Chapter 21 – Billie #2
I scan the room, looking for the least threatening option. Every seat is flanked by alphas who look like they're deciding whether I'm prey or property. Neither option appeals.
Then I see them.
Back row, corner seats. Tallon and Prince Corvinus, sitting side by side like they own the fucking place. And Corvinus actually does.
Tallon gives me an encouraging smile. Corvinus just watches, those winter-sky eyes holding something that might be amusement. Or hunger. Hard to tell with the Fae.
Of course they're here. Of course my new schedule puts me in a class with the entire Golden Triad. Because the universe hates me and wants me to suffer. Or at least the Registrar's office does.
I make my way to an empty seat in the middle, refusing to sit near them. The alphas I pass lean back, giving me space like I might explode if they get too close. One shifter actually growls low in his throat, a sound that makes my inner omega want to roll over and show her belly.
Fuck. That.
I drop into the seat, pulling out my notebook with hands that shake slightly. The desk is scarred with decades of use, names and symbols carved into the wood by students long gone.
"Now that we're all here," Professor Drakiss says, and there's definitely an emphasis on 'all,' "let's begin."
He moves around the podium with that grace I'm starting to associate with shifters of a more dangerous species. What, is the question. "This class focuses on practical combat application. Theory is useless without execution."
A Fae near the front raises his hand. "Professor, with all due respect, why is an omega in this class?"
The question I've been dreading. Every eye swivels back to me, and I resist the urge to sink lower in my seat.
"An excellent question, Mr. Kalwin," Drakiss's smile is sharp enough to draw blood. "Miss Moreau's placement was specially requested by a benefactor who believes her unique background warrants exposure to combat training."
Requested by a benefactor. Right. More like ordered by a prince who doesn't take rejection well.
I chance a glance at Corvinus. He's watching me with that same curiosity from the party. Our eyes meet, and his lips curve into a smile that makes my stomach drop.
He did this. The smug bastard actually changed my schedule.
"Of course," Drakiss continues, "should Miss Moreau find the material too challenging, accommodations can be made."
The condescension in his tone makes my blood boil. Too challenging. Like I haven't spent twenty years training to kill these fuckers.
"I'm sure I'll manage," I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds.
"We shall see." He turns to the board, and symbols appear in midair, glowing faintly. "Today we'll be discussing defensive wards and how to break them. Who can tell me the three primary types of magical barriers?"
The lecture that follows is actually interesting, which pisses me off. I take notes despite myself, memorizing information that might be useful. How to identify ward signatures. Weak points in common defensive spells. The specific frequency needed to shatter most Fae enchantments.
All things that could help me kill a prince.
Surely he knows this. Surely he's fucking with me.
Halfway through, Corvinus raises his hand. "Professor, what about omega-specific protections? Surely they warrant discussion?"
Drakiss's jaw tightens slightly. "Omega protections are covered in a different course, Your Highness."
"But we have an omega present." Corvinus gestures toward me, wearing a tone of false innocence. "Seems like an excellent opportunity for practical demonstration."
Every alpha in the room perks up. I can feel their attention shift, their focus narrowing on me like I'm suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.
"I don't think—" Drakiss starts.
"Come now, Professor." Corvinus stands to his full impressive height. "Miss Moreau expressed such confidence in her abilities. Surely she wouldn't mind demonstrating how an omega defends against a determined alpha?"
This motherfucker.
He's doing this on purpose. Putting me on the spot, forcing me to either back down and look weak, or stand my ground and blow my cover as the harmless omega playing dress-up.
"I'm not sure that's appropriate," I say, aiming for uncertain and probably landing somewhere around murderous.
"Why not?" He's closer now, having crossed half the room while I was focused on not setting things on fire with my mind. "You were a hunter, after all. Surely you learned some defensive techniques before they learned what you are?" The challenge hangs in the air along with that wicked smirk of his.
The trap is obvious. If I fight, I reveal too much. If I don't, I look pathetic. Either way, he wins.
But two can play this game.
I stand, setting my notebook aside. "What did you have in mind, Your Highness?"
His smile widens. "A simple exercise. I'll attempt to approach you. You'll use whatever means necessary to maintain your distance."
"Without weapons?" I gesture to the empty space between us.
