Chapter 17 August
AUGUST
You idiot.
August stumbled back into his tent, cursing under his breath.
He ripped his black cloak off his shoulders and tossed it onto the floor, frantically undoing the first few buttons on his shirt, fingers trembling as he struggled to keep his hands steady.
He felt suffocated, like the air around him had begun to solidify, clogging his lungs.
He’d squandered yet another opportunity to be alone with Wren.
Why did he always say the wrong thing? Why did he always have to ruin everything?
August loosened the collar of his shirt, stretching the muscles of his neck.
His eyes drifted toward the full-length mirror in the corner of his tent, involuntarily flinching at what he saw reflected at him. Despite the emotional exhaustion wreaking havoc on his body, he looked…strong. As if the shadows swimming beneath his veins had gifted him with a renewed sense of life.
August reached a shaking hand to the collar of his shirt, tugging down, exposing the hard planes of his chest and the shadows that swam beneath.
They flowed through his tanned skin in thick streams, twisting up and down as though following an invisible current.
He’d had to use more shadow magic than he wanted to during the battle simulation—not to mention the practice duels he’d been forced to participate in afterward.
Onyx Unit was proving to be as ruthless and cruel as he had anticipated.
He had to be careful.
If he used too much, he might begin to lose himself even before Equinox.
“You all right there, Augustine?”
As soon as the voice rang out behind him, shadows burst from August’s fingertips, ready for a fight.
He hadn’t even meant to call on them. It was as if they had simply taken over, spurred on by the rise in his emotions.
But the person standing behind August didn’t look ready for battle. In fact, they looked far from it.
Callum Whitlock exuded lazy arrogance. As he leaned against the tent wall, eyes snaking up and down August’s face, his thin lips curled into a crooked smirk.
He seemed quite pleased with himself—getting the upper hand over August wasn’t easy, and he must have known that, given the smug look on his face.
August snuffed his shadows, though he felt them retaliate inside him.
No, no, no, they seemed to whisper to him. Use us, use us, use us.
“It’s General Hughes to you.”
“Right.” Callum offered a mocking salute. “General Hughes. Of course.” He tapped his chin, feigning innocence. “Though…I’m not so sure that title is accurate anymore. You know, given the fact that you betrayed your own sister and then came crawling back asking for her forgiveness.”
August wasn’t in the mood for this. Whatever this was. Even though he had spent his time in purgatory safely behind the walls of Blackwood Academy, he had corresponded with Edith and other Demien Order recruits throughout the years. And it hadn’t taken long to hear of Callum’s infamous reputation.
Callum Whitlock was bloodthirsty and desperate for praise—a dangerous combination.
“What do you want?” August bit out.
“Our catalyst was in the battle simulation.” Callum spoke through a calculated smile. “Though I’m sure you knew that already.”
August ground his teeth together and prayed he’d have the strength not to rip Callum’s soul right out of his chest.
“What’s your point?”
Callum looked up, eyes beaming. He was loving this. The tension in the air. The back-and-forth. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise August if Callum got off on it. Some people were drawn to confrontation, in more ways than one, but Callum seemed to crave it.
The other boy pushed himself away from the tent wall, slinking closer to August.
“You know how sound travels in the battle simulation cavern…echoes?” He whispered the last word, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “At one point, when I was looking for our little catalyst, I swore I heard you two talking together.”
Shit.
August kept his composure, though the muscles along his neck involuntarily twitched.
“You heard wrong,” he muttered casually.
But Callum continued to edge closer, that infuriating teasing glint in his eyes, as though he was savoring every second of discomfort.
“It’s funny,” he chuckled, rubbing the side of his jaw. “It almost sounded like you were helping her. Or trying to protect her.” Callum shook his head, sucking his teeth. “But…that would be terribly strange, wouldn’t it?”
August didn’t take the bait. He knew what Callum wanted—he was provoking him. But if August’s facade was going to waver under anyone’s questioning, it wasn’t going to be Callum’s.
“I’m assuming there’s an end to this rambling?” August asked.
Callum came to a halt in front of him.
