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

by A. K. Koonce

  “What are you doing?” She looks from me to Kayos.

  “Our roommate is in the middle of another disappointing four minutes of her life,” Kayos tells her flatly.

  “What?” Her narrow gaze just highlights the warm flecks of gold in the dark brown of her irises. Just the color of her eyes brings enough warmth and light through the wisps of shadows in these halls.

  “Karlyn is entertaining.” I add, head nodding, hands still safely shoved into my khakis.

  A banshee cry screeches suddenly through the silence and Izara’s dark sculpted brow arches just subtly.

  Life is just fucking perfect here.

  “Um... you guys want to come in for a bit?”

  “Fuck, please,” I blurt.

  The smallest smile pulls at her lips and the way her mouth reveals that perfect dimple in her left cheek causes my heart to applaud every part of her beauty.

  “Don’t embarrass us,” Kayos hisses as we slip inside.

  I pass the little girl a glare but to be honest, no threatening look I give her could ever be as terrifying as what she hides inside herself.

  I don’t even know why I try.

  “You’re in Interdimensional Travels, right? I saw you two sitting toward the back today.” She sits cross-legged on a lower bunk, her skirt barely covering between her smooth thighs.

  I linger in the middle of the small room, not wanting to invade her space any more than I already am.

  “I am. Are you excited to be visiting the void of which your heart desires?” I mimic Professor Zent’s ominous tone, and I’m rewarded with another of her soft smiles that almost touches her eyes.

  She makes me think she doesn’t have a lot of happiness in her life.

  “I tried, but my void is apparently too void.” Her lips pull down and it’s enough to make me take a seat at her side, pulling her papers from her hands before she can fall deeper into that frown.

  Izara Castillo is strong. Strong but...careful. A little terrified of herself in a way.

  And that’s what’s holding her back from the void.

  I force myself to look away from her and I peer up for only a second to find Kayos pawing through a dresser drawer in the closet. She holds up a pair of black boxers and makes a promptly disgusted face before tossing them to the side and to keep searching.

  “It’s easier if you’ve been there. You don’t know where you’re from though, so you don’t have too many places you could go.” I scan her pages of notes.

  She’s trying. She’s got every word that old hack has ever said jotted down here. But it’s all for nothing if she doesn’t have a foundation to work from and if she doesn’t trust herself.

  “My father adopted me when I was just a baby.” Her tone is just shy of a whisper. I lean into the pretty sound of it. “He’s a warlock, but he’s put distance between the supernatural society and himself. I don’t really know a lot about supernaturals in general. It feels—I feel like I already failed and I haven’t even started yet.”

  I don’t know why she confesses this to me, but I’m glad she does. My hand slips over to hers, but she has a lifeless touch as my fingers brush back and forth over the small curves of her knuckles. “Failure is only monumental if you build it up before it falls.” The quote is something I’ve heard so many damn times in my life.

  I’ve just never said it out loud to anyone before.

  “Wow,” her brows lift and fuck if I don’t love the way she’s looking at me right now.

  I wonder if my grandpa has any other inspirational quotes I could steal to get laid?

  “My grandpa always said that. Mostly to me. Kayos is too smart to need any advice from anyone.”

  Her smile tilts, and she passes a look to the little girl who’s currently leafing through a small notebook.

  “Your drawings are overemotional,” my sister says vacantly.

  “Kayos. Fuck. Stop.” I nearly stand to pull her evading search away before any illusion of privacy is completely destroyed. Izzy tugs me back down at her side with a gentle squeeze of my hand though.

  “No. She’s—She’s right. Art is entirely overemotional.”

  “It means your work is good,” Kayos murmurs as she continues flipping page after mysterious page.

  “Can I look?” I tilt my head to get a better view of the ink lined pages but Izzy dips her head into my line of sight.

  “No. Angel, you cannot look.” Her taunting nickname burns so warmly in my chest, I can’t help but glare at her.

