34
I fight Katerina with fists, defeat Eric by pulling his precious hair, and battle Portia by ripping through her walls of ivy and thorns.
I’m scarred—still bleeding on my hip from the silver daggers and beaten to a pulp, bruised everywhere else.
None of them expected me to win, but I have.
With rage as my anchor and a lethal sense of injustice propelling me forward, I’ve made it to the final round of the competition.
Victory is in sight and has become a beacon of light in this fucking court.
I will show them all how dangerous I can be—how dangerous I will be if they hurt someone I love again.
Unfortunately, Calix waits for me in the center of the field.
Our classmates gather around the outskirts, watching with bated breath as I flex my knuckles, and Calix peels off his shirt.
Eight perfect abdominals glisten with sweat in the unrelenting sunlight.
Calix might be a cunning fighter, but he’s strong too.
The best of both worlds. The worst of both worlds.
I have no strategy to win against him, only the adrenaline coursing through my veins and that haze of red in my vision.
It wants to hurt someone, anyone , and right now, Calix will do just fine. I have to win.
These five-minute matches have become a drug to me. The intoxicating thrill of delivering blows, even as I receive them. The crunch of bones feels barbaric, but it also stirs a primal part of me. Kill. Hurt. Maim. Those are the only goals of a bloodthirsty werewolf.
Like me.
But if Calix punches me, I could very well lose consciousness.
He’s so much stronger than I am. So much faster.
If we used weapons, he’d be able to slice off my entire arm in seconds.
This is Sin’s protector . This is a man who had me on my back in seconds when we fought in the Alchemical Designs classroom.
This is the only shot I have to even the score—and it’s a long one.
“Frightened, Hart?” Calix asks.
I hold up my middle finger in response. “You should be.”
“Is that right?” The hint of a smirk twitches on his lips. “I’m surprised you’re up for a rematch. The first time wasn’t enough?”
“Oh, was that your first time?” I ask sweetly.
He scowls at me.
“Shut up, both of you.” Stalking to the perimeter of our classmates, Instructor Shepherd clicks his stopwatch.
Both Evie and Katerina glare at me from the sidelines, while Portia fixes an unconvincing smile on her face, flashing an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up.
The grass has withered at her feet, however.
A gust of her ocean-spray fear tickles the ribbon on my arm.
Sin leans against the portico, watching us with rapt attention.
His scowl almost matches his cousin’s.
“What are you waiting for?” Instructor Shepherd barks. “Your clock has started.”
I roll my shoulders, turning my attention back to Calix.
Five minutes to lay him on his ass and rip that stupid ribbon tied around his bicep.
Five minutes to prove to everyone here—to prove to myself—that I am the one to be feared.
Not them. My hands ball into fists. I growl.
Light on his feet, Calix bounces from side to side, taunting me. Daring me to step forward first.
However, I’m not the idiot he thinks I am. No. I’ll wait for him.
Calix doesn’t have any patience. Even less patience when it concerns me—something I can use to my advantage. I tilt my head, taunting him with a smile. I don’t care what I need to say in this moment—what I need to do —to unsettle him. “Interesting.”
His eyes narrow. As predicted, he can’t seem to help himself. “What?”
“You must’ve really wanted to get your hands on me to beat your precious prince.” Sin stiffens in my periphery, and a rush of vicious satisfaction sweeps through me. “Aren’t you meant to guard him with your life?”
“This is Combat class, Hart.”
“Sure it is, Calix.” I shrug as disgust ripples through our classmates, and Sin pushes from the portico to stalk closer. “If you wanted to touch me this badly, all you had to do was ask.”
Calix snarls. Charges for me.
A victory, albeit short-lived. He’s a freight train barreling over a cliff, and the impact is going to break me.
I twist out of his reach at the last second, though he catches a thin tendril of my hair in his hand.
He pulls it, hoping to wrench me back to him.
But the sacrifice is worth it, so I keep running.
I jerk away, and he tears the hair from my scalp. Blistering pain spots my vision.
He shakes his head, glaring at the hair between his fingers before releasing it to the gentle breeze. “Fuck sake, Vanessa. Surrender.”
I sneer at him, unable to exist beyond my white-hot anger. “No.”
Calix prowls forward, and I raise my fists in front of my face. The left close to my nose, and the right above it. Just as Instructor Shepherd taught me.
Punching Calix means throwing my fist way, way up.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, beginning to circle me now.
I laugh at that, though the sound comes out dry. Humorless. I shadow his footsteps. “Yes, you do.”
His brow furrows, and his steps falter in what looks like genuine concern. “What is wrong with you today?”
“What do you think ?” I lash out, but he smacks the strike away with ease.
Another punch, and he merely leaps backward.
Away from me. I follow with a snarl, forgetting about the ribbon, forgetting about anything other than pain.
Concern. Where was his concern when he brought me to the queen?
Where was his concern when she maimed Oona?
My punches fly relentlessly, one after the other, at his face, his chin, his stomach.
I even land a few. He grimaces as my fist collides with his stomach, knuckles cracking against those eight stupid abs.
All the while, he only defends himself. Doesn’t attempt to hit me back.
I nearly scream in frustration. “Fight me, Calix!”
“What is wrong —?” He begins to repeat his question, but I deck him in the jaw before he can finish.
His teeth shudder. His skin splits open.
Blood spatters his chest. His gaze flashes murder, and he closes his eyes as if praying for patience.
Just for a second. Just long enough for me to hit him again—right in the nose this time.
His eyes snap open. “Fine. You want to fight? So be it.”
If I thought I’d fought Calix before, I was wrong.
