The Broken Academy 3: Power of Blood (A Paranormal Academy Reverse Harem Romance)

by Jade Alters

  “Two, at the bar, please,” I tell the hostess at the seating podium. She nods, scoops up two menus and leads the way there immediately. I have to grab Cece’s hand and lead her along like a lost child. Her heels draw a wandering line across the tile behind me all the way to the high, rich wooden bar. The gloss layer over its exquisite grains is bright enough to reflect our whole bodies. We hop up and sink into the lush, cushioned bar stools. The hostess deposits the menus in front of us, but I close mine immediately.

  “What’d you bring this guy one of these for?” Caesar laughs at the hapless girl the second he sees me from the door to the back office. Perfect. Just what I needed him to do. Cece’s eyes shine high beams at the sharply-dressed owner of the mystical establishment as he turns to the bartender. “Get him a Bloody Mary and a basket of fried clams. Tell me this dame is with you.” Caesar prods a finger at Cece, “I am not up for another relocation right now.”

  “She’s with me,” I smile. Caesar sighs out his relief while the bartender recreates his recipe right down to the paprika-powdered green olive on the side of the glass. Then Caesar looks to Cece. “What can I get you, honey? First time comes from the man’s hands themselves.”

  “Oh, I…um…” Even my eyes go wide when she looks to me to whisper, “What’s good?” Her eyes fly up and down the menu for the first time, with not nearly enough time to decide. Caesar slaps a palm over the right side of his chest, loud enough to snap every head at the bar towards him.

  “Look a man in the eye when you drive a knife in his heart!” he wails. “You know where you are? What’s good?” Caesar mocks her. I imagine he’s just about one of the only people in the world, including myself, who could mock Cece without suffering a degree of burns humans have no number for. Instead, it’s her face that turns a cherry color I never thought I’d see. “I’m getting you the twisted tacos. Then you talk to me about what’s good.” Caesar leaves, muttering to himself. I laugh at the familiar shpiel he gives nervous first-timers. Cece deflates the second he leaves, forehead glossed with sweat.

  “He really knows how to put a girl on the spot,” she mutters.

  “I didn’t know you could be put on the spot, honestly,” I can’t help but chuckle.

  “Don’t get used to it,” Cece sighs. The bartender slides my tall glass of tomato masterpiece down to me, and I slide it right along to Cece. “Take the edge off.” Cece tries to take the lightest sip she can, but it turns into a full gulp as soon as it touches her tongue. I know I can’t blame her.

  “God damn! There’s alcohol in there?” Cece marvels.

  “If you knew how much, you’d have said that much louder. Now give it here,” I smile and snatch the glass back. “You know, even when I was less experienced, I chose this stuff over blood more than once.”

  “I might choose it over food. Depending on what twisted tacos are,” Cece whispers.

  “Don’t make things worse for yourself,” I warn her with a grin. I can see in her eyes, in every dart they make around my face, that Cece is trying to read me. Not just now, but every time she looks at me. For better or worse, she can’t seem to figure me out, and I can tell how much it pisses her off. That’s alright. I don’t need her to like me, as much as I want her to.

  “So, let’s talk. This is a strategy meeting, right?” Cece says. “What’s so covert that you had to tell me on a date?”

  “So you want this to be a date, do you?” I tease.

  “Damnit, Bart, what did you want to tell me?” Cece insists, though I see the faintest flint strike of playfulness in her eyes.

  “I’ve seen you with Dorian. He’s wrapped around your finger, you know that, right?” I ask.

  “I-I… He…” Cece chokes up. I never thought I’d see it, but it’s perfect. She’s already so flustered about her relationship with her father, she’ll never see through what I have in mind. If we weren’t so close to the world we’ve always wanted, I might feel more guilty about manipulating her like this. But Lucidous is on the brink, and she can take us over it.

  “He is, Cece. I mean, why wouldn’t he be? What’s there not to be proud of, in a daughter like you?” I prompt.

  “Alright, shut it,” Cece waves me off. She turns her face halfway away from me, but can’t stop glancing back in the corner of her eye. She wants to believe it. If only she knew how.

