Assassin's Academy: Book One: Rebels: (A Dark Academy Romance)

by Everly Frost

  A tingle grows in my fingertips, the same shiver I always feel when I fight Striker, a rippling impact coursing up my arm, across my shoulder, and down my torso.

  I feel… angry.

  Justifiably angry.

  Lifting my fingers, I slowly open my eyes and focus on my hands. My claws are fully extended, dark, blood-red, and razor sharp. The pain in my face is gone and the floor is now a full foot below me.

  I’ve healed and I’m levitating again. My hair floats up beside me, giving me a sense of weightlessness. I wobble in the air, sucking in oxygen as fast as I can, forcing myself to breathe. Panic seems like a rational emotion right now, but instead, a rush of rage flows through me. I curl my hands into my fists, not caring that I scrape my palms with my own claws.

  Snapping my eyes closed again, I fight the fury, telling myself I need to regain control.

  But… may the ancients help me… I don’t want to calm down.

  This feeling. It’s like molten lava, powerful and indestructible, and I want more of it. I don’t want to feel afraid anymore. I don’t want to be vulnerable.

  Rage flows fast inside me, filling my head, intensifying violently. It makes me want to grasp Osprey’s neck in my hands and squeeze until she breathes her last. I want to take a knife to Raptor’s heart and cut it out, one brutal stab at a time. I want to break every bone in Ms. Hawk’s body the same way she breaks students…

  I have nothing to give but pain and torment.

  A moan tears out of me.

  No. Oh, no.

  They have made me furious.

  I am fury.

  I don’t want this, but this is what I am.

  I am vengeance, hell, and damnation.

  With a gasp, I drop to the floor on my hands and knees, fighting the sudden hot tears burning my eyes. I don’t want my sole purpose to be pain and torment. To be violence. I never wanted any of this.

  I drop back against my door, wishing Striker would come in right now and hug me when I’m prepared for it. I would return his embrace this time, cling to him as hard as I can, soak up the contact before it breaks, and accept his apology. I would ask him to kiss me, heal me, and I wouldn’t dig into the power that’s been concealed inside me all this time.

  I crawl across the floor to his stolen blanket and pull it around my shoulders, curling up in a ball.

  Now that I know what I am, I should feel powerful, but I don’t.

  For the first time in years, I cry myself to sleep.

  31. Striker Draven

  The wall between us is too thin. Peyton’s muffled sobs permeate the partition, tearing out chunks of my heart. I’ve never heard her cry before, not even after Raptor hurt her. Telling her I’m sorry was supposed to be the first step toward making things better between us. It wasn’t supposed to make things worse.

  Why the fuck can’t I get this right?

  I pace my room until her cries stop and the night’s silence descends over me.

  Far beneath the Academy, a beast waits for me. Peyton’s right—one of us will meet it first. The only question is: her or me? Better me so I can find out what it is and find its weaknesses.

  Finally falling asleep, my dreams are fitful, and I wake to a bright stream of sunlight. Peyton was right again—leaving my curtains open makes it much easier to wake up. A glance at my clock tells me it’s not even four o’clock.

  I beat her to the morning run, finishing up when she emerges with her compliance officers in tow. She’s subdued, her face blotchy from crying, but there’s something different about her eyes, even her hair.

  I pause as she passes me by, trying to pinpoint what it is.

  Her movements are smoother, impossibly graceful, and her hair has highlights of lighter brown in it that I never noticed before. I tell myself it’s the early morning sun. I’m not used to the softer light bathing the Academy at this time of day.

  Then I catch sight of her fingernails. Her claws are nowhere to be seen, but it looks like she’s painted her nails blood red this morning. She’s lucky it’s so early and nobody’s around to see it yet.

  She barely acknowledges me until she’s a mere step away from passing me by completely. Then she glances up and the glint in her eyes freezes me to the spot.

  They’re full of pure, animalistic rage.

  My beast roars to the surface and I can’t stop his instant, guttural snarls. He’s still not speaking to me, not even now that I’ve apologized to Peyton, but his response to the look in her eyes is intense. He claws at my mind, tearing at the mental barriers with which I keep him caged, demanding to be let out, to get at her. To get close to her.

