Last Chance Reform

by Alex Lidell

  “I don’t understand.” I step quickly around Asher to face Ellis head-on. There was something between us back in that cage, a connection so fierce that it gripped my soul and magic both. That it still sends me nightmare postcards each evening. A bond that must still be there, because it’s too strong not to be. “I just want to talk. To tell you I’m sorry about—”

  “Ellis asked that you leave.” Asher’s beautiful face is as hard as granite as he shifts his weight to stand between his brother and me. When he speaks, there’s no mistaking the note of command—the promise of punishment if I don’t comply. “That’s reason enough for you to turn around and walk back to your room.”

  At the edge of my vision, I see Ellis’s forehead tense, but when I look at him directly, that hesitation is gone. The male’s golden eyes flash at me. Go away.

  What the hell? For a moment, I just stand there as if waiting for some curtain to lift, to reveal a different reality.

  But it doesn’t. And Ellis’s gaze doesn’t warm either.

  “Right.” I step back, as if space might save me from the bruising force of Ellis’s fire and ice. Whatever happened, whatever changed between Ellis and me to make him hate me so much, I need to get as far away from it as possible. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” Ellis confirms, and fuck me if that doesn’t hurt.

  Boxing me out with his body, Asher jerks his chin toward the hallway. “Go. You’re supposed to be in your room, Samantha. A malfunctioning lock isn’t permission to do as you please.”

  I’m numb as I turn my back to Ellis and walk out, Asher following on my heels.

  “How long were you out here?” the male asks coolly, his words striking me between the shoulder blades.

  I pause. Draw breath. Tell my stinging eyes to shove any thoughts of tears up their ass, and let the slow simmer of anger spill into my blood. “Long enough to know that the witch brought trouble with her.”

  Asher exhales behind me. “Samantha—”

  I must be suicidal, because I speed up as if I didn’t hear him. Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I want to piss Asher off. I don’t know.

  He moves faster than I can track, a streak of warm muscle that overtakes me and pins me to the wall, one hard arm on either side of my shoulders. A small rumbling growl escapes his chest, the wolf inside him closer to the surface than I’ve ever seen in the controlled military asshole.

  “Is this the part where you threaten to take a whip to me as well, sir?” I say, which is stupid but comes out of my mouth anyway.

  “This is the part where I tell you to pull your head out of your ass,” Asher snaps, the heat of his fury rolling off him in waves. “Though whipping you might actually do some good.” He draws a breath, the effort of keeping himself in check seeming to consume his attention for several heartbeats. “You are new to our world, Samantha, but the carte blanche your ignorance is granting you is running out much faster than you think. That bullshit about being confused over the open door? Lose it. You and I both know you knew the rules.”

  Yeah, well, can’t really argue with that one.

  Meeting his gaze, I stay silent. Not meek, but silent. The male’s earthy sandalwood scent pins me in place as firmly as his hands.

  “Do not press Count Victor,” Asher says, enunciating each word. “Do not press me. And for fuck’s sake, do not press Ellis. Do you understand?”

  Instead of answering, I reach for my magic, trying to imagine something happening. The earth opening up and swallowing him whole, for instance. Or swallowing me. Neither condescends to happen. I haven’t felt that buzzing in my blood since the day Quinn trapped me in my room.

  “Cadet?” Asher prompts.

  “Yes, sir.” I mean the words to sound empty, but they are not. They hurt. “I understand.”

  7

  Asher

  Asher’s hand tightened around his drink as he watched a group of demivamps take body shots off a female cadet. The girl laughed and writhed beneath them, shirt pulled up to her bra, aware of every male gaze in the room. Dusk’s pounding electronic music was giving him a headache—or maybe it was the shrieks of newly liberated demis grinding against each other on the dance floor, the weekend stretching out blissfully before them.

  Not only were the cadets descending into the very debauchery and creature rivalry Talonswood Reform had been founded to rein in, but Victor was all but cheering them on—while Sam attracted trouble like some kind of nuclear magnet. How the hell was Asher supposed to keep the cadets in check when the unholy duo of Count Victor and Samantha Devinee outflanked him on all sides?

