11. Asha
Asha
Igo flying across the room and hit the wall with a thud.
Blackridge looms over me and holds out his hand. “And that, class, is what you don’t do.”
“Fu—”
“Finish that sentence at your peril, Miss Asha,” Blackridge says as I ignore his hand and get myself to my feet.
Hale is bristling with hellhound energy that makes me think he is going to shift.
Then he does.
This lecture is a disaster zone of the highest order, and Blackridge is enjoying it way too fucking much. Fire explodes through the lecture hall.
Students scream and scatter as Hale’s hellhound form lands between Blackridge and me. His massive body blocks my view of the headmaster. Flames race over dark fur, burning through the floor wards without touching the stone.
For one distracting second, I forget Blackridge just threw me across the room with a ‘theoretical test’.
Hale is enormous. His claws cut into the floor, and green-gold fire burns in his eyes. A line of flame travels down his spine before spreading across his tail.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper.
Blackridge looks past him at me. “Control your hound.”
That restores my concentration.
“He isn’t mine to control.”
Hale snarls, and fire pours through the sound.
Blackridge lifts one hand. Power strikes Hale in the chest.
Hale is forced into a shift again like he was in the courtyard, and he snaps back to fully-clothed human form in what looks like extreme agony, which he shakes off. “Stop doing that,” he growls.
“Stop acting like a feral animal,” Blackridge responds.
“I am a feral animal.”
“How nice for you. Miss Asha? Shall we continue?”
I look around the lecture hall.
Half the students have taken cover behind desks. The other half have active magic gathered in their hands, though none of them appear interested in aiming it at Blackridge. Cowards.
“What exactly are you teaching?” I ask.
“Combat theory.”
“You attacked me without warning. That is active combat, not theory.”
“That was the lesson.”
“You will have to do better than that.”
“Don’t stand within striking distance of a more powerful opponent while arguing with them.”
I dust off my clothes. “I’m going to remember you said more powerful when I get my body back.”
“I expect you will.”
Hale moves in front of me again. His green-gold eyes cut to me. “He threw you into a wall.”
“I noticed. I was involved.”
“He could’ve hurt you.”
“He did hurt me.”
Flame flickers over his skin.
“Not helping,” I tell him. “Also, I intend to return the favour later. You’re ruining the anticipation.”
Blackridge walks back towards the podium with infuriating calm. “Your anticipation doesn’t concern me.”
“It should. I’m creative.”
Somewhere behind me, someone lets out a short, surprised sound that catches. I turn towards it, and the noise dies.
Blackridge rests his hands against the podium’s surface. “Today’s lesson concerns provocation. Your opponent wants an emotional response because emotion makes behaviour predictable.”
Hale looks at the scorched floor around his boots. “You attacked her to provoke me.”
“I attacked Miss Asha to demonstrate both of your weaknesses.”
“Mine is apparently caring when someone hurts her,” Hale says. “I can live with that.”
The words strike somewhere inconvenient. I refuse to examine the feeling.
Blackridge’s attention settles on me. “And yours?”
“Possibly allowing arrogant headmasters to keep their limbs.”
“Attachment,” he says. “Your weakness is attachment.”
The room falls quiet again.
I smile, though I want to drive my fist through his throat. “You’ve known me for several days. Don’t pretend you understand me.”
“I understand you, Miss Asha. Sit.”
I do so with bad grace. Hale follows, pressed close to my side, which is both annoying and comforting.
Blackridge surveys the students emerging from behind their desks. “Attachment creates leverage. If your enemy knows who matters to you, they know where to apply pressure.”
“That isn’t a revelation,” I say.
“No, but your response was. Hale abandoned control before confirming whether you needed help.”
“I was thrown into a wall,” I remind him.
“You stood immediately.”
“Because I’m not fragile.”
Hale’s knee presses against mine under the desk. Heat runs through the contact, and I resist the urge to move closer.
Blackridge turns to the board. Silver script appears across it.
Identify. Provoke. Exploit.
“Textbooks open to page three-four-three. Miss Asha. Start reading. The rest of you take notes.”
“You want me to teach your class for you?” I scoff.
“Read,” he clips out the word, and it chills me.
I drag my textbook closer and flip it open to page three-four-three.
“Provocation forces an opponent to divide their attention between strategy and emotional instinct. The resulting conflict delays rational action and exposes established bonds. The strongest attachments produce the most reliable outcomes. Threats against a bonded creature may cause immediate magical escalation, physical transformation, or abandonment of tactical position.”
Hale shifts beside me.
I keep going. “Experienced combatants may exploit this response by inflicting controlled harm, manufacturing danger, or isolating the bonded creature from support.”
The words irritate me more with every sentence.