  What the hell is she?

  After her claws appeared, I wondered whether she was like me, even though my kind aren’t normally female. But now I have no doubt that she’s something else entirely, something that makes even my beast want to prowl around her, wary of her but drawn to her like hellfire.

  I force myself to remain completely still, allowing her to pass me. I’ve done enough to hurt her. The last thing I want is to draw attention to her that could cause her more pain.

  Using the spike in my power to run inside, I take all five flights of stairs two at a time. The physical exertion barely has an impact. I head to the shower, turning the water on full cold.

  When I emerge into the corridor, she’s walking toward me and her expression is hooded. She must be containing whatever flicker of power I saw before, but the edge of tension in her shoulders and the strain around her mouth remains.

  I steer clear of her until the first class of the day—Magical History—when we need to sit together.

  She keeps looking up, as if she’s waiting for something to happen, flicking glances at the classroom door. I consider the classroom and everyone in it, uncertain about the cause of her wariness. She could be worried about the pit or it could be something else entirely.

  Mr. Mallard drops his books on the table with a bang. He’s the quietest of the teachers, the least violent, preferring to torture us with long lectures, but I’ve always been cautious around him, just waiting for the day when he shows his true colors.

  He exhales into the silence, tapping his wand against his desk. Ripples of magic flow through the wooden surface before he raises his voice. “Today we’re starting a new course of study. One we haven’t touched on before because, quite frankly, I didn’t consider it relevant.” He leans forward with an unusual glint in his eyes. “However, it turns out we should have been studying this all along.”

  Rounding the table, he props his backside on it. It would be a casual gesture if not for the stern press of his lips.

  “Supernatural monsters,” he announces. “The creatures we like to hunt and kill.” His voice lowers. “The creatures that like to hunt us.”

  Nobody moves. The room is as quiet as it usually is, but my senses suddenly go haywire. I don’t often use my power to detect biological changes in others—mostly because I’m concerned about revealing my power when I do—but I take a chance to carefully allow my senses to open, inhaling the elevated stress levels around me.

  Lucinda…

  Ashley…

  Bree…

  All of Peyton’s friends. Their heartbeats and adrenaline levels have suddenly spiked.

  Peyton herself is like a flare of light in my senses, a wash of heightened emotions, fear at the forefront.

  Mr. Mallard continues. “Supernatural monsters are not descended from the gods we have been studying. They were, in fact, originally created by the primordial deities who came before the gods; primordial deities such as Gaia, who gave birth to the titans, and Nyx, who is the mother of all death. Also Tartarus, from whom Hell itself was born.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Who can tell me the difference between Class A, B, and C monsters?”

  Peyton’s anxiety levels spike again and then calm. Damn, she’s good at controlling herself. “I can,” she says into the quiet.

  Lucinda flinches, but Peyton’s focus is firmly
fixed on Mr. Mallard. For a second, the rage she hid before reappears but it’s gone again so quickly, he would never see it.

  “Go ahead, Peyton,” he says.

  Her tone is even and confident. “Class C monsters can only take animal form. Examples are griffins, winged stallions, and the deadly manticores. In contrast, Class B monsters are humanoid but have monstrous characteristics they can’t hide. This forces them to live in forests and caves away from civilization. An example is the harpy I killed.”

  Mr. Mallard does well not to react to the reminder of what Peyton did. Much like my killing of the Orthrus, there are rumors about how she did it, but nobody will ever know for sure except her.

  Peyton suddenly smiles. “And, then, as you well know, Mr. Mallard, Class A monsters are those that walk among us. They take human form at will and have no aura.” Her smile broadens. “This is why they are the most deadly.”

