Chapter 11 – — Professor Cane, Fracture and Form #2
“They always stick together,” Lux says, following my gaze. “The vampires, I mean. They’re the only bloodline that thinks they’re better than everyone else, so they tend to keep to themselves.”
“It’s a superiority thing,” Ellavee adds, twirling her spoon. “Old blood, old power, old grudges. They don’t mix with the rest of us unless they have to, or unless they want to fuck you, then suddenly they’re very interested in interspecies relations.”
Lux snorts. Jace shifts beside me, and I hope he’s not thinking about how Draven and I walked into class together today.
I force myself to look away from Draven’s table, but not before I catch him looking back.
“This isn’t exactly what I expected my afternoon to look like,” I say to Lux, Ellavee, and Jace, who flank either side of me.
We changed into our training attire, leather pants and long-sleeve black tops, and are now having class outside in the freezing cold.
It’s a giant stone courtyard covered in some kind of enchanted ceiling that keeps the snow out but lets the gray sky show through. There are bleachers on either side, but we all stand in a clustered line, shifting our weight, breath visible in the air.
“I probably should have mentioned my dad is a hundred and fifty years old and used to be a Vanguard before teaching,” Lux says quietly.
Jace and I both lean forward to look at her.
“What the hell, Lux?” I breathe.
“Wait.” Jace’s brow furrows. “Your father lived through the last cycle?”
Lux nods. “He fought in it, and that’s why he’s always saying Veilguards need to be trained to be tougher, not just healers.”
She makes a frown that shows all of her bottom teeth. I smile at the expression but look back to the empty courtyard as we wait for Professor Bale to show up.
“You could have warned us,” I grumble. “I would have stretched more or faked an illness.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” She bumps her shoulder against mine.
Jace leans closer to me, his hand brushing my lower back. “I’ll be right here.” He tugs me closer to him. “Someone has to drag you to the infirmary.”
“My angel,” I tease then slap his chest.
“Always.” He winks.
Ellavee makes a gagging sound. “If you two are going to be disgusting, can you do it downwind? Some of us have sensitive stomachs.”
“We’re not—” I hold up my hands. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends. We grew up together.”
“Sure.” Ellavee picks at her nails. “Friends, that’s what they all say right before they start making out in supply closets.”
“There will be no supply closet making out.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” She examines her cuticles. “Carry on then.”
Jace catches my eye, and there’s something in his expression, a flicker of hurt or hope. I look away before I have to figure out which one.
Professor Bale.
Lux’s dad. A fae who was a fighter. A Vanguard over one hundred years old.
Wow.
I glance around and quickly realize this isn’t like my other classes.
There’s a mix of students here, mostly bone years but also blood years scattered through the crowd.
I see their red emblems, the heart and serpent symbols against black leather.
This is the first class I’ve had where the years are combined.
I thought the headmaster said all years were kept separate. Or did I assume that?
This is the most students I’ve seen in one place since orientation. There must be at least sixty people here.
I spot Draven and Malric standing together in the back. It makes sense now why they hang out. Different years but they must have known each other before, both vampires and all. Zuri and Killian are here too.
“Why is this such a large class?” I ask Lux under my breath.
“Triage of the Damned is mandatory for all students, and my dad’s the only one who teaches it.” She keeps her voice low. “He mixes upperclassmen into his first year classes so they can help when he needs it, and I think they like to keep their skills sharp.”
“Wonderful. So we get to be the practice dummies for blood years.”
“Basically.” Her grin doesn’t reach her eyes. “Welcome to my childhood.”
One second we’re all staring into an empty courtyard, and the next a man is standing before us. Pointed ears. Same startling blue eyes as his daughter.
“He likes to make an entrance,” Lux groans.
He’s tall and broad in the shoulders but lean everywhere else, like anything unnecessary got carved away a long time ago. He doesn’t look a hundred and fifty years old, but there are signs of age, gray hairs around the temples.
He doesn’t greet us. His face isn’t cruel exactly but hard in a way that suggests warmth left him a long time ago.
“You’re here because you think you want to save lives.” His voice carries across the courtyard and echoes off the magical ceiling. “But saving lives isn’t pretty or noble, and most of you aren’t ready for what it takes.”
He sounds like a military man already.
“My class won’t teach you to heal. The other professors, the softer ones, they handle that. This class teaches you to survive long enough to do the healing. To protect yourself and your patients. To stay alive when everything around you wants you dead.”
