The Nocturnal and Fae Prison Academy Boxset [A Complete Paranormal and Fantasy Series Boxset]

by Margo Ryerkerk

  Purple hair shone in the moonlight.

  Onyx.

  I was so relieved to see her that I became careless. I leaned forward to get a better look at her and pushed the branches apart, making a rustling noise.

  Onyx didn’t hesitate. She whirled and shot for me, her eyes hard. She was ready to fight at the slightest provocation.

  I dodged behind the trunk as the deadly arrow whizzed past me.

  She had tried to kill me.

  I gripped the tree trunk. Was this really Onyx or simply a doppelgänger? The look in her eyes had been as icy as her magic. This wasn’t her.

  “I’ll kill any vamp who sets foot near me!” My senses detected a bowstring pulling back.

  I hovered upward, still shielded by the tree trunk. I didn’t stop until I floated above the pines. I had done this to her when I had pushed her away, rejected and abandoned her.

  The male fae said something, and then they both ran across the cobblestone courtyard to the cabin. The door opened, and I caught a glimpse of a fancy marble floor inside that clashed with the log cabin look. A very impressive illusion.

  King Olwen stepped out, suited and stern-faced. He spoke with Onyx and motioned for her to enter the house. My suspicions had been correct. He was protecting her.

  He lifted his chin and glared straight at me. Every muscle in my body tightened, screaming at me to fight. Not listening to the impulse, I remained floating between two trees, reminding myself that no fae, royalty or otherwise, could see well in the dark. I remained completely still, and a second later, King Olwen disappeared into his fortress that was masquerading as a simple cabin.

  My chest relaxed a bit even as my gut contracted. Onyx was safe, and I was grateful for that, truly, but what had become of her?

  Act, ask questions later or not at all seemed to be her new mantra. I could hardly blame her after what I’d done. I had lied, telling myself that being cruel to her was the only way to protect her, that if I didn’t break her heart, she’d stay at Nocturnal Academy and become Vulthus’s latest victim. But Onyx wasn’t foolish. She would’ve gotten out. I didn’t need to crush her. My worry for her wasn’t the only reason for my brutality. No, my primary concern was myself. I didn’t want to grow too attached to her and lose her. I couldn’t bear going through that again. Not after losing my mother to pills. Not after nearly losing my sister to a car accident. Not after trading my humanity for Steinberg to save my sister.

  I was damned. Unable to handle fate’s blows anymore, I had been the one to administer the blow with Onyx. Now, I wasn’t so sure that I had done the right thing.

  7

  Onyx

  Practicing combat in the basement gym felt good. I went there twice daily: after breakfast and after dinner. Olwen was often gone, out on business day and night. Or perhaps he was out mingling with the vamps, watching other fae like Blair being abused and doing nothing.

  Training helped to chase the horrible thoughts away. Every time Blair’s dead eyes came back to me, I focused extra hard on shooting my targets with ice arrows, throwing ice daggers at hanging sandbags, and impaling the wall with tiny, deadly ice spikes. My pain and desperation turned to rage, which I unleashed with my ice.

  And after several days of practice, I was getting good.

  “You’re almost ready to go out there and put what you learned into practice,” Atticus said at the end of that week, peeling himself from the gym wall. “King Olwen is very pleased with your progress.”

  I hadn’t seen Olwen in days. “You’ve talked to him?”

  Atticus nodded. “He wants to—”

  The basement door flung open, and Olwen stepped inside, bringing the air of magic with him. The air crackled with his power as he trained his blue stare on me. He was all business as usual. Cold. Calculating.

  “Onyx. I’m glad to see you’re making progress and have learned how to hone your powers.”

  Despite the compliment, everything tightened inside of me. “Thank you,” I said cautiously.

  “I’m glad to see that despite growing up in the human world and attending a useless academy, the warrior tendencies of our kind have not been lost on you.” An absent look came over his face before his gaze fastened on me once again. “However, all members of the Winter Court are required to prove themselves, to prove that they can fight for their kind. In times like these, this tradition is more important than ever. There is a test you must pass to be truly accepted as one of us.”

