by Alex Lidell
“Do you want to try that again, cadet?” he demanded, his voice the kind of low, menacing murmur that sent SEAL trainees into blanched silence. The effect on Samantha was similar. The blood left her face, her pupils dilating.
Thank Hades she still had enough wits about her to feel fear.
“I’m sorry for my choice of words, sir.” The tepid apology forced itself through Sam’s clenched teeth.
“No, I don’t think you are,” Reese said. “At least not yet.”
The flash of Sam’s eyes made Reese realize what he’d just said, how closely the demand for a proper apology came to Victor’s showdown at Dusk. He opened his mouth, trying and failing to come up with a way to walk that back, but the sinking feeling in his gut told him it was too late.
Sam’s lips pulled back into a snarl, the blood that had left her face a moment ago now returning so fast that it made her skin glow. “Do you want me to get on my knees as well? Or should we skip the foreplay and get right to destroying things?”
Reese’s head spun from the sudden change in scent. Hers and his. The room’s.
How could he simultaneously itch to shake the witch free of that bloody attitude while also wanting to bury himself deep inside all that fiery heat? Samantha radiated a passion that Reese had not felt in centuries, not since Sienna took his wife. Yet here it was, blazing inside her soul. Bright enough to burn them all down.
“You want to pick a fight with me?” Stepping close to her, Reese bared his teeth, his usually quiet heart thumping against his chest, his hand still holding the witch against the wall. “You got it.”
With a flex of his hand, Reese launched the witch back to the mat, waiting until she rolled back to her feet and took a swing at him before batting her punch away. “Do you even know what last night was about?” he demanded, deflecting another with insulting ease, as if playing with a kitten. “For that matter, have you any notion of what kneeling means in vampiric terms?”
“Don’t know,” Sam’s chest heaved. “Don’t give a fuck.”
A growl Reese hadn’t realized was brewing inside him escaped his chest, his own slow heartbeat spiking in speed. The witch should give a fuck. She damn well owed that little to the rest of them. “So you want to, what, make up rules as you go along?” The words fled from Reese with enough heat to prove just how tenuous his control, his apathy truly was. “You use magic. Dangerous magic you know nothing about and send into the world anyway. Learning our rules is beneath you, but magic—that’s just fine. Is that how it works?”
Opening her palms, Sam shoved his chest—for all the good it did. “I never wanted this. The magic, the Academy, vampires, any of it.”
“No one cares what you want, witch!” Reese shouted, the words bouncing off the walls as blazing fury spilling into his blood made the room flicker. Hades take him. What the hell was wrong with him? Stepping back, Reese fought down the twin urges to knock Sam into the nearest wall and claim her mouth with his own until neither of them could breathe.
. This needed to end. Now. Whatever had set off the witch’s masochistic spiral was her problem to deal with. Reese couldn’t go there. Not without losing himself.
Catching Sam’s foot as she tried to kick him, Reese knocked her back onto the mat again, this time following her down to press his knee into her solar plexus. The pressure forced the air out of Sam’s lungs, her eyes widening as he leveraged the exhale to make himself heavier still. To make her every attempt to draw breath a pain-filled chore.
“Now that I have your attention,” Reese said with deliberate slowness, hanging on to the hard-won control of himself he finally reclaimed. “Allow me to enlighten you as to what is going to happen. You are going to learn vampiric protocol. From me. Until I’m bloody satisfied. And then we never have to talk again. Understand?”
Reese lifted his knee, and Sam turned over into a turtle position to regain her breath.
“There’s a book by the back wall. Our Code. Read it. Love it. Memorize the first four chapters by tomorrow night.”
10
Sam
“Why do you have a copy of Our Code?” Mika crinkles her nose at the thick volume on my desk. “Are you interested in vampires now?”
“Only as far as I can kill them. No offense.” I can still feel the film of rage over my insides at Reese. Vampiric fucking protocols? After the show at Dusk last night, I’ll lick dog shit off Victor’s shoes if it means saving Cassis’s pain, but if Reese thinks it’s now open season to squeeze me, he has another thing coming.