He gestures to the small group leaning against the bleachers. “The blood years will run drills, lead groups, help keep you in line. Listen to them like you listen to me.”
Lux elbows me gently. “Told you.”
“This year, we’ll cover basic defensive maneuvers, how to block and evade, create distance, as well as how to triage. The goal is to be able to assess a scene and make decisions in seconds.”
“Your father is a real charmer,” Ellavee drawls, and I snort.
“Gets it from my mother,” Lux fires back. “She’s worse.”
“Halfway through the year, I’ll take you to active fissure sites. You’ll see exactly what we’re training for and how you perform in the field.”
His eyes sweep across us. I think Lux stops breathing when her father’s gaze drifts to her. “Some of you will rise. Some won’t. Today, I’ll split you into groups, each led by myself or a blood year. Rotate through stations without complaints or embarrassing yourselves.”
The next two hours are complete hell.
We run laps first, and by the fifth lap my thighs are screaming. Jace keeps pace beside me even though I know he could run circles around the whole class without breaking a sweat.
“You’re doing great,” he offers.
“I’m dying.”
“Gracefully though.”
I laugh even though it hurts. “Shut up.”
He grins, and I hate that it makes me feel better. I hate that I notice the way his hair falls across his forehead when he runs, damp with sweat despite the cold. I hate that I’m noticing anything at all when I can barely breathe.
I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing here. I used to want to be a healer, and now I don’t know if I’m even capable of overcoming my shit and using a scalpel ever again.
I run until my mind is mush and I forget what I’m even stressed about.
Then we do stances and basic positioning. How to stand so you don’t get knocked down. Hands up to protect your center.
Malric is the blood year assigned to my group.
He walks around correcting posture, kicking feet into wider stances without warning.
He tells me I’m not protecting my core properly, and I’m pretty sure he does it just to put his hands on me.
He touches my stomach and back, fixing my stance, and leans close to my ear. “Like this, Red.”
I want to vomit my lunch from the running and from him touching me, but I keep it together.
Lux catches my eye from across the group and makes a face like she’s plotting his murder. I give a slight shake of my head, because he’s not worth it.
We all got split up, but luckily Lux and I are in the same group of eight at the farthest end of the yard. We’re partnered for evasion drills. She throws slow strikes, and I practice dodging and blocking.
My arms ache from holding them up, and every time I drop my guard, she flicks my forehead.
“Stop that.” Flick. “Stop dropping your hands.”
I glare at her, gasping for air. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t grow up with a crazy Vanguard dad running me through drills. I’m dying over here. I wanted to be a healer, not a fucking combat fighter.”
“And I wanted a normal dad who makes pancakes on Sundays and doesn’t know eighteen ways to kill someone with a dinner fork.” She shrugs. “We don’t always get what we want.”
I laugh, “Eighteen?”
“Minimum.” Her expression softens. “I know he’s intense, but he means well. He doesn’t want any of us to get hurt out there, and he’s paranoid about when the next cycle could come.”
I nod as Bale bellows for everyone to gather.
“Time for a demonstration.” He stands at the center of the courtyard. “Bone years need to see what a real attack looks like, not training pace but real speed and intent.”
Oh this is going to be lovely.
“I need a bone year volunteer.”
No one raises a hand, but Lux shifts to stand behind me, drawing her father’s attention to us.
Great.
“You.” He points at me. “What’s your name?”
I swallow and look side to side, hoping someone else will speak up. “Maelis.”
“Maelis, front and center.”
Lux pats my back from behind. When I glance over my shoulder, she’s cringing and mouths, “Sorry.”
“I’m going to kill you later,” I hiss.
“Fair.”
I step forward. Sixty pairs of eyes on me.
Holy fuck.
“I need a blood year to run the attack.” Bale scans the crowd, and I pray it won’t be Malric. “Malric.”
My heart sinks.
Malric grins, pushes off from where he’s sitting on the bleachers, and rolls his shoulders like he’s been waiting for this all day. There’s something in his eyes that makes unease start to fester inside me.
He’s going to enjoy putting me down.
“I’ll do it.”
The voice comes from behind Malric, and Draven steps forward. He’s only a bone year. Why does he think he can volunteer?
Bale must know him or know his father. If his father really is high up at the Vanguard Academy, then I can only assume Draven knows a bit about fighting. But why is he volunteering? Is he saving me from Malric? They seem to be friends.