Chapter 24 Luther #2
“Let’s fucking find out,” Killian mutters before downing his drink again and making to follow them through the crowd.
He’s mobbed, however, when they realize an Heir walks amongst them.
With one glance at Roth, I slip away with Killian’s distraction and duck into an empty side hall, wielding the light around me and disappearing without a trace.
As soon as I find an exit door, I strip out of my clothes and let my demon finally rise.
The first few shifts were excruciating. It used to bring me to my knees when my bones thickened, my muscles and sinew and skin stretched beyond limit to reveal the rough hide beneath.
The stabbing ache of black horns growing out of my skull, the ripping and mending of flesh and bone as my wings burst from my back. It was agony.
Now, it’s freedom. A weight lifted off my chest when my wings flare outward, twitching with every small change in the air. Soundlessly, I bundle my clothes and launch into the air like a bullet. At this altitude, all of my problems fall away, left behind like dust in the wind.
It’s the closest to Heaven I’ll ever get.
I scan the campus grounds below, gliding down to the largest spire on the roof of the Great Hall to watch them. Nyx is close to Ramsey—too close, because he’s clearly losing it. Surprise surprise. Killian’s leaning against the wall watching with unabashed anticipation.
Their voices are carried away by the wind, but he’s doing what he’s always done.
It’s just a personality flaw at this point.
He stalks toward them until he’s face to face with Nyx, which pisses off the dragon even more and makes his own demon threaten to rise.
A deep warble comes from Ramsey’s chest when Nyx turns and frowns.
But it’s too late. His transition is inevitable.
When he falls to his knees, Killian wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her with him as the dragon becomes someone—something—unrecognizable.
The magnitude of power that rolls off of him is suffocating, even from up here.
With immense difficulty that I have no choice but to admire, he stands mid-shift.
His night-black wings spread wide, and it only takes one powerful downstroke for him to take flight.
Hot ozone burns my throat as the wake turbulence from his departure trails behind him, but the sound of Nyx smacking Killian draws my attention back to them once more.
He frowns, crossing his arms as she goes off on him.
Her chest is heaving when she finally stops, and Killian responds softly.
From the corner of my eye, Tori slowly makes her way across the patio and peers around the corner.
A moment later, Nyx follows her back inside.
Silently, I rise from my perch and glide down to meet Killian, landing in a crouch on the balustrade behind him.
He sighs. “Just fucking say it already,”
“That was stupid,” I mutter, still invisible.
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves me off, turning to lean against the cold marble.
“Why’d you piss him off?”
“He didn’t eat her.”
I scoff. “You’re upset he didn’t eat her?”
“If he didn’t eat her, that means he likes her.”
“So?”
“If he likes her, then he’ll get in my way.”
“Of what, her pussy?” I sneer, but he stills, eyes flooding with black.
“You saying you don’t want a taste, too? Don’t even try, you fuckin’ liar.”
I shake my head, not that he can see me. “She’s dangerous, man.”
“I’m dangerous. She’s a little hissy kitten.”
“Who has turned you down every time. Let her go, man.”
His menacing chuckle deepens as his demon’s voice bleeds through. “But I do so love the chase.”
“You going back in?”
He closes his eyes and tips his head back. “No rest for the wicked.” When his eyes open again they’re back to normal, shining with menace and mirth. “Happy hunting.” He salutes with a smirk before leaving back to the party.
Fucker. Sometimes I hate how well we know each other.
I wait until he’s out of sight before launching into the air once more towards the Foundation Stone.
At nearly 150 feet tall, the shining black obelisk reflects the scattered light at its base as students and faculty alike swarm the square like ants.
From the pyramidion, no one notices the wavering of light and shadow as I land, and I recognize the High Priestess, Esmé and the oldest Hektreia sister standing next to her on the elevated base of the statue as she finishes her speech.
“…the bonfire of Samhain is thus a benediction passed down from generation to generation, and its echoes reach beyond the Veil, calling forth those dark, unseen truths of our universe. I enjoin you all to take heed of the transformative power of Scorpio: the power of surrendering all that you are, to become all that you were meant to be.” Unease drips down my spine, and not for the first time do I wonder how powerful her divine magic really is.
With the conclusion of her invocation, the eldest Hektreia lights the bonfire and returns to her sisters.
There she is.
The Goddess of Night, made flesh under a dark, glittering cape.
Standing in front of the wooden structure as the flames rise, it’s like she’s coaxing them to life.
They reach for her, exploding in bursts of embers that float through air only to disappear into the darkness.
Even without knowing what kind of witch she’ll be—if she survives her epiphaneia—everything in my body tells me she’s going to be dangerous.
Which is why I need to break her before the threat of her power becomes a promise.
Raising my palm, I guide the heated air with my magic to dance with the embers, carrying them towards her.
Weeks of humiliation she’s endured at the hands of the Legacies and teachers hasn’t kept her down, but it’s harder to come back from making a spectacle of yourself.
Nothing like screaming “fire” in a crowded square to ruin everyone’s night with chaos and mayhem.
I expect her to start panicking, to make a commotion, but not only does she seem unfazed, she extends her hand to capture them. So I send more embers to surround her, waiting for the moment she starts screaming.
Except, someone else beats her to it when the train of her cape catches fire.
No. No no no—
She just watches as the white hot flame consumes the fabric.
Why isn’t she running? Why isn’t—
Before I can suffocate the fire crawling dangerously close to her skin, someone shouts her name and then a torrent of water knocks her to the ground.
Tori rushes to her side as the crowd parts around them, Cynthia and her friends trailing behind her to laugh and jeer at Nyx’s disheveled state.
