Academy of Six: A Reverse Harem Academy Series (Origins of the Six Series Book 1)

by A. K. Koonce

  His strangeness seems to have intensified since I’ve been gone.

  Malek passes the vampire a glare before continuing to water his herbs on the windowsill, forcefully ignoring us it seems like.

  Phoenix’s gaze drops to my legs, trails over my underwear, and Malek’s shirt. It’s soft and smells like him and the dirt we practiced in the night before. I don’t have any casual clothes, really. I’m tired of sleeping in button-down shirts. Malek was nice enough to literally give me the shirt off his back and he might be the one person I really trust in this place.

  The demon’s emerald eyes glint until an inky color swirls there at the sight of the baggy shirt hanging on my body.

  He blinks the darkness from his eyes.

  “You’re not even dressed yet,” he growls out, gripping his binder and seeming like he might make a break for the door again at any moment. Then he lifts his hands impatiently. “Take Lassie’s fucking shirt off and let’s go.”

  His tone alone causes a stubbornness inside me to rear up and demand that I push him even more.

  I face him fully and simply cock my head at him.

  Then warm fingers slide over my hips just as a strong body presses to my back. Malek’s scent surrounds me, his palms teasing over my ribs as he pushes his shirt along my body, halting just beneath my breasts. His big body turns, shifting me until I’m facing the closet, shielding me from the rest of the room as he pulls the material fully off and lets warm air pebble my nipples.

  Or maybe it’s just because his body is still pressed in all the right places against me, his breath kissing my neck as he whispers in my ear.

  “I’ll leave this on your bed for you,” he says, his lips brushing so lightly along my ear that I arch my neck for him.

  My fingers tremble as I grab the first small shirt I find and I pull it on without thought, my skirt following. They’re clean now, no sign of the culinary disaster or stains in sight.

  When I turn with my red tie in hand, Phoenix’s rage is still ticking through his jaw.

  “I’m ready,” I beam with the biggest eat shit smile I can muster.

  With jerking motions he grabs my binder and shoves it hard into my chest before swinging open the whining door. “Let’s go.”

  A weird happiness flutters through me.

  Maybe it’s just a natural hate Phoenix has for Malek. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s possessive of me. Jealousy even.

  I rush after him down the hall and can’t help but push him a little more and a little more until even I know I should shut the fuck up.

  “Are you mad, baby?” I purr at his side but it does the opposite because then the sound of his sexy tone from the other night is echoing through my mind.

  Please what, baby?

  Shivers wreak havoc through my body, his voice haunting my mind as well as my sex drive.

  “I’m not mad,” he says on a voice that, if I’m not mistaken, sounds incredibly mad. “Just some advice. If you want this shit to be convincing, if you want a fake boyfriend, don’t let dirty dogs paw all fucking over you then.” We storm outside, him pounding his boots over the pavement and me stomping my little tennis shoes even harder to compete.

  “Convincing?” My head rears back rather dramatically but I just don’t fucking care. “According to Saint, and I’m starting to agree, you wouldn’t know how to be someone’s boyfriend if a fucking Rom-com smacked you in your demonic face.”

  “What the fuck is a Rom-com?” He glares down on me, insulted by my use of genre lingo.

  “A romantic comedy. The staple of chick flick love.” I arch an impatient eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his pretentious head at me. “The point is, if this fails, it’s your fault. You only know how to screw women, you have no idea what it looks like for a guy to actually like a girl.”

  He drops his black binder to the grass and then his hands push low down my back, pulling me close even as my arms hang rather confused at my sides.

  “What are you doing?” Why do I keep asking this over and over again in this weird fucking school?

  His head dips low, his lips hovering over mine like his next growling words will suffocate me on contact.

  A girl from my Prod Health class passes and smirks knowingly, forcing me to smile the most awkward smile that’s ever tensed my lips.

  “What the fuck are you doing? People are staring,” I tell him on a hushed yell.

