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

by Everly Frost

  Nobody is going to die as long as I have a say about it.

  Making my decision, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, focus on my claws, and extend them. It’s easy while I’m sitting beneath the poultice that pulls at my power furiously.

  I take a deep breath and let my lungs fill with darkness, let my power flow. A desperate need for violence fills my head, but I rein it in as much as I can before my feet touch the floor, light as air. I can’t afford to lose my head. I have to remain focused.

  Striker has been training me for months now. It’s time for me to believe in myself, to believe that I can fight back. I just hope the other students are ready to fight too.

  But first, I’m getting Striker out of the pit.

  I rip off my uniform and quickly pull on my gym gear, then I grab the roll of duct tape hidden in the bottom of my closet before I open the door and peer down the hallway to check whether anyone is there. Confirming that the way is clear, I stride down the corridor.

  Osprey said she was going to send up compliance officers, so I pause at the corner of the stairs, crouching to push the tape against the wall.

  Then I wait.

  34. Striker Draven

  Collin and Colby startle as soon as I appear at the top of the stairs from the pit. I drag myself through the opening, but their focus is on my chest, the bone-deep gash and the visible ribs.

  I force sound from my throat. “Where’s Peyton?”

  Colby stares at me. He was always the more rational of the two men. “That’s a bad wound,” is all he says.

  Collin, on the other hand, snickers. “Looks like you’re a dead man, Draven.”

  I have enough fire left inside me to snarl. “Where is she?”

  “In the attic. She’s still asleep.” Colby folds his arms across his chest, his snake skin tattoo visible with his sleeves rolled up. “Osprey’s growing tired of waiting for her to wake up.”

  He doesn’t try to stop me when I take a step to the side. Then another. The sunlight pouring through the windows above the plaque on the wall makes me squint after the darkness of the pit.

  Collin takes a glance at Colby. “Should we stop him?”

  Colby shakes his head at me. “You won’t make it to the attic, Striker,” he calls out. “You’ll be dead by the time you reach the top.”

  He’s probably right. But I’m going to try.

  Collin and Colby follow after me, their wands raised as I drag my feet. They won’t kill me without a direct order from Osprey, so I’m guessing their orders were to watch the door, not end me on sight. Lucky me.

  I press against the wall at the bottom of the first staircase.

  There are no other compliance officers or students around. Their absence suggests they’re on lockdown, most probably in the dining room, which leaves the hallways deserted. It’s a small mercy that there’s nobody here to see me stumble up the first step.

  I ascend the staircase one step at a time, telling myself I only have to make it five flights. I ran up these steps this morning. The climb is nothing. I collapse on the first landing but drag myself upright again, fighting the dull pain in every part of my body, only to find Osprey and Sparrow coming down the other side.

  They don’t look happy to see me, but Osprey’s expression brightens when she sees my wounds. “It looks like your time is up, Striker.”

  I can barely form a fist, let alone make myself speak. “If you hurt Peyton… I will come back… from hell… and kill you.”

  Sparrow scoffs behind her and Osprey laughs, stepping into my space. “Finally found your heart, did you? Don’t worry. Peyton’s too useful to kill. Shame I can’t say the same about the others.”

  She crowds me, pushing me back against the wall, reveling in the fact that I don’t have the strength to crush her face.

  “It’s not like Peyton has anywhere to run, is it?” Osprey continues, her gloating face too close to mine. “That’s what you don’t understand, Striker. You don’t have anywhere to go. Out there in the world, you would be hunted like the animals you are. We hurt you, but we keep you alive. You live because we let you live.”

  She pokes my shoulder hard enough to leave another bruise among the collection growing already. “You will die when we say you die. Which, in your case, is today.”

  Her face blurs and my head swims. To my horror, my knees buckle. I slide down the wall, unable to stand, landing on my backside. My legs and arms won’t respond. I try to put my hands out, but I slide to the side instead, the world tilting as my shoulder hits the floor before my head. I can’t make anything work. Can’t get up. Can’t respond.

  Osprey leans down to me, waving her wand across my face. “Fading life signs,” she announces. “He’ll be gone in a minute.”

  She rises again, towering over me, her hands planted on her hips.

  Colby steps up to her side. “Should we take his body out to the forest?”

  She purses her lips before shaking her head. “I need you and Collin to go upstairs and watch Peyton. Tell me the minute she wakes up.”

  He obeys her immediately, inclining his head at Collin before the two men disappear up the stairs without a backward glance.

  Sparrow asks, “What of Striker’s body?”

  Osprey smiles, cruel to the end. “We’ll dispose of it tonight. Leave it here for the other students to see. This is what happens if you disobey me. Even the unkillable Striker Draven is dead.”

  She and Sparrow turn on their heels and descend the staircase, leaving me where I lie.

  I’m only aware of a few things, the strangest things: I’m not blinking; the floor isn’t as smooth as it looks; and there’s a patch of dirt on the next step.

  Osprey’s retreating back can’t be the last thing I see.

  Beast? I ask, my voice small inside my mind, a final plea. Please?

