Chapter 6 Evira #2
“Trumped-up elitist fucking asshole,” he muttered to himself as he rounded me and slumped down heavily into the seat beside me on my left.
I breathed in his strong spicy scent that was a blend of cloves and cinnamon.
“You know he can hear you, yes? Basilisk hearing and all?”
He grinned at me. “Well aware, icicle.”
“Well, that’s not exactly the most mature—icicle?”
His grin widened. “That’s right.”
“You’re not calling me that.”
He turned to face me fully, propping his elbow on the desk, making my breath hitch as the action had him moving closer to the point where I could feel the heat from his skin—not just the sensation of the rage and volatility of his power while he was in a furious state.
Or, while he had been.
He’d shifted on a dime since he’d sat down.
“Why not?” he asked. “It’s appropriate with your whole ice dragon heritage. And cute.”
“You call me that again, and I reserve the right to refer to you as hellion.”
His lips quirked. “Done.”
Well… that had backfired.
“You really get off on it, don’t you?”
He arched an eyebrow. “What? A raging hard dick and a warm, slick cunt?”
Whoa.
My lips parted.
He stared steadily for several moments.
And then he winked. “Nah, what were you getting at, Evira?”
I couldn’t answer right away.
I’d never been spoken to like that before.
Never had such graphic sex talk thrown at me.
Even in the rare times that Torvek and I had discussed sex, it had been me going the more brazen route, he didn’t throw it back at me.
And maybe there was something screwed up inside me, but… I liked it from this blazing little Ifrit.
I cleared my throat and I saw amusement dancing in his eyes from me needing to.
“I meant, you get off on being a provocateur.”
“Wow, that’s a really nice way of calling me an asshole.”
“No. If that’s what I’d meant, I would have said it.”
“Yeah, you do curse a lot, don’t you? For a royal especially.”
He’d been watching me.
I propped my elbow on the desk then. “That said, I did mean that you’ve really got the dramatic fucker thing down well.”
He slapped his hand to his heart. “Oof. You’re burning me, baby. And that’s really saying something considering the ice versus fire thing we’ve got going on.” He frowned. “Is this about Win?”
“Maybe partly.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Well, between us, it was never my intent to hurt him. Not in any way. All right?”
“But you did. Repeatedly.”
He shifted his weight, then startled me as he leaned in close and whispered at my ear, “Being drawn closer to the likes of me would break him.”
As he eased back, emotion flickered in his eyes.
But with a roll of his shoulders and a steadying breath, he hid it away. “Do you get me?”
“Why flirt with me if you think you’re bad for people?”
“Not people. Winter. And you’re not Winter, are you, icicle?”
Before I could even fathom how to respond to that, he sank back in his chair and kicked his zebra-print boots up on the desktop, just narrowly avoiding hitting the interface. “Speaking of some people being bad for others, you up for doing something about that shithead ex of yours?”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said, as he shoved up the sleeves of his tee, a whole lot of ink coming into view all over his arms. It was a microcosm of his personality—gritty, harsh and hard-edged designs interspersed with artsy and sentimental imagery.
Something stood out to me beyond all of that, though.
The mark on his right forearm.
A surface-level assessment would class it as severe frostbite.
But it was more than that.
There was deep sub-dermal damage, and his skin was literally forced into a frozen state that wasn’t retreating. As I listened and scented it, I couldn’t feel any healing actually taking place—no movement at all.
Fuck, if he wasn’t an Ifrit, he wouldn’t be functioning right now, because his system would have shut down.
It was the flaming intensity and his fiery magical makeup that was allowing the frozen damage to be bypassed, his body finding a way to do so.
It wouldn’t be possible for most others, save for maybe a magic-wielder highly experienced in fire magic, or a Fire Dragon, possibly an Ancient. And of course… Winter Nox.
“This won’t heal,” I told him, grasping his wrist and examining the damage in even closer detail.
“It’s just taking time.”
“No. It’s not healing. At all. The damage is too severe for your body to manage anything on top of already fighting to maintain the rest of your system.”
I ran my fingers over the pale-blue patch of what would appear to laypeople as just ice, but was in fact a great deal more, interspersed with white jagged veins of glacial fusion.
He hissed.
