Chapter 12 #2
The way he glared made my stomach clench with dread. He definitely knew something. Maybe not everything, but enough to be suspicious.
“I’ve been keeping up with all my coursework,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “My grades are still—”
“Your grades are adequate,” he cut me off. “But grades aren’t everything, are they? Commitment matters. Time spent practicing matters. Controlling your magic matters. You need to be better than your classmates, not just on par with them.”
“Each student as their own strengths, Mr. Quinn—” Professor Blackwood started.
“I don’t care about each student,” he snapped.
“I care about my son. About him making sure our family maintains its reputation.” He turned to me, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
“So I will say this once and once only. I allowed you to join the fencing team in exchange for a lighter course load this year. I thought it would be a gift received with gratitude.”
“I am grateful—”
“What I saw today was not gratitude,” he barked.
“It was sloppy, unpracticed, half-baked magic that a trailer park wizard could do better. If this is how you plan to repay me, then you can turn in your resignation to the team immediately.” He reached out, poking me in the chest, hard.
“Straighten up and get your act together. This is your final warning.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, each one carefully chosen to cut as deeply as possible. I stood there, feeling the weight of his disappointment and barely contained rage pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket.
“Yes, sir,” I managed, the words scraping against my throat like broken glass.
“Good.” His expression didn’t soften even slightly. “Professor Blackwood, I trust you’ll keep me informed if my son’s performance continues to be substandard.”
“Of course, Mr. Quinn,” she replied, though I could hear the reluctance in her voice.
My father gave me one last withering look before turning on his heel and striding away, leaving me standing there feeling like I’d been flayed alive in front of my professor and my fellow students.
The silence stretched between Professor Blackwood and me as we watched his retreating figure disappear around the corner of the building.
“Archer,” she said gently, and the kindness in her voice almost undid me completely. “Are you alright?”
I wanted to tell her no. That I wasn’t alright at all.
That I was drowning in expectations and secrets and the constant terror of disappointing everyone around me.
That I’d been so distracted by thoughts of amber eyes and skilled hands that I could barely focus on anything else.
That my father’s unexpected appearance had sent me into a panic because I was terrified he’d somehow discovered what I’d been doing with Professor Crowe against all odds.
Instead, I nodded stiffly. “I’m fine. Just had an off day.”
She studied me with those perceptive eyes that had probably seen hundreds of students struggle with family pressure over the years. “You know, magical control issues often stem from emotional turmoil rather than technical deficiency. If there’s anything you need to talk about...”
“Thank you, but I’m really okay,” I lied, already backing away from her concerned gaze. “I should go. I have... I need to get to my next class.”
I didn’t wait for her response, just grabbed my bag and practically fled from the practice area.
My hands were still shaking as I walked across campus, the afternoon sun feeling too bright and too hot against my burning cheeks.
Students passed by in small groups, laughing and chatting about normal things like assignments and weekend plans, completely oblivious to the fact that my world felt like it was crumbling around me.
By the time I reached the history building, my panic had crystallized into something sharper and more dangerous.
Anger.
I was angry at my father for showing up unannounced and humiliating me in front of my class, at myself for losing control so spectacularly, and at the entire fucking situation that had me walking on eggshells and jumping at shadows.
But mostly, I was angry at the way my father’s words kept echoing in my head.
Straighten up and get your act together. This is your final warning.
He was right about one thing. I had been distracted. I’d been so consumed with thoughts of Valen, with our upcoming private lessons, with the memory of how he’d felt inside me, that everything else had taken a backseat. My magic, my studies, even my basic ability to function like a normal person.
And now my father was threatening to take away the one thing that I actually enjoyed at this fucking school. The fencing team.
I climbed the stairs to the second floor, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Valen’s office was at the end of the corridor, and I could see light spilling out from under his door. Our first private lesson wasn’t scheduled for another hour. But I couldn’t wait any longer.
Today, one way or another, I was going to complete my rebellion against my father. Even if he never found out, I’d be able to look him in the eye and smile from now on knowing that I’d done the one thing he despised more than anything in the world.
I’d given myself to a vampire, to a monster. And there was no way, magical or otherwise, that my father could ever undo that.
I knocked on the door, perhaps more forcefully than necessary, my resolve renewed.
“Come in,” came Valen’s voice from inside.
I pushed the door open and stepped into his office, slamming it behind me. Valen looked up from the papers he’d been grading, his amber eyes widening slightly when he saw me.
“Archer,” he said, and I caught the way his voice softened just slightly on my name before he seemed to remember himself. “Mr. Quinn. You… are very early.”