  “What the fuck! Kayos got to see.” I’m almost stomping my foot with a wide smile, but she shoves me back when I try to make a lunge for it.

  I wrestle her small hands away and my heartbeat purrs to life with every touch of her skin brushing mine. So I do it again. I lunge, she shoves, I twist, and she grips both wrists. And then with those slender fingers sliding over my pecs, she pushes me down entirely against the thin mattress and covers my body with her soft curves. Smooth thighs lock around my stomach, my shirt shoved up high and granting me the full effect of her heat that’s pressed firmly against my abs.

  Our smiles shine, her breath mixing with mine until all I fucking breathe is her happiness. She releases me slowly but never pulls back. I can’t help but settle my free hands on the curve of those hips I watch too frequently.

  The moment I touch her there, logic falls into her warm honey eyes.

  Shit.

  “Sorry.” The whisper is a breath of a word as she slides off of my hard body and stands, smoothing her skirt down and finding her buttons are undone at the bottom of her shirt.

  The door crawls open with a tiny cry and the creep that paws all over her at lunch fills the doorway with his broad shoulders.

  His green gaze shifts from me lying on Izzy’s bed to his roommate who’s re-buttoning her shirt at my side.

  Double shit.

  “What the fuck are you doing over here, Bird Boy?”

  His voice is all suspicion and hard anger. Because it’s totally normal for me to have sex and fuck at Izara in front of my kid sister. Of course, logic won’t work on this brute of a demon.

  He has the gaze of someone who kills firsts and asks questions never.

  “Okay. Can we at least remember that I’m a fucking nephilim, not an angel, not a bird, a nephilim?”

  In three big steps he’s in my face and my body weight falls away as he lifts me right off the damn bunk. He hauls me up with rage shaking through him and my wings fling out in less than a second. Ethereal light shines across his scowling features the moment my wings extend. The force and quickness in which I bring them out physically hurts. I feel the shirt at my back rip, the blood coating every feather and sliding down the length of my back. The length of my wings nearly touches one side of the wall and the other, but there’s enough space in here for me to push them in powerful strokes.

  And then it’s him that’s being lifted by me.

  With big shifting moves of my wings I keep him there several feet off the ground.

  “My name’s Syko. What’s yours?” I ask, my hand slipping between us as he clutches my shoulders harder to keep from falling.

  “Fucking bird shifters.”

  “Nephilim. I’m born of literal heavenly powers. Please, take notice.” My hands lift from my sides as he lets go, giving a growl before falling to his knees on the floor. I finally drop on the heels of my shoes and stride to the door where Kayos waits with an aloof look on her tired face.

  “I asked you not to embarrass us,” she mumbles as we walk into the safety of the hall.

  I shake my head at her and turn back for a single second to see the surprised look in Izzy’s eyes.

  “Thanks for entertaining us.” My wink makes her smile widen until the little dimple in her cheek shows, exploding gratifying happiness throughout my chest with the sight of it.

  “Bye, Kayos,” Izzy says sweetly.

  Kayos gives a little wave. “I like her. Work harder to show her you have more potential than
the demon.” My sister doesn’t even look at me, but her bluntly demeaning words remind me too much of my grandpa.

  Kayos approves of her. Kayos doesn’t approve of anyone.

  Fuck, I like Izara even more now.

  Seventeen

  Izara

  I’ve made it months here. Four to be exact. Things have settled, a routine has fallen into play in my life just as it did in the human world.

  The thing is, I’m still Prodless.

  Everything’s different. But exactly the fucking same.

  “Pair up, my Prods,” Professor Zent instructs in the grumbling tone of his, like a grandfather clock literally coming to life.

  Phoenix and Saint sit side by side at a table. Syko glances at me but stays at his table with his sister. And just as I have for months, I sit with Malek. He’s my safe place really. There’s nothing but patience in him no matter how many times everyone around us dissolves away with the magic of their Prods and we sit glued to this damn classroom like I’ll never fucking leave.

