Vernal

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  “You aren’t coming?”

  “I’m your royal guard, Serena, not your babysitter.”

  “I know. I just assumed—”

  “You’ll be in an auditorium full of protectors. I think you’ll be safe without me for an hour or so. So long as you promise to stay in that room.” He gives me a pointed glare.

  I smile, grateful that he’s giving me the chance to feel normal. Rising on my tiptoes, I plant a kiss on his cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t make me regret it,” he warns halfheartedly.

  “I never do,” I singsong, and step around him.

  He grunts. “You always do.”

  Laughing, I sprint up the last few steps of the stone staircase and push my way through the stained glass doors to enter Domus Gurgulio.

  A little over twenty years ago, this building housed the Royal Gargoyle Council of Protectors. That was before my family disassembled the corrupt ruling body. My father and uncles repurposed the castle and created the St. Michael family legacy—the Academy.

  I make my way down the hallway, ignoring the intricate stonework on the walls and floors as well as the high, vaulted ceilings. I’ve seen them so many times over the years, they no longer impress me. The rich, colorful rugs decorating the marble floors quiet my steps as I pass by the numerous alcoves on my left, filled with the stone statues of my ancestors.

  My interest shifts to the windows on the other side of the hall. The sun is now filling the sky. Its warm rays are bouncing off the droplets of water lingering from the earlier rainstorm. The effect causes the campus to glisten. It’s truly beautiful.

  Pulling me out of my moment of appreciation, my phone buzzes. I glance at the text from my roommate and best friend, Magali, scolding me for my tardiness.

  I hit Ignore and continue through the last hallway.

  Within seconds, I’m at the auditorium’s entrance, flanked by two gargoyle statues, each balancing a fire-filled urn on its head.

  I pause and take a deep, calming breath before opening the heavy carved doors and slipping into the back of the darkened theater.

  Once I cross the threshold, I still and allow my eyes to adjust. As I move away from my position, the doors slam behind me, causing several eyes to flick to me, glaring in annoyance at the interruption.

  I offer a fake apologetic smile.

  My roommate waves her lit-up cell at me from a few rows away, and I quickly move toward her, then dramatically slide into the seat she’s saved for me.

  “Thanks for joining me.” She hisses at me, signing each word with her hands.

  “I got caught in the rainstorm,” I attempt to whisper.

  Mags fixes her annoyed gaze on my shirt.

  “Dad sent it,” I explain.

  She quietly snorts. “Obviously.”

  “Anyway, that’s why I’m late.”

  “Your shirt?” she asks, confused.

  “No. The rain. I had to go back to the suite to shower.”

  Magali Grayson is petite but very powerful when angered or deceived. She narrows her gray and coffee-flecked stare at me. I can tell she suspects that I’m not being fully truthful about the real reason for my tardiness.

  It doesn’t help that one of her supernatural abilities is sensing deceit. That, and Mags also knows me better than anyone, and right now, she knows that I’m hiding something. I shift in my seat under her scrutiny.

  “I may be unvoiced, but I’m not stupid.” Her hands fly wildly as she pins me with a knowing look.

  “I never said you were stupid. You are, however, annoyingly persistent,” I mumble under my breath.

  She snaps her fingers at me, her version of growling.

  “There is nothing wrong with my hearing.”

  Magali was born nonverbal, an uncommon condition for our kind. Gargoyles have finely tuned hearing and heightened sight abilities, which help us demon hunt. In addition to our keen senses, we’re also able to heal ourselves, and therefore we don’t suffer from diseases or physical ailments, like humans do. Even so, more extensive injuries do require us to stone state sleep in a protected chamber in order for our bodies to fully rejuvenate.

  Being nonverbal is extremely rare for a protector, but it doesn’t hinder her abilities. If anything, it allows her hearing and sight to be stronger, more acute. Even though she can hear others when they speak, Magali has to communicate through sign language. And angry facial expressions. Similar to the one filled with annoyance she’s giving me now.

