Chapter 24 #2
I spin around, my gaze falling on the girl from the bonfire. Ambrose’s little messenger. She’s propped against her doorframe, both arms crossed over her chest. Her mahogany hair is pulled up in her signature tight ponytail. She watches me with a silent question.
“No,” I drawl. “I’m knocking for the fun of it.”
She shrugs, turning to go back to her room.
Dammit. “Wait,” I call out, pushing all my pride aside.
She turns back around, her sharp gaze falling on me.
“Do you know where he is?” I ask begrudgingly.
She flicks her head in the direction I just came from. “Saw him in the study hall a few minutes ago,” she says simply.
I give her a short nod of thanks and head that way. I can feel her eyes on me the entire length of the hall. As soon as I round the corner, I practically break out in a sprint. The moment my feet hit the landing, a large hand shoots out, wrapping tightly around my wrist.
“Hello, little Caderyn.”
Motherfucker. Today is not my day.
“What do you want, Makon?” I ask in clear exasperation.
He doesn’t take the hint and proceeds to hold my wrist. “What’s the rush? Didn’t anyone ever tell you running indoors is ill-advised?” His large frame blocks any escape, and he’s clearly not in a hurry to release my wrist.
I glance down at his hand before bringing my attention swiftly back to him.
A sharp glint appears in his eyes. “It’s starting to make sense. I’ll admit I didn’t get it at first, but I’m starting to understand,” he says in a dark undertone.
I roll my eyes. I have no idea what he’s talking about, nor do I care. “Awesome. Now let go of me,” I order.
He shrugs. “I don’t think I will.”
“Makon, I really don’t have time for this today.”
“Make time.”
This man is insufferable.
I mentally pray for patience and physically yank my wrist in a downward motion.
His lips pull into a grin, full of mirth and malice as his grip tightens.
“What do you want?” I grunt, flicking my eyes to his darker ones.
He’s dressed head to toe in black fighting leathers, with a dagger at his hip and a long sword at his back. He looks like a warrior god seeking vengeance. And death. Somehow, I landed in his grasp instead.
He lifts a shoulder. “Everyone’s in a bad mood today. Tell me, why is that, little Caderyn?”
“Stop calling me that. And how would I know?” I hiss.
“I think you’re the only one who would know,” he answers cryptically.
“Well, I don’t. So kindly fuck off and let go.”
A soft chuckle slips past his lips. “Your presence is requested in the training field.”
“What? Why? I don’t have practice today.”
“You do now.” A corner of his mouth lifts into a vicious smirk.
“You—”
“Careful, you don’t want to hurt my feelings now, do you?” he asks, a hand over his heart in mock hurt. He keeps a hold of my wrist as he turns, clearly not trusting me to get to our destination on my own.
The moment his back is turned, I stick out my tongue. “Jackass,” I mutter.
“I heard that.”
I’m pulled through the barbican, past the courtyard, down the stone steps, and onto the training field.
All against my will, I might add. The moment our feet cross the threshold to the field, he drops my wrist as if he never wanted to hold it in the first place.
I massage the red mark from his manhandling and step in front of him to tell him exactly where he can go.
His eyes dart over my head, directly behind me.
I turn to follow his gaze, and a borderline hysterical laugh breaks free.
Unbelievable. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse.
Not one, not two, but four Noctryns in full battle gear stand at attention.
Each face is obscured by a darkened helmet, staring straight at us.
I’ve got four bodies of muscle in front of me and a wall of muscle behind me.
Not going to lie, my chances aren’t looking too good right now.
I spin around, lunge sideways, and attempt to sidestep Makon. I barely make it five steps before I’m immediately wrapped in shadows. The cold tendrils render any movement impossible. This is the first time I’ve actually felt a shadow—the frigidity comes as a surprise.
“That was dumb,” Makon says in a low, disappointed voice, shaking his head as he steps in front of me. He drags me back to the waiting upperclassmen, depositing me directly in front of the tallest. The shadows recede.
It’s now just me and a possible expiration date.
The Noctryn tilts his dark head slowly. A predator studying his unwilling prey.
I cross my arms and push my chin up. I won’t make it easy on him, and I certainly won’t beg. If I’m to go up against a handful of dark wielders, I’ll do it on my feet.
He doesn’t speak. It’s as if he’s purposely making this uncomfortable.
I feel like a rabbit caught in a snare. Silence surrounds me, and my instinct is telling me to run. Fast.
He stands unnervingly still, just staring at me.
I draw in a long breath and exhale. The angry slant of my eyes reflects me in his visor. I look pissed off. I am pissed off.
“So,” I say, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
He steps forward. Each movement is sudden and precise. The other three hang back. Well, that’s informative. Now I know who the leader of the group is. As if I had any doubt to begin with.
I throw the other three a mocking smile and a little wave. Unfortunately, I don’t get any reaction from the trio.
The leader places a gloved hand under my chin, tilting my head back and forcing me to look at him.
His masked face hides whatever emotion lies underneath.
Twin swords gleam at his back as they do with many of the dark wielders, as well as daggers tucked in various places along his armor.
He looks as if his sole purpose is to destroy.
Kingston fucking Adair.
He drops his hand and adjusts his gloves. “Your survival skills are seriously lacking,” the dark voice says behind the helmet.
An undignified huff slips past my lips. Out of all the scenarios I played out in my head, this one’s the worst. I say absolutely nothing.
He continues to stare at me, in no apparent hurry to alleviate my discomfort.
“Evidently, my luck is too,” I finally admit, under my breath.
His cold laugh sends shivers down my spine and red flags in every direction.
“Today, practice will be a little bit different from what you’re used to.
We’re running a drill.” I can feel his eyes taking me in from head to toe.
“Your ability to blend into your surroundings will be tested since you’re fighting skills are obviously not up to par,” he says dryly.
“Sounds fun,” I reply sarcastically. “And let me guess, you guys have to find me?”
“Not find you. Hunt you,” he delivers coldly.
Come again?
I cock my head to the side. “Hunt me?” I repeat.
“You’ll have a ten-minute head start.” He lifts a gloved hand, pointing toward the Witchwood. “And then we hunt.”
“And if I refuse?”
He fully faces me. “I would not recommend that, Heathen.”
I flick my eyes toward the woods. “What are the stakes?” I ask. There are always stakes.
“If you remain hidden for one hour, you get two weeks off field practice,” he says, keeping his head toward me.
“And if you find me?” The apprehension on my face is reflected in his visor.
“If we find you—” He steps closer, wrapping a loose strand of my hair around a gloved finger. “We fuck you.”
I rear back. “Excuse me? That will certainly not be happening,” I declare. Hell would freeze over before I let this man touch me.
He lifts a shoulder. “Then don’t get caught.”
“And all that shit you threw at Ambrose earlier? About me being a first-year?” I throw right back in his face.
“I’ve changed my mind.” He drops his hand and leans close to my face. “Run.”
I do what any reasonable person would do.
I run.