  “You’re our best bet now, to find out everything we can about the Kyrie. Not just the Dragons’ stakes in this, but the others, too,” I confide in her.

  “What, you don’t have Lucidous wrapped around your pale, skinny finger?” Cece taunts back. After everything I’ve put her through, I deserve it. I take it with a humble nod and tell her:

  “Hard as it might be to believe, he’s a tough fish to hook. I think he suspects me. As a member of the ASTF, I mean. I can’t do too much digging, or he’ll sniff me out for sure,” I tell her. I let my eyes drop in shame for added effect. It’s not too hard to act ashamed with what I’m actually doing here. I look down in disgust, into the crimson mirror of my Bloody Mary. “I’ll come along with you, of course, for cover, but I’m really just a placeholder now. It’s up to you.”

  “You think Dorian’s just going to answer my every question?” Cece counters. Her accusatory tone implies what she thinks will happen. I combat it with a voice of absolute calm.

  “I’m sure he will. Trust me. You can do no wrong in the man’s eyes. You have a finger to the pulse of the Kyrie now, Cece. All you have to do is count the beats. Ask him for a tour. He’ll talk your ear off to impress you,” I assure her.

  “I don’t know. I…” Cece swallows her words when a better use for her mouth comes along.

  Caesar swoops down from the kitchen with a literal silver platter of the most overwhelmingly loaded tacos either of us has ever seen. I wonder briefly if there’s even an actual taco shell under the mountain of contents atop them. Then I notice the hard ridges of three shells just barely poking through the top. A bed of beef lays the groundwork for refried beans, crisp lettuce, red peppers, onions, tomatoes, jalapenos, melted cheese, sour cream, guacamole and coarse salt. A lime wedge primed to burst waits at the edge of the plate for squeezing. Cece and I marvel at them together until Caesar kisses his fingers and disappears. She pulls the plate towards her, only to hesitate with her hands halfway between the tacos and her silverware. She looks to me for guidance, but I hardly know how she’s supposed to approach the mountain of food. Then my clam basket slides out. I’ll never get over the way Caesar does it. Clam meat literally woven in a basket, fried to formation, filled with french fries and drizzled with house tartar sauce, ketchup and spices.

  “Try a bite. It’ll give you strength,” I laugh as I watch Cece struggle to scoop a shell up in her hands. I pull my fleshy basket apart and toss crunchy bursts of flavor down my throat. “While you figure that out, I thought I’d bring to your attention…I think I’d like to submit an application to join your little club.” Yet another distraction, but an unnecessary one. I hardly need more smoke and mirrors to guide Cece along. This one is just for me. I haven’t been able to keep my scarlet eyes off of her since she captured me in the courtyard. The curve of her bottom and breasts...the boundless wells of her eyes, so deep in her tan skin.

  “Which club is that?” Cece asks through an elated mouthful of twisted taco. I chuckle at the irony. It would be a lie to say her shameless tenacity wasn’t part of what attracted me to her so.

  “The one Lee, Serge and Bryant are a part of,” I try to embody the sentiment. Cece coughs, which causes her to inhale a large bean. After three seconds of harsh gasping, I slide her my Bloody Mary to wash down the blockage. Cece pants until she can bear to answer.

  “You…understand then, that in that club…we share?”

  “It’s implied with it having three members, isn’t it?” I answer. But our fellow ASTF members are hardly a concern to me. A young Dragon, the black sheep of an ancient Magician family and a lost little Demon? I can contend with that for more ti
me like this with a girl like Cece. Even in my long lifetime, a woman like her might come along but once.

  “Then…” Cece chews on the thought, along with a fat stack of veggies and taco shell. “Your application is under review.”

  “Excellent,” I say, formal as ever, but this time in jest. Cece chuckles as her eyes wander from her own plate to mine. A hand shoots out before I can stop her.

  “Let me try some of that,” she slips in.

  “Sacrilege! Trespassing in a man’s basket uninvited!” I declare, even as my hand rounds hers to snatch a sliver of beef-covered taco shell. “Have at thee!” I commence the duel.

