Storm of Shadows, page 31
“She’s always angry. She doesn’t want to be our thrall. She’s made that clear. Nothing’s changed.”
“Dude,” I snort, “are you really that bad a fuck?”
He pushes back his chair, hands tight on the armrests and glowers at me. “Trust me, she had a good time.”
“So why isn’t she wearing our collar and perched on your lap, purring like a good little kitten?”
“If you’d ever met a fucking kitten, you’d know the last thing they do is sit nicely in your lap. They’re more likely to scratch at your face and claw your eyes out.”
Yeah, that does sound more like our little thrall. Kitten – seems the perfect way to describe her.
“And yet they’d still be back for more of that affection.” I chuckle. “So tell me, Beaufort, what the fuck happened?”
He sighs again, and leans back in his chair, resigned to tell me the truth.
“We argued.”
“So what. You argue. She argues. It’s what you both love to do.”
“It was more than that this time.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “The girl hates us, Dray,” he says, with an emotion I haven’t seen since we were kids. Beaufort, unlike Thorne, does have them, he just keeps them very well hidden. “She really fucking hates us.”
“She’s always put on this act–”
“It isn’t an act. She … has her reasons.”
I consider him some more, snapping the toothpick between my fingers. “But you said–”
“I know what I saw,” he snaps.
“Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you misinterpreted–”
“I didn’t,” he says coolly. “There was no mistaking it. I saw it in the vision. She is meant to be ours. Whether she hates us or not.”
Whether she hates us or not.
No one hates me. Not really. And any that have hated me – any enemies, for example – are now dead. I don’t think our little kitten would hate me if she got to know me better. I’m not Beaufort and I sure as hell ain’t Thorne. Look how much she liked me in my wolf-form.
Which gives me an idea.
I wait until just before breakfast time, slip outside and jog out to the trees. Transforming’s easiest out where nature rules, where all my wolfish instincts take over. Sure, if I need to I can transform whenever and wherever I please – it’s what makes me one of the most powerful shifters in the realm. But I’ve always preferred to do it in private, underneath the trees, where the ground is soft and organic beneath my feet.
I shrug off the pants and shirt I’m wearing, tip back my head and let the shadows overtake my body, let them twist bone, shape muscle, stretch skin, until I’m forced down onto four paws and the world has shifted on its axis.
I’m still me, hidden beneath this fleece of fur. Only fucking wilder, fucking stronger, and definitely more fucking impulsive.
I fucking love it.
I lean back on my paws, stretching out my back, swiveling my ears, and then nipping at my tail.
Like this, the world loses its colors; everything is muted, less bright, less vibrant. But the smells. Fuck, the smells! Millions of them all competing for my attention, all screaming out some story, promising some freaking amazing adventure. Sharp, sour, sweet, pungent, putrid.
And the sounds too. I can hear the path of a small rodent as he scurries through the distant undergrowth; can hear the ruffle of an owl’s feathers in the branches high above me, and hear the faintest whisper of voices from the academy far away.
I indulge in my wolfish side for just a moment, following the scent of a squirrel through the trees. I soon catch up with him and then it’s a chase. Me crashing through the undergrowth and leaping over discarded branches and broken brambles, hot on his tail. I nearly catch him, but then he’s scrambling up a tree and out of reach.
I stand panting, the adrenaline soaring through my veins. I let it fade and yank myself back. There was a reason for transforming. Another scent I intend to hunt out. One that stinks of sex – of wet pussy and soft limbs.
I drag my tongue over my snout and then I sprint off in the direction of the academy.
I can smell the humans before they see me, and so I hug the shadows. I don’t want anyone to see me but her. Not in this moment anyway. I track through the campus until I reach the tower that houses her room, then still hidden from view, I drop down onto my stomach, rest my head on my front paws and wait.
Time passes, my perception of it distorted in my wolf form. He’s more patient than me – even if he is wilder. But eventually I catch a hint of her scent. I lift my head and peer through the gloom. My wolf eyes may not be able to detect the colors my human ones can, but my vision in the half-light is far sharper. Soon I see her turn the corner, alone, her coat pulled tightly around her to ward off the cold and her head bowed down. I jump up onto my paws and trot towards her.
I’m guessing the little kitten is lost in her thoughts, because she doesn’t register my presence until I nudge my snout against her side and whine.
She jolts, jumping away, her hands raised like she’s either about to surrender or about to fight.
I sit, dragging my paw through the air and whining a second time.
“Oh, it’s you,” she says flatly, which was not the reception I was hoping for. The last time we met in my wolf form, she was all fucking over me. “Go away. I don’t need this today. The trial starts in less than an hour.”
If I could laugh, I would. Because, yeah, I’m not leaving.
I stare at her with what I’m guessing are a pair of adorable puppy eyes and whine some more.
“Don’t look at me like that. I know who you are under all that fur and you can’t fool me with this cutesy thing.”
Me, cute? I’m not sure it’s how the last person I ripped apart would have described me. But if the little kitten wants to call me cute, then I won’t be complaining.