“Once attachment overrides strategy, the affected creature becomes vulnerable to misdirection, restraint, and forced surrender.”
I stop and look up at Blackridge to gauge his reaction.
He gives the room a long look. “The principle appears simple. Applying it successfully requires accurate assessment. Choose the wrong attachment, and you expose your strategy.”
His attention moves through the lecture hall before returning to me.
“Mr Javal,” he says, glaring at a horned male near the front. “Who would you target to provoke Miss Asha?”
The student looks horrified to be involved. “Hale?”
“Obvious,” Blackridge says. “Potentially effective. Who else?”
A fae female lifts her hand with visible reluctance. “Tobin?”
“Why?”
“He protects her.”
“This is fascinating,” I drawl. “But can we move on?”
“Gladly,” Blackridge states and takes over reading. His voice carries through the lecture hall while silver script changes across the board. I’m only half listening.
But not because I don’t understand the lesson. I understand leverage perfectly. I’ve used lovers, heirs, commanders, and entire bloodlines to force surrender. Attachment creates openings. Everyone knows that.
I simply dislike being reminded that I’ve acquired several.
Blackridge reads another paragraph, each word delivered with enough emphasis to make me suspect this entire lecture exists to annoy me personally.
Hale stays close beside me. Fire pulses beneath his skin whenever Blackridge mentions forced surrender.
I nudge his knee. “Stop proving his point.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re burning the desk.”
He glances at the blackening edge beneath his hand and removes it. The wood repairs itself immediately.
Blackridge shuts the textbook. “We’ll test the theory.”
I sit straighter. “Are you going to throw me into another wall?”
“Not unless you continue volunteering.”
“I didn’t volunteer the first time.”
He ignores me and looks at Javal again. “Mr Javal. Attack Hale.”
The horned male’s face loses colour. “Sir?”
“You identified him as Miss Asha’s attachment. Provoke her.”
“I didn’t identify him. You asked—”
“Now, Mr Javal.”
The male stands reluctantly. Red power builds around his fingers, bright enough to illuminate his horns. Hale watches him without moving.
“If you hit me,” Hale says, “I’ll return it.”
Mr Javal looks at Blackridge.
The headmaster gives him nothing.
“I approve in principle, but he’s going to die,” I mutter, but Blackridge hears me anyway.
“He won’t,” Blackridge replies.
“You sound confident.”
“I control this room.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Javal fires and his red power tears across the room.
Hale doesn’t dodge. He catches the attack against his chest, and it bursts over him in a shower of red sparks. Fire answers instantly, racing up his arms.
I’m already out of my seat.
Blackridge smiles. “Predictable.”
“Bite me.”
I attempt to throw my lame-ass blue magic at Javal. It crosses half the distance before a silver barrier drops between us. My power strikes it and dissipates.
“I hate you,” I snarl at myself.
“Sit, Miss Asha,” Blackridge says. “Mr Hale. You just decided to take the hit?”
“To see if he’d hurt me,” Hale says.
Javal takes a cautious step backwards.
Blackridge’s eyes narrow. “You absorbed an unknown attack to assess its strength.”
“I knew what it was.”
“You’ve never fought Mr Javal.”
“I’ve watched him train. His power stuns before it burns.”
Javal looks surprised. “How did you know that?”
Hale’s green-gold eyes remain fixed on him. “You telegraph everything.”
A sharp, derisive snort cuts the tension. Javal’s red magic fades.
Blackridge doesn’t look impressed. “And if he altered the spell?”
“I’d heal.”
“You assumed.”
“I assessed.”
I remain standing. “You made your point badly.”
“I made it perfectly. You attacked Mr Javal the moment Hale took the hit.”
“Of course I did. Javal attacked someone bound to me.”
Hale turns his head.
I replay the sentence and decide I don’t regret it enough to take it back.
Hale’s expression gains entirely too much satisfaction that I consider attacking him instead.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
The barrier remains between me and Javal, silver power covering the room. This body can’t break through it.
I sit.
“Your honesty is useful,” Blackridge continues. “Now we can establish the extent of the bond.”
“No, we can’t.”
“You reacted to Hale’s pain.”
“He wasn’t in pain.”
Hale taps his chest. “Stung a bit.”
I glare at him. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. Always.”
I roll my eyes, but a warm, fuzzy feeling spikes my blood.
Blackridge picks up his textbook. “Mr Hale’s loyalty makes him predictable. Your possessiveness makes you equally vulnerable.”
“I’m not possessive.”
“Your actions say otherwise.”
I slump into my seat and cross my arms. “Can we move on? Again? Pick on someone else now?”
“We can,” Blackridge says, and his sharp gaze zeroes in on a fae girl sitting with her witch boyfriend in the back.