14. Ivy
IVY
Fear burns through my body.
Darkness consumes me.
Endless torture dances across my skin.
Twisted in chaos, I’m suffocating.
Writhing in pain, I can’t shake the confines that hold me captive, but then a scream pierces through the room. My eyes pry open, my heart clenching desperately in my chest as I awaken to fire roaring across my skin.
Horror stiffens my spine as the orange flames dance with destructive purpose while my throat burns, confirming the screaming is coming from me.
Pressing my lips shut, I try to inhale through my nose, but I’m too overwhelmed to control myself when a familiar face appears before me.
“It’s okay, Ivy. I’m here. You’re safe,” Archer soothes over the flickering flames that echo in my ears. He makes a show of taking a deep breath, and I follow him, repeating the motion a few times before I manage to get control of myself.
The fire extinguishes on my fifth deep breath, revealing the fear in Archer’s eyes as I blink up at him.
“You’re okay,” he promises as I drag a hand down my face.
Wordlessly, he tugs my sheets over my body, protecting my exposed skin, and I frown at the material.
“Why hasn’t this been cremated?” I blurt, and he offers me a half smile.
“It’s been threaded with some kind of fancy material to stop it from burning.
All of the Fire Protector rooms have it,” he explains, and I nod as if that makes sense.
He leans in close, ghosting his finger over my cheek as he takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as his muscles relax.
“Nothing worries me more than your flames,” he mumbles, and I gulp, guilt lodging in my throat as I recall the sight of his burnt hands.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, and he scoffs.
“Don’t apologize; I just worry.” It’s my turn to reach for his cheek this time, my fingertip running over the scar that remains there. He grabs my wrist. “Don’t.”
My lips part, but before I can breathe a single word, a knock at my door draws my attention across the room. I find the wood flung wide open, revealing the visitor.
Dorian leans against the door frame, eyebrows furrowed as he peers at us. “Is everything okay?” he asks, and Archer waves him off.
“We’re fine.”
“Sorry, I was just… the door was…”
“It’s all good,” Archer interrupts, saving him from continuing to trip over his words.
“See you later,” he murmurs, disappearing without a trace, leaving the door exactly as it is.
“Why is my door open?” I murmur as Archer quickly hurries to close it.
“Because I didn’t want you to wake up starving after all of your fun last night,” he explains, lifting an insane tray of food in the air.
As he places it on the bed, I recall last night.
Meadow was relentless, and I was a bad influence, but as blotchy as my memory is now, everything I do remember is filled with laughter, and that’s all that matters.
“How did I get back here?” I ask, reaching for a glass of orange juice and one of the pastries, and he grins at me, amusement brightening his eyes for a split second.
“Loudly,” he states, popping a grape in his mouth as I fight the grin threatening to take over my face.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble before taking another bite of my pastry, and he shakes his head.
“It was cute. You were cute.”
“I don’t think cute is what I was going for,” I say with a sigh, and he winks.
“Oh, I know.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” I press, and he shakes his head, but when I narrow my eyes, he concedes.
“You weren’t wearing any clothes before you set yourself on fire,” he states, and I gulp.
“What did I do?”
“Nothing bad, you just… had needs. Needs that we refused to cater to while you were that drunk.”
My cheeks burn at his confession, but it only makes his smile grow.
Dammit.
Refusing to admit it, I shake my head. “You’re lying.”
“Am I? Why don’t you come feel my hand and find out for yourself? Better yet, there are messages you sent that prove—”
“Stop! Stop!” I shriek, clapping my hands over my ears, and he chuckles. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” I mumble, shoving the rest of my pastry into my mouth to shut myself up.
He watches me intently, and the second I swallow the last remnants, he invades my space, pressing his lips against mine. His hands cup my cheeks, holding me in place as he delves deeper, consuming me until a groan erupts from my throat; only then does he lean back with a grin.
“Fuck. I’ve wanted to do that since last night,” he mutters, his pupils dilated as he stares at my lips, all while my blush deepens, but there’s no embarrassment there this time. Only the need that he was referring to.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask for more, beg maybe, when he launches to his feet, dragging a hand through his hair as he nods at me. “Get ready, Hot Stuff.”
My nose crinkles as my head rears back. “You are not calling me that,” I scoff, and he shrugs.
“Everyone else has a nickname for you.”
“Not that,” I mumble, and he smirks.
“Get ready.”