  It lasts until late in the evening, when Caesar ushers us all out. I think it may have been a whole lifetime since I’ve laughed so hard, or for so long.

  Watchful Eye

  Cece,

  The Sierra Nevadas, Illusory Reach

  I can’t believe that ridiculous restaurant. I can’t believe how much blind faith Bart is willing to put in me. More than anything else, I can’t believe I had fun with him at dinner. He seems to materialize from nowhere around the Academy now, seemingly present at every turn. Every time I see him I’m caught off-guard with another laugh, or another overly formal flirt. It’s so hideously old school, and I still can’t tell if he’s doing it in jest or not. All I can tell is that I’m suddenly looking forward to our trek back to the Kyrie Stronghold. So much so that, when we crest the final peak at the edge of the Academy Training Zone, I grab his shoulder to turn him around.

  “Want a ride?” I ask.

  “A mountaintop is quite the romantic place, but it’s rather public, no?” Bart teases me. Who ever knew such a stiff, cold body could be full of so much mischief? Not me, before our date. The Bart who hikes along the thin trails between the piney shrubs with me now is like a different man. I wonder which is the true man behind the scarlet eyes, the formal, uptight rendition, or this off-color jokester?

  “Nice try, but you couldn’t handle the kind of heat I’d bring, if I transformed for that,” I warn him. “I meant a ride on my back. A tour in the clouds. Sicko.”

  “Of course,” Bart plays dumb. “That’s precisely what I meant, too. I thought riding Dragon-back might be a rather intimate activity for both of us.”

  “Sure,” I roll my eyes. “You hopping on or what? I want to return the favor for the ride you took me on the other night. To the Cook Behind the Curtain.” Bart’s red eyes and teeth flash in the sun as he turns to me, smiling.

  “Lead on,” he accepts. I’ll see if he can be surprised yet. Bart doesn’t flinch when my body erupts into fire. His eyes stare on, mildly enthused, even when my half-size enlarged draconic form emerges from the inferno. I dig four violet talons into the clay to let him up on my back. His legs feel like two hanging icicles astride on my hips. I imagine he feels like he’s straddling a volcano. Still, Bart leans forward and drapes his arms around my long neck. He tightens a gentle hold on the armor of my upper chest. My wings unfurl behind us, and beat with twice their normal ferocity to fling us both up into the air.

  I carry us up through the underside of a thin, fluffy veil. Vapor whips past the scales of my face, onto Bart’s. From the corner of my huge blue eye, I watch his reactions. He smirks the way a pet store owner might at a new shipment of puppies. He enjoys it for what it is, semi-amusing and normal. I try a dive. Bart tightens his hold on my neck, but that’s about all. No sound escapes his lips. There are no skipped beats in the weak tempo I feel from his chest on my back. I twirl horizontally without warning, which Bart addresses with no more than a tightened grip. I even out, wings wide to ride the wind high above the Sierras and think what to try next. Dry meadow grass and a network of creeks mark the border around the Stronghold below us.

  “If I didn’t know any better, Cece…I’d say you were trying to impress me,” Bart marvels. That’s it. The fool has given me just the incitement I needed.

  “I’m not sure what gave you that idea,” I mock him. “If I were trying to impress you…it would look more like this.” I give the wind one last, hard shove beneath me. We bounce about five feet higher, only to shoot straight down. I tuck in my wings over Bart, my arms at my sides and my legs straight behind me. I can do it, I try to convince myself. I don’t need Dorian to catch me this time. Bart’s fingers digging into my collar-scales are a sign that it’s working.

  I corkscrew into the tightest, fastest spin I can. The world becomes a hazy tunnel of beige, green and blue. I lose track of any definition, even of my own body. I’m no more than an amethyst bullet, shooting straight down. I focus on the blood racing out to the furthest reaches of my body – my claws, my wings. I let it all flood with heat. I focus on the membranes between the bones of my draconic sails. I equalize the flow of gas from each layer of tissue just before the flame strikes.

