Chapter 11 #2
Leo’s smile faltered ever so slightly at her approach, but he quickly masked it with his usual charm, a flash of white teeth and a wink. As she leaned in closer, he smoothly extricated himself from her grip, shifting away with practiced ease.
"Hey, Kyra," he greeted, his voice warm but with just a hint of forced coolness. "Sorry, got a little busy." He gestured toward me, waggling his eyebrows in a mockery of innocence. "Had some... important company."
I narrowed my eyes at him, irritation bubbling up in my chest. His nonchalant attitude was infuriating, but I said nothing. Instead, I just shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel.
Kyra, however, didn’t seem bothered by Leo’s slight withdrawal.
Her lips curled into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she stepped closer to him, her fingers brushing against his arm as she turned her gaze to me.
"Oh, I see," she said, her voice sharp with something like amusement. It didn’t meet her eyes. "A new plaything, Leo?"
Leo chuckled, though there was an edge to it that didn’t entirely match the light-heartedness he was attempting. "Not exactly," he replied, his tone a little too smooth for comfort. "Just... someone I’m getting to know. You don’t mind giving us some space, do you, Kyra?"
Her eyes flashed with something dangerous, a flicker of possessiveness, before she smiled again—this time with even less warmth. "Of course not, darling," she said, her gaze lingering on me with a strange intensity. "Just don’t forget who’s been here longer."
She leaned in, brushing past Leo to take a seat at the table nearby with a quiet confidence that left no room for argument. Her entourage followed her like loyal shadows, a silent reminder of the subtle power dynamics at play in this place.
I sat there, feeling the tension in the air, wondering how many others like Kyra were now watching me like I was a threat.
“Don’t do that.” I hissed, my voice low and sharp.
Leo feigned confusion, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Do what?”
“Use me as an excuse to escape your harem of bimbos.” I shot him a glare, unimpressed by his casual attitude.
Leo laughed aloud, the sound rich and amused. “Why not? It’s fun.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, like I was just a game to him.
“Yeah, until your little friend skewers me in my sleep,” I shot back, gesturing to Kyra, whose face was now stormy with jealousy. Her eyes narrowed in that dangerous, dark way that made my skin prickle.
“You can take her,” Leo insisted with a shrug, the confidence in his voice borderline infuriating.
“Ha!” I laughed aloud, a sharp bark of disbelief. “You are fricken hilarious.”
“Fricken? Who says fricken?” Leo chuckled, his gaze warming with amusement. He leaned in close—too close—his breath brushing my ear, and I instinctively recoiled, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Careful, angel. Keep talking like that and you might just learn what ‘fuck’ really means,” he whispered, his tone playful but laced with something darker.
I flushed bright red. “No thanks, Leo. I’m good,” I muttered, forcing my eyes to look away. This was a game to him, and I wasn’t about to let him win.
“Too bad. Under all that hair of yours, there’s a pretty little minx just waiting for her chance to play,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.
My face burned, an immediate rush of embarrassment and frustration flooding me.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to acknowledge his words, but inside, I felt a spark of something I couldn't quite suppress.
I quickly tried to change the subject, desperate to move past the unsettling tension between us. “So, what happens next?” I asked, the words coming out sharper than I intended.
Leo leaned back in his seat, flashing a wicked smile that only made my nerves tangle further. “Next?” he echoed, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, now that you’ve survived your first breakfast with me, I suppose we’ll see if you’re ready to join the rest of us in training.”
I glared at him, but there was nothing playful about the way he said it. “And what if I don’t?” I shot back, a challenge laced in my tone.
“You won’t have a choice.” His voice was quiet, certain. “Slade doesn’t take no for an answer when it comes to fighting. It’s what he breathes, angel. You push back, and he’ll just push harder. You try to fight him… he’ll work you longer.”
My stomach dropped. The certainty in his voice wasn’t a threat—it was a warning. One I assumed came from experience.
When Slade appeared at our side a few minutes later, I wasn’t surprised. He moved like a shadow—silent, sharp, always watching. His presence seemed to suck the warmth out of the air, and even Leo, for all his bravado, straightened a little when Slade stepped into view.
“Time’s up,” Slade said, his voice flat and cold as steel. His eyes flicked to me, unreadable. “You’ve got a schedule to keep.”
I pushed back from the table, ignoring the last bite of food I hadn’t touched. Leo gave me a lazy grin, stretching like a cat who hadn’t been threatened at all. “Try not to miss me too much, angel.”
