“So, two questions,” I say. “Are blondie and Declan a thing? And if so, what is wrong with him? And… who’s that guy?” I stop, looking toward the burly man waiting in the center of the field. My eyes narrow on his aura and the red-and-black swirls that weave through it, something familiar about them.
“That’s Professor Worgren. He’s a direct descendant of William Worgren; the knight that slayed an army of Dark warriors single… handedly…” Rory trails off, wincing sheepishly. “Sorry, Serena. You should know he’s just as fierce and crazy as his ancestor, though.”
I focus on the professor. “So that’s one of Worgren’s spawn, huh? I thought he’d be taller.” The guys snicker at my response, drawing the man’s attention to us—and to me.
“Mistress, I know I tell you this often, but please for the love of the gods don’t anger him. His ancestors have a bloodthirsty reputation for the Dark.”
I stroke Lore’s wing with the crook of my finger. “I won’t start if he won’t.”
She groans into my mind, and the guys stare between the professor and me. Their auras merge and flow together, and I frown at Dane who shrugs nonchalantly before stepping in front of me, blocking my view of the man.
“Class!” his voice booms across the arena, sending fear across a number of faces. “I’d usually begin this lesson by saying you’re here to learn to defend yourself against the Dark, but as we have one of their kind here, trying to intermingle with us, I’ve been warned against my usual speech.”
I peer around Dane and wave brightly. “Glad to be here!” I call before I’m pulled back by a horrified Rory.
“Do you have a death wish?”
I snicker, and Paxton sighs, standing on my other side to block me in completely.
“You are here to learn advanced combat techniques, so that you can protect yourselves ‘in the event of an attack from any nameless opposing body.’” He says the last part in a bored voice, as if someone had drilled it into him only recently. “These skills are vital if you wish to take part in the semesterly Trials!”
“Trials?” Lore perks up.
I turn to Declan. “What… er… what are the Trials?”
“It’s like an obstacle course,” he says under his breath, “but more dangerous. It tests all of our skills at once; the winning team takes the prize for twenty-four hours, and those that lose end up bruised at best and in hospital at worst.”
I stick out my bottom lip, taking in the information with mild interest. “And what would that prize be?”
“Usually it’s one of the godly objects.”
“Ah…” I swallow, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Interesting…”
“Today, you will be split into pairs and will spar,” Professor Worgren continues. “I will be watching for natural skill as well as strength, agility, and learned technique. Ladies, your changing rooms are to the left. Gentlemen, yours are to the right. Be back here in five minutes.”
The guys finally break apart their human wall and shuffle off in the direction of their change rooms. I watch them go for a moment before turning on my heel and making my way to the ladies, but not before giving Professor Worgren a salute and wink. He crosses his arms and watches me darkly until the door of the changeroom blocks his view.
Lore sighs into my mind, and I chuckle. “What kind of Dark student would I be if I didn’t mess with people every once in a while?”
“But why does it have to be the descendant of a known Dark slayer? Can’t you choose one of those blonde girls?”
I turn to the rest of the girls who are scouring the lockers for their names. Those who have found their own draw out their academy-issued training gear and head into the cubicles to change. Looks like I don’t have to fight in a skirt, after all.
My eyes scan over the lockers, searching for my name only to find it at the very end of the row, far away from everyone else.
“How do they know what size I am?” I ask Lore as I open the locker and check on the tags in the clothes and shoes.
“The brownie that lives with us. She organized everything and made sure you had—What is that devil doing here!?”
I snap to where Lore is glaring, expecting to get into my first real fight of the day, only to find my lips twitching into a smile. Keaira pounces toward me, taking a seat next to my gym shoes.
“I’ve been catching glimpses of her around the school.” I lean down and scratch at her head, smiling as she purrs. “I think she’s looking out for us.”
Lore huffs. “She is a pest. I will find a hawk to take her.”