  My heart raced, but I swallowed, knowing that showing fear was not acceptable. “What is this test?”

  “In the faeland, a Winter Court warrior must go out alone and kill a rival, typically an invading Summer fae. But we are not in the faeland so your task will be to kill a vampire.”

  I let my breath catch. I had already killed a Summer fae, but did Olwen know? So far I had held off on telling him, afraid doing so would earn his wrath for bringing more enemies to his house, but now… “I already killed one of our enemies.”

  The room went completely silent. Atticus’s jaw dropped.

  Olwen took a step closer. “A vampire?” he asked in a voice that could freeze a whole lake.

  “I killed a Summer Court fae.”

  His eyes flashed, and a dangerous smile curved his lips. “Who?”

  Finally, I spoke the words I thought I would never utter. “Prince Kallan Preston.”

  Olwen nodded, and his chest swelled.

  “You’re not angry?”

  Olwen snorted. “Of course not. The Summer Court took plenty of my offspring. It is only fair that my only remaining child kill the prince.” He cocked his head. “You had something to do with Headmistress Cardinal arresting his sister Petra, didn’t you?”

  I nodded. Maybe I wouldn’t have to do the test. “She was about to reveal my heritage.”

  Olwen put a hand on my shoulder, and I struggled not to flinch at the closest thing to affection I’d experienced from him. “You’re my daughter. Smart. Strong.” He removed his hand. “Even though I’m proud that you finished the prince single handedly, you did so before being an official member of my court. You must still prove yourself by killing for me.”

  My dinner rose in my stomach, but I managed to ask, “Which vampire?”

  Olwen gave me a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “Your victim should be a wealthy vampire of your choosing. Several live in this area. Surely after your stay at Nocturnal Academy, you will find a suitable victim. Do not go after Vulthus, however. Bringing him down will require careful planning. Atticus will drive you into the city at sunrise. From there on, you’re on your own.”

  Atticus stepped forward. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, for interrupting, but this is Princess Onyx’s first mission. Perhaps I should stay nearby to ensure all goes smoothly.”

  “Absolutely not.” Olwen shot Atticus a glare, who backed away. “You know the customs of our people. Royalty or not, nobody is pampered and protected from the battlefront.” He focused on me. “Onyx, do not return until you have collected the blood of your victim. I will be able to test it and know whether you have collected the correct blood.” Olwen reached into his suit pocket and revealed a small glass vial. “Succeed tomorrow tonight, and you’ll be one of us.”

  I took the jar, hardening inside.

  Time for the prey to turn into the hunter.

  Atticus drove me into Denver at dawn. I didn’t know how to drive yet, having never had the chance to get a license, so I had to rely on him for this task. Even though he wouldn’t be coming with me, having company distracted me from my nerves. And so did the fact that I’d have all day to track down my victim.

  “Where do you want me to drop you off?” Atticus gripped the wheel hard, showing signs that the iron in the car was getting to him. As a pureblooded fae too much exposure to iron weakened him and could cause a range of symptoms, from headaches to throwing up.

  “Drop me off at the bus station.” I fingered the bills in my pocket. For the first time in my life, I
had real money, courtesy of my new status.

  Atticus obeyed and pulled into a wide drive. “Here.” He handed me a brand-new cell phone. “Call me when you’re done. I will collect you.”

  Alive, I hope. Quickly, I cast that thought aside.

  “Thanks.” I stuffed the cell into my jeans pocket, then checked my purple hair was still in a low ponytail and covered my ears. Then I got out of the vehicle, eyeing the fleet of buses. My designer jeans and fancy blazer outfit was finished off with a calf-skin, crossbody bag. Besides my hair color, I did not look like Onyx Logan, and that was the point.

  The morning summer sun warmed my clothes, and the breeze, a promise of freedom, kissed my skin. I could go anywhere in the city. Where did I start?

  As much as I wanted to go straight to Vulthus, I knew I wasn’t ready. First, I had to go after an easier target. This way I’d earn Olwen’s respect, and together, we’d take down the monster.

