Chapter 27
Sienna
Two days after the Winter Mating Games have concluded, every inadequate student failing to meet the academy’s performance standards has the distinct pleasure of a rude awakening.
As one of these disappointments, I’m up at the crack of dawn to squeeze into one of the many overcrowded seats of the largest lecture hall Heartsflame has to offer.
Students are packed so tightly that there isn’t any room between them, myself included.
Gemma’s thigh touches mine as she bounces her knee in place, the only one of us who seems well-rested.
Thorn sits behind us with his feet planted on either side of Gemma’s hips, but if she minds, she doesn’t say anything.
“What’s our professor’s name again?” she asks, leaning back to flick her gaze at Thorn. “You didn’t seem happy when you saw him assigned to our class.”
Thorn’s jaw clenches as he spots a hickey on Gemma’s throat, front and center where everyone will know what she got up to last night.
“Aesir,” he replies slowly, forcing the words past his lips.
“He’s well-regarded in the vampire community on account of his accolades from The Great War, but he’s a dick. Don’t piss him off.”
“He’s that old?” I ask, watching the door for Aesir to arrive. “I thought The Great War happened hundreds of years ago.”
“Nearly a millennium, yeah.” Gemma nods. “Our ancestors who fought in the war have long since passed.”
“Human lives are fickle,” Thorn murmurs, “but vampires are eternal.”
As if on cue, Callum slides in beside me like he’s been waiting for the right moment to appear. The boy sitting on his other side flees, giving Callum enough room to stretch. He chooses to wrap his arm around my shoulder instead of inching toward freedom.
“Missed you last night,” he murmurs, his scent enveloping me like a caress.
One day spent sleeping in a vampire’s arms has ruined me. It was the best damn sleep I’ve had in months. My night alone afterwards was a huge disappointment. I don’t want to flatter him too much, but fuck, was it good for me, too. I clear my throat and quickly mutter, “missed you too.”
Then my face burns with the heat of a thousand scorching suns.
Callum’s smile is as mischievous as it is gorgeous. “I’m available anytime you’re looking for company.”
He fucking winks.
My goddamn panties melt, and I’m on the verge of combusting. Burning everyone alive, however, is not on the docket for today. Thankfully, Callum drops his arm from my shoulder and relaxes, looking more carefree than I’ve ever seen him.
Fuck, he looks good.
Gemma notices and raises an eyebrow, indiscreetly nudging me with her knee. I shake my head and mouth later, knowing that I’ll have to fess up to my crimes eventually, but so will she. That hickey on her neck is making a certain vampire brother glare daggers at every man who dares check Gemma out.
I look around the room for Revyn, but he’s nowhere to be found. Worry flutters inside my stomach. I haven’t seen him since the games. Is he somehow still injured and nursing his wounds, or is he avoiding me as much as I’m avoiding him?
Before I can ask Callum if he knows anything, Professor Aesir arrives in the blink of an eye, suddenly materializing from the back of the room as though born from shadow itself.
His footfalls are silent as he steps to the front of the room and surveys the student body.
Unlike our other classes, this one is multi-year on account of how many students performed poorly at the Winter Mating Games.
From what gossip Gemma has gathered while I’ve been in a fatigue-induced coma for the past twenty-four hours, nearly a fifth of the entire student population took mates or failed the Games, with an additional third of the school’s entire population falling in the remedial category.
Headmaster Loreander may have claimed that these lessons were created for my distinct predicament, but with numbers like these, he can’t afford not to have support classes.
The academy won’t have enough students to sustain itself at this rate. Fewer mated pairs mean a higher probability of death upon graduation, and that’s a problem for all magical beings, particularly for those whose numbers are dwindling faster each year.
Shifters are the most at risk, unfortunately. Our population has been in decline since before I was born, and the entire realm knows it.
Chatter ripples across the room as Professor Aesir stands perfectly still in his assessment of his students.
The skin-tight vest and matching black form-fitting slacks accentuate a lean yet muscular build.
I stare as he spends precious seconds rolling pristine white sleeves up his arms past his elbows, revealing corded muscles absolutely covered in ink, the dark designs winding up his arms like vines.