  Then his lips press to mine. Once. Twice. Three times and my hands instinctively clunch his strong shoulders, digging in until there’s no space between his hard body and my mine.

  “Just showing them what it looks like when a guy likes a girl,” he whispers before sliding his tongue so slowly over mine, I can remember the taste of my orgasm on his lips before he fucked me senseless in my dreams.

  Lust and embarrassment slam into me all at once at that thought.

  I shove out of his arms.

  A safe foot of space separates him from me, and he gazes at me with the cockiest smirk on his perfectly kissable lips. I hate his mouth.

  That’s not what you said last night.

  My consciousness is a cruel bitch.

  He shifts his weight slowly, picking up his binder, meeting my attention with the most arrogant look on his face. He’s so big that when he takes a step forward, he shadows over me, stealing away the hot morning sunlight.

  “Let’s go to class, baby.” His hand slips slowly into mine and with one small tug, he pulls me away from the watchful eyes of our peers.

  “Oh, so I’m baby today,” I mock, knowing full well I should really, really shut up.

  But his tone isn’t cold and cruel like it normally is. It’s easy and teasing in a way that I’m not used to. “Just for today, Feck.”

  My lips quirk at the familiar name. That’s better.

  Hand in hand, he weaves us effortlessly through the crowd. And the crowd? They part for him like a god walking among mortals.

  He really is this powerful Prod whose energy can be felt before it’s seen. I’m in awe of him, really. It’s sad he doesn’t seem to have any kind of happiness, any kind of pleasure in this life.

  I can’t stand not knowing why.

  “Why are you here, Phoenix?”

  We pass a couple, a real couple, and Phoenix’s attention drops down to how the male faerie is carrying his girlfriend’s binder, book, and purse even.

  A short pause drifts through him before he reaches over me and steals my binder away, carrying it on top of his and continuing to lead me into building A. He doesn’t mention the binder situation but I can’t help but glance down at them every couple of seconds.

  It seems you can teach an old demon new tricks.

  Demon see, demon do.

  Okay. Okay. I’m done.

  “Last month, I was brought in for excessive theft.”

  The word excessive seems odd but I ignore it.

  We reach the Introduction to Prodigium’s classroom and I pause there, my hand left forgotten in his.

  “Theft? You were thrown into this Prod prison because of theft?”

  He shifts on his boots, a strange smirk tilting his lips. He leans in until hardly any space separates us. “I broke into a Viagra warehouse and consumed a pallet of their merchandise.”

  I blink at him. The exasperation never fades so I’m left blinking at this beautiful man who just confessed his sins of robbing a warehouse and eating what I can only image to be several thousand tablets of Viagra…

  “Did your fucking dick explode?”

  Laughter shakes out of him in the quietest sound of amusement. It carries until I too, am smiling up at his strange, beautiful happiness.

  He shakes his head slowly.

  “No, but when I fucked the guard for twenty-four hours straight, his boss called the police. And unfortunately, supernaturals got involved. Academy of Six got involved. I just—I wanted to fucking feel something. Anything. I’m an incubus born without a soul. Two opposing natures in one. I don’t think it’s so
mething they’re going to be able to teach me here. You can’t fix something that was born broken.” The sadness of his tone steals my breath away and I realize we’re still leaning into one another, both of my hands holding his now in the most casual way.

  I hate the pools of tragedy that have taken over his deep emerald eyes.

  He’s right, there’s nothing anyone can do about who he is as a person.

  But I can try to take his mind off of it.

  At least for a minute.

  “Can I kiss you like a girl who likes a boy?” My head tilts up higher, my nose skimming along his, waiting for his reply with too much emotion pounding through my heart.

  His head barely nods before my lips press to his, his body covering mine in an instant, slamming my back into the concrete wall. The slow way his head tilts, the deepness of his kiss, and the faint hint of a groan that hums from his lips, makes me almost think... he does feel something.

  But it’s all just hopeful nonsense.

  He steps back slowly, breath shaking through his lungs like it never fully hits as he stares at me with wild dark eyes, the hint of the demon who owns him peering out through that sinful gaze.