“Why?”
“Because you may have eaten, but I promised the others, Meadow included, that you would make an appearance this morning.”
I almost tell him to forget it, but the fact that my hated mates keep doing things to make me hate them less is overwhelming me. So I go against my body’s desires and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
Archer’s eyes track my every move, gaping at my exposed skin as I keep my spine stiff and my shoulders rolled back. His teeth sink into his clenched fist as I breeze past him, the cool touch against my skin quickly evaporating from the heat of his stare.
Grabbing a soft, yellow blouse and a pair of denim shorts, with a lingerie set to match, I dive into the bathroom and quickly get ready.
Showered, fresh, and dressed, I saunter back into my room, the heat and desire still thrumming through my veins as I find my Fire Protector mate perched at the foot of my bed, elbows braced on his knees as he peers up at me.
“How do you look so beautiful and put-together after a night like you had?” he muses, standing as I close my bathroom door behind me, and I shrug.
“I have no idea. I’ve never been drunk like that before.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, leading the way toward my bedroom door. He surveys the hallway for a moment before waving me out. A comfortable silence washes over us as he laces our fingers together and leads me downstairs.
Pressed against his side, I exhale as the morning sun washes over me.
That feeling of contentment creeps in again, and I hate how much I like it. The fear in me braces for the chaos to ensue, but it’s hard to stay alert when I feel like this.
Attempting to shake it off, I focus on my surroundings and quickly realize how busy it is. There are students everywhere. Some are sprawled out on the grass, relaxing with their friends, while others move up and down the path.
“It’s still Sunday, right? I didn’t sleep a whole day away or something dumb like that, did I?” I mumble, and Archer grins.
“It’s still Sunday. What makes you ask?”
I shrug. “It just feels… busy,” I admit, and he nods, parting his lips, but no words make it out before a thunderous crack ripples through the air, violent enough to steal my breath and rumble the ground beneath my feet.
The air becomes thick with panic, screams, and yelps echoing from my fellow students when the same lurch and distant boom ricochet once more.
Tilting my head toward the sky, my grip on Archer tightens as panic sets in.
The midmorning sky erupts in color, fizzling streaks of light darting in every direction, unfurling in glittery crackles as my heart races wildly in my chest. I hold my breath, waiting for it to subside, but it only grows more intense as the clap of gunpowder echoes across the sky, followed by a flash of crimson that scatters molten stars in every direction.
“Archer?” I wince with every roaring blast, my spine so stiff it aches as a kaleidoscope of colors paints the air.
Chaos erupts around us, some dancing in delight at the mystical scene, while others remain as confused as I am. Certain it’s never going to end, I narrow my eyes as a flash of white catches my attention.
Fluttering and floating, it draws closer until I reach my hand out to grab it, but Archer is in protective mode and beats me to it.
“Fuck,” he rasps, making me frown in confusion as he stuffs the piece of paper in his back pocket. But if he’s trying to shield me from it, it’s pointless when more begin to fall.
Students scramble to capture them, and I tug my hand free from my hated mate’s to secure my own. Only when my gaze rakes over the content do I wish I hadn’t bothered.
The Fifth Kingdom needs a champion.
Will it be you?
Set your kingdom free, and be the hero you were destined to be.
“Who would do this?” I blurt, blinking at Archer as sheets and sheets of the same thing scatter all around us.
“I don’t know, but this is out of hand,” he grumbles, casting his eyes at our surroundings, and I follow his line of sight, gulping when I see that the mass of students has intensified, each reading the same cryptic message.
I understand what it means. I was there when the other kingdom leaders spoke of it.
“What in the hell is going on?” Teddy hollers, racing toward us, Sax and Baron a few steps behind him. He takes a second to assess me, making sure I’m alright, before he looks to Archer for answers.
“I don’t know, but talking about it here won’t do us any good,” Archer admits, dragging a hand down his face.
“Are you okay?” Sax asks, coming to a stop beside me, and I nod.
A shrill note splinters through the air, only this time, it’s not fireworks demanding our attention, but Professor Carbon with a whistle lodged between her lips. Her face reddens as she elongates the sound, and Baron grunts.
“Is she aware we heard the damn noise as soon as she blew it?” He rubs at his temples as the noise finally stops.
The whistle falls from her grasp, hanging around her neck from a thread as she lifts her hands to cup her mouth. “Dorm rooms now. We’re on lockdown.”