  He clears his throat, his eyes narrowing momentarily. “Indeed, they are. Today, we’re starting with the Valkyrie. Even though they’re extinct, they’re the archetype of a Class A monster. They have no aura and appear completely human; however, there is a theory that they can be identified by a subtle imperfection in their eyes. It’s thought that they have silver—”

  My heightened senses flare again. Peyton’s adrenaline levels just shot sky high. At the same time, Raptor strides into the room, interrupting Mallard. I can’t tell if Peyton’s response is to what Mallard was saying about the Valkyrie’s eyes or to Raptor’s sudden appearance.

  “Sorry to interrupt your class, Mr. Mallard,” Raptor says, giving Mallard a cordial nod. “Lucinda Adams is due in my classroom.”

  Peyton’s eyes widen. Her focus flicks to Lucinda who has frozen in her seat.

  Mr. Mallard doesn’t appear surprised. “Lucinda,” he says. “Go with Professor Raptor. Everyone else, remain seated.”

  Peyton grips the edge of her desk. Lucinda twists in her seat, casting Peyton a fearful glance before she turns to the front again, slowly rising to her feet.

  Raptor remains at the front of the class, a faint smile on his lips as he waits for Lucinda to step forward. His focus, however, is on Peyton, a cruel smile playing with his lips as he watches her reaction. A quiet scratching sound tells me Peyton is digging her claws into the underside of her desk, an angry, anxious movement.

  As soon as Lucinda reaches him, Raptor’s big fist darts out. He grabs her hair, digs his fingers into her braid, and yanks her head down.

  Lucinda cries out, pain washing across her face. She’s forced into a half-crouch so he doesn’t rip her hair out.

  Peyton shoots to her feet and so does Joseph, both their chairs scraping back—Peyton’s topples and hits the floor with a bang. Raptor’s gaze passes over Joseph before settling on Peyton.

  “What’s wrong, Peyton?” Raptor asks. He drags Lucinda back and forth at his side, making her cry out again. “If you don’t want me to hurt your friend, just tell me what I want to know.”

  Now I’m certain I shouldn’t have let Peyton walk away from me yesterday. I should have made her tell me what happened so I knew what was going on right now. I tried to warn her about making friends, tried to make her see it’s dangerous for whomever she befriends, but she didn’t listen. Raptor is intensely observant. Even if he weren’t, Ms. Sparrow has been eyeing the four girls for a while now. The teachers know they can get to Peyton by threatening the people she cares about.

  Joseph, too. He should know better than to reveal how much he cares about Lucinda.

  But what does Peyton know? And how important is it that Raptor doesn’t find out?

  Peyton grips her desk, but Lucinda suddenly shouts, “Don’t tell them anything, Peyton. I can handle it.”

  Her eyes leak tears as she thumps the nearest desk, her fingers curling around its leg. A gleam grows in her eyes that Raptor can’t see with her face turned away. I saw Lucinda control whole trees. I know she’s a dryad. Give her one more second and she’ll rip apart the desk with her mind and drive stakes through Raptor’s heart.

  If she does that, she’s dead. The compliance officers will swarm and they will kill her slowly.

  Peyton’s shoulders begin to slump. I sense her giving in. She doesn’t want to see Lucinda hurt or worse, killed.

  As Peyton opens her mouth to speak, my instincts kick in. I don’t know what she’s about to say. It could be something completely harmless, like who broke the vase in the corridor the other day. Or it could be something catastrophic. Like the fact that I’m not Unknown.

  I can’t take that chance. Not when I can stop it.

  Darting across the distance between us, I grip her throat tightly and run my thumb down the exact nerve I’m aiming for.

  She gasps through her constricted vocal chords. “Striker.”

  Shock and betrayal flicker across her face before her eyes turn blank, unconscious.

  My heart thuds. The look in her eyes… the deepest distress. As if I have the power to hurt her more than anyone else. Raptor told me the cuts I make are the ones that can’t be seen. Whatever apology I made last night is burned to ash now. The last time I used this move on her, she was out for nearly an entire day, a treachery she didn’t quickly forget.

  I let her go, allowing her body to fall. I can’t afford to cushion her, can’t be seen to care. I force myself to remain deadpan, uncaring, as her knees collapse and her shoulder hits the ground—luckily it takes the brunt of the impact instead of her head.