I didn’t answer him. Slade turned without another word, already striding away. I followed, the murmur of the cafeteria fading behind me.
As we stepped into the corridor, I hurried to catch up to him. “Can you slow down? Not all of us are like ten feet tall and built like a grumpy grizzly bear.” I grumbled.
He didn’t slow, didn’t flinch. “Move faster.”
“Right,” I muttered. “Because it’s just that easy.”
His jaw ticked, but he said nothing. The silence stretched between us like wire, tight and humming. I hated how heavy the air always felt around him, like even my thoughts had to tread lightly.
“You don’t say much,” I said, finally.
“I don’t need to,” he replied. “You speak loud enough for both of us.”
I almost laughed. Touche
We eventually made it to a large and empty arena.
He pointed to the running track that raced around it. “Ten laps to start. Go.”
I stared at him. “You’re serious?”
Slade didn’t answer. Just crossed his arms and gave a single, sharp nod.
I muttered curses under my breath and started running, the slap of my sneakers echoing off the high arena walls. The track stretched around a vast, empty space, and every step felt heavier than the last. By the second lap, my lungs were burning. By the fourth, my legs were lead.
He didn’t move. Just stood there like stone, arms folded, eyes locked on me with the intensity of a predator. Not judging. Just watching.
My body was still weak from the streets. I hated it.
By the seventh lap, I started to falter. On the ninth, I stumbled. Hard. My knee hit the ground, sharp pain lancing up my leg.
Slade didn’t flinch. Didn’t offer a hand. Didn’t speak.
Jaw clenched, I pushed myself up and finished the tenth lap, breath ragged and body shaking.
I stopped in front of him, sweat pouring down my spine. “Happy?”
He met my gaze. Then, after a beat, gave the faintest nod.
That was it.
I glared at him. “You’re not gonna say anything?”
Slade’s eyes flicked over me. Then, finally, a quiet murmur: “Better than I thought.”
I blinked, surprised.
He turned and walked away.
No praise. No orders. No explanation.
Just silence—and the expectation that I would follow.
Slade didn’t give me long.
He stepped into the circle of the arena’s centre and tossed something toward me — a dull wooden training sword. I barely caught it before it smacked me in the face.
“Up,” he said simply.
I straightened. “No break?”
He didn’t answer. He just pointed to the ring drawn out on the ground in chalk. Someone was already stepping into it — a broad-shouldered boy with a cruel grin and golden-furred ears flicking through his hair. A shifter.
“Seriously?” I muttered.
Slade’s face was stone. “Fight.”
I didn’t even have time to protest before the boy lunged.
I barely parried his first strike, and the force of it jarred my whole arm. He was fast, confident, and clearly used to this — circling me like I was prey. His smirk widened when I stumbled.
“You’re the king’s new pet?” he sneered. “Thought you’d have teeth.”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy not dying.
The shadows were closer here. I could feel them—slithering beneath my skin like whispers, coiling through my veins, waiting. This place was steeped in them, like the whole arena was stitched together with threads of darkness.
So, when the shifter lunged again, cocky and fast, I didn’t step back. I let instinct take over.
I let go.
My body melted into smoke.
His strike sliced clean through air. His momentum carried him forward, and he stumbled, eyes wide with confusion.
“What the—?” he yelped, spinning to find me.
Gasps rippled from the others circling the arena. Even Slade’s brow twitched ever so slightly. I blinked back into form just behind the shifter, heart pounding, my breath shallow with the rush of it.
It had worked. It had actually—
But the moment passed.
I tried again—reaching inward, grasping for that same unravelling sensation—but this time, nothing happened. No shadows answered. No smoke. Just me. Flesh and blood and panting lungs.
Shit.
The shifter recovered fast.
Too fast.
Before I could react, he slammed into me with a brutal shoulder-check that knocked the wind from my chest and sent me sprawling onto the dusty floor. My head hit hard. Dazed, I saw stars.
“Guess the magic tricks got a cooldown,” he sneered.
The silence in the arena was sharp-edged now. Watching. Waiting. Judging.
I heard footsteps. Heavy. Controlled.
Slade stopped beside me, looking down with unreadable eyes. No sympathy. No anger. Just silence.
I gritted my teeth and forced myself upright, swiping the blood from my lip with the back of my hand.
“Get up,” Slade ordered, voice like gravel and ice.
I blinked up at him, vision swimming. Every part of me throbbed—shoulders, ribs, even the backs of my eyes.
“I can’t,” I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them.