  In seeming mockery of that thought, Samantha stepped out quietly from behind the bar to deliver an order, obviously doing everything she could to avoid being looked at. It wasn’t working. In her skintight black jeans and tank top, red-streaked hair swinging against her shoulders, she looked breathtaking. Ethereal. Dusk’s low red-tinted light sharpened her cheekbones and drew deep shadows beneath them. She was doing wonders for Cassis’s business already, every male vamp in the room seeming magnetically drawn to the bar, exuding a mixture of lust, hate, and fascination that made Asher’s skin crawl.

  Everything about Sam made his skin crawl, actually, his damn body lusting after the delicious witch even as he longed to get her gone from his academy. From the whole damn island. That, however, was impossible. Bryant had brought Samantha to Talonswood in hopes of making the witch malleable to his will, and Victor plainly had the same thought in mind. It wasn’t Samantha’s fault that she was caught in a surrogate war between two manipulative bastards, but fault little mattered. What mattered was the bottom line: everything Asher had ever worked for, fae and vamps coexisting without bloodshed, the witch was putting in jeopardy just by existing.

  “Earth to Asher,” Reese said, tapping the table in front of Asher. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose corded forearms, the vampire had his customary brooding darkness settled around him. “Where’d you go, warmblood? We’re discussing Ellis’s absurd little theory.”

  Asher rubbed the spot on his inner forearm where Sienna had left the same mark Ellis had over his heart and Cassis wore on his shoulder blade. Reese’s mark, also on the forearm, was covered beneath a Celtic knot tattoo that he had to re-ink every few months.

  “Ellis’s theory?” Asher kept his voice low, though, given the din around them, no one was likely to overhear even if he shouted. “You mean that we all, Cassis included, are fated mates to a witch? Don’t tell me you think it’s true.”

  “Of course not.” Reese’s mouth twisted as if the mere suggestion of a connection was too outlandish to contemplate. In fairness, since Sienna tore away his wife, the vamp had only survived by letting no one else get close. Unlike most normal beings, Reese had no middle ground. He either didn’t give a fuck, or he gave far too many.

  “Bollocks, bloodsucker. You feel a pull.” Ellis leaned toward Reese. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t.”

  Asher’s chest tightened, a shot of unwelcome anxiety spilling into his blood as he awaited the vamp’s answer.

  Reese took a sip of whiskey and met Ellis’s gaze. “I feel a pull to strangle her, but I think magic has nothing to do with it.”

  Right. Reese was right.

  “There’s something there,” Ellis growled from his shadowy corner. “She saw Sienna in my memories when the marks connected. Now she’s seeing Sienna when we’re not even connected.” The male shook his head. “There has to be a way to put a stop to that.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Asher watched the injured warrior silently. Though Ellis had flatly told Asher exactly which hell to go to when he’d tried to inquire about the wounds, the male’s scent hinted at the iron poisoning Reese feared. And if the beads of sweat along Ellis’s hairline were any indication, he was running a fever to boot.

  “Here you are. O negative.” Appearing with a tray beside Reese, Samantha set a silver goble
t in front of him. Despite the polite tone, the girl was holding her breath, and Reese moved the blood to the other side of the table.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Sam nodded without looking at him. “And here is the ale you—” Her words faltered, her body stiffening as she noticed Ellis’s presence. The drink Sam was about to place before Asher hung tensely in the air, her hand tight around the frosted glass. “Hello.”

  Ellis nodded curtly.

  Sam’s hand tightened around her glass, the only sign of feeling anything the little witch was willing to show. “Is there anything I can get for you?” Sam asked, her voice so collected that it could only be an act.

  “Aye. Privacy.” Turning to Reese, Ellis asked him something about mid-twentieth-century military strategy, leaving Sam the choice of either listening to Reese’s account of the Korean War or scurrying off like the bloody hired help.

  Taking his glass out of the witch’s hand, Asher thanked her quietly and watched her walk back to the bar, tension lining the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders.