  Lucinda’s scream reaches my ears as Raptor shoves her away from him, ripping her hair at the same time. Joseph pulls her out of Raptor’s path as Raptor rages toward me between the desks.

  The other students rush to the front of the classroom—farthest from me and Raptor—while Bree and Ashley run for Lucinda, forming a protective shield around her.

  I snarl. “Try making Peyton talk now.”

  He rapidly reaches behind his back as he moves, the glint of a blade flashing before he launches himself forward. I feint left, grab his weapon hand, and crack my free fist against his nose. Raptor may have trained with assassins, but he’s never been in a cage fight. His weapon doesn’t scare me.

  What I don’t count on is Mr. Mallard. Moving faster than I expected, he points his wand in my direction. “Cunning capture, control, and cut.”

  A glowing lash speeds from the tip of his wand toward my torso. Unlike the binding the compliance officers used on me after I fought Raptor the first time, this spell is not only effective at restraint. The cut part is real.

  I flinch and dart backward, forced to release Raptor’s weapon arm, but I can’t escape the coiling rope. It twists toward me, snaking through the air in the exact spot I run to, looping around my arms and torso and pulling tightly. I struggle, even though I shouldn’t, every move I make causing the rope to sharpen until it forms a blade that cuts into my biceps. I fight my instinct to bare my claws and cut it apart as I thud against the back wall.

  Raptor steps over Peyton’s prone form, kicking her legs as he passes. His face is red with rage. “That’s the last time you’ll challenge me, Striker Draven.”

  The room quickly swarms with compliance officers.

  Four of them use their magic to push me past the other students, my arms still bound, their power buffeting me along between the desks. Other officers stand guard with wands pointed both at me and the other students.

  I catch Joseph’s eye as I pass. He has no reason to trust me, but I give a quick tilt of my head back at Peyton. I’m not sure if he understands I need him to try to make sure she’s safe. To the extent that he can, that is. I’m sure Lucinda will do her best too. I’m not surprised to see Lachlan and Ryan standing protectively on either side of Ashley and Bree right now. Unlike me, they’re good guys.

  Osprey is already waiting for me in the corridor. She waves her wand and her immobilization spell forces me against the wall. She slams the classroom door closed at the same time.

  Raptor takes up position b
ehind her and the compliance officers fan out behind him, wands pointed at me in case I try anything. Collin and Colby stand directly behind Raptor, never taking their eyes off me. They were the ones who waited for me outside the pit the night I killed the Orthrus. They’re cautious. As they should be.

  Osprey snarls. “Defying the teachers is one thing, Striker, but your own sister needs the information that Peyton is keeping to herself. If anything happens to Zara, it’s on your head now.”

  I grit my teeth against the sharp pain in my arms. The pressure of her spell is forcing the rope to cut farther into my skin. “What information could Peyton know that Zara needs?”

  Osprey leans in close, lowering her voice. “Peyton can identify the assassins who are coming for your sister. She can also tell us whether they’re more than human.”

  I keep my expression blank. Zara mentioned the same thing—that there are rumors that the new Legion Master is superhuman. I’m not sure how Peyton has come by this information, but a more important fact is that Osprey is scared. I’ve never seen such fear lurking in the back of her pale eyes.

  Zara told me that the assassins are targeting all associates of Lady Tirelli. I guess I should have put two and two together before now. The teachers are running scared. Raptor is, too. As an excommunicated assassin he is perfect prey for his former colleagues.

  I start to laugh, the pressure of my rumbling chest grating me against the rope. It’s already cut through my clothing and blood seeps through the material. “They’re coming for you, aren’t they, Osprey?”

  Her face flushes red, confirming my statement.

  That would explain why Peyton withheld information—however she came to acquire it. She doesn’t know that the assassins are targeting Zara so she can’t be blamed for staying quiet. After all, she was going to talk before I silenced her.

  Osprey grits her teeth, pushing her wand against my neck, one hand gripping my other shoulder. Her breath stinks of an overdose of mints and a bad case of terror.