  Anxiety thrums through my chest as everyone gets into position for the lesson, but the one thing that calms me is having Malek. He’s gentle, even his rumbling tone is a gentle sound. His touch, god, his touch is gentle.

  He smiles, that dark beard and dark eyes doing so much good for my soul.

  His beard is good for my soul. I don’t know how to explain it but that’s what power men’s beards have. It’s a warm and fuzzy sort of comfort that just tells me he can take care of me. He can go out and chop down an entire forest to build me a castle, a carriage, and my own fucking happily ever after.

  Beards create happily ever afters for women with a single smile.

  Total fucking calm.

  “Miss Castillo you’ll be working with Mr. Rutherford this morning. I’ve never had a failure before in my class and I refuse to start with you. Mr. Von Hunter swap seats.” A wave of wrinkles scrunch over his face as Professor Zent gives me a waiting look, ripping away my security blanket and tossing me to the wolves... Or should I say ripping me away from my wolf and tossing me to the demon.

  The air never hits my lungs even as I look across the aisle and meet Phoenix’s expressionless emerald gaze. Saint stands so quickly it’s suspicious. It’s literally the first time I’ve ever seen him do as he’s told without flipping the teacher the middle finger as he goes.

  He’s such a perfect student he pulls out his chair for me as I begrudgingly wander over to my new partner.

  “Don’t be an ass,” Saint growls to his friend under his breath as he passes him.

  “I’ll just be myself,” Phoenix shrugs lightly.

  “Right... don’t be yourself either.” Saint arches a brow at him and the dead look in Phoenix’s eyes makes me wonder why Saint even tries.

  The two of them give me a headache just listening to them. Saint tries too hard for the both of them and Phoenix... I don’t know. Sometimes we’re fake friends, sometimes we’re fake dating, and sometimes... we’re just fake.

  “Do you travel every time, or is it hard for you?” I ask with a shaking, nervous tone giving me away.

  His fiery hair almost touches his lashes as he looks at me, meeting my eyes with an almost pathetic look. “Zent put you with me because I travel every time.”

  Wow, brag much?

  “Well, it takes two, a controller and a traveller, so... be prepared for a boring forty minutes or—”

  The dim fluorescent lights burn away from my vision, transforming into a long mysterious hall constructed entirely of fire. My words fizzle away with the flickering sound of the darkened flames as my feet stumble over dirt.

  “What. The. Fuck.” I stand mindlessly in the center of it all.

  The flames rise from pits of darkness on either side of us. The violent flicking tendrils press around us like arms that want to reach out, grab me, and drag me under. The heat is almost suffocating, and I feel the smoke press into my lungs, feel the sweat bead on my forehead, and slide in rivulets down my face.

  “I’m not a hold-your-hand and baby you type of controller like your pet Malek. So…” He gestures around to all of this. “Why did you pick the center ring of hell?”

  “I didn’t pick this place. You’re the demon, this is clearly your place.”

  “I’m the controller, you’re the traveller. I’m good, but I’m not good enough to be the controller of time and space as well as the fucking navigator. Jesus, women really are shit with directions.”

  Aaannnd I hate him again.

  His bulking arm brushes mine, the smooth skin of his forearm dragging my attention to just how close he’s now hovering nearly right over me.

  “Can you not be an asshole for, oh I don’t know, the next forty minutes we’re stuck in hell together?”

  His smile is cruel when he turns to me with a look I’ve seen too many times to really trust him. Big hands push down my hips and he pulls me close.

  “How do I know this isn’t your way of just trying to get me alone for a bit?”

  “If I wanted to get you alone, I’d stop avoiding your sleep schedule, asshole.”

  Confusion tenses his brows and he takes a step back from me.

  “You’ve been avoiding my sleep schedule? I gave you orgasmic bliss and now you’re sleep ghosting me?”

  “You gave me a wet dream, let’s call it what it was.” My hands press to my hips.

  “It was real. It was the only thing that’s been real since I met you.”

  “It was hardly real.”

  “It was real,” he nearly yells.