I stand and pad towards her. She doesn’t try to turn away or run. She’s smart and she knows I’m faster than she is. Does she also know how much I like to fucking chase? In fact, this would be so much more fun if she were to run. Then I could hunt her down and …
“What do you want?” she says, scowling at me.
I nudge my nose against her hand and then lick at her fingers. Her skin tastes divine. But it’s her pussy I really want to eat.
She snatches her hand away from my mouth and crosses her arms over her chest, staring off into space and not at me.
I rub my head and body against her legs hoping she’ll relent and pet me, but she only huffs in annoyance.
I huff myself through my nostrils and sink to the ground, looking up at her again with hurt eyes.
She glances at me but refuses to relent.
This isn’t working.
Time for a new plan.
I close my eyes and the shadows creep from my veins, wrestling the wolf back into submission. My body transforms again. This time skin retracts, bones shorten, muscles turn. It hurts. Of course it fucking does. But it’s a part of who I am.
I roll up to stand on my bare feet, towering above the little kitten.
“Jeez,” she says, jumping away from me and bringing her hand to cover her face. “You’re …”
“Yes sweetheart I am,” I say, letting the pecs on my chest dance for her.
“You need to put some clothes on.”
“Nah,” I say.
“You’ll freeze to frigging death.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t feel the cold. Blood runs hot.” I stare at her with heat in my eyes. The kitten’s green eyes dart down towards my cock and away again. I chuckle. “Like what you see?” I run my fingers through my hair. “I hear you have a thing for riding cock. Wanna go back to my room and ride mine?”
She glowers at me – just like Beaufort did earlier. The two of them are more alike than they realize. I’d say that’s half the reason for whatever the hell argument they had.
“Do you get a kick out of swinging your cock about and flashing girls – who by the way really don’t want to see your cock!”
I ruffle my hair, then hold up my forefinger between us.
“One – I’m not swinging my cock – but if that’s something you want to see …” She shakes her head adamantly and I hold up another finger. “Two, actually, kitten, most girls want to see my cock.” I shrug. “What can I say, most girls want to suck it too.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Just because Beaufort pissed you off in some way–”
“You all piss me off. I already told you multiple times, I don’t want to be your thrall, I want nothing to do with you.”
I take a step towards her. “For someone who wants nothing to do with us, it sounds like you had rather a lot to do with Beaufort.”
My gaze flicks across her face as her cheeks pinken.
“That … that was a mistake.”
“Mistakes can be fun.” I lick my lips. “Wanna make a mistake with me, little kitten? Wanna make one all over my face as I lick out your pussy?”
And to my utter fucking delight, she draws back her hand and slaps me hard across the face. This is starting to become a habit. Our very own brand of foreplay. I love it.
Stars spin across my vision and my senses tingle, my magic electric, all the blood rushing down towards my cock.
I go to grab her, but the little thing is quick, and she’s slipping out of reach and scurrying away, up into her tower – just like that squirrel in the tree.
Fuck, that was fun.
The more I play with the little thing, the more I like her.
Chapter Sixty
Briony
I knock on Fly’s door. He skipped breakfast this morning, saying he was too nervous to eat. I wish I’d done the same, that way I could have missed that awkward encounter with Dray.
Fly steps out onto the landing and shuts his door behind him.
“Looking dapper today,” I tell him, taking in the way he’s styled his tracksuit and combed his hair this morning.
“Cupcake, if I’m going to die today, then I’m going to at least die looking good.”
“You’re not going to die, Fly,” I say, although I’m sure the nerves are apparent in my voice. “Trials aren’t meant to be deadly, remember? They’re meant to fish us out before we are actually killed,” I say, parroting something we’ve read and heard thousands of times, even if I don’t believe it, even if it was those fears that led me straight into Beaufort’s arms last night. “They try their best to keep casualties to a minimum.”
He takes my hand and squeezes it. “You’re right. Both of us are going to ace this trial. I was a little skeptical when you dragged that scrawny little thing to our lunch table–”
“Do you mean Clare?” I ask.
He nods. “But it was genius. All the studying up on different trials actually makes me feel like we stand a chance – not just of surviving unhurt, but of actually coming out of it with some points.”
“And Clare is also, you know, fun to be around and a good friend.”
“That too,” he says, winking at me. “I have a feeling we’re all going to end up old friends together in Granite Quarter.”
I smile back, although I know his cheer this morning is an act. I can feel his hand shaking in mine.
We meet Clare outside her tower. She’s looking as nervous as I feel, a tissue pressed to her nostrils because she has another nose bleed.
“Remember,” Clare says as we walk along together, “if you meet a pool of water do not wade into it, and if you find anything that looks like nightshade, pocket it.”
“We know,” Fly says, “we went over this already.”
She nods, then sniffs and presses the tissue more firmly to her nose. “And if your path is blocked by green fire, it may look and feel hot but you can cross unharmed. It won’t burn you.”
“Yep, we went over that too,” I say, squeezing her arm. “Are you okay, Clare?”
She sighs. “Not really. No offense, Briony, but I really don’t want to end up in Slate.”
