Chapter 8 Zuko
zuko
. . .
The interview was a fucking breeze; simple and to the point. They just wanted to know we weren’t complete morons who would lie on every question. Anyone dumb enough to lie that badly under a low-grade empath probe deserved to get kicked out.
But even while answering my questions, I could not get a certain green-haired basilisk out of my head.
“She genuinely terrifies me,” Raze whispered harshly, his hand skating over his white spiked hair. His pink eyes followed Rune as she walked her pretty ass up the stairs and onto the stage in the auditorium. “I can’t believe you provoked her into stabbing you.”
“I told you I was flirting,” I hissed at my newfound friend. “Her stabbing me was flirting back.”
“She can kill you with one touch,” Raze argued under his breath. “You’re going to die with a boner, and I’m going to have to write your eulogy. We just met, man.”
“She’s hot,” I shrugged. “And you and I are clearly fated to be friends, so I’m not sorry.”
He scoffed, turning back toward the stage as Headmaster Bloodwyne stepped toward his daughter.
Raze was a legend in his own right. I’d heard plenty of stories about him playing vigilante all over Kalista, but the council recruited him into being an agent. I didn’t know why he was so scared of my pretty little poison.
She was gorgeous.
“The withstanding torture trial is part of the psychological evaluation, just like the interview. It comprises thirty percent of your total score,” Headmaster Bloodwyne announced, holding a sealed envelope to his daughter.
She opened it and read the contents without flinching. Her expression remained unreadable, but that almost made me worry more about what was written.
“Applicants are each given a false piece of classified intel they must protect at all costs for one full hour. If they break and reveal the information early, they fail. This test is run by our House of Torment professor, Vaelynn Emberveil. She is well-versed in pain inducement, psychic disruption, and psychological warfare. No lasting physical damage will be inflicted. Make no mistake, the pain and fear you will experience up here are real.”
Rune put the paper back inside the envelope and handed it back to her dad.
Headmaster Bloodwyne’s golden eyes flickered between his daughter and the group of applicants. “To make the torture stop…”
“To make it stop,” Rune took over with a wink at her father, “you break. You fail. But if you want to pass, you endure.”
“Correct,” he stated, but it was clear the headmaster was worried about his daughter.
“Professor Emberveil,” the headmaster called.
A woman strode onto the stage with a professional expression. She had shoulder-length orange-red hair and red eyes full of flames, telling me she was a firedrake.
“Please.” She gestured for Rune to sit in the old rock chair that was in the middle of the stage.
Professor Emberveil was frightening in a different way than Rune was. The professor moved like a prim and polite scholar, but she had the cold presence of someone who’d been allowed to hurt people legally and enjoyed it.
I knew that personality well.
The lights dimmed.
Rune sat in the chair, placing her arms on the armrests, and metal wrapped around her wrists the moment she set her arms down.
“Drecken, would you be a dear?” Professor Emberveil asked, raising her brow at the warlock who stood to the side of the auditorium with a hesitant expression.
His jaw clenched as if he hated whatever she was suggesting, but he snapped his fingers anyway.
Rune’s clothes dissolved in wisps of magic, reforming as minimal clothing against her pale skin; a simple black sports bra and shorts.
I bit down on my lip. She had the sexiest belly ring ever; a golden snake with ruby eyes.
A low hum vibrated through the floor as a crystal containment box descended from the ceiling just over her and the chair perfectly. The walls shimmered with layered enchantments. An icy sheen frosted over them as the box lowered around her.
Rune didn’t flinch. Her golden eyes stayed locked on the professor even as the crystal settled into place, sealing her in with a soft, airtight click. The temperature around her plummeted instantly. Frost bloomed across the inner walls of the cube, and I couldn’t contain a hiss.
Extreme cold exposure.
A blast of arctic mist hissed from vents above her before what had to be freezing water dumped over her in a timed cascade, soaking her completely.
“Fates, that’s cold.” She shuddered violently, but stayed seated. Her bra clung wetly to her chest.
Through the fogged glass, I saw the way the cold sharpened her body. Her nipples peaked hard under the black fabric, and goosebumps danced down her arms and thighs. Even her breath misted in soft puffs as she sat with her spine straight and teeth clenched.
Basilisks wouldn’t die from cold, but it was torture to go through.
I felt my fangs press against my lower lip again.
Fates, she was suffering, and still, she radiated defiance. My pretty little poison was stubborn. Even in torment, she was…fucking beautiful.