  For an absurd second, Asher felt the urge to drive a fist into Ellis’s nose. Sam might be a witch, but she was a cadet under Asher’s care, and that made him responsible for her. Yes, that was why Asher’s voice came out in a low growl. “Was that necessary?”

  Ellis met Asher’s hard gaze without flinching, his eyes glassy with a mix of fever and pain. “I chose to do it, didn’t I?” he shook himself. “Did you miss the part where she’s having my damn flashbacks, feeling my pain? The less contact she has with me, the better.”

  “She still deserves to be treated with the courtesy due a…” Asher stopped speaking. Due a what? A mate? A lover? None of those things were Asher’s business. If he was taking no one into his life, what right did he have to fault Ellis for doing the same? “Forget it. I’m not getting involved in a tiff between two cadets.”

  Ellis snorted. “Yeah. That’s all she is to you. All we both are.”

  Asher shook his head, grateful that Cassis chose that moment to settle behind the grand piano and start a haunting Rachmaninov piece, the notes soul shattering beneath the male’s fingers. It was the kind of music that could make you forget anything, even the vampire and witch who were bringing the world down around your ears.

  “Fuck me.” Reese glared at the door. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  Dragging his attention back to the table, Asher followed Reese’s comment and gaze toward the door, where Count Victor and his entourage were striding into the club. In a tailored gray Armani suit, snow-white shirt, and a tie to match the blackness of his hair and soul, Victor reminded Asher of a mob boss of old. Except infinitely more dangerous.

  It took all of three warm heartbeats for Dusk’s patrons to recognize the presence of greatness in their midst and part like the Red Sea before Victor’s feet. Technically speaking, outside of an official event, only vampires beneath Victor’s direct command were required to show him deference. But many, many others chose to regardless. And just as he’d done with the Academy’s cadets, Victor drank in every drop of subservience, taking stock of which females knelt before him, which males lowered their gazes. And which ones did not.

  Cassis, being Cassis, started playing a crude jig, dark eyes flashing with a suicidal mirth.

  At the bar, Sam was so engrossed in Cassis’s music, Asher wagered she hadn’t even noticed the change in atmosphere until the whole place had shifted. When she finally managed to tear her attention away from the piano to find Victor presiding over a dozen kneeling and bowed vamps, the witch waved at him cheerily.

  Asher’s stomach clenched.

  “Count Victor. Good evening,” Sam called, her musical soprano loud and clear as she met Victor’s eyes with all the brashness of an equal. “What can I get started for you?”

  Beside Asher, Reese stood up as silently as a sniper from his nest, tension lining every muscle in his body.

  Victor flicked his hand at the courtiers, never taking his dark eyes off Sam, and the bar returned haltingly to its evening. An illusion that Asher doubted would be long-lived.

  “Martini,” Victor answered curtly, just loud enough to be heard over Cassis’s playing, before turning to look right at Reese. “The blood kind.”

  As Asher watched, something passed between them. Reese lowered his gaze, as his position beneath Victor’s official command required. Perfectly appropriate and polite.

  “Is there going to be trouble?” Asher asked quietly.

  “I don’t know.” Reese jerked his chin at Ellis. “Get him out of here.”

  A small growl escaped Ellis’s chest, and Asher, who’d been about to close his hand around the male’s bicep, pulled back at once. Ellis might be a cadet at Talonswood, but here and now, with his mate in Victor’s crosshairs, he would rip Asher’s head off without blinking. They all knew it.

  Just as Asher knew that Ellis’s protective instincts were the last thing this situation needed. As were Asher’s own.

  8

  Sam

  Adding Victor’s blood martini to the list of orders, I cling to the sound of Cassis’s music. His long fingers fly over the piano keys, a cocky look on his shadowed face making the notes into the grandest fuck-you to the universe I’ve ever heard. Louise—yes, the vamp named his piano—responds beautifully to Cassis’s touch, making the music fill my soul with color despite the three males sitting at the back of Dusk. Ellis. Asher. Reese.