  I sink deeper into the padded auditorium chair and avert my eyes from hers. At this, she lets out an aggravated breath, causing her dark bangs to fly away from her mocha-colored forehead.

  My best friend is that girl you love but secretly envy. She’s exotically stunning, smart, popular, a perfectionist, and every year is at the top of our training class. She also has a penchant for neatness and is compulsively on time.

  Though we’re opposites, we’ve been best friends forever. When she was five, her family moved from South Africa to the States. One day, she strolled into my kindergarten class as if she didn’t have a care in the world, plopping down next to me.

  As soon as she pulled out her watermelon-scented lip balm, she became my instant favorite among all the girls. We’ve been tethered to one another since.

  My attention returns back to her and I smile, attempting to win her over.

  She playfully rolls her eyes in return.

  “Your mom texted me earlier.”

  I grimace. “Why?”

  “She needed to talk to you and said you weren’t answering your phone. In typical helicopter-mom fashion, Abby threatened to send your aunt to ‘hunt you down.’”

  Mag’s smile turns wicked and I narrow my eyes.

  “Which aunt? Eve?” I ask.

  “McKenna.”

  I groan. “You’ve got to me kidding me!”

  “Just text her and let her know you’re still breathing.”

  I pull out my cell and silence it before shooting a quick text off to my mom letting her know that I am in fact, alive, and there is no need to send in the cavalry.

  My aunt Kenna can be—well—tough. On a good day.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask, slipping my phone back into my pocket and looking for the rest of our group.

  “Ethan had some Knox clan business to attend to. Ryker and Ireland are probably attending to one another.” She attempts to hide her bitterness.

  Magali has had a longstanding crush on our friend Ryker Daniels since starting at the Academy. Unfortunately for Mags, Ryker set his sights on Ireland Presley two years ago, during our first day of training. Her pride is still bruised over Ryker’s choice in mates.

  I offer her an understanding smile.

  The low rumble in the auditorium turns silent as the Academy’s chancellor, Dr. Henry Davidson, makes his way with a commanding presence to the podium positioned at the center of the stage. We both watch with boredom as a handful of tenured administrators follow the elder gargoyle and dutifully take their seats, while the head of the Academy prepares to address this year’s attending protector classes.

  I skim the dim room, floating over the profiles of other students. There’s no sign of Tristan. My shoulders sag in disappointment. Since he’s new, I figured that he would be at the welcome assembly. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

  Magali snaps her fingers in my face again and I swing a pointed glare her way so she can sign. “Who are you looking for?”

  I falter and cringe. “N-No one.”

  Her perfectly manicured eyebrow arches.

  It really sucks when your best friend is a lie detector. I shrug in response and face forward, pretending to be enthralled with the soon-to-be-given welcome speech.

  For some odd reason, I feel protective over Tristan. I don’t want to share him with her just yet.

  Dr. Davidson clears his throat and leans toward the microphone. “Good afternoon, protectors. Congratulations on earning a coveted spot here at
the Academy. Your attendance makes you part of the elite. I’m sure you don’t need to be reminded that this institution was founded on three basic principles: duty, honor, and protection. Today, we continue to instill these ideals in each protector class that trains and passes through our doors.”

  He pauses, making eye contact with the first row. “We graduate the best of the best. Let there be no misconceptions—we are not here to coddle you. We are not here to cater to you. We are here to make you better protectors.”

  “For those who are new, your three years with us will be rigorous. For those who are returning, this year will be your hardest yet. There are no free passes. Here you work and train hard. You show loyalty. You abide by your oaths, and in turn, you graduate with prestigious assignments given by the royal family.”

  “You get one chance. And only one. Welcome to the Royal Protector Academy.”

  Serena

  THE ORIENTATION DRAGGED ON FOR HOURS. The entire time, my mind had been elsewhere, worlds away from reality. A glare from the sun hits my eyes, causing me to squint as Magali and I make our way across campus toward the dorms.

