Kingston’s seat remains empty.
I turn and look at the door, but it’s firmly shut. No one is coming through at the last minute. I’m not worried, per se, just confused as to why an officer is missing one of the most crucial classes for dark wielders.
You’re late,I sing in my head.
Nothing. Crickets.
I furrow my brows and decide I don’t exactly like being ignored by him.
“Turn to page one hundred and fifty-three,” the professor says loudly.
I’m already on the page and decide I’ll try one more time.
Not very majorish of you to play hooky.
I swear I can hear a scoff through the mental bond or whatever it is that Kingston does.
Are you coming or not?I think irritably.
Not.
Seriously?
I roll my eyes and grab my quill to take notes.
The rest of class goes by in a blur between the three sheets of notes and the half hour of Shadow-Wielding. Shadows from light gray to obsidian black swirl around the room. A slate-gray shadow grabs the wrist of a second-year, pulling her toward the wielder. She digs her heels in and casts a rebuke, but her shadow is smothered beneath his stronger one. Another fourth-year has shadows, the color of coal, wrapped around a first-year’s neck. His almost translucent shadow is no match and is quickly snuffed out.
My partner is nowhere to be found, nor are my shadows. I slouch in my seat and watch the other Noctryns try to kill each other.
This is such a waste of my time.
Finally, the bell chimes, and I jump up and exit through the door. I shoulder through the throng of other students, headdown, teeth clenched. I’m not in the mood for the noise and chaos of the halls today. I pull my replacement cloak up around my neck, the original still sitting in the Witchwood. The chill is at an all-time peak, and snow falls heavily outside the domed windows.
I climb the stairs and head for the second floor. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and enter Professor Moravek’s class. I take my usual seat in the back corner. There’s no text for this class. Everything needed stays locked up in his classroom. Secrecy upon secrecy per usual. Darkness and evil doings toiled together.
The chair next to me squeaks along the stone floor as it’s pulled back, and a hulking frame sits beside me. I’m so deep in my thoughts, that I don’t even bother looking over until I can feel someone staring at the side of my head.
I exhale loudly and turn, giving them the attention they so desperately want.
“Hello, little Caderyn.”
Makon leans forward, elbows on the long table and dark eyes pinning me to the spot. His brow is furrowed, his long hair pulled back from his face, and his scar is reflected in the flickers of the torch directly behind us.
I purse my lips and look back toward the front of the class. He never sits next to me, and now here he is, taking up all the space. He’s handsome in the untamed way. Wild and reckless with a side of rogue.
And right now, I’m about sick of handsome men.
“One of these days, you’re going to succeed in hurting my feelings,” he says, his thick brow raising.
“I very much doubt your feelings have enough depth to be hurt,” I retort, staring straight ahead. I can see him out of my peripheral vision, much to my dismay.
His lip pulls up in a smirk. “I’m one of the few people you haven’t pissed off lately. Might not wanna burn this bridge.”
“Some bridges are beautiful when they burn,” I say coldly. “There’s a peace in knowing it can’t be undone.”
“Rough morning?” he asks, amusement apparent in his voice.
I turn and look at him. “You have no idea.” It’s only when the flames hit his face just right that I see the black eye forming. “Speaking of a bad morning, who’d you piss off?”
