Chapter 27 Bechora
The days blurred into a blend of classes, one-on-one sessions with Caulder, trying to use the things Archer translated from the journal to get a handle on my magic, and somehow still finding time to spend with my mates.
It should have been overwhelming, but it wasn’t.
Archer had taken his role of ensuring I had time to decompress seriously, and even Zypher and Gabriel had gotten on board with his pampering sessions.
It’d been a little over a month since he’d asked for time alone with me, and I felt like I might finally be finding some semblance of balance.
Caulder became my anchor when it came to my magic.
In public, he was every bit the aloof professor, barely acknowledging my presence the way he’d done my first term at the Academy.
During our tutoring sessions, he pushed me hard, not giving an inch as I slowly started to gain control over it.
But the moment our session was done, his control frayed.
He pulled me into his lap behind his desk and kissed me senseless while his hands roamed over my body, on more than one occasion.
A flush crept up my neck at the memory of the way he’d splayed me over his desk and devoured me as if I were his favorite meal.
“Knight,” Professor Rumlock barked, snapping me back to the moment. “You’re with Hargraven.”
My lip curled, and I groaned to myself as I moved to an empty mat.
Standing across from me was the willowy, brunette fae who shadowed Daena everywhere she went.
Mean Girl Number Two, also known as Meara.
She stared down her nose at me from where she stood on the other side of the mat, as I tried to remember what her magic was.
“Try not to embarrass yourself,” Meara drawled, her voice dripping with condescension as she looked me over as though I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. “I’d hate for everyone to realize just how low the Academy had to drop its standards to let you in.”
“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “That’s the best you’ve got? I guess I shouldn’t have expected more out of Daena’s mouthpiece.”
Her eyes narrowed, the mask of bored superiority slipping just enough to reveal the bite underneath. “Careful,” she said with a soft edge to her tone. “You might start to actually believe you belong here.”
“I don’t need to believe it,” I replied, settling into the starting fight stance we’d been taught. “I’m already proving it.”
Meara’s lip curled in disgust. “Clinging to any powerful male that’ll have you isn’t proving anything.”
“You sound jealous,” I replied, lifting a brow.
“Please,” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t want men who only wanted me because I’d used a spell to make them. Desperate looks good on you, though.”
My teeth clenched at her words, and I forced a slow exhale through my nose.
Since Vallynn dropped her, Daena had sent the rumor mill running wild.
The latest seemed to be that I’d used some sort of spell on him, as if that were actually a thing.
It wasn’t, I’d asked Miles and Shadrie, and both were certain neither spell nor potion existed to make someone fall in love with you.
Even though I’d been avoiding Vallynn and Dante, I couldn’t help being relieved.
At least I didn’t have to worry about the bitch trying to use magic to win my mate back as her future husband.
It shouldn’t have mattered to me, but it did.
“Less chatting, more sparring,” Rumlock bellowed.
Meara’s smile sharpened as she shifted into stance, all lazy grace and coiled intent. “Try to keep up,” she muttered.
She struck first, lunging forward and striking out with her fist. My counter came just as quickly, and I landed a blow to her abdomen. Air whooshed out of her as she stumbled back half a step, surprise flashing across her face before twisting into annoyance. I didn’t give her a chance to recover.
Pressing forward, I followed through the way my mates had drilled into me.
My next strike came with the force of the vampiric strength I’d copied from Gabriel, landing with a loud thwack against her cheek.
She recovered faster than I expected, dancing back as she turned her head to spit blood on the ground.
“Getting lucky doesn’t make you skilled,” she snapped.
“Keep telling yourself that,” I shot back.
She moved toward me, faster this time. I blocked, redirected, and hit back, mixing in the fire I’d copied from Caulder and my enhanced strength to keep her off balance.
She growled in frustration before lunging forward in a way that didn’t make any sense.
I didn’t catch the glint of metal peeking out from the cuff of her sleeve until it was too late.
Metal slid free of her wrist as if it had a mind of its own, reshaping with unnatural speed.
One second, it was a bracelet, the next a blade.
I sucked in a breath, throwing up a shield on instinct. It formed, but not quickly enough.
Pain tore through my side. Sharp, blinding. My breath hitched as I staggered back, my concentration shattered as I pressed my hand to the area where warmth spread beneath it. Blood. And lots of it.