“You aren’t going to have her killed, you bloodthirsty little menace.” I head into a nearby cubicle to change, sighing in relief when I find the clothes cover my scars perfectly. “But I do want you to find out everything you can about brownies. I want to thank her for taking care of us; we mustn’t be in debt.”
“And the cat?” She glares at Keaira as I exit the cubicle. The cat rubs up against my shoes, meowing happily, not a care in the world.
“She’s my fierce protector.” I coo down to my feet.
Straightening, I take my hair tie from around my wrist and pull my hair into a high ponytail as I move back out the door and onto the field. I spot the guys off to the side and smile as they wave me over. I smirk at Declan as I near, his badass appeal quickly diminishing at the sight of his legs in gym shorts. No one looks badass in gym shorts.
Professor Worgren remains with his arms crossed until everyone has returned to the field. When the blonde trio makes their way back last, he grunts and nods. “Pair off and begin!”
The guys turn to me, but my attention is focused on one of them in particular.
Let’s see what a paladin can really do.
Chapter 6
I take Paxton by the wrist and drag him roughly toward an empty patch of field, far from our classmates. He stumbles after me for a moment before righting himself and pulling back against my grip. I look back at him, and he only shakes his head.
I roll my eyes. “Sorry, Paxton, but I choose you. You’re my Pokémon.”
Even though his lips twitch at that, his eyes still hold an edge of worry as I stop far enough away from the rest of the class to not cause any damage—or to minimize it, anyway.
I glance past him to see the guys following after us. “The thing is, Paxton,” I pause to crack my neck, my eyes landing back on him, “I know you’re a paladin.” He pulls back with wide eyes, and I shrug.
“You’re the first one I’ve met, and I’ll be damned if I pass up an opportunity to have a free for all with one of your kind.” I adjust my stance, widening my feet, and steadying myself on the grass. “So let’s do this okay? No holding back, have fun, and—Oh! Shoot one of those blasts at me. I want to see if they’re as hard to block as I’ve heard.”
“She’s insane. I knew it,” Declan’s mutter carries across the open space, and I turn to wink at him.
“I said pair off, not team off!” Professor Worgren calls out. “Leave the girl with Paxton. Someone ought to put her in her place.” I resist the urge to flip him off as the guys sigh and turn back to find their own partners.
Rory waves back to me as he goes. “It was nice knowing you, Serena! You will be missed.”
When he’s not looking, Dane whips around and gives me a thumbs-up, walking backwards a few paces before Rory sticks out his leg and sends him tumbling into the dirt. I chuckle, then turn back to my chosen foe who still looks at me doubtingly.
“Look, I know there’s a lot you guys don’t know about me, but know I can handle myself,” I summon my magic; bright green balls circle me, “and whatever you throw at me.”
A flash of darkness forces my attention away from Paxton, and when I turn to look, a long, wooden staff waits on the grass by my feet. I bend to pick it up, feeling its sturdy weight in my hands, satisfying and strong. I run my fingers along the smooth wood, feeling the natural grain, all the way to where it twists into a hook at the end. I slap it on my hand, then
look back to my opponent. Paxton tilts his head curiously.
“So, paladin. Are you ready?”
He shakes his head slowly but raises his hands at the same time. I twist my staff in my hands, positioning it on the floor between my legs. “Come on,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.
In half a blink, Paxton is by my side. He directs an open-palmed strike to my shoulder, but just as quickly, I bring up my staff and catch his wrist, side-stepping away at the same time. I back up a few steps, keeping my strides wide. Paxton remains where I left him, one eyebrow raised and absently rubbing his wrist.
I raise my hands into a nonchalant shrug, but he takes the opportunity to lunge again. Without enough distance to strike, I place my staff a foot in front of my legs and leap forward, forcing my body up and over Paxton’s head. I roll as I land, and sweep my staff around, hooking it around his ankle and bringing him to the floor.
I dance up as he hits the ground and create more distance between us. He rolls on his shoulder, then pushes up so he is kneeling. He watches me, and I narrow my eyes on him with a challenging smirk. He nods once and stands.