  An unfamiliar tingling sensation runs through my veins as we approach our suite’s door. I attempt to calm myself and control the anxiety that seems to be curdling in my blood, but the feeling just intensifies the closer we get.

  On edge, I watch with annoyance as Mags fumbles for her key card before swiping it, and the lock to our place clicks open. Guarded, I follow her in, slamming into her back when she abruptly stops walking.

  A surprised yelp escapes me from the sudden collision, and I push away before I can process what has her motionless.

  Stunned, I slowly blink at the sight of our friend Ethan sitting on the couch. That’s a normal occurrence; it’s whom he’s hanging out with that has me paralyzed.

  What the hell is he doing here? In my suite!

  I stare at Tristan, watching him laugh casually at something Ethan said. His booted feet rest on my coffee table as he chomps away on my cookies.

  My lips part in disbelief.

  Perhaps I’ve entered an altered state of consciousness. One where deliciously hot guys, whom I’ve been daydreaming about all day, simply appear in my suite, without invitation. Plausible explanation, right?

  As if hearing my thoughts, Tristan turns, angles his head, and locks gazes with me. Nervously, my hand wraps around my protector jewelry and my fingertips brush across the stones. I just need to touch something, anything, to help soothe and ground my emotions, which seem to go haywire when I’m in his presence.

  Tristan’s darkened gaze drops to my bracelet. He watches me fidget with it for a second before the side of his mouth quirks into an almost sad, understanding smile.

  I stand there staring at him for a brief moment before bowing my head and, with a sigh, forcing myself to stop. I hate how out of control he makes me feel inside. Especially since I don’t even know him.

  At my reaction, Tristan bestows another breathtaking smile and turns his attention back to Ethan. The nagging feeling of being dismissed by him hits me. And for some irrational, unknown reason, I don’t like it.

  I snap my head up in the direction of the good-looking protector and examine him, as he continues to chew on the baked goods my dad sent me in my monthly care package.

  Wait—is he eating my cookies? Oh. Hell. No.

  Care package baked goods are coveted, and I do not share with strangers, especially hot and unnerving ones. Stepping around a still-dazed and unmoving Magali, I storm toward the couch at the two laughing gargoyles.

  “Hey Serena,” Ethan smiles brightly.

  Once I’m standing in front of them, Tristan slowly lifts his gaze, locking it back onto mine. As if goading me, he takes a rather large bite of the chocolate-chunked treat.

  For some absurd reason the sight of him eating the cookie my dad made for me—my cookie, sets me off.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, yanking the half eaten pastry away from his kissable lips. Gah. I really need my hormones to stop sidetracking me when I’m around him.

  Ethan’s eyes widen at my foolish outburst, and Magali remains rooted in her spot. Her expression is now marred by curiosity as she watches the whole scene unfold.

  “Do you two know each other?” Ethan asks.

  “Yes,” I reply, at the same time Tristan says, “No.”

  “That was clear,” Ethan replies under his breath.

  “I was eating that!” Tristan points to my hand.

  I lift the crumbling dessert. “My dad sent me these.”

  “Annnd?” He has the audacity to look stupefied.

  “And my dad’s cookies are off-limits.”

  Tristan studies me as if I’ve gone batshit crazy, which, considering my overreaction and outburst—I have. After a brief moment, he slowly stretches, rising to his full height from the couch, then bending his neck from side to side before taking a step toward me.

  I notice his warrior frame move with careless grace as he prowls toward me. I scramble back, putting space between us, which just seems to encourage him to continue the advance.

  He smiles at me like a predator.

  I stare.

  God, he smells good. His scent is a combination of spice and citrus. Maybe cigarettes too. I hold in a moan as he moves closer.

  “Am I to understand that you don’t want me eating Callan’s—cookies?” he asks, amused.

  At the sound of my dad’s name falling from his lips, a coldness settles over me. How does he know my father?

  “You know who I am?” I seethe.

  At the accusation, Tristan’s brows furrow together.