“Will you tell me the intel?” Professor Emberveil’s voice echoed through the speaker sweetly.
Rune smiled at her. “What intel?”
A second wave of freezing water hit her from above, pounding against her skull, soaking her hair and trickling down her skin.
She flinched, curling slightly forward, but when the spray stopped, she straightened again. “That was rude.”
The warlock who had stripped her down shifted uncomfortably on his feet. His hands twitched at his sides like he hated watching this.
I couldn’t relate, though. I mean, I hated the helplessness she must’ve been going through, but watching her endure like this, soaked and freezing and defiant?
It made my blood fucking heat.
Beside me, Raze muttered, “She’s not even shaking as much anymore. That’s not normal.”
“She’s perfect,” I sighed in delight.
The chaos demon that was obsessed with her muttered his agreement from somewhere around me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off her again. The frost clung to her lashes like diamonds, and her lips were slightly blue now.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. If you tell me, I’ll get you out of there,” Professor Emberveil promised.
Rune’s entire body shivered with each breath. The icy water had filled up to her waist now. “You think I can’t handle this? My ex played rougher.”
My muscles froze at that.
Who the fuck was her ex?
Her dads, her mom, the warlock professor, Slater, Koa, and even fucking Dimitri had twisted expressions on their faces.
I needed to find her ex and kill him before they could. I’d present his head to her as a gift.
“Do you need me to do worse?” Professor Emberveil threatened.
Rune stared forward with frozen lashes and whispered just loud enough to be caught on the mic, “Please, do it. I’m learning a lot about myself.”
Raze hissed through his teeth. “Damn.”
Water blasted over her.
Rune, inside that crystal coffin of cold and cruelty, looked like a beautiful fucking weapon sharpened by pain.
Fates help me, I wanted her more than anything.
She wasn’t just passing this trial.
She owned it.
It went on for another ten minutes, and she was soaked to the bone and shivering by the time the box was lifted from her.
Water poured from the stage and onto the floor as she sucked in a sharp, shaky breath.
“Fuck,” she barked out.
The warlock’s fingers twitched like he wanted to dress her again, but he didn’t.
“If cold won’t work, we’ll get creative. Ever heard a banshee scream?” Professor Emberveil asked.
Rune threw her head back and shook her soaked hair out. “Yeah, a few times. Sound torture is an interesting angle, but my brother’s singing is a bit worse.”
I smirked, my gaze zeroed in on her breasts. She was soaked, and her nipples were almost tearing holes in the bra.
The temperature in the room dropped again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. It was from the magical essence within a sound machine that Professor Emberveil rolled out next to Rune.
Rune barely had time to breathe before it hit.
Banshee screams exploded from the machine. It was piercing. Shrill enough to slice through fucking bone marrow.
The sound grated like nails on a chalkboard, and it was horrible.
Everyone in the viewing chamber flinched, but it wasn’t that bad from this far away. It wouldn’t do any real damage to us.
Several students around me clutched their ears instinctively. One girl started crying, and I knew that bitch wasn’t going to make it.
Rune was the one at the epicenter of the banshee cry.
She flinched hard when it started. Her face twisted in pain as she crumpled slightly in the chair. Her head dropped.
Her lips started moving, but I couldn’t hear anything over that banshee’s wail.
She continued, like a whisper on repeat. It was either a mantra or a prayer, but whatever it was, it was grounding her through whatever shit this was.
The veins at her temples bulged. Her legs trembled violently. Blood ran in two thin trails from her ears down her neck, soaking into her bra straps.
She didn’t cry out.
I was a few feet closer to the stage without realizing it, fists clenched at my sides, eyes locked on her. My jaw ached with the force I was grinding my fangs.
Raze had his hands over his ears like everyone else. “She’s mouthing something.”
“She’s grounding herself,” I growled.
Sweat glistened over her collarbones, down her sternum. Her thighs were shaking, and her muscles were locked tight.
She bled and shook, but she stayed upright.
“She’s barely blinking,” Raze said again, voice sharp with disbelief. “Zuko, that’s not… She’s not even flinching anymore. That’s not normal.”
But I couldn’t look away.
She lifted her head, and her glassy golden eyes met mine. She had blood on her lip from where she’d bitten down with her fang to split it open in an effort to stay quiet.
I adjusted myself in my pants. My cock was harder than ever before.