CHAPTER 3
Cold liquid speared down my throat. Not water, but something pungent, something that tasted like vomit.
My gag reflex kicked in, and I choked on the liquid, managing to spit it out.
“Come now,” an annoyed voice snipped. “We don’t have time for delicate sensibilities. Drink the Sano, Miss Mayweather.”
Something hard jabbed into my bottom lip and pried it open.
Before I could jerk my head away, more liquid filled my mouth.
Knowing what it was this time, I begrudgingly swallowed it, cringing at the godawful taste.
The fast-healing potion raced down my throat like liquid ice, immediately spreading through my body in search of injuries.
As my aches and pains started to fade seconds later, I cracked my eyes open and was immediately greeted by an unfamiliar face.
A sour one.
The middle-aged woman’s mouth was so pursed that I could barely see it. When she saw my eyes open, her scowl deepened even more. “Welcome back, Miss Mayweather,” she said, not an ounce of warmth in her tone. “The student convocation is about to start without you, so you’d best hurry.”
Rising from her chair with the now empty cup of Sano Elixir she’d practically forced down my throat, the woman sharply turned on her heel and marched off without another word. Based on the knee-length white coat she wore, I assumed she was a doctor.
Wait.
I shot up on the bed, taking in my surroundings with wide eyes. I was in the infirmary. Of Heartstone Academy. I’d made it. I’d survived the trial!
Giddy with relief, I scrambled off the bed and stood, already feeling ten times better.
A quick glance down my front revealed that I was still in my uniform.
My woefully soiled and tattered one. Dirt and crusted blood smudged my hands and the exposed parts of my legs, but the potion had at least healed my cuts and bruises.
I reached up, grimacing when I felt how tangled my hair was.
“Chop-chop, Miss Mayweather,” the sour doctor’s voice snapped from somewhere beyond my partitioned-off cubicle. “Tardiness is a punishable offense at this school.”
Her words had the desired effect, and I hurried from the cubicle, my shoes echoing against the stone floor.
As I speedwalked down the infirmary’s main aisle, I took in the vaulted ceilings and stone arches, noting that light dimly shined through the elaborate narrow windows on the room’s right side.
It hadn’t felt like I’d been unconscious for that long, so I could only assume they’d dispersed the weather spell used for the trial.
Shadows still lingered in the corners, though, the light from the iron sconces on the stone walls casting the interior in gloomy shades.
I passed by a couple dozen partitioned-off cubicles, all of them empty.
When it finally dawned on me that I was the only student here, urgency filled me, and I walked even faster.
Nearing the exit, I spotted the sour doctor along with two others.
All three of them watched me leave, their expressions far from friendly.
Dear ancestors, did they treat all of the students this way, or was it just me?
Feeling all sorts of uncomfortable, I hurried even faster and yanked open one of the heavy oak doors, wanting to put this awkward situation behind me.
But when I stepped into the hallway, I immediately stopped dead in my tracks, realizing I had no idea where to go.
It was even more dimly lit out here, and there weren’t any windows.
I was about to suck up my pride and return to the infirmary to ask for directions when a sudden shiver raced up my spine. Goosebumps erupted over my arms and legs, and I stiffened as a disembodied voice seemed to beckon me from down the dark hall, This waaaay.
I swallowed hard as I felt my intuition tug me in that direction.
This way to your destiny, it whispered through my bones. This way to your fate.
More like doom, I thought to myself, heeding the voice despite the foreboding chill in the air.
Without my intuition to guide me, I would have certainly become lost. The building was a maze of dark hallways and winding stairwells, and there wasn’t a single soul in sight.
The eerie silence was deafening, and I caught myself peering over my shoulder every few steps, half-expecting the building to come alive and attack me.
Maybe my trial wasn’t over after all. Maybe I was about to face a new challenge, one that would scare the living crap out of me.
I was halfway there already, my body tensing every time a shadow shifted in my peripheral.
I didn’t know what I expected my time at Heartstone Academy to be like, but I hadn’t thought the very walls of the school would pose a threat.
I really was on my own here. Truly and utterly alone.