  Sullivan’s history lessons would come in handy. His class had covered all the important vamps and what companies they ran. I’d have plenty of clues on where to go. I wandered into the bus station and sought out a phone book. Thankfully, the station had a few battered ones lying around like ancient artifacts. I scrolled, glad I hadn’t brought any actual weapons for the security guards to detect. A Winter fae warrior proving herself had to rely on her wits, according to Olwen. Weapons wouldn’t always be available.

  Denver Mobile. My finger landed on the large ad for the small phone company that served the area. If I remembered Sullivan’s lessons right, Denver Mobile was the brainchild of a vamp named Stanley MacGregor, who was the CEO of the company plus a couple of others. He must live in the area.

  “Thanks, Lord Sullivan,” I said, closing the book.

  My next stop was the public library where I used a computer to get on the Internet and looked up information about Stanley MacGregor, the CEO. There was a short Internet article about him cutting the tape for Denver Mobile in an evening ceremony, but little else. He might be a rich vamp, but he wasn’t a super famous one. Apparently, he didn’t come out of his home very often, which meant he’d likely be there tonight.

  His address wasn’t listed anywhere. Stanley MacGregor must’ve paid to keep his location a secret, not that this would stop me.

  Since I couldn’t call Denver Mobile and ask to speak to the CEO, I’d have to find him and follow him back to his place, or find one of his workers and follow them back. I turned my Internet search to news about Denver Mobile, and after finding a business magazine for the area, I learned there would be a meeting between Denver Mobile and Neighborhood Mobile to discuss a merger. Tonight, at eight, at the Denver Mobile headquarters across town.

  The longer I waited outside the headquarters, which was on the second floor of a shared office building in downtown Denver, the more nervous I got. People came and went as I hung out in the lobby, pretending to read a magazine. The receptionist must’ve thought I was waiting for someone to get out of work. Fine by me. With my fancy clothes, I thankfully looked like I belonged here.

  People in suits entered and exited the elevator. None of them looked familiar. I kept most of my face hidden, hating the scent of the perfume Atticus had made me spray myself with to mask my fae scent. It would last for up to twenty-four hours and was starting to make my temples throb.

  At eight forty-five, I got up, walked outside, and circled around the back of the office building. There was still a bit of daylight this time of the year, so I searched for a car with tinted windows.

  I found what I was looking for at the back of the parking lot: a limo with windows tinted so dark that I couldn’t see through them. I also glimpsed an alley leading back to the main street. This was how Stanley had entered. Better yet, the limo was parked right up against a very large awning, complete with walls, that promised to block the sun at all hours.

  I ducked back around and waited, knowing I’d have to get a cab once the limo moved. Since standing around on a street was suspicious and didn’t give me the best vantage point, I crossed the street and entered a coffee shop, taking a seat by the window.

  Nothing happened for a long time. Cabs went by almost every minute in this busy part of downtown, so I decided not to call one but rather flag one down when the time came.

  Finally, the limo peeled out of the parking lot across from me. I dashed out of the cafe and flagged down the first cab I saw, heart pounding.

  “Follow the black limo,” I said, jumping into the car and pointing straight ahead as the limo turned to corner.

  “What is this?” the driver asked with a heavy accent. “An action movie?”

  I didn’t have time for humor. The limo was getting away from us, growing smaller and smaller and passing through a green light. I threw the guy a hundred-dollar bill, which he surveyed with an open mouth. Then he pressed the gas pedal and we were off.

  “Stay well behind it,” I said, and he did. The guy was a good driver, weaving in and out of traffic and blowing through a yellow light at the last moment.

  The limo drove to the outskirts of town and then to a wealthy neighborhood complete with stone walls, fancy mailboxes, and manicured lawns.

  The limo pulled into a wide garage next to a small mansion, the runt of the neighborhood, but still lavish.

  “Drive past it,” I told the driver. I slid down low in my seat and hoped nobody saw me. When we were several houses past where the limo had stopped, I told the driver to pull to a stop.