“I can fix it for you.” I gestured around the room with my free hand. “But it can’t be here.” I released his arm and sat back. “And then we’ll talk about the Keuric situation. Just… don’t refer to him as my ex again.”
“Don’t want his stain on you?” he asked, carefully.
“Something like that.”
“What did he do to—”
“Ah, all ready and waiting. Primed to learn,” a voice came from the door.
We both turned to see Professor Jornol Dryvan walking in. He was Dark Fae, and a highly experienced magic-wielder. He appeared to be in his early-forties by human standards, but he was actually in his fourth century of life.
His silky black hair was secured in a neat braid. A beige waistcoat hung loose on his willowy form, a white pressed dress shirt beneath was tucked into a pair of gray slacks.
Despite his slight build, potent power rolled off him as he glided down the aisle between the desks and reached the front of the class.
With a graceful twirl, he slapped his hand to the miniature magical sun, activating it, while then using the momentum to face us and look out at the room.
Letters floated out and spelled out the name of the class.
They were quickly followed by little magical animated constructs a few inches tall each—a cyclone, a crashing wave, sparking lightning, flaming embers, a mountain of ice, and a ball of shimmering swirling magic, which I assumed represented arcane magic as opposed to the rest which were demonstrating elemental magic.
He had the whole class riveted already as we tracked the moving and levitating animations.
I watched him take in four students sitting at the desks by the front, the corner of his mouth turning up. I wasn’t surprised, it was amusing. Maybe a little disturbing too, actually.
There were four sorcerers decked out in long black leather coats with the collars turned up.
Their hair was all styled the same—dyed a deep brown, short on the sides, and tousled on the top.
They were Kai Hunter fanboys. It had become a thing over the last decade as that infamous sorcerer’s feats had been engraved deep in the hearts and minds of many, and Kai had popped in to several academies for a single guest lecturer class, which had put a real person to the legend.
“Now,” Professor Dryvan began, his tone carrying that quiet resonance particular to those who’d lived centuries.
“Arcane and Elemental Synergy is often regarded as an entry-level course. That, however, is a misconception. While it is offered to first-year students, its inclusion in your curriculum is not due to simplicity, but necessity. Every magic-wielder, regardless of origin or discipline, must learn how to interact safely and effectively with others. To prevent harm. To deepen coexistence. To understand the very currents that connect us through power itself. This is why you’ll find students of varying experience seated among you—first-years beside upper-years, for instance.
Some of you are here because your power level demands a disciplined understanding of synergy; others because your temperament or the nature of your species makes interaction with unlike magics more volatile.
Whatever your reason, this class offers something essential to all who wield magic: the mastery of coexistence through control, respect, and comprehension.
Remember that harmony between magics is not achieved through dominance, but through understanding their differences—and their union. ”
With a flick of mauve magic, he stilled the magical animations.
“After completing four sessions of the prerequisite for hybrid beings to this class, first-year hybrids will join us also.”
The door opened and a large man with spiky golden hair strode on in, a contrast to Professor Dryvan as he was super casual, wearing a pair of gray ripped jeans and a navy tank that revealed his swirling blue dragon markings that looked like waves all over his skin.
I recognized him from my childhood. He’d run in political circles in the Dracoryn Realm for a while, and my dad had even had meetings with him in Vortimer Palace—private meetings, but I’d seen him walking about a couple of times.
The professor smiled and gestured for him to come forward.
When he reached the front, he introduced him to the class, “This is HICI Educator, Carnis Parlant, a Dragon-Sorcerer. On his dragon side, he is a water dragon from House Lavadon, and resides primarily in the Dracoryn Realm.” The professor’s gaze flicked to him.
“But he has kindly agreed to share his expertise with us all.”
Carnis caught my eye and winked, before then greeting the class.
Professor Dryvan went on, “We will begin with the foundational aspects of magical harmonic attunement. Today, instead of sitting through a theory-based lecture, you will partake in a lab.” With another spark of his magic, he called forth a scroll.
“Ah,” he said, looking it over and sharing it with Carnis.
“We have a lovely variety in this class already. sorcerer, sorceress, Celestial, Light Fae, Dark Fae, dragon, Shadowmancer. And an even assortment of hybrids—Sorcerer-Wolf, Light Fae-Shadowmancer, Light Fae-Vampire, Sorceress-Vampire… the list continues on. This is excellently conducive to the goal of this class.”