PART I
ANGELTHENE ACADEMY
FOR MAGIC
1
“If you so much aslookat her again, I will break all four of your legs, pup.”
If it weren’t for Dallas defending her, Loren Calla might’ve run out the metal doors of the nightclub called Her Infernal Majesty right then and there. The dry-ice smoke choking the dance floor did nothing to hide the hundreds of faces that were watching the scene unfold beneath the blue strobe lights, their eyes hungry with curiosity.
The werewolf standing before Loren—on two very human legs, despite Dallas’s insult—had dumped a full glass of beer over her head. Her waist-length golden hair was dripping wet, the white fabric of her short, skin-tight dress soaked and see-through. The beer was fresh off the tap, but regardless of how cold it was, her entire body was heating up from embarrassment.
Witches like Dallas usually got along quite well with wolves. If it weren’t for the fact that Loren was human and therefore didn’t quite belong in Angelthene—otherwise known as the City of Everlasting Hearts, a sprawling metropolis that catered to and favored an immortal demographic—the night might’ve passed without incident. Might’ve passed without her friend and adoptive sister—a pure-blood venefica held in far higher regard than Loren—needing to step in and defend her.
When the werewolf had swaggered up to Loren and asked her to dance with him, she had declined as politely as possible. As it turned out, he didn’t take well to rejection, no matter how polite that rejection may be. But this was a night for the girls; Dallas had made herselfveryclear about this before dragging Loren and Sabrine Van Arsdell, who was currently fetching another drink across the room, out club-hopping. Dallas would never allow a summer to end without a bang, especially this one—the summer before they would start their freshman year at Angelthene Academy for Magic.
And while most girls Loren’s age would’ve jumped at the chance to paint the city red, Loren had only wished to curl up on the couch. Couches were safe. Couches were ordinary. Exactly how she preferred everything in her life.
The wolf’s fire-colored eyes flashed with anger as he looked Loren over, his hands vibrating at his sides as he fought the Shift. Beneath the medley of sweat, puke, and cigarette smoke, the odor of wet dog swept through the room. “Is she your bodyguard or your cock-block?” he said of Dallas.
“She’s my sister,” Loren bit out in a wavering voice. Her trembling fingers curled into tight fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “And you’ve just made an enemy of her.”
He glanced between her and Dallas. “A human with a witch for a sister?” He snorted. “What do you think I am—stupid?”
“Apparently you are,” Dallas said coolly. “Because I literally just warned you that I would break your legs if you looked at her again.”
“You want to take this outside, venefica?” he sneered.
A second werewolf wearing an ACU letterman jacket stepped up to his friend’s side. There was caution in this one’s gaze, and even with the music thumping through the building and shaking the floor beneath Loren’s pearlescent leather pumps, she didn’t need immortal hearing to make out the words he hissed into his friend’s ear. “I’d cool it, Jerome. That’s Dallas Bright.”
There was nowhere to look without meeting a pair of prying eyes. Loren wrung her fingers before her, looking mostly at the grimy floor than anywhere else. For the hundredth time that evening, she wished she had the power to turn herself invisible. Or, at the very least, teleport herself back to the four walls of her safe and ordinary bedroom at the penthouse.
When she risked a glance up from the floor, she caught sight of half-witch Sabrine heading this way. Her hand was cupped over her glass, and she was elbowing clubbers aside with impressive strength for someone her size. Her angular, deep-set eyes narrowed as she took in a soaking wet Loren and an angry Dallas whose expression was utterly murderous.
“What’s going on?” Sabrine demanded.
Jerome didn’t deign to glance her way. “Stay out of this, half-breed.”
The ugly insult had Dallas throwing the wolves a cold smile.
At the sight of that smile, Loren felt her whole body turn rigid.
Here we go,she thought.
Dallas stepped forward, her hip-length, wine-colored hair swaying, her eight-inch ash-wood Focus in a freckled golden hand.
“If you boys knew how to think with the right head, you’d scram before I muzzle your filthy mouths.” The chunk of amethyst nestled within the entangle of wood at the point of her magic stave pulsed brightly. Magic sparked, the smell of it—like smoke from blown-out birthday candles—coating Loren’s tongue as it swept through her airways.
But Jerome didn’t seem to care who any of them were, least of all the pure-blooded venefica standing before him with rage in her silver-green eyes. Dallas’s father was general of the Aerial Fleet, the country’s organized military force equipped for fighting in the sky. Being threatened by the Red Baron’s daughter would’ve convinced most people to stand down—but apparently, this pup really didn’t know how to think with the right head.
Or perhaps he was simply too drunk to realize he’d met his match.
“All right, all right, that’s enough,” boomed a deep male voice. Tension melted away as everyone in the club turned to see the six-foot-seven warlock bouncer pushing his way through the crowd with beefy arms. He pinned their group with a cold stare. “You all know the rules: anyone who starts trouble gets the boot.”
Jerome raised his hands in surrender and backed up into the crowd, his friend following suit. “No trouble on my end, sir. I’m not the one threatening someone with a Focus.”
Dallas swung around to face Jerome, a strand of her hair catching in her mouth. “You started it by dumping a beer on my friend,asshole!”She made to lunge for him, but Loren quickly stepped forward and grabbed hold of her arm.
