide among the mortals for a reason. As a species, we’re hunted and all but extinct.
Now, in this soul-searing crucible of need and crisis, the skin of my back splits down my spine. My arms sweep wide. My shoulders flex and spread. In an explosion of pewter and silver, feathers burst from my tattooed flesh and unfurl in a powerful sweep of wings.
My chest vibrates with a primal scream of elation that bursts from my lungs and blasts through the night like a trumpet.
As I plummet through the icy air to save my falling love, I finally claim my power.