And if I stopped to think about that fact for even a second, I wouldn’t be able to keep going, so I focused on the task at hand, on making it to the convocation in one piece.
It was the distant sound of clapping that alerted me to how close I was minutes later.
Relief filled me, and I hurried faster. As I rounded the corner, the hallway widened.
Columns dotted its length, and I saw light illuminating the stone floor up ahead.
Halfway down the hall, the space opened up.
To the right was a wide staircase, and I glanced down the length toward what must be the entrance hall.
The vaulted ceiling soared high above, sloping upwards to form a central peak.
A huge oval stained-glass window was positioned above the double entryway doors, Heartstone’s silver and black crest proudly etched into the glass.
The biggest wrought-iron chandelier I’d ever seen hung suspended in the middle of the foyer, at least three stories high with dozens of flickering candles lighting up its length.
Not seeing an attached chain, I briefly paused to ogle the marvel.
It was enchanted. Magic kept it floating in the air.
Another round of clapping snapped me from my awe, and I looked left to see another set of double doors.
They were closed, the clapping definitely coming from inside.
My stomach swooped with nerves, but I didn’t let myself think let alone hesitate.
Like ripping off a bandaid, I marched to the heavy doors and yanked them open.
They groaned loudly, and I cringed, hoping no one would hear.
No such luck. The clapping abruptly stopped, and as I stood in the doorway, every single eye in the massive great hall turned to stare at me.
My mouth dried. Dear ancestors, this was the stuff of nightmares, the getting-caught-butt-naked-in-a-crowd kind.
At how exposed I suddenly felt, I might as well be naked.
All the hair on my body rose, my senses going on high alert.
Before me was a room full of powerful magic wielders, of predators, and every single one of them was picking me apart with their eyes, searching for weakness.
I swallowed, the sound audible in the deafening silence.
Don’t run. Don’t you dare run, I inwardly hissed at myself, willing my hands not to shake, to reveal how utterly terrified I was. I’d already left a weak first impression by promptly passing out on my arrival. Falling apart right now would be the final nail in my coffin.
One gaze in particular pierced me like an ice pick, the cold fury behind it so palpable that my attention went straight to him before I could stop myself.
Time slowed to a crawl as my eyes clashed with the warlock’s.
He was in an aisle seat toward the back of the room, which meant that he was closer to the doors.
To me. Making it impossible not to see the anger brewing in his ocean blue eyes—eyes the same color as hers.
His were darker than usual today, stormy and cast in shadow from his thick lowered brows. Her eyes had never been that dark, that angry, especially not at me. But his had. The last time I’d seen him, he’d shown me just how angry, how terrifying he could become.
That horrible day came rushing back to me now, and I tried to swallow again. Tried and failed. His gaze dipped below my chin as if he’d just tracked the failed swallow, then dipped even lower, taking in my body with a cursory, scathing sweep.
He was suddenly on his feet, and my heart promptly lodged in my throat.
Terrifying images of our last encounter pounded through me, my body breaking into a cold sweat as Thorne Hudson straightened—all six-foot-five of him—and squared off with me in the main aisle.
A high-pitched shriek came from the red-tailed hawk perched on his broad shoulders, the added height making the warlock look giant-sized.
The bird familiar thrust his massive wings out, filling the aisle with their five foot length.
At barely five feet myself, I couldn’t help but be intimidated by their large presence.
The duo were similar in coloring, all deep browns and russet reds, the warm shades the exact opposite of my cool ones.
I’d always thought Thorne looked like a pirate with his tousled rich brown hair, deeply tanned skin, square stubbled jaw, and the small gold hoop glinting in his left earlobe.
Hints of dark ink jutted from his white shirt collar and streaked down his large hands, the tattoos further accentuating his roguish appearance.
He might look like someone who spent all his time outdoors under a hot blazing sun, but nothing about Thorne Hudson’s personality was warm.
The twenty-four-year-old Cosmic warlock was as cold as they came, especially toward me.
He might be good-looking—okay, fine, stupidly hot—but every single line of his handsome chiseled face was set in unforgiving stone.
For a second that felt like an eternity, we stared at each other, a million unspoken words simmering between us. The weight of them practically crushed me, and I almost looked away. Almost.