  “Shit!” spills from Bart’s lips. There it is. I cut back up, wings snapping out at either side of me. The flame between my scales fizzles out to smoke, but the tiniest flicker of embers lingers in the cup of my flapping wings. Bart clenches harder than ever when he finds that he can no longer spread his legs wide enough to span my enlarged back. He compensates by digging in his knees and hands. That’s all I needed.

  I take the rest of the ride at a leisurely cruise. I revel in the powerful slam of my wings and how far each flap flings us ahead. I savor the grasp Bart refuses to let up on and replay that beautifully shrill note in my head again and again. Shit! He does feel fear. I glide down to the edge of the pine forest that encircles the Kyrie Stronghold’s cavernous entrance well before the Dalshak guardsmen have any reason to assume the worst again. I shrink back down and reform as a muscular young woman, still in Bart’s tight grasp.

  “What a foul mouth you have, Bartholomew,” I jeer at him, his chin cutting down into my shoulder. His chest is still flat against my back. His hands pull my breasts up from the top, still linked around my collar.

  “Is it safe for me to assume you’re done impressing me for the evening?” Bart asks as I feel his feet shake to the ground behind me. His pelvis is tucked up into the curve of my butt in a way that makes me hesitant to admit that I am. The chill of him against me calms the flames that still swirl around my chest. He feels like the living embodiment of a late-spring breeze.

  “Then it’s safe for me to assume you’re impressed?” I taunt him back a few seconds later, though I’m hardly ready for him to let go. To my surprise, he doesn’t, even when I spin around to face him. His hands link together behind my neck. His bony waist squeezes perfectly into the full curves of my thighs. What am I doing? crosses my mind for the briefest second. I already have three men tangled around one another… But Bart’s eyes, somehow so unsettled and so knowing at the same time, just dare me to do it harder. To go where I haven’t, where I can’t know until I just lean in. So I do. Just as he says:

  “I won’t undignify myself by lying to you,” my lips touch down in-between his. I feel the graze of his fangs against them. Knowing how much damage he could do with a simple clench terrifies me, but also awakens a new sort of excitement with each second that he doesn’t. With each inch his hands slide gently down my sides to the outside of my butt.

  “Hey!” The sound of the scream tears us asunder. “Oh it’s these two again,” the idiot Dalshak boy rambles to himself when he comes through the treeline. Before I can accidentally look Bart in those tempting, red eyes again and see something awful like regret, I turn towards the guardsman.

  “Yeah, it’s us,” I spit. “So get out of the way. I’m sure my father has been waiting to see me.” I walk off before the boy can utter anything else to embarrass himself or us. Bart keeps pace just behind. I feel his eyes weigh heavy on me the whole way. And not just the back of my head or shoulders, but every inch of me.

  Cece,

  The Kyrie Stronghold

  Bart and I part ways right at the fountain atrium. He turns down a left hand fork toward the Vampire’s sector of the Stronghold. His steps are eclip
sed by the gentle but voluminous flow of water. His frame is swallowed by the darkness beyond. I wonder what it looks like down there. The walls, lined with human bodies in stasis, each one with a straw sticking from its neck? No, it can’t be so macabre. I might have believed it was if my experience with Vampires had stopped at Darius Jecks. But Bart… He’s something different altogether. I’ve hardly seen the kind of courtesy he shows everyone and everything in most humans.

  I take a leisurely stroll around the fountain for the hall that points at the Dragon’s Quarter. I let a hand down into the frothing well water. The chill of it sends a tremor up the bones of my fingers into my arm. It wakens me from the trance of complacency that settled over me the second I left company behind. I have to face the weight of what’s in front of me. If what Bart said on our date was the truth, I’m the Academy’s sole lifeline to the will of the Kyrie, and my father’s the ticket.

  There’s not enough time in the world for me to walk to the Dragon’s Quarter. It’d be fine with me if I never arrived, and this war between supernatural sects just blew right over. If I never had to sort through my feelings for my biological family. If I never had to flirt with a truth I never wanted. Why did they give me up?

  “Ceceli- er- Cece!” Dorian chimes, so goofy I just can’t believe at the moment that he’s the leader of this whole operation. He puts a hand to the back of his black head of hair and scratches hard. “Sorry. Still getting used to that.”