  I just need my power for one more thing—to make it to Peyton’s side. Even if all I can do is lay my head down beside her sleeping form.

  The tiniest spark lights my chest.

  After Osprey’s footsteps fade into the distance, I drop my upper shoulder, plant my hands on the floor, and push upward, drawing my legs under me.

  Just one more step.

  35. Peyton Price

  Two sets of footsteps approach from below. Both men are wearing boots. My heightened senses easily identify their tread as that of Colby and Collin—heavy, confident. I count the steps as they draw closer, timing my attack. Like all witches and wizards, they have to speak spells to use their wands. They’re so good at it—better even than the teachers because they’ve been trained in magical warfare—that they barely mutter anymore; even a bare whisper works for them.

  I ready my fists and allow my rage to flow.

  These men have hurt students, bullied them. They are liars and deserve to be punished. I haven’t had time to practice at my power, but it’s time to find out what I can do.

  As soon as Collin turns the corner, I throat punch him, landing a brutal blow to the front of his neck that sends him flying backward. One step down, Colby’s eyes fly wide. He starts to speak, but my left hand darts out, grabbing him around the throat and squeezing. Power flows through me and I rise up into the air, taking him with me. He kicks the air as I crush his windpipe with my increased strength.

  Collin darts back at me, his pale eyes glowing murder, but the moment he tries to rasp a sound, his voice fails him.

  Yeah, I crushed his windpipe with that throat punch.

  I kick high. My foot connects with his head so hard that he thuds back against the wall, dropping to the floor, unconscious.

  Deprived of air, Colby slumps in my arms. I lower him to the ground, checking his breathing. I didn’t break his neck despite the rage flowing through me.

  Both men are still alive.

  I move quickly, binding their hands behind their backs and trussing up their feet with duct tape. Then I wrap tape around their mouths so they can’t shout when they wake up.

 
Osprey won’t come looking for me until these two officers tell her I’m awake, which they won’t do any time soon. What’s more, the school is on lockdown, so all of the other guards will be in the dining room watching over the other students.

  I have free rein over the upper levels.

  Testing my strength, I’m surprised and pleased to discover that I can lift the men, one at a time. Hoisting Collin over my shoulder first, I fly down the steps with him, heading to an abandoned room on the fourth floor east wing.

  I’m completely graceless, wobbling wildly as I fly down the stairs and along the corridor, but, hell, this isn’t a beauty contest. By the time I deposit Colby in a separate room—I’m not going to chance that they will help free each other somehow—and tape his arms to a desk for good measure, I’m slowly gaining some control over my movements in the air. I’ll need a lot more practice, but I can’t help but feel happy with my progress already.

  I return to the fourth floor landing, ready to glide silently down to the entrance area to the pit when I hear slow footsteps on the stairs beneath me.

  There weren’t supposed to be more compliance officers. I grit my teeth, determined to deal with them the same way I dealt with the first two.

  I dart around the corner, ready to fight.

  36. Striker Draven

  I don’t know how many steps I still need to climb.

  It doesn’t seem to matter. There are always more. Too many. I could be two steps from the attic or a thousand. My legs won’t obey me anymore. The tiny spark of power that has allowed me to continue moving is all but consumed and my beast is silent inside my mind.

  Bumping the wall, I slide onto the step I’m standing on, one shoulder grazing the side as my feet slip out from under me. I can’t slow my fall, hitting the stairs with a thud, bumping down two of them before my legs catch at an awkward angle, stopping my downward momentum.

  I sense movement above me. A pair of feet appear at my eye level and then gentle hands reach for me, wrapping around my face.

  Peyton tilts her face to mine.

  I must be gone already. She’s supposed to be asleep. She can’t be here right now.

  Her eyes are the deepest chocolate brown, fiery flecks inside them the only indication of the blazing spirit she keeps tightly leashed.

  I sigh at her touch. If only I’d let her love me when I had the chance.

  Even if I’m only talking to an illusion, I have to tell her…

  “Don’t hate me, Peyton.” I try to smile, but I don’t know if I succeed. “Except… in a good way.”

  Tears glisten in her serious eyes.

  She whispers, “I will hate you always, Striker.”

  She only calls me Striker when she wants something from me.

  She wants… me.

  It’s all I need. It’s everything.

  I close my eyes and finally… I let go.

  37. Peyton Price

  I freeze as Striker appears before me, a shocking sight. His arms hang loosely at his sides. His shoulders are slumped and his amber eyes are dull and unfocused. He doesn’t see me. He takes another step, but his legs wobble.

  A deadly gash stretches all the way from his right shoulder to his left ribs.

  A cry grows on my lips when his knees buckle, but I force myself to swallow it. I barely make it to his side before he bumps the wall, slipping down a couple of steps until his legs catch under him to stop his slide.

  Nothing is so intense as the fear rising inside me like a tidal wave. I whisper his name as I bend to him, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t seem to hear me. The gash across his chest gapes open too wide and too deep.

  He’s already bled out.

  How he made it up here is beyond me.

  I take hold of his face in my hands, leaning into him.

  He focuses on me, sees me, finally. His expression softens in a way it never has before when he looks at me.