  “I’ll meet you at gym class.” His fingers stall, intertwined with mine for another few seconds before slipping away. “No one will hurt you, okay?” There’s so much concern and kindness in his eyes, I don’t even know what to say to him. I nod vacantly.

  It’s oddly easier for us to talk when we’re yelling and fighting.

  Maybe it’s just easier for me.

  Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t have a clue how to be someone’s girlfriend.

  Thirteen

  Izara

  “I told you he’s a good boyfriend,” Saint sing songs the moment he takes a seat at my side.

  “You literally said he only knows how to use his cock when it comes to women.” My gaze collides with his amused expression.

  “That doesn’t sound like something I’d say.” His ridiculous smile widens to reveal his sharp teeth and I can’t help but roll my eyes at him.

  “I thought vampires never forgot.” I place my binder on the desk in front of me. I’m not looking forward to the day ahead, not when at the end of it I’ll have to suffer through fucking gym, but at least Phoenix’s presence will ward off the bullies. A small blessing in this shithole.

  “The saying is an elephant never forgets… I don’t know what offends me more, the fact that you basically called me an animal or that you actually take notes in this fucking class.” He looks at my carefully scrawled information on Prods with barely concealed disgust curling his lips.

  “Just because you’re a slacker doesn’t mean I have to be.” Seriously, even Phoenix takes notes to class. Saint doesn’t have a fucking thing. I wonder if he has a good memory and doesn’t need to take notes, or if he’s trying to purposefully get kicked out.

  This place is terrible, but the alternative isn’t any better. What could this man’s life have been like before he came here for him to be so callous?

  “At least I didn’t get caught skipping gym.”

  Of course he has to remind me of that. Thinking of confinement just reminds me of my sex dream with Phoenix, which just makes me blush and causes heat to pool between my thighs as if he were here. Seriously. I can still feel the lingering of his touch over my every inch, and I can’t possibly fathom why I’m craving the real deal. He hates me. I hate him.

  Maybe we could hate fuck.

  Did I say that out loud?

  A beat of terrifying silence slips by without Saint’s ridiculous commentary.

  No. Good.

  “They knew about that kind of fast.” My foot shakes beneath the table, bumping into his. “It’s this ankle bracelet. I bet it has a magical camera and audio built in.”

  Saint chuckles and in one quick, languid move, he brings his legs on top of the table in a relaxing pose, one ankle crossed casually over the other. The uniform leg of his pants slides up to reveal a pale ankle, and the glowing electric band wrapped around it.

  “Not a built in camera,” he supplies. “It’s a basic nice ‘ol magical GPS.” His fingers go to it, and if I expected it to burn him, it doesn’t. But as he tugs it, the confines only tighten around his skin until it looks like it’ll chop his foot entirely off.

  Note to self: do not tamper with the bracelet if you enjoy having two feet...

  “Only the teachers can take them off, and since most of them want to see us fail, you won’t catch one of them coming to your aid.” He drops his feet back to the floor with a loud resonating sound. His elegant features pull into tight mocking displeasure.

  “So why would they bother with the academy? The purpose of this place is to make us better Prods, better citizens. Now it’s a fucking prison.”

  Saint shrugs, drumming his fingers along the edge of the table. He has a restless energy inside him that comes out in distracting bursts sometimes. Annoying but charismatic all at the same time.

  “Times change.” The drumming stops and is replaced with incessant finger tapping. I wonder if he’s annoying on purpose or if it all comes easy for him. “Nowadays, they don’t want to deal with us anymore. Most dangerous Prods leave here just to cause problems in society all over again. It’s easier on both their time and budget to try and break us in the first semester instead of reforming us.” He stops and gives me a side-long, conspiratorial look. “You know what happens to those who can’t reform, right?”

  “They go to the real prison.” Which is probably better than this place. At least I’m sure they get edible meals. No hot dog porridge for those lucky Goldie Locks.