As he does, he holds his right hand out to the side. A bolt of gold light seems to shoot down from the sky, blinding me for a moment. But when I look back, Paxton is holding a golden sword, the handle twisted with royal-blue leather up to the crossguard. The sun’s rays bounce off the deadly sharp blade as he brings it in front of him.
A lightness fills my chest, sending my pulse racing. Now we’re talking.
We lunge at the same time. I aim a strike for his sword-wielding hand, but he knocks me back with his foot to my chest. I hit the floor on my back with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. I groan and push onto my elbows, watching him from the ground as I recover. He holds the sword away from me as if reluctant to use it. I grit my teeth.
“Come on!” I say again, louder. I turn twice and land on my feet, then I lunge for him, sweeping across his body twice. He dodges the first move but then is forced to bring his sword forward to keep my staff from knocking him across the jaw. They clash together, and my arm bounces backwards from the force.
Panting, I take another step backwards; Paxton does too. His eyes are trained on my staff, and he frowns at it. I swing it in front of me, adding in a few twists for artistic flair.
“I guess your holy sword can’t cut through everything, huh?” I grin, and for the first time since meeting him, the hidden tension in his eyes drains away.
Was he really worried he would hurt me? I don’t have time to dwell on the fact as he flits backwards, much farther than he should be able to with only a couple of steps. A new gleam lies in his eyes that I can read perfectly.
I grip my staff tightly with both hands, my feet shuffling, finding new ground beneath me as I wait for him to strike. I barely have time to react when he shifts in front of me, impossibly fast, his sword swinging down. I duck as I raise my arms to block the blow, my staff held lengthways across my forehead, holding the blade of his sword only inches from my skull.
With our faces and bodies so close together, I can see the joy in his eyes and the challenge flowing in them. I send him a sly grin just before I bring my knee up and into his groin. His entire body folds in on itself, releasing the pressure from my head and allowing me to dart back several meters. Surprisingly, though he writhes on the ground, he makes no sound. His squinted eyes look up at me with one question in them: Why?
I shrug. “I never said I’d play fair.”
I allow him a minute to recover, also giving myself the opportunity to catch my breath. When he rises, I realign myself, and he does too. Finally being able to let go, knowing my opponent can take what I give and dish it out just as well, has left me in the best mood I’ve been in, in months.
“Play ball,” I say with a grin.
He attacks again—and again and again, the sound of his sword clacking against my staff echoing around the entire stadium. We circle each other, sweating, exhausted, and watching for the other to make a move. Beyond him, I notice the other pairs have paused in their sparring to watch us.
Paxton lunges forward again, and I meet him in the middle, only to force my staff into the ground, aiming for another leap over his head. But a hand yanks on my ankle mid-air, sending me colliding into the dirt at speed.
I spit mud and grass from my mouth and spin onto my back, quick to grab my fallen staff from beside me, only to find Paxton gone from sight. I leap to my feet, waiting in a crouch, my head swiveling left and right—but he’s nowhere to be seen.
I spin around, gazing through the trees. My heart is racing; I can’t hear past my own pulse. The darkness is pressing against my eyes, morphing, and shifting.
A rustle behind me.
A glint of light bouncing from steel.
I stab my staff into the ground, sending a shock wave through the earth and air around me. Paxton’s eyes widen as he’s flung backwards; he somersaults through the air to land a good fifty meters away, but not on his feet.
He doesn’t move.
“Oh, shit.” I run toward him and skid across the ground to rest beside his prone body. I drop my staff next to him. “Paxton, can you hear me? Are you okay?” He remains still.
They lie among the mulch of the clearing floor. I crouch next to their bodies. I want to stop. I want to mourn them. But I can’t. It is not proper.
Paxton’s head shifts, and his eyes meet mine, their blueness solid and grounding. I cling onto them with mine, drawing myself from the darkness—and he laughs. The first sound I’ve ever heard from him. The warmth in it sends chills across my skin and rockets my mind back into my body; I’m shocked at the deepness of it.