I flip the book open onto a random page. Rule 39: Anticipate your master’s desires and strive to fulfill them before he asks. Rule 40: Keep your eyes lowered to the ground. Rule 41: Obedience to your master’s orders must be swift and absolute. Yeah. One day, I’m shoving Reese’s fucking Code up his ass.
Why is it that the moment men smell weakness—and I know in my gut Reese had marked my tear-streaked face—they suddenly fancy themselves masters of the universe? My hand tightens around the corner of my desk. My own fault for getting caught up in pointless punching when I should have been on alert. Should never have let Reese sneak up on me, watch me trip over my own damn rage.
Mika grins, oblivious to my dark thoughts as she turns back to her laptop. “None taken. But statistically speaking, bowing the wrong way to the right duke rarely leads to death. Actually, I take that all back. I’m sure people got killed over that left and right, but I still have doubts about its effectiveness as an offensive measure. Maybe…consider a sword? It does seem more efficient.”
I nudge the book with my pencil, as if I’m poking a bug. “You haven’t read it, have you?”
“All the vamps have read it—well, have read the first ten pages, which pretty much cover the basics that get you through most of life. The rest is for the obsessive-compulsive types. And traditionalists. And, probably anyone who wants to get on Victor’s good side, since he’s the one who wrote it and all.”
Did he? That explains so fucking much.
“Back to why you have it,” Mika says, spiky black hair swaying as she taps ferociously on her keyboard. Probably reprogramming the showers to spew ice water in the instructors’ quarters.
“Lieutenant Reese decided that my evenings would be best spent learning how he and Victor like to have their boots licked.” I’m rather proud of the restraint with which I say Victor’s name, given how the echoes of his voice still make my stomach churn, how the last whimpering sounds of Cassis’s beautiful piano fill my mind. There are so very few things Cassis cares about. And now there is one less.
Because I’m some kind of radioactive thing that gets everyone around me hurt. First Ellis, now Cassis, probably Mika next if I’m not careful. No matter what I do, just by being a witch, I seem to be a one-woman demolition crew. “You really should stay away from me, Mika. Especially in public.”
“Been there, talked about that. No.” She doesn’t even look up from her screen. “What are you gonna do about Reese?”
“Reese thinks I’m easy to break,” I say quietly. “I’m going to disabuse him of that notion.”
This time Mika does lift her head, blinking at me like a large owl. “Are you insane? Challenge him, and he will kill you, Samantha. Unless you have some magical bomb up your sleeve, you are not besting that male in any fight.”
“No, I’m not. Which is why I need to beat him at his own damn game.” I jerk my chin toward Mika’s computer. “Can you pull up all the Academy regulations for me? Like all the formality rules and everything.”
I go through the following day engrossed in the dual study of Academy protocols—which seem assembled from the various militaries of the world—and the vampiric rules. Each new page of Our Code makes my insides twist tighter. It’s not just kneeling. It’s not just eye contact. It’s a dramatic surrender to another will, a sacrifice of all dignity in hopes of winning scraps of a master’s good will. That is what Reese wants to do to me.
No. Just, no. I haven’t surrende
red to anyone else’s will since the early years of foster care, and I won’t do it now.
Which is going to make these lessons very interesting.
Whenever they happen. After spending the day reading and taking notes and waiting for Reese to crook his finger, I’m drained by the time dinner arrives with no word from the vamp. When nothing happens after dinner either, I start to think that perhaps Reese changed his mind about teaching me manners. Or just forgot.
The possibility of the latter leaves a bitter taste in my mouth—which just pisses me off more. What kind of idiot would want to be remembered by a male she hates?