  Saint scrapes his nails along the surface in front of him. “Something like that. Depends on their resources. Look, I don’t wanna scare you, but you need to figure out what your Prod is and fast. When the Prodless can’t reform, they give them the death penalty in the end. It’s too dangerous to have uncontrollable supernaturals among humans and the others.”

  Unease ripples through me. Fucking what? No one told me that.

  “How do you know?”

  “Family connections. Family history too. Von Hunters have a bit of a bloody background if you know what I mean.” That charming, deadly smile slashes across his features.

  Right. He’s a vampire, but he came from the founding fucking fathers of this hellhole.

  He’s likely safe from death, at any rate. Which explains his carelessness.

  I take him in, the long length of his body. He’s lithe, but strong. His uniform is askew, like he couldn’t be bothered to put himself together for this joke of a school, even if his tie is perfectly knotted. Dark hair presses against his temples, curling at the ends and at the back of his nape.

  If I had to draw up the image of a prep school bad boy, Saint would be it. With mischief shining in the blue depths of his eyes, and the slightest hint of tattoos peeking out from his sleeves and neck. I can picture him with a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth and smoke clouding my better judgment, making me actually want a taste of him.

  He’s rich but in a way that money means nothing to him. Just like this place.

  “Why are you even here?” I whisper almost angrily. Seriously. He talks back to almost every teacher and yet no one throws his ass in confinement. He does it for the pure joy of annoying them, pushing them to test how much of his bullshit they’ll take before they snap. I have to wonder if he even really belongs here or if he pissed off mommy and daddy and this is just some weird rich boy punishment.

  All motion in his body stops. A preternatural stillness sets over him in a way that’s so eerie, it settles a prickling sensation across my skin. He’s a predator, a vampire, and he looks every inch of it as he slowly turns and smiles at me, revealing the jutting points of his incisors pressing into his bottom lip.

  “Why do you think?” His voice drops low, and his body suddenly angles closer to mine. I tense, and all I can stare at are those two pointy teeth piercing his lip, drawing a
thin line of blood down his chin.

  “I don’t know.” My voice is calm even if I’m all too aware of the pounding of my heart and the rushing of my blood. “That’s why I fucking asked you.”

  He blinks and throws his head back as he barks out his laughter. When he looks at me again, his teeth have slid back up to their normal size. Really, I’m curious about them. Do they suck blood up like a straw or does he have to taste it? Do the teeth go up into his gums or do they grow like claws on a werewolf? What’s the average fang size for vampires? Do male vampires lie about their length or is it not as idolized as other body parts?

  The questions are endless but I refrain from spewing my endless curiosity for now.

  “No need to worry, I didn’t suck the blood out of innocent virgins, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “Hmmm didn’t contradict my virgin comment. Interesting.”

  “It’s not interesting because I’m not a virgin,” I fire back at him and the intrigue in his eyes almost matches mine. But I keep pushing him, “What’d you do?”

  “Failed my family,” he says quietly.

  There is such sadness laced in his simple words, I’m taken aback. It’s so raw, so broken, I have this maddening urge to take his hand in mine and offer him some sort of comfort.

  “How?” The word is a weak whisper that leaves my lips. All the playfulness in our banter drains away with each ticking second.

  I almost think he won’t answer me. Maybe I hope he doesn’t. Think of the devil cat and consequences of actions. Do I really want to know this truth? It could be harder than I can probably bear.

  Eventually he answers me. And it’s not in the way I expect at all.

  “I failed them because I’m a vampire that won’t drink blood.”

  Professor Toad begins scrawling the history of the Academy of Six onto the board at the front and still I stare at the sharp angles of Saint’s perfect features.

  While I watch the vampire vacantly, large swooping letters magically drift across the board of their own accord:

  In Eighteen Sixty-Six, six of the founding Prodigums joined forces after decades of what is now known as the Dark Genocide. Their efforts were successful in dethroning the reckless leader of the Dark Genocide once and for all. Lucian Morningstar, a powerful Prod...