  Don’t look. Don’t feel. Keep pouring drinks.

  That part’s easy enough. I’ve tended bar before—and slimy creeps are the same no matter where you go. Only difference is these ones have fangs. Despite being open to all, Dusk is very much a vamp-centered pleasure hole—though a very high-end one.

  Not that the gaggle of shot-downing cadets lacks money to pay.

  I resist the urge to tug up my neckline, knowing it will only draw more attention to my breasts—this is one of only two presentable tank tops I own, and it’s about five years too small for me. The other one, my white cami, still has bloodstains on it from the last time I came here and nearly caused a riot.

  I smile at the few regulars sitting at the long semicircular bar. The vamps nod back by way of greeting. Not what you’d call warm, but not hostile either, which in my case is a plus. Especially given the demi entourage Victor brought with him. Devin and Leanna are now actually kneeling at the count’s feet as he lights up a cigar.

  To each their own.

  I still don’t know why Victor is allowing cadets to go into town on liberty days. Maybe the rule was just so poorly enforced, he didn’t see a reason to continue pretending it existed, or else he enjoys the demis slinking faithfully by his side the whole time.

  Or he’s hoping we’ll stray into the woods and get killed by something.

  Reading through the next order, I pull a silver goblet off the rack and go about the mixing. It took me a bit of time to learn the preferences of Cassis’s patrons—from the “standard” drinks with alcohol so expensive that my hands shook the first few times I handled the bottles, to the specialty cocktails made with blood kept in silver-and-glass decanters, each carefully labeled with the name of the creature it came from. Jasmine Ford, twenty-three.

  This kind of drink still makes my stomach turn.

  “Well, this is nice, a witch serving up like she should,” a crooked-nosed vamp says, sliding up to the bar. “I was wondering why Cassis brought you, but it finally clicked. What other services do you offer, luv? I could think of a thing or two for that pretty mouth to get busy with.”

  “As could I, but alas, the lady is occupied.” Leaning both elbows against the bar, Cassis flashes a fang-filled smile at the filth, his smooth British accent perfectly polite. “Plus, I don’t like to share.”

  “Yes, you do,” the vamp says. “But I didn’t know she was yours, Cas.”

  I didn’t either.

  Cassis shrugs, leaning over the bar to pour himself a glass of his favorite whiskey. I try
not to watch him too closely. With his high cheekbones, sharp jaw, and full lips, he’s too beautiful for normal life. He belongs in a Renaissance painting. He’s wearing one of his Versace suits again, the tight midnight-blue jacket and pants fitting perfectly over his tall, lean frame. The fresh shampoo scent of his dark hair brushes my nose, waking my body to his presence as intensely as his music did.

  I stomp down the misplaced arousal. Cassis isn’t interested, and I was the biggest idiot in the universe to think otherwise.

  “Why do you really have me here?” I ask Cassis as crooked nose waddles off to find himself a new girl to seduce. “And don’t tell me it’s to pay off a bill.”

  Cassis winks, which is not a satisfactory answer at all. “Let me know if anyone else bothers you. Given our company this evening, they might.”

  “Why do they—you—all dislike witches?” I ask. The hatred coming from the vamps around Victor’s table is growing more palpable by the heartbeat.

  “The same reason everyone dislikes things,” says Cassis, shrugging one broad shoulder. “Witches were powerful once and never let the others forget it. The hubris got them exposed to humans at the end, and we all know how that turned out. A cautionary tale for creatures everywhere, and you, Samantha, are a walking warm-blooded reminder.”

  The way Cassis says blood sends a shiver down my spine, my skin prickling with the memory of his teeth sinking into my neck. I should be frightened. Instead, I’m getting damp.

  Cassis cocks a brow. Yes, of course the asshole smells it.

  I flip him off, and he laughs—which, of course, just makes him more distractingly beautiful, his white teeth flashing between deep smile creases, fangs sheathed for my benefit.

  “So is there a Dusk equivalent for the fae somewhere on the island?” I ask, desperate to change the topic.