“I suppose I’m just wondering why you wouldn’t eliminate her?” He cocked his head innocently. “She wasn’t on our side. She was our competition.” Callum tapped his finger against his chin, mouth twisting into a grin. “Unless, of course…your feelings for her might have gotten in the way—”
“I don’t know what you think you heard,” August said, seething, his patience snapping. “But you’re sorely mistaken. And if you want to keep that tongue of yours, I’d recommend silencing it before I do everyone a favor and carve it out of your mouth.”
“You’re awfully defensive, General Hughes.” Callum’s eyes narrowed, the teasing spark hardening into something far more sinister. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you still cared for the girl.”
Callum was treading a dangerous line. This was a power play. A desperate attempt at elevating his rank. And August knew what he had to do to end it…and to ensure that it would never happen again.
“Listen to me very carefully,” August began. “I don’t think—” But Callum cut in.
“I mean, I’m not saying I blame you.” He chuckled, hand splayed over his chest. “Our little catalyst is a vision. That face…and that body.” He whistled, shaking his head.
“I can understand why your loyalty might have…wavered.” Callum took a step closer.
Too close. The next words he spoke were whispered through a sickening grin.
“I would have probably betrayed us, too, for the chance to screw her.”
August didn’t even remember calling upon his shadows.
Perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps they simply felt his rage and knew what he wanted—what he needed.
And then two tendrils of shadows were shooting out of him, twisting around Callum’s throat, constricting it so tightly that the boy’s face was bleached white.
But the shadows weren’t done…and neither was August.
He flexed his fingers and one of the shadows slithered into Callum’s mouth, snaking down his throat, choking him.
The other boy tried to rip the shadows away, but August wouldn’t let him go that easily.
He flicked another set of shadows toward Callum, twining them around his wrists, binding them together.
Callum tried to speak, but his words were muffled.
He gagged, retching as he tried to break free, but August only twisted tighter, digging deeper.
The power hummed in his veins. An intoxicating feeling that seemed to envelop every inch of his soul.
Yes, yes, yes, the shadows cried. More, more, more.
He hated how good it felt—but God, it felt good.
It was a power he’d never even known was possible.
August curled his fingers closed and the shadows darkened, shifting from wispy gray to midnight black, trailing down to the floor in a thick current of fog.
He was using too much. He knew he was. The rational part of his brain echoed in the background, begging him to stop, that it was enough, but it just felt so damn good to watch Callum writhe and squirm under his power.
August stepped forward and gripped Callum’s face tightly between his hands, pinching so hard that his fingernails dug into Callum’s cheeks, crimson beads of blood dripping from the crescent-moon indents he was leaving behind.
“Listen to me very carefully, Private Whitlock.” August barely recognized his own voice, dark and wrong, distorted by the power running through his veins.
“I am not someone you want to mess with. Not anymore. The silly boy who clung to his humanity and kept himself hidden away in Blackwood is gone. My sister is cruel, but even she has her limits.” August brought his mouth to Callum’s ear, unable to stop a smirk from creeping onto his lips as he whispered the next words: “I, however, have none.”
Callum coughed, sputtering, eyes rolling back into his head.
“If you ever mention this again—if you ever even utter her name in my presence—I will slither my shadows into your soul and tear your bones out, one by one.” August’s shadows vibrated as the promise left his lips.
“You will be unable to speak. Unable to move. And every time your body heals itself, my shadows will resume their duty, deteriorating your insides over and over for the rest of your useless eternity. You will know nothing but the feeling of my shadows coursing through your veins. For once”—August wrenched Callum’s head back, forcing the boy’s wide, panicked eyes onto his face—“you will know what real agony feels like.”
With that, August stepped back, his shadows retreating with him.
Callum choked in a rasped breath, clawing at his throat, coughing until the air moved through his lungs.
But when Callum glanced back up at August, hands pressed against his knees, it wasn’t fear August saw etched upon the boy’s face.
It wasn’t terror. It was something else… something far more concerning.
Callum Whitlock looked up at August…and smiled.
“Well, General Hughes. You’ve certainly surprised me,” he muttered, sauntering back toward the entrance to the tent. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes locked on August the entire time. “Who knows…you might prove to be useful after all.”
And then he was gone, waltzing out of the tent without a backward glance, and August was left with the terrible feeling that somehow, despite everything, Callum had gotten exactly what he wanted.