  “Don’t hate me, Peyton.” The corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile. “Except… in a good way.”

  I can’t stop the burn behind my eyes, trying to see him through the blur of tears. “I will hate you always, Striker.”

  That seems to be all he wants.

  He closes his eyes.

  My heart stops when his breathing ceases.

  I press my hands against his cheeks. “Striker?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  His chest is still.

  No.

  No, he can’t die here. Not when he smiled at me for the first time. A real smile that made my heart crack.

  He’s not allowed to leave me that way.

  I hoist my arms beneath his armpits. He’s much heavier even than the compliance officers. Damn him for being so big. His body is a dead weight, but I can’t let it stop me.

  Forcing my power to flow, I rise up holding him, locking my fingers across his chest so he doesn’t slip out of my grasp.

  There has to be a way to save him. I could drag him to his room, to the medical kit, but it’s too late for healing gels.

  He has power. It makes him strong. I have to trigger it somehow. But… how?

  My eyes fly wide.

  The rune above my bed. It can drag out his power.

  Panic makes me stronger. Pulling with all my strength and rising into the air, I scream at him inside my mind: I hate you, Striker Draven. I hate you so much right now.

  A surge of power rushes through me with the spike in my emotions, making me stronger, allowing me to dart forward in the air. I fly as fast as I can, up the next flight of stairs to the attic, down the corridor, and around the corner into my room. I nudge the door closed and ignore the sickening pull of the rune above my bed, flying us directly under it and dropping down to the mattress in one swoop.

  His body falls on top of mine, his back and thighs half covering my torso and legs. I don’t care about the bruises I’ll have tomorrow. I lie still beneath him, the rune on the ceiling sucking at me, dragging my claws from my fingertips and—to my surprise—tugging at my hair this time. The strands around my face rise upward, waving and rippling in the air.

  I turn my head to see Striker’s face, praying for a sign of life.

  My blood pounds too loudly in my ears as I wait for him to breathe.

  “Striker!” My right arm is pinned beneath him, but my left is free. I thump my fist against the side of his chest, but he doesn’t respond. “Striker!”

  I’m beyond panicking. Every millisecond stretches out, pulling my heart too thin until I’m going to crack.

  Moving him here gave me motion, movement, kept me from thinking or feeling. It was a distraction. A reprieve from facing the truth.

  He isn’t breathing. He’s… gone.

  “Striker!” A cry breaks from my chest. “Please, Striker. I don’t hate you. I can’t anymore. You have to come back and make me hate you again. You have to…”

  My voice breaks. I can’t anymore.

  The silence is too much.

  A keening wail breaks out of me.

  A Fury is incapable of love.

  I understand it now. Love. It hurts too much. Hate hurts too, but it makes me stronger. That’s the way I’m built. But love will kill me, tear me apart, destroy me. Striker will destroy me.

  I dare to press my cheek to his, wishing I’d had the courage to do this while he was alive. “Striker. Please.”

  I close my eyes and count my heartbeats until I can’t count anymore.

  The seconds pass, quiet moments filled with constant denial and fading hope. Long moments of hurt and regret, of wanting to take back what I said and did, of wanting to do everything differently. Moments of wanting him back. Moments of accepting that I would take the destruction of his love over losing him. Long moments of stripping back all my defenses until I’m bare and vulnerable. Until I’m Peyton and he’s Striker and we are nothing more.

  38. Peyton Price

  A sudden sweat breaks out across my skin, heat prickling my torso and legs.

 
; A hot sweat.

  My eyes fly open.

  A suddenly scorching heat burns through me.

  Striker’s hand resting against my side shifts and morphs. Claws elongate from his fingertips, sharper than mine. His palm grows before my eyes, turning into a fist twice its original size.

  Bright fissures speed up his arm, starting at his fingers and rapidly spreading through his neck and torso. Fiery threads split his skin like cracks in brittle earth, each thread filling with molten flame as if fire is rising out of him. The fissures spread, hitting his shoulders, which shift and expand next to me, broadening even more than they normally are. His entire body grows larger, maybe a foot taller, although it’s hard to tell while he’s lying on me.

  A growl rumbles in his chest, a deep roar like a firestorm about to crash into me.

  He roars upright, releasing me from where I was pinned beneath him. I leap back, intending to jump off the bed, but he twists and pounces, pushing me back onto it, one fist landing on my left shoulder, the other resting beside my head. His body pins mine again, pressed directly on top of me from the waist down.

  He arches back, shaking out his shoulders, and when he lowers his torso again, I catch sight of sharp bones protruding from his back and shoulders.

  I lie frozen as the molten cracks meander across his face, lighting up his skin. His eyes are no longer his own. They’re filled with a fiery amber glow—the glow I’ve seen a hundred times, but never this intense. The shape of his eyes has also changed, tapering at the edges like a dangerous predator’s.

  The heat flowing from him should scare me, but I’m shocked to realize that I’m soaking it up, sucking it into my body with complete abandon.

  Still, I don’t dare to move as his gaze drags across my face, lingering on my lips and blazing down my chest with a blatant hunger he never revealed before.