Shaking off the thought, I celebrate my Reese-free evening by joining Mika in her bed to indulge in bootlegged Buffy the Vampire Slayer, killing two episodes before calling it a night. There are definite advantages to having the little hacker in my room, even if it means I get even less sleep than usual. The last thing I need is to be broadcasting my nightmares. Fortunately, Mika wears headphones at night to play some online game and pretends not to notice when I get up in the pit of darkness and take a hot shower.
Changing into pajamas—which, given that I have no money to buy anything, are actually just a clean PT kit—I reluctantly climb into bed, the Russian roulette of nightmares already spinning. Will it be Quinn’s attempted rape keeping me company tonight, or blood running down Ellis’s back? Or maybe the haunted look in Cassis’s eyes last night. So many choices, so little time.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
I realize that the sound is coming from outside my dream as the door to my chamber clicks open, and a very tall and very male shadow invites himself inside. Scrambling out of bed, I put myself between the imposter and Mika, who squeaks and shoves herself into a corner. My heart pounds, my hand closing around the knife I keep under my pillow nowadays.
“Stand down, witch.” Reese’s crisp British voice is almost lazy. Almost. “You have to the count of ten to put on shoes before I drag you outside with or without them.”
Before I can draw a lungful of air, Reese closes the distance and grips my wrist, bending it until the knife clatters to the floor. In the room’s darkness, he is all silhouette and muscles and an aggressively tangy scent, like a stormy sea. “I’m of a mind to see how well you’ve learned your assignment.” Reese’s voice drops so low, I can barely make out the words brushing my ear. “Clearly, not well, if this is your idea of a proper greeting. But we have time to try again. And again. And again. Move.”
That last command is no longer quiet, sounding instead like something a military-movie drill sergeant might shout. Or a real drill sergeant, probably. It’s the kind of tone that lights a fire beneath every muscle before your brain even catches up.
I’m reminded eerily of the first time Ellis yanked me out of bed for physical training—which seems like decades ago with everything that’s happened between then and now.
That’s how I end up following Reese into the dim, empty hallway and down the stairs, my breath loud over our hushed footfalls. His back is broad and straight above me, every muscle outlined beneath a tight black T-shirt. My thoughts alternate between silent vows to make this as unsatisfying as possible for the brooding vampire and regrets over staying up late with Buffy. On the bright side, I decide as I step out into the chilly night air, all my preparation yesterday won’t be going to waste.
That last thought adds a bit of steel to my spine as we cross to the center of the dark green. The grass swishes wetly over my leather boots, and I suppress a shiver as a bat dips silently overhead. This isn’t your first rodeo with self-aggrandizing men, I remind myself, and at least you knew this was coming.
“I didn’t realize learning to grovel was a middle-of-the-night type of activity,” I mutter, earning a long sideways glance from Reese.
“I did not realize you preferred learning to grovel with the whole school watching.”
Despite myself, I feel a deranged, humorless chuckle race up my throat. Only in this fucked-up place could getting dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to genuflect on the cold ground be considered a favor. Fuck, maybe I really should be thanking the asshole. If I wasn’t out here with him, I’d be reliving Quinn’s attack. There is nothing Reese can do to me to top that.
Stopping in front of me, Reese puts his hands behind his back and watches, those penetrating blue eyes of his taking in a great deal more than I wish. His messy black hair blows lightly in the night’s breeze, the only soft part of him. The opening gambit. I brace myself. Whatever happens next, surrender will not be part of it.
“Well?” he prompts. He wants me to kneel. I know it. I’ve read the code. He knows I’ve read the code.
But I read a few other things as well.
I grip Reese’s eyes for a moment, then let my gaze slide off them to stare straight ahead into nothingness, my heels together, my hands perfectly extended down the seams of my pants. Attention position, à la the Talonswood Reform Academy Manual.
“Wrong book, witch,” says Reese. “Wrong battle plan.”
I say nothing. I know what’s coming. So long as Reese is prepared to watch me throw up—because that is going to happen despite Ellis’s best efforts to build my stamina—we are on the same page. On the other end of the green, the sand pit is looking more like a battleground than a torment chamber.