I blink, and they seem to writhe in the single streak of sunlight cutting across his torso.
But it’s not his tattoos that catch my attention—it’s the pearlescent scars on his ashen skin proving his prior combat experience.
If Aesir were a shifter, he’d remind me a little of Revyn .
. . If Revyn trimmed his beard and wore something other than threadbare shirts and slacks threatening to slide off his hips at any moment.
The rugged look fits his wild spirit much in the same way that Aesir’s perfectionism screams former military . . . with maybe a hint of regality.
“Is he royal?” I ask Callum.
“Distant,” he muses, “but not far enough to avoid the war.” When I give him a questioning look, he explains. “Our aristocratic bloodlines did not fight in The Great War. The council forbade it, and most listened.”
“But not Aesir.”
“No.” Callum crosses his arms over his chest, soft tendrils of his flowing hair brushing the tip of my shoulder. “He ran headfirst into combat after his mate.”
I scan Aesir’s body for mating marks and find none. Do vampires have physical marks upon bonding, or is that only for shifters? Callum would know, as would Thorn. I consider who to ask, but Professor Aesir interrupts as he begins the class.
“You are all here,” Aesir begins, his melodic voice reverberating off the stone walls, “because you are pathetic.” Crimson eyes narrow as they survey the room.
The cut of his jaw is as sharp as his tongue.
A few girls giggle as they openly ogle him, from the devil-may-care windswept hairstyle to the elegant leather boots adorning his feet.
“Out there in the wilds—” He jabs a pointed fingernail toward the highest window in the room, moving so fast that half the room flinches. “—you’d all be dead.”
Most of the room falls silent, but the few who murmur among themselves quickly receive the professor’s ire.
“Shut the fuck up or get the fuck out,” he snaps, baring sharp twin fangs.
Two girls in the back row giggle even louder as they continue their conversation.
When they don’t close their mouths or move to leave, he flicks his wrist in their direction.
One of them shrieks as they’re both suddenly lifted from their seats and thrown into the air, the one girl screeching until her head hits the back wall.
She slumps to the floor while her friend sobs quietly beside her and cradles the other’s bleeding skull.
The metallic scent fills the room, and every student with keen enough senses tenses in their seats.
The dangers surrounding the Mating Games have now bled into our daily lives, where they’ll stay until we’re thrown back into the wilds for the rot to feast on our flesh.
I shiver as my heart pounds, the dichotomous movements nearly making me choke.
I thought coming to Heartsflame would keep me safe from the dangers lurking outside the academy’s walls, but instead, it’s forcing me into scenarios designed to break a person down until there’s nothing left but the densest form of inner strength . . . or ash fluttering in the wind.
The academy’s doctrine holds true, but there’s an invisible second line no one wants to acknowledge.
To be unmated is to die—but to be weak is to suffer.
Vines appear from thin air and wrap around the once-giggling girls, dragging them from the room with a heavy smear of blood trailing behind.
I blink, and the vines flicker in place as they curl into smoke in the air.
No, not vines. They flow like ink as they retreat back into the shadows from whence they came.
Professor Aesir is a shadow wielder.
I lean into Callum’s side to whisper in his ear. “Are all vampire powers so . . . visible?”
“Our powers normally manipulate light in some form, yes.”
“Is that how your illusions work?”
A slow smile curves on Callum’s lips, but he doesn’t answer.
Our professor keeps his fangs out as the double doors close behind the students.
“If anyone else does not care to listen, leave now.” No one stands, and he nods.
“The other instructors will tell you that this class is to fortify your weaknesses and draw up your strengths so that you do not disappoint your respective communities, but they are wrong.” He holds the gaze of a dozen students before continuing.
“I’m here to ensure that you do not disappoint your future mates.
” His eyes meet mine. “Should you be lucky enough to claim one.”
Ice floods my veins until he moves on.
“Until the Spring Mating Games begin, you will be attending morning lectures at every sunrise and practical training at every sunset. If you miss a single meeting, you will be dropped not only from this class, but from the academy itself. This is non-negotiable. You cannot plead your case to me or anyone else at Heartsflame. We will not listen.”