“None taken,” I tell her. “And you won’t. You know more than anyone. You’re going to be fine.” I hand her some clean tissue from my own pocket. “Come on. Let’s hurry up. We might be able to see something and, I don’t know, that could be helpful.”
The others nod and we pick up the pace, jogging across the campus to the far field where we’ve been instructed to gather for the trial this morning. It’s funny – I’m about to face something incredibly dangerous. And yet – despite my nerves, that argument with Beaufort and all those tears this morning – I don’t feel half as downbeat, half as miserable, as I did that day I arrived at the academy. Three weeks have passed and, despite the attempts on my life, the breaking of my nose and the situation with the Princes, I realize things are not all bad. In fact, I feel pretty damn good. I have a feeling that’s down to the two friends I have walking with me. I’d forgotten how good it is to have a friend, to have someone on your side, and all of a sudden a wave of panic hits me.
I stop dead in my tracks.
“What’s wrong?” Clare asks, fiddling with the material she’s tied around the back of her head to keep her glasses fixed firmly to her face.
I reach out and take her hand in my right and Fly’s in my left.
“You will be careful, won’t you? Don’t do anything stupid or … I couldn’t bear to lose either of you.”
“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Cupcake. I don’t know, you may be weird as hell with very bad fashion sense, but I kinda like you.”
Clare chuckles, causing more blood to trickle from her nose, but my face remains deadly serious.
“Promise me,” I whisper.
Fly squeezes my hand again.
“I promise.”
“Me too,” Clare says, inhaling and then nodding.
It seems we aren’t the only ones that had the bright idea of arriving at the trial site early. Half the students, excluding the shadow weavers, are already here milling about and talking to one another quietly. They aren’t the only ones. All the faculty staff are here including the gruesome twosome, Madame Bardin, and Professor Tudor – plus a collection of other adults, all dressed in their finery. I assume they must be representatives from the different Quarters because among them, is our very own director dragged all the way from Slate Quarter, looking a lot less confident than he usually does and dressed in a suit that is worn and drab. To think, he always used to look so well dressed to me before.
However, what we can’t see is the trial site itself. A large fence has been erected, blocking our view of the fields, the moorland and the forest beyond. To one side, a stand has also been built with rows of seating. The chairs at the front are padded and large, the ones further up the stand plain old benches. Some of the adults are already seated.
“What are all those people from the Quarters doing here?” I ask the other two.
“It’s part of the rules,” Clare whispers to me. “There has to be representatives from all the Quarters here to oversee the trials – to ensure they’re fair and to help decide how points are awarded.”
I snort. “I don’t see why they’d bother.”
“Because sometimes – very rarely mind you,” Clare says with sarcasm, “there are kids who are good academically and physically and could reasonably be placed in Iron or Granite. Sometimes both Quarters want them. There needs to be a way of deciding.”
“And sometimes,” Fly says, staring off towards the stands, “kids do well in these trials but the Quarters don’t want them anyway because they don’t meet the ideal, they don’t fit in. There has to be a way to make it fair.”
“Fair,” I snort, “nothing about this is fair.”
Clare shushes me and even Fly looks a little uncomfortable with that remark, especially when the Empress herself appears in a swirl of mist in the next moment, accompanied by her troop of guards and a flurry of trumpets. Madame Bardin hurries off to meet her and I peer up at the clock tower. Fifteen minutes until this ordeal begins.
More and more of the students trickle in from the campus but it’s not until the Empress and Madame Bardin are standing waiting on a stage that’s been erected right in front of the giant fence, and the large clock is about to strike ten, that the shadow weaver students come strolling out onto the field. They aren’t wearing their black tracksuits and I realize no one actually instructed us to wear our uniforms today. Instead, they’re dressed in the clothes many were wearing the day we arrived: bright colorful outfits that make them look more like gods than young adults who have only just passed through puberty.
Instinctively, I search for Beaufort, Dray and Thorne among the group, finding them leading the pack. Beaufort has purpose engrained across his brow, his gaze focused right ahead. Dray bounces along on his toes, lazy grin on his face as he chews his gum, gaze flicking everywhere. And Thorne has the usual blank expression he always wears as if this day is like any other.
Dray’s eyes find me among the crowd but today I’m not rewarded with my usual wink or the usual smile that makes me think he’d like to devour me for dinner. No, his gaze doesn’t linger on me at all, simply passes over me as if I’m of no interest at all. I should be pleased with that. It suggests that perhaps those three men have finally gotten the message. But to my surprise, disappointment sparks in my belly instead. Really? Do I actually care?
I don’t have time to analyze this strange response, though, because Madame is clapping her hands, the sound magically amplified, and drawing everyone’s attention away from the shadow weavers and to the stage.
“Welcome, Empress.” The Empress inclines her head ever so slightly. She’s dressed in another beautiful gown – this one the color of the sky on a cloudless day, the crown once again woven into her hair and decorated with small blue flowers. “Welcome distinguished guests from across the realm.” She points out towards the people who have now taken their seats in the stands. “And welcome students to the first real Firestone Academy trial of the year. Before we begin, I will remind you of the rules.”