“This would be a good time to apologize for not doing what you know I’m asking for.” Reese’s voice is gravelly, the reined-in threat sending a shiver along my skin.
“Sir. This cadet apologizes, sir.”
Reese actually huffs a small laugh. “Are you aware that I have a bit of experience with the human military?” he asks nonchalantly. “American SEAL team, the SAS for the Brits. Delta Force.”
“Sir, this cadet isn’t sure which armed forces you served in, sir.” A perfectly appropriate response. And utterly not what Lieutenant Reese wants to hear.
Too bad for him he can’t tell me to cut it out, not without overtly contradicting the Academy’s regulations. Vampiric high protocol is a preference. A style. Parties can choose to indulge in it, but it isn’t the official language of Talonswood. This is.
I’m smart enough to hide an ironic smile as Reese watches me in silence, blue eyes unreadable, tapping a finger against his thigh.
“The problem for you, Devinee,” he says after a moment, “is that the little tricks you think you’ve invented, I’ve long since forgotten. But I’ll tell you what. Let’s play this evening out by your rules.”
For the first time, a shadow of doubt brushes my chest.
“Ca—DET.” Reese suddenly sounds nothing like himself, the quiet brooding transformed into a deep full-chested bellow as his eyes become cold and hard, his expressive mouth hardening into a granite line. His posture shifts too, his shoulders rolling back into a military rigidity that makes him look separate from the human race—and not just because he’s a vampire. “On the ground. Plank.”
Here we go. Snatching a final fortifying breath, I drop into pushup position. Arms stretched. Elbows locked. Head up, eyes locked forward.
Reese’s boot presses into my side, knocking me over into the dirt. “I said plank. Not sag like a dirty laundry sheet.”
I get back up, my muscles tight.
Reese knocks me down.
Again. And again. And again. The anger in my veins rises slowly. I have the position right. The asshole knows it.
“Holy bloody hell, has the notion of a straight line escaped you completely, Devinee? Or are you rebelling against geometry?” Reese snarls, dropping down to the ground beside me, my arms now trembling from the strain. “You have a hundred push-ups to deliver, and so far, you are going backward. I don’t think I’ve seen such a damn feat before.”
He knocks me over. “Maybe some good will come from this yet. I want you to remember this moment the next time you so much as think about reaching for magic. If you can’t do this, you’ve got no business near witchcraft.”
I get back up. Fire fills my muscles,
the grains of dirt starting to work themselves into my clothes and skin and eyes. Why the fuck am I even playing this game? The thought comes unbidden as I blink sweat away. Why not drop to my knees, bow my head, and count the seconds until this humiliation is over?
Because I’m better than that. Because I didn’t spend twenty years fending for myself, following my own code, only to give up now. I clench my jaw, desperately trying to believe my own pep talk. Because this will end. Because no man is going to break me.
“Let’s see if you’ve grown any more capable of running in a straight line than you are doing a push-up.” Reese’s cold voice slashes across me.
We’re both keenly aware I can run about as well as I can pee standing up.
For a second, I’m actually tempted to tell him as much, but I manage to keep my mouth shut as I stumble after him on a punishing run. We do the three-mile loop through the forest trails as the first grayness of dawn just breaks through the trees. The loop that’s so easy for everyone else and leaves me with a stitch in my side and the world shimmering at the edges. I’d be relieved when Reese’s steps finally slow, but he’s brought me to the damn sand I had a feeling we’d be visiting.
“I said plank, Devinee.” Reese hollers into my face, as I shake and drop, his own strong pale features shadowed in the near dark. My arms trying and failing to find purchase. “Are you incompetent or just fucking stupid?”
“Sir. This cadet is fucking stupid, s—” I have a mouth full of sand before I finish the words, Reese’s boot hitting what’s now a growing bruise on my side. My blood simmers, anger overpowering the chill of the night. There is no point to this. No amount of effort that will ever create the mystery perfect plank Reese is after because the damn thing doesn’t fucking exist.