"Omegas rarely have weapons at their disposal," he points out. "Better to learn how to defend yourself with what you have."
Which is absolutely nothing. Perfect.
"Fine." I move to the center of the room, where there's more space. The other students shift their chairs back, creating an impromptu arena. Great. Now I have an audience for my humiliation.
Corvinus circles me slowly, and I track his movement with my eyes. Predator assessing prey. Or maybe the other way around. Hard to tell anymore.
"Whenever you're ready, Miss Moreau," Drakiss says, and there's something in his tone that suggests he's going to enjoy this, for all his appearance of protest. He may be a professor, but Corvinus is clearly the one calling the shots here.
Corvinus moves.
Fast. Faster than I expected, even knowing what he is. One second he's five feet away, the next he's closing the distance with the kind of speed that would make most humans freeze.
But I'm not most humans.
My body reacts before my brain catches up. Step left, drop low, use his momentum against him. Basic defensive maneuvers drilled into me since I could walk. He adjusts mid-strike, his hand catching my wrist instead of empty air.
Shit.
His grip is iron, pulling me forward and off-balance. But I've trained with partners stronger than me my entire life. I let myself fall into the pull, using it to get closer instead of farther. My free hand goes for his eyes, fingers curved into claws.
He catches that wrist too, now holding both my hands. We're close enough that I can see the flecks of silver in those blue eyes, smell that starlight scent that makes my inner omega purr.
Fuck. Focus.
I bring my knee up, aiming for the weak spot between his legs that's universal to all male anatomy. He blocks with his thigh, twisting so I'm suddenly off-balance again.
The world tilts. My back hits the floor hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. Corvinus follows me down, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand while the other presses against my collar bone, holding me in place.
"Yield," he says softly. Not a bark, not quite, but unmistakably a command. Devoid of alpha dominance, yet just as compelling to my omega hindbrain that's begging for a DIY lobotomy at this point.
Like hell.
I wrap my legs around his waist, using core strength to buck him off.
It should work. It's worked on training partners twice his size.
But he doesn't budge, just presses down harder, his weight keeping me pinned.
And now his cock is pressed against my crotch, making it clear where the size of his ego comes from.
"I said yield, Miss Moreau."
"Fuck. You."
He laughs, and the sound vibrates through me in ways that are absolutely not appropriate for a combat demonstration. "Such language. What would Madame Loriyne say?"
"She'd probably tell you to get off me before I bite your fucking throat out."
"Would you?" His face is inches from mine, and I hate how my heart is racing for all the wrong reasons at the rush of his cool breath against my lips. "I'd like to see you try."
For one insane moment, I consider it. Sinking my teeth into his perfect neck, tasting his blood, watching the shock in those winter eyes as he realizes too late what I'm made of.
But there are too many witnesses. Too many variables that could go wrong.
So instead, I go limp.
Complete surrender, every muscle relaxing.
He blinks, surprised. "Giving up already?"
"Just remembering what I am now." I let my voice go soft, defeated. "An omega. Not a hunter. I don't get to fight back anymore."
The change in him is immediate. His grip loosens, concern flickering across those perfect features. "I didn't mean—"
I strike.
My head snaps forward, forehead connecting with his nose with a satisfying crunch. He rears back, blood already streaming, and I use the momentum to twist free. I'm on my feet in seconds, putting distance between us while he clutches his face.
The room erupts.
Half the alphas are on their feet, snarling. The other half are laughing. Drakiss looks like he can't decide whether to be impressed or amused, but he's definitely trying to mask both.
And Corvinus is smiling.
Blood dripping between his fingers, his perfectly refined nose clearly broken, and the bastard is smiling.
"Well played," he says, and his voice is muffled but genuinely amused. "I should have expected that."
"You wanted a demonstration." I'm breathing hard, adrenaline singing through my veins. "There's your demonstration."
He tilts his head back, and I watch as he snaps his nose back into place. The blood stops flowing, the broken bone mending with Fae magic. Within seconds, he's perfect again. Like I never touched him.
"Impressive," he says, wiping the remaining blood from his face with a handkerchief that appears out of nowhere. "Tell me, Miss Moreau, do you always play possum before striking?"
"Only when my opponent underestimates me."