Completely, terribly wrong. That had been child’s play.
He stretches his arms now, widens his stance with a growl.
Black hair falls over his forehead, but he ignores it.
Ignores everything except me. It’s like being spotted in the wild by a bear. A massive, bloodthirsty, rabid bear.
He bares his fangs at me.
Shit.
Alarm spikes through me, and all thoughts of strategy fly out the freaking window. This is a Calix I’ve never met before—that no one has ever met before, if our classmates’ gasps are any indication. He takes a step forward, and I—
Flee.
I run as fast as my legs can carry me away from him, using the length of the field to my advantage.
I dart to the left, the right; I try to change my pattern just as they taught me in kindergarten to outrun an alligator.
But Calix is so much worse than an alligator.
So much faster. He laughs during the chase, placating me— mocking me—and it sends goose bumps up my spine.
“You can’t run forever, Hart. Someone is going to win this match.”
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
If that someone isn’t me, I might explode. I’m not certain how much more I’ll be able to take before the Ascension Rite. First, they killed Celeste. Then, they bit me. And finally, they attacked Oona. I repeat the three tragedies in my mind. Over and over until I stop running and turn abruptly.
Calix can’t stop as quickly.
With surprise on my side, I reach out to yank his ribbon as he blows past me, but he’s still too adept.
He recovers almost instantly, grabbing my arm and throwing me to the ground.
I hit the grass like a pillowcase of bricks.
A painful thud as my body connects with the earth.
And then he’s on top of me, everywhere around me.
And heavy . Though I struggle beneath him, he presses harder against me. Into me. And I’m pinned.
“Fucking asshole,” I snarl.
Calix smiles, pulling the frayed edge of the ribbon on my sleeve.
I grab his wrist and twist before he can remove it.
He hisses, his face inches from mine. Less than that.
And I grab his ribbon instead. He reclaims mine at the same time, and we glare into each other’s eyes.
Neither of us willing to surrender. But we also don’t want to end this match in a draw.
“What is wrong with you?” he repeats, his chest heaving against mine.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or that I can’t catch my own breath—or maybe I really am just a pathetic creature who wears her heart on her sleeve—but I say, “Where were you? Where were you and Sin?” My voice splinters as though a sob builds in my throat, but the tears don’t come.
Won’t come. Calix shakes his head in bewilderment.
“I don’t understand.”
I throw my free hand into his chest. Smack and pummel his abs.
He takes it all without a word, his gaze boring into mine.
Searching. He doesn’t pull my ribbon or retaliate.
It makes me angrier. I scrape my nails down his flesh next, willing him to respond.
The wounds pucker, swell, and then recede, and still he doesn’t. I hate it.
I hate that I can’t trust anyone.
“Vanessa,” Calix says, low and gravelly.
“What are you talking about? Lord Allard informed Sin and me that you had been sent to your room after your meeting. You didn’t wish to hang around the court.
They asked we give you space over the next few days because you’d been reprimanded over some damned journal. ”
“You didn’t check on me,” I accuse. “You didn’t come and ask.”
“You’ve been upset before! At least you weren’t sneaking out this time. You weren’t having secret trysts. I—”
I scream, and the earth beneath us rumbles.
Or perhaps it’s just me. I never thought I could be strong like this.
Never thought I could be so… so monstrous.
With all my might, I clench my thighs around him and throw us sideways.
Scramble on top of him with my hand clamped around his throat.
He raises both of his in surrender, his expression hard. Hurt.
I don’t fucking care.
Behind us, our classmates chant for us to take the other’s ribbon already. Instructor Shepherd shouts that there’s a minute left on the clock. But I don’t care about either. There is only Calix—Calix and his loyalty, his naivete . And also mine.
“Did you really assume they were telling the truth?” I lean over him, and my hair spills between us.
Onto his neck, his chest, his face. He blows it out of the way with a ragged breath.
“Did you really think the queen finding my journal would result in solitary confinement or a gentle scolding? Use your brain, Calix. You’ve lived in this court for enough time to understand that punishments here are always more than skin-deep. ”
Calix slides a hand to my waist, the other to my upper arm.
Two places where he could use his force to knock me off him or break my limb.
He doesn’t do either. He simply holds me.
Seconds pass. He studies my face. The redness spreading from my cheeks to my toes.
My strange purple eyes. I am boiling inside.
I am lava and flame, and I… I can’t control it.
“What did they do to you?” he whispers.
I bite down, forcing my fangs at bay. I’m going to win this fight fair and square. “It’s not what they did to me,” I say. “It’s what they did to Oona.”
Thirty seconds left. I’ve been counting even if he hasn’t.
He must see it in my eyes—that I’m about to reach for his ribbon.
He throws us around again, switching places with a bone-crushing grasp on my arm.
But I’ve been waiting for him to restore the power dynamic.
Waiting for him to move, swift enough for me to run my hand along his arm without notice.
Which is how—when he presses me into the grass, hoisting my wrists above our heads—I’m already clenching his ribbon in my hand.
I force myself to smile, hoping I look as vicious as I feel. “I win.”
None of our classmates clap. Not even Portia or Sin.
I didn’t expect them to. I don’t feel much like celebrating either.
All of this—my rage, my victory—feels somehow empty now, lying beneath Calix with a stupid ribbon in my hand.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t escape the brutality of this court.
I can’t even escape my own brutality. I can only wait for Calix to climb off me.
He offers me a hand with a frown, but I don’t accept it. I leap to my feet without his help.
“Vanessa,” he starts.
“Don’t,” I say, and then I stalk off to be alone.