  “I told him, Ser,” Ethan interjects. “Jeez, calm down.”

  I give Ethan a pointed glare. He knows I don’t like strangers knowing I’m royal blood and the London clan heir. I return my annoyed focus back to Tristan, who is just observing me with an unreadable expression.

  I inhale.

  By the grace, why does he make me emotionally unstable when he’s around?

  “Don’t touch my cookies, Tristan.” Yeah, that just came out of my mouth. In threat form. Kill. Me. Now.

  He narrows his eyes at the bite in my words and sucks in his lower lip, holding back a laugh. After a moment, he steps closer.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper. My voice is so unsteady and rickety that I barely recognize it.

  “Approaching you,” his tone is low, lulling.

  My cockiness has dried up. “I—what?”

  “I’m approaching you, slowly,” he adds.

  “Slowly?” I repeat, barely audible. “Why?”

  He dips his head. “If I charge at you, you’ll run.”

  I lift my chin. “You think I’d bolt?”

  “I scare you. And when you’re scared, you run.”

  I swallow. “You have me all figured out, do you?”

  A triumphant smile falls across his mouth. “I do.”

  “You don’t,” I exhale. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

  Once there’s no space left between us, his fingers gently wrap around my wrist. The cool metal of his rings sets off a warm sensation in me.

  It’s calming.

  Safe.

  Frightening.

  Tristan lifts my hand holding the destroyed cookie to his mouth. He licks his lips and my breath hitches.

  It’s obvious he knows the effect he has on the opposite sex. Each of his moves is calculated and meant to seduce. Right before he’s about to take another bite, his eyes darken and a smugness appears across his face.

  “Be afraid. Because it’s not your dad’s cookies I’m after.”

  Our gazes tangle, and it’s then I realize I’m in way over my head when it comes to him.

  And I like it. Too much.

  I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”

  His frame straightens, and he releases my wrist, taking a step back. Tristan has about a foot and a half on me in height. Enough to intimidate whomeve
r he wants to.

  And right now, he wants to intimidate me.

  “I live here,” he states casually.

  Looking around the suite, I meet Magali’s wide-eyed, puzzled expression. She shakes her head back and forth, letting me know she has no clue what he’s talking about.

  Returning my attention back to Tristan, I point my index finger toward the hardwood floors. “Here. As in—my suite?” The pitch in my voice has kicked up a notch.

  Magali nudges me, stepping next to me. “Our suite,” my roommate signs, finally regaining her wits. “I’m Magali. Your other roommate.”

  Tristan watches her hands glide and grins brightly.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Magali,” he replies, both verbally and using sign language.

  She blushes and smiles. Not many protectors know how to sign, and I can tell that she’s impressed by him. Traitor.

  “I can hear. Feel free to speak to me without signing.”

  Tristan nods. “Will do, roomie.”

  Mags turns to me, smiling. “The new guy’s hot.”

  I glare at her before rubbing my forehead.

  “So, you. Are going to live here. With us?”

  “Yes. I was assigned this suite as my housing.”

  I just blink. I’m too shocked to respond.

  His tone is casual. “I put my stuff in the empty room,” he points to the hallway. “Ethan said that was okay?”

  I hear the words coming out of his mouth, but they make no sense. Nothing about this does. There is no coed housing at the Academy. It’s why Ireland and Ryker moved off campus. By the grace, even Rulf is required to stay in separate living quarters, across the hall.

  “Yeah that’s totally fine,” Mags steps in. “Ireland was our other roommate, but she moved in with her boyfriend, Ryker, a few weeks ago,” she explains, her expression becoming crestfallen.

  The three of them stare at me as if waiting for me to say something. I remain motionless through the awkwardness. I know they expect a response, but I’m too confused and shocked to actually string words together in sentence form.

  “That explains the pink walls,” Tristan responds without a hint of sarcasm. Instead his tone is almost sympathetic toward Magali and what she’s feeling.

  A frown distorts her pretty features.