“Well,” Meara said, almost bored now. “That’s more like it.”
Enough!” Rumlock’s voice cracked across the training pitch. I could have sworn I'd only blinked, and he was there assessing my injury. “Knight. That’s not superficial. Infirmary, now!”
I nodded, pressing my hand harder against my side, and the world swayed.
Then the ground tilted beneath my feet. I took a step anyway.
Big mistake. The arena stretched strangely in front of me, the edges of my vision blurring as a dull roar filled my ears.
My fingers twitched against my side, trying to press harder to stop the bleeding, but they felt… slower. Clumsy and distant.
“I’ve got you.” A familiar scent filled my nose as my free arm was placed over a shoulder. “Let me carry you, mate.”
“Archer?” My words sounded far away.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “I’ve got you.”
The ground disappeared. One moment, I was trying to stand, the next I was lifted clean off my feet, my body cradled against his chest like I weighed nothing. My head lolled against his shoulder, his scent wrapping around me and grounding me in a way nothing else was, right then.
“Stay with me,” he muttered, already moving.
The world blurred around us, the training pitch dissolving into streaks of color and light.
My fingers curled weakly into his shirt, trying to hold on to something solid as everything else slipped.
I must have blacked out because the next thing I knew, I was on my back staring up at the bright lights of the infirmary, and the pain in my side was gone.
“Hey,” Archer’s voice cut through the fog still clouding my mind. “You with me?”
I turned my head toward him slowly. The movement made the room tilt just slightly, a lingering reminder that I wasn’t exactly fine.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice a little rough. “Just… lightheaded.”
“No kidding,” he muttered, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second. “You lost a lot of blood.”
I shifted to look down at my side. My uniform shirt was soaked through, dark with dried and fresh blood.
The curtain that provided me privacy was pulled aside, causing me to jump.
The older mage who ran the infirmary stepped toward me, her white hair pulled up into a tight bun that matched the color of her uniform.
“I hear you took quite the hit today, Ms. Knight,” she said calmly, moving to pull my shirt up and expose the wound.
Her lips pursed, and her brows dipped before her face melted into an angry frown.
“The infirmary services are for those who need them. They are not for whatever sort of prank you think you’re pulling. ”
I blinked at her. “A prank?” I echoed, my voice still a little slow.
Archer stiffened beside me. “She was stabbed on the training pitch.”
The healer didn’t even look at him. Her attention stayed fused to my side, fingers pressing lightly where the wound should have been.
I let my gaze move to her hands and realized there was nothing there.
There was nothing there! Not even a scratch.
Just a faint lingering tenderness that I felt as she pressed her fingers into my skin.
Her frown deepened. “And yet, there is no injury. No residual damage. Not even improper healing.” Her gaze flicked up to mine, sharp and unimpressed. “Which leaves me with two options. Either you weren’t as injured as you assumed… or you’re wasting my time.”
“I’m not,” I said, pushing myself up on my elbows despite the way the room dipped slightly. “I was cut deep enough with a knife that I passed out.”
Her expression didn’t change. If anything, she looked more annoyed.
“Students exaggerate injuries all the time,” she said flatly. “Especially in Professor Rumlock’s class.”
“I’m not exaggerating,” I snapped, irritation cutting through the lingering fog.
Archer’s hand tightened around mine. “She’s not lying,” he said, his tone losing its humor. “I carried her here. She was covered in blood.”
“And yet, she’s very clearly not injured,” she said, gesturing to my completely intact side. “Mages don’t have healing abilities, and I don’t like having my time wasted. If you did actually faint, consider eating more and adding some electrolytes.”
She pulled my bloody shirt back down roughly before turning to storm past the curtain. Archer moved to where she’d been standing, pulling it back up gently.
“What the… You’re really healed!” he breathed, his gaze snapping up to lock on mine.
He went quiet for a moment, eyes moving back to study where Meara had cut me.
When he finally looked up again, something like realization seemed to bloom on his face.
“I think I know why you were sure you didn’t copy any abilities from me. ”
“Huh?” I asked, not quite following his train of thought.
“Bechora… Shifters have healing abilities. If I’d been the one to get that injury, Rumlock wouldn’t have sent me to the infirmary because I’d have healed before I got here.”
“Oh,” I said softly, still not understanding.
Archer pulled my shirt back down and took my hand in his. “You copied my healing ability. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”