When Tori tries to help her up, Nyx brushes her off.
She unclasps the cape from around her neck and it falls to the ground, a drenched, ruined pile.
Everyone watches silently as she finally stands, eyes blank, devoid of—anything.
Tori begins to fret, but Nyx just turns her back on the crowd, disappearing into the night as the darkness swallows her whole.
Tori turns on Cynthia and begins to argue with the Legacy, but I’m not paying attention.
My limbs shake with adrenaline from watching her almost get hurt.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.
She was supposed to scream, cry, become a laughing stock. Stay in her dorm to hide from ridicule.
Why couldn’t she just—
Frustration turns to aggravation like a vice around my chest, and I launch into the air once more.
By the time I find her, she’s walking away from Thane who stands there, watching her with his suit coat in hand.
I land when she slips out of sight beneath the tree cover, releasing the light from my control and becoming visible once more.
Thane tears his eyes from the direction she went, and looks at me with silent reproach.
Under his scrutiny, my wings twitch. “It was an accident.”
After a moment, he asks quietly, “Was it?” When I don’t answer, he sighs. “See you back home.”
I’ve been on edge since Samhain.
Thane’s been quieter than usual.
But I swear to God, if Killian doesn’t stop fidgeting, I will throw him out the window.
“What’s got your panties in a fucking twist?” I ask Killian the following Monday night as we chill on the couch in front of the fire while some shitty movie that neither of us are paying attention to plays on the TV.
He takes a long sip of his beer before rolling his eyes to me “She’s hanging out with the necromancer now,” Killian mutters petulantly.
“They were at breakfast together. It wasn’t enough the overgrown salamander is sniffing around her, now the Grim Reaper is throwing his hat in the ring?
At least the dragon could put up a good fight, but my biceps are bigger than his thighs.
I could snap him like a chicken!” he pouts.
Thane scoffs from his chair across from us. “Feeling a little emasculated there, Killer?”
“I just don’t get it!” he groans.
“You know what I don’t get? Why we’re still fucking talking about her.” They both look over at me.
“Oh yeah, it’s a total mystery why we’re talking about the girl that three out of four men in this room have seen naked, two of which have made her cum, and only ONE—” he glares at Thane, “—has tasted. Still fucking hate you for that, by the way.”
“If she hasn’t opened her legs for you by now, Killer, perhaps it’s not your looks she finds objectionable.”
Killian gasps at Roth’s casual insult. “Are you implying—listen here,” Roth lips twitch when Killian leans forward, wagging his finger at Roth’s smug expression.
“I am a ray of fucking sunshine compared to you assholes. I practically shit golden retriever energy. I even have a tail, for fuck’s sake!
” Thane shakes with laughter at Killian’s outburst.
“Perhaps we should address this latest development,” Roth muses.
“Why haven’t you already?” I ask him coldly.
He raises his eyebrow at my icy tone. “What would you have me do, Luther?”
“You’re Roth Kovacs. You can do anything. So why haven’t you?”
“For one, she’s protected by the Dark Council and Headmaster Church, not to mention Wolfram Brandt has personally taken her under his wing.
I suppose I could just kill her, but murder is a bit extreme for a first resort, wouldn’t you agree?
” I don’t respond. “She’s too much of an unknown to remove from the board right now.
I need to see what she becomes and whether she can be of any use with all the upset she’s caused.
If she amounts to nothing—as most do—you can do whatever you want with her.
” He waves, sipping his favorite scotch.
“Yeah that’s the only reason, Mr. Roth ‘pretty bird’ Kovacs.” Killian scoffs, and Roth’s black eyes flash in the firelight.
“Do you have a problem with that, mutt? Or are you the only one allowed to chase the pretty bird as she flits around, singing so sweetly of defiance waiting to be brought to heel?” Killian says nothing, crossing his arms instead.
“The fact that we’re even having this conversation is reason enough to get rid of her—”
“Enough,” Thane orders with the deep growl of his demon, blue eye flashing white. “No one’s saying you have to be fucking besties. But you’re not going to fucking hurt her.” Again. That last word is left unsaid, but it hangs in the silence nonetheless.
“My father informed me earlier that in addition to the Beauchamps, your Houses will be joining us for Saturnalia dinner,” Roth mentions a few moments later.
“Jesus, talk about a fucking boner-killer.” Killian downs the rest of his beer and sets the empty bottle on the table. “What do we have to do?”
“We’re all required to attend the dinner with our families, but I’m working on an excuse to stay elsewhere for the rest of Winter break afterward.”
“I still think we should train Xaphan to shit on command,” he leans back and sulks, muttering about strawberries being out of season.
“Do so at your own risk,” Roth warns.
“Maybe I’ll just let my demon do it and blame it on Xaphan. Now there’s an idea!” he exclaims, which lightens the somber mood. At least until Roth ruins it.
“Thane—your father will be there as well.”
“Fucking wonderful,” he mutters. “Guess I couldn’t ignore him forever.”
“Has he said anything else?” Killian asks, arms behind his head.
“Just more shit about the future of our House. I figured he just found another sacrifice to his ego to marry, but he hasn’t mentioned a new wife yet.”
Killian hums. “Maybe he heard about your dad’s betrothal deal with the Beauchamps?”he looks to Roth for confirmation.
“That’s just what we need, more women sniffing around,” I mutter.
“I’d trade places with you any day.” Thane scoffs, and then immediately freezes and grimaces at his own faux pas. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I shrug, but his apology doesn’t staunch the bleeding from his cutting words. They think being a spare means freedom from the expectations of being Heir.
The truth is, no one cares about betrothals and bloodlines when you’re sitting next to the throne.
No one cares about you at all.