“I think she broke him,” Rory whispers behind me, and I turn in my crouch to glare up at him. “No really,” he turns to Dane, who is next to him, “when was the last time he laughed?”
“I didn’t break him, asshole. I think I just hit him too hard.” I wince and turn back to Paxton, worry gnawing at my insides. “I didn’t break you, Pax, did I?”
He grins at me and shakes his head, his eyes still dancing with laughter as he sits up, brushing the dirt out of his shaggy hair. But as he moves, I notice the wince he attempts to conceal, and I’m instantly hovering over him.
“Where does it hurt?” My eyes lands on the hand he instinctively brought up to his abdomen. He puts it back on the ground to conceal his pain, but I tut and go to lift his shirt to inspect the damage I—
My mouth goes dry.
Abs. So many abs.
I should look away. I’m supposed to be examining the poor guy’s wounds, but all I can think is how far the muscle continues under his shorts…
A familiar snort comes from behind me, and the color drains from my face as I crane my neck around to see Dane’s smirk. I narrow my eyes on him and jab at his shin with my elbow. He hisses and hops back on one foot.
“One word, Dane,” I growl at him. “Say one word, and I’ll let Lore turn you into a worm to play with.”
His eyes twinkle as he pretends to zip his lips; Rory and Declan glance between us, their faces blank. Lore descends onto the ground by Paxton’s head. “I’d rather you let me dispose of the devil cat.”
“Ssh.” I glare at her.
“Paxton, son, are you okay?”
All five of us turn to see Professor Worgren hurrying over, his glare ice cold as he stops at Paxton’s side. “And what the hell were you thinking?” He directs all of his attention to me as he bellows loud enough for the entire school to hear. “This isn’t the Academy of the Dark! We do not kill our classmates here.”
Gasps echo around us at his words, everyone only now remembering who I am, apparently. I take in the glares and the hatred filling their eyes, and I shut down all of my emotions, locking them away as I push up from the ground, taking my staff with me. The people closest jump out of my way as I turn to face them.
My eyes track over my team, their faces serious. I frown at the doubt in Declan
and Rory’s eyes as they glance between Paxton and me.
“Mistress, you must remember why it is you are here,” Lore reminds me.
With an acknowledging grunt, I throw on the mask I’ve grown to know and love as I shrug, smiling down at Professor Worgren. “Oh, dang it! My superiors won’t be happy I failed. There’s always tomorrow, I guess?” When I turn to walk back to the changing rooms, the crowd around me parts like magnets of the same pole.
I make quick work of changing out of my clothes and am out of the arena before the rest of the class have the chance to catch another glimpse of me.
As I walk away from the stadium, the staff still clutched in my hand lets out a fierce little hiss. I squeal as it goes floppy in my grip and fling it down the path—much to the bemusement of the students lounging on the grass nearby—only to watch the wood darken, shorten, and expand. When it hits the floor, it lands lightly on its paws.
“You have got to be kidding me…”
“Neat!” I exclaim, beckoning the Keaira closer. She obliges with a sweet meow, streaking toward me to claw her way up my shirt and rest on my shoulder. This earns her a hard glare from Lore who settles on the other side of my head.
“That’s my side,” Lore mutters, fluttering her wings in irritation.
I ignore her complaint. “Hey, thanks for helping me out back there,” I coo to Keaira, scratching her under the chin. Then I turn my head to look at Lore. “Do you know where my next class is? Usually one of the guys would lead the way, but…” I trail off as I glance over my shoulder, back toward the arena.
“Are you sure your little devil stick can’t help you?”
“Lore…” I groan.
She hoots once before taking off. “Clearly she’s not as useful as she thinks she is.”
I shake my head and follow after Lore’s swooping form as she veers left toward the forest, away from the academy.
I frown as we pass around the side and through the marble pillars leading to the temple, then back to the area where we first assembled yesterday. “Lore? Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
Cursed Magic: A Paranormal Academy Romance (Daughter of Nyx Series Book 1) Page 6
