Chapter 8
EIGHT
NOX
When I began the research for my PhD, locked in my quiet and peaceful room filled with enough tomes of Gifted history to bury a weaker man, I never dreamed of some day using the qualification to teach.
Even after I guest lectured at other colleges, I had no intention of becoming a professor at Draven.
Reading was always an escape from my day-to-day life, disassociation cleverly hidden in a habit none of my many caretakers were likely to discourage, and my curiosity led me stumbling down the academic path without a real plan.
I had always assumed I'd be in a TacTeam full-time and deploying with it often, given the abilities of my nightmare creatures, but thanks to the creative manoeuvrings of North and Gryph, I've been able to do both.
Dealing with the students and their constant whining, I’m convinced my brother wasn't acting so selflessly and, thanks to that poison girl and the whispers that follow her, I’m being given a timely reminder of what relenting to my brother’s bright ideas will force me to endure.
Arriving at my office to find my uncle waiting at my desk is the last thing I need on a random Friday evening, let alone this one.
With his perfectly pressed suit on, complete with a neck scarf and silk pocket square, he’s every inch of the community’s expectation of what a member of the Draven family looks like.
It makes my skin crawl.
I can't think too hard about the ‘whys’ of that without risking my bond being set off. The ceasefire I'm currently holding with it is already dangerously precarious and I don’t want North following me around even more than he already is, so instead, I turn my ire to William.
“You don’t have an appointment, you’ll have to come back during my office hours.”
He smirks back at me. “Come now, Nox, you don’t have office hours. You’re the only professor at Draven who can do so without fear of reprimand. Nepotism at its finest.”
I move around the table to sit in my seat and stare coldly across at him. “Being forced to endure the Draven curse has to come with some perks, doesn't it? Otherwise I might as well end it all now.”
His smirk doesn’t falter for a second. “North would be heartbroken to know you're still dabbling with such nihilistic ideas.”
I don't remember much of my father, but I wonder whether he spoke with the same charming deflections as his younger brother or whether their differences were as stark as those between North and I.
Asking my brother is always an option, but I do my best to avoid any topics relating to the Bonded Group that gave us life.
North also has a soft spot for William that sickens me, but it’s best to leave that rock unturned as well.
When I only stare over my books at him, William tilts his head at me silently as though awarding me a point before he finally makes his case.
“Your brother is worried about you… that makes me worry about him. He holds the Draven seat on the council, Nox, it’s unwise of you to leave him in this state of panic for too long. ”
I have met enough stupid and reckless and violent people in my lifetime to know that William is certainly not a terrible human being.
He spends his time philanthropically, cultivating his reputation among the community as a warm and generous man, and he's been known as the easy-going Draven since childhood, a feat I'm sure was made far easier by my father's often explosive temper.
None of this makes him a particularly good man, though.
North has always thought far too highly of him, childish hero-worship I shouldn't throw stones at considering I did the same with him after he rescued me from my mother’s clutches.
I can't help myself, though. I've never held anything with kindness or empathy; anything that passes through my hands must be broken before it has the chance to break me.
North never breaks.
I hate that about him.
Regardless, staring at my uncle’s classically handsome face, it’s clear to me that his concerns have very little to do with my brother’s well-being and instead it’s his own interests that have led him here.
“My brother has always worried about me; nothing has changed. If your concerns for him are so pressing, then you should be finding ways to help him with other issues, maybe something a little more urgent, and free up his schedule that way.”
William’s eyes narrow a fraction at my sedate answer, my refusal to bite back at him obviously frustrating.
“I already help him with much of his work, Nox, you know this. In fact, the only area of his work I’m not currently giving him any aid is your little Bond.
Not that I haven’t offered, of course, but he’s frozen me out on that entirely. ”
My bond simmers to the surface.
Flexing my fingers under the table, I can almost feel the column of his throat underneath them as I choke the life out of him for bringing that girl up. If I do that, he wins, and I’ve lost on too many other fronts to accept it here now.
Why are they all so fucking obsessed with her?
Gabe is understandable; he’s barely more than a child, but North and Gryphon should know better. Worse still, the entire community will not shut up about her. Everywhere I go, I can feel dozens of eyes on me as they wait for the inevitable shitstorm that’s clearly brewing.
It’s only the gluttonous anticipation from the weak-willed and pathetic Gifted watching us that’s stopped me from escalating.
It’s infuriating; everything about her is.
Even putting aside her petty lies and the games she enjoys playing with the rest of them, there’s nothing about the girl to take notice of.
She’s boring, average, not an inch of her that interests me despite the whispers and pleading of the being within me.
With a Bond Group full of exceptionally rare Gifts, it almost makes me loathe her more—impossible, given the depthless reach of my hatred.
If her hair hadn't turned white, I’d have walked away from Draven entirely.
My bond would never allow me to walk away from her, but it’s best not to linger on that reality for too long.
Bile creeps up the back of my throat. After years of convincing myself that the freedom North gave me the day he found me in my mother’s dilapidated hovel and let his nightmares consume her when he discovered the abuse I suffered was true, I’m once again caged in by a Bond who wants everything from me, no matter my protests.
Nothing brings me closer to the edge of my sanity than that.
“You can't tell me you're uninterested in your Bond and expect me to believe it when you're struggling this hard, Nox—”
William’s smug taunting cuts off abruptly as Azrael bursts from my chest and lands on my desk between us, his lip curling into a snarling growl.
Though they’re mostly formless at rest, my nightmare creatures have always assumed the same forms when dealing with threats, and the rabid, canine-like protector leaves no room for questions about my safety.
My mother was terrified of Dobermans.
Rows of razor-sharp teeth lie waiting to tear any threat apart, and when his void eyes fix themselves on William’s throat, my uncle shoves his chair back in a panic, but it’s not enough to placate the beast. No, Azrael doesn’t stop snarling until William’s back hits the door.
William wasn’t born with the Draven curse; that honor was held by his older brother, Nolan, who so generously passed it onto both of his sons. As far back as my research has found, North and I are the first generation with two void-eyed Gifted born as siblings though, so it’s not unusual.
Any familiarity or security he gained growing up around them was lost the day William watched on in horror as my father’s nightmare creatures tore North’s mother apart, and no matter how steadfast he usually is with the cold exterior he gives me, there's a fine tremble in his lip now.
He can't even tear his eyes away from Azrael as he addresses me, his voice shaking pathetically. “If you've ever been capable of caring for North, you need to leave before your damage takes him down with you. He’ll never find peace or happiness with the girl while you're here.”
Azrael snaps his teeth and William yelps, his hand scrambling for the door handle behind his back, his voice hoarse as he throws one last plea at me, but I’m beyond giving a fuck about him now.
“The Draven name dies with him.”
Bars aren’t a difficult commodity to find in Draven, only they’re all bursting at the seams with idiotic college students and faculty staff all desperate to simper at my feet thanks to my last name and the power it holds here.
When I first started going out and encountering the many obstacles to my youthful plans of drunken oblivion, I’d just drink until the consequences no longer mattered to me.
It worked well, until it didn’t, and listening to North and William drone on at me in my hungover states quickly began to wear me down.
My uncle would groan and roll his eyes at my so-called petulant whining. Inevitably, he’d point out that Draven is in fact a college town, the most popular one in the country, and it was in poor taste to complain about the students who have so much respect for the Draven name.
I’m not sure why he thought that would work on me, given that I’ve built my entire existence in this shitty town around being a volatile asshole wielding the Madness and the fabled nightmare creatures as easily as I wield my acerbic tongue.
I was never going to simply submit, no matter the reality of the situation.