She gives me a look. “Who says I want to change?”
“You realize you’re a Drakos, right?” I sigh. “And I, likeeveryone, am curious what the fuck aDrakosis doing in The Reckless.”
Bella rolls her eyes. “Living my best life, Achilles,” she grins. “Plus not worrying about what a last name dictates.” She clears her throat and folds her arms over her chest. “And besides,” she smirks, “I heard a rumor about you.”
“Which rumor would that be?”
“That you were split between pledging Para Bellum and The Reckless during the Initiation Trials in your own freshman year.”
I smile and shake my head. “Lies and slander, dear cousin.”
It's more like buried truths. That scene inHarry Potter, where he’s got the sorting hat on and he’s hoping to God for Gryffindor over Slytherin? That’s…not a totally inaccurate comparison to how I came to Para Bellum.
It’s rare, but sometimes a pledge finds themselves conditionally accepted totwoclubs. That was the case with me, and it could have gone either way until the part of me thatneedsto keep that golden mask on won.
“Look, if you want to grab a beer or something, I’m always down to have a drink with you. But…” She frowns. “Seriously. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for your boss.”
Bella groans and rolls her eyes. “He's not myboss, dude. Are you thebossof people in Para Bellum?”
I smirk. “Well, no.But I’m also not Adrik Volkov.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You’re right.Youjust hide under that pretty, shiny mask you love so much.”
Yeah, she’s sharp, my cousin. Not everyone completely buys the “perfect heir” image I’ve spent my life cultivating. My dad, for example, sees the facade at least partially for what it is, though he doesn’t give me shit for it. I suspect that the great Ares Drakos—model father and husband, fair but iron-fisted ruler of the Drakos Empire—once wore a similar one, though he doesn’t have to these days.
Bella, too, is able to peek under the edges of my mask more than most. It’s been like that our whole lives.
That’s because she wears one, too. I don’t know exactly what it’s hiding, just like she probably doesn’tquiteknow what's beneath mine. But it’s there, and I see it.
Call it game recognizing game.
“If you’re lost, Achilles,” a deep, stony baritone calls from behind me, “I can arrange a campus tour.”
Adrik Volkov is sitting on the other side of the bonfire perched on a stone platform, sprawled in a pile of stone and metal rubble that’s been bent and hammered into the shape of a grim-looking throne.
Despite the fall chill to the air, Adrik is just in black jeans and t-shirt. His twin sleeves of Bratva tattoos snake and coil down both arms to his knuckles, and more ink pokes up from the collar of his t-shirt to swirl up his neck to his chiseled jawline.He doesn’t smile as he cocks his head to the side and brings the bottle of vodka in his hand to his lips. Bonfire flames flicker over his carved features and glint in his icy blue eyes.
It’d be a stretch to call Adrik and I “enemies”. But it’s only a few notches above that, even on a good day.
Our freshman year, Adrik and I were both put on the varsity football team, because of our size and the fact that we’d both played a lot in high school. The Reckless/Para Bellum rivalry was running a little hot those days, and when it came out that I’d been tapped for both but picked Para Bellum…well, it got a little tense for a while.
Then one day at a team practice, I was running quarterback while our starter was doing some weight training. Adrik came out of nowhere on my left during a play and went in low for a brutal tackle.
I clocked his angle at the last minute, dipped my shoulder and helmet, and flipped him…hard.
I walked away with a neck sprain and a wrenched back. Adrik got carried off with a broken collarbone and dislocated shoulder, and that was the end of his season.
…It also ended up being the end of his college football career.
Shit happens, and we both know he had that coming when he went in for the low hit. But still.
We’re not in danger of becoming besties anytime soon.
“Hismajesty, Lord of Castle Para Bellum, has come down to mingle with the peasants,” Adrik says with a sneer as I walk around the bonfire and come to a stop in front of his throne. He raises the bottle of vodka in his fist. “Thirsty?”
“I’m good,” I growl. “I’m only here because I wanted to talk to you.”