Gemma ruffles curls off her neck and blows out a breath. “Someone please tell this academy that I need my beauty sleep. All this fighting is draining me dry.”
“Fighting and fucking will do that to you,” Thorn murmurs, sounding oddly bitter.
I crane my neck to find him glaring at a witch in our year who won’t stop sneaking glances at Gemma.
I lift an eyebrow in her direction, but she stares straight ahead as if on purpose .
. . with a pale pink glow to her cheeks.
Someone got lucky last night.
The doors at the back of the room creak open, and my chest suddenly tightens. I take a breath and scent Alistair before I see him, the taste of crisp pines and fresh air hitting my tongue in a heartbeat, quickly followed by summer rain and damp earth as Revyn trails in behind him
“By all means,” our professor drawls, his eyes narrowing as both men walk into the lecture hall. “Do come in.”
My pulse races as they both turn to me, each one of them sporting a nasty black eye and matching split lip.
“Damnnn,” Gemma whistles. “What’re they doin’ looking like they just fought over . . . well, you.” She smiles cheekily as Revyn cuts a path through the students, stepping over them until he reaches us, and takes a seat at my back, forcing whoever was sitting there to move.
“What happened to you?” I ask, giving him a once-over. “Why haven’t you healed?” The cut on his lip closes while I stare, but the black eye takes longer to disappear.
Like Callum did earlier, Revyn ignores my question. Reaching for me, he brushes his knuckles across my cheek before tucking my hair behind my ear. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
He purses his lips but doesn’t push.
I’m grateful because our professor isn’t amused. His eyes flash bright scarlet as he scowls at us. “If your mate is finished, Dire, why don’t you show her why you’re here?”
Alistair wastes no time joining our professor at the front of the class, looking every bit of an heir to an alpha bloodline as one can get.
His auburn hair is perfectly coiffed, his midnight dress shirt smooth with buttons gleaming gold, his spine straight, shoulders rolled back, eyes glittering amber in the sunlight.
Confidence radiates off him . . . until our eyes meet, and he slams the doors to his more positive emotions.
All that remains is an icy glare that cuts straight to my core. “Get down here, mate.”
I glare right back. If he thinks I’m going to be made a spectacle to our peers, he can go fuck himself.
A wicked grin curves on his lips. “I said, come here.” The alpha order in his voice cracks like a whip, and every muscle in my body screams at me to move. The shifters in the room shuffle in their seats, a few of them unable to stifle whimpers as their bodies urge them to obey.
“You see,” the professor speaks, his eyes burning into mine, “Alistair and Sienna are what shifters call true mates. Some of you may know them as fated. For those of you unaware, a true mate is a very rare bond. Even when incomplete, it should be stronger than your average bond, and yet . . .” He tilts his head to the side as he assesses me. “Theirs appears to be broken.”
Alistair stiffens, and I have to fight a smirk.
Dick behavior deserves dickish call-outs. If Professor Aesir continues our classes by humiliating Alistair, I might be his number one fan.
“If we are to understand what makes a mate strong, we have to address all of its parts. The mind—” Our professor taps his temple.
“The body.” He grabs Alistair’s shirt and tears it from his chest, exposing his chiseled abs and pecs to the room.
My eyes flare as they shift, and I have to swallow a growl threatening to rise.
We may not be on good terms, but Alistair shouldn’t be treated like a walking meal.
The rumble of appreciation from the crowd makes me want to claw everyone’s eyes out.
Our professor’s lips curve into a sharp smile. “And lastly, the bond.” He nods toward me. “See how his mate doesn’t react?” Clicking his tongue, he shakes his head. “A pity. Were she a vampire, she would be a disgrace to our kind . . . and to whoever chose her as their mate.”
Callum doesn’t flinch, but tension radiates off him in waves. I slip my hand into his and give a gentle squeeze, although I’m not sure who it’s for: me or him. Thankfully, unlike Alistair, he doesn’t give mixed signals. He laces our fingers together and rests them on his lap.
“My name is Professor Aesir.” Our instructor grins at the class, and the shadows at our feet undulate as though they have a beating heart. “Welcome to survival of the fucking fittest.”