  I get right back in his face, his gaze dropping to my mouth as I slowly say, “Your cock wasn’t real. The sex wasn’t real. We’re not real, Phoenix.”

  He never flinches from my harsh words, but he does skim his lips slowly over mine like a punishment. And I melt. With hellacious heat all around me, I melt into the feel of his tongue stroking just lightly over mine.

  “What about when you let your guard down and you let me kiss you like you want me? Is that real?”

  The stumbling of my heart is a weak emotion that I won’t allow to show on my face.

  “If anyone else were here with me, they’d be asking me what monster lives inside me for me to bring us here to the center ring of hell. And you’re so unbelievably selfish all you can ask is why I don’t always show you how much I hate you.”

  “You mean Malek. If Malek were here he’d be asking you all the important things, right? Because he’s so fucking in control of his emotions. And I don’t have a clue what they even are.” Big green eyes stare down on me with the smallest hint of his real feelings.

  Sometimes I think I make this powerful, soulless man feels things he doesn’t understand.

  And sometimes, I think he’s just a cruel jerk.

  Right now, he’s so raw and open, I know he feels more than he’s showing. More than he’s used to.

  My shoes arch against the dirt and, on the tips of my toes, I press my lips to his, slowly tasting all the sad words he just confessed to me.

  It’s a small confession but one that I can tell is monumental for him.

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” I whisper to him, my fingers pushing through his thick hair as he touches his mouth to mine in a slow, drawn out brush of affection.

  His eyes stay closed, and he holds me to him, his fingers digging into my skin, the heat of the flames licking my skin but I can’t seem to pull away from him.

  “Honestly, this place scares the shit out of me and I hate that you brought us here.” He never pulls back from the slow work of our mouths despite his confusing words slipping between us.

  I can’t help but smirk at him even as countless questions about my Prod circle my mind over and over again.

  “You’re scared of me, huh?” His mouth drops lower and his tongue flicks slow nipping kisses down the side of my neck as if he thinks he might really have a chance at fucking me in the center ring of hell.

  Nothing sets the mood like the smell
of burnt hair and frying fat.

  “You have no idea how terrifying you really are, Iz.” His teeth rake a sensual drag of his sharp teeth just beneath my ear.

  ... Can we have sex in hell?

  There’s got to be a room for that here. I mean... it’s hell so... sit my ass in the VIP section and I’m sure soon enough the devil himself will be stroking my hair and telling me I’m pretty.

  “We need to get the fuck out of here before the ass proteges find us.”

  That gets my attention.

  “I’m sorry the what?”

  “Ass proteges. Ass trolls. They’re sort of like pledges for frat houses. An older, wiser demon instructs them on the best way to literally torment someone from the asshole in.”

  What the literal hell?

  “That’s… incredibly detailed and informative. Thank you, Phoenix.”

  He gives an anytime, anytime kind of nod that does nothing for the tight disgusted way my stomach’s twisting from his overly descriptive explanation.

  “Yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here before the asshole proteges show up,” I say with a nod.

  “Ass. Ass proteges.”

  “Just stop saying it. Please.”

  A small shrug lifts his shoulder and then the flickering flames wash away. And terrible, harsh fluorescent lighting looms over us from overhead.

  Ah. The first hell I ever loved: Academy of Six.

  I fucking did it.

  I traveled through dimensions. And time and space and whatever the fuck else this old ass warlock is always rambling about.

  I did it. I’m not a Prodless failure!

  “Miss Castillo. Congratulations,” Professor Zent murmurs, slashing little red lines across papers on his desk, not glancing up at me with his less than excited congrats he just gave. He does, however, pull a worn golden timepiece from the pocket of his velvet suit jacket. “It only took you eleven hours and six minutes.” He smacks his lips patronizingly.

  “Eleven hours?” I blurt out, the pride in me washing away into a pathetic puddle of disappointment.

  “And six minutes,” Phoenix adds on a cough. “Interdimensional Travels warps time. What feels like minutes passes in hours in the present world.”