  “Thanks.” I jumped out of the sedan and hid behind some bushes for ten minutes in case any security feed had picked up the other car following the limo. When no vamp guards came searching for me, I walked to the back of the mansion.

  Had I come here in my typical ripped jeans and cheap hoodie, someone would’ve long called the police on me. But my newer, sleeker look allowed me to walk the neighborhood without anyone stopping me. Still, my clothing couldn’t solve all of my problems.

  I was met with an eight-foot-high stone wall at the back of Stanley’s property. The brick was smooth and the spikes on the top of the wall would terrify even the bravest of burglars.

  I cursed. How would I get in? The place must have another entrance. The stone wall offered no footholds, but there was another tall, narrower gate further down, complete with a keypad. Of course, Stanley would have an emergency exit.

  Maybe I could short it out and get in. Then I’d have to deal with guards and possible fae slaves who had Stockholm Syndrome. How many people did Stanley employ?

  The keypad was one of those electronic ones where you put in the code, similar to what I’d seen Thorsten use at Nocturnal Academy. I gathered humidity from the air and directed it into the keypad, hoping that freezing the insides would unlock the gate.

  With an exhale, I allowed ice to form inside the keypad. The screen flickered, and I let the ice inside melt. The keypad made a fizzling noise and went dead, and then the gate itself gave a gentle click. My heart leapt. I was in luck.

  I pushed open the gate and crept onto the grounds of Stanley MacGregor’s home.

  His lawn wasn’t huge, but there were a lot of trees that offered umbrellas of shadows. Not surprising for a vamp since sun was one of their kryptonite. A couple of black-uniformed guards patrolled the edge of the yard, chatting with each other, but their backs were to me. Guards were typically low-level vamps. I could take them in a fight so long as they didn’t sound any alarms.

  Before I lost my bravery, I darted across the yard and to the back of the house. The grass cushioned my steps, and the perfume was still blocking my fae scent. I reached the back door with the guards none the wiser about my presence. The problem was that the back door was locked. Using ice on it wouldn’t get me anywhere, but there was an open window that seemed to lead into the kitchen. Someone, probably a servant, had opened it earlier and forgotten to lock it. I listened for noises coming from the kitchen, but it was quite inside. I rose onto my tiptoes and heaved myself through the window, landing in a d
im kitchen that smelled faintly of exotic coffee.

  A sharp intake of breath, and then a small voice asked, “Who are you?”

  Every muscle tensed. Shit. I had heard nothing, but someone was here.

  My gaze landed first on a heavy iron chain, which was connected to a leg shackle around a bare, weeping ankle. Iron weakened full-blooded fae and made them feel unwell. Even if the fae in front of me wasn’t affected by the iron, she was still in a sorry state. Her outfit, a glittery, white mini skirt and ballerina type top, represented innocence and was meant to make her look younger than her eighteen or nineteen years. Her chain was attached to the stove and long enough to go into the adjacent dining room. This fae was probably meant to entertain guests, cook, and do things I’d rather not think about.

  Then I looked up, and my jaw dropped as I saw her face.

  Lily.

  The realization hit me like a truck as our gazes met. Her mouth also fell open. She was missing a tooth and a fading bruise looked like a washed-out tattoo on her arm. Most of the life had already gone from her eyes. She was a toy on display, a flower for Stanley MacGregor to crush.

  Rage and ice roared back into my chest along with every emotion I’d been trying to block out for weeks.

  Footsteps approached the kitchen. “Fae,” a male voice sing-songed. “Is the coffee ready?”

  Lily was just an object here. A glazed look came over her eyes and she turned away from me, reaching for the fancy coffee machine. I was standing in the kitchen, about to get busted, and she acted like a machine.

  Magic crackled in my fingertips.

  The old, fat vamp who had danced with her at Nocturnal Academy entered the room. He froze, looking like an overstuffed penguin, as his gaze fell on me.

  This was Stanley MacGregor.

  I summoned an ice stake as he stood there, trying to process why a random girl had appeared in his kitchen. Stanley’s posture stiffened, and he took a step back, but it was too late. My rage burst through me, carrying all the guilt and hate I had bottled up.