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Chapter 1
Harmonia
Iblink my eyes once, twice, three times, and the same steel bars glare back at me, taunting. These motherfuckers actually have the audacity to put me in a cell. A fucking cell. A prison of their own making, and it makes my blood boil.
Twisting my lips, I fold my arms over my chest and my fingers steeple against my skin subconsciously as I assess the space around me. In Alexi’s words; my new-found Hell.
A dim bulb looms above my head, casting light and shadows around the space. The room that consists of solid bars holding me captive, crumpled sheets piled in the corner, and me. The stone floor matches the color of the walls, making the place look even more dreary than anywhere else I’ve been—which is saying something given what the last couple months at Saints Academy have been like.
When I stepped through the portal with Rhea, the Elites, the twins, Thalia and Cassandra, and Nyx, my brows knitted together straight away. The gym wasn’t somewhere I was familiar with, but the heavy masculine scent in the air and the grunts coming from the sparring men on the mats were wisps of a memory from long ago.
I’ve somehow gone from my perfectly girly bedroom in my family home, to being contained in my room at Agion, where I was eventually saved by my best friend and taken to Hell—where the bed was comfier than I expected—only to wind up here.
It seems I can’t catch a break.
My world stood still as I watched all three of the men continue with what they were doing without acknowledging our presence—a trait I became all too accustomed to from them—but back then they were boys. It would be a crime to use that word to describe them now.
Alexi, Malik, and Talon.
My eyes locked with Alexi’s first, my jaw falling loose as I gaped at him. Hearing my name from his lips as we stood toe to toe left me lightheaded. I could tell by the glint in his eye that the game had changed, and when he confirmed I was the price to heal my friend Cassandra of the Frenzy inside of her, I knew I wouldn’t be able to deny him.
Guilt clenches in my chest at the memory of Rhea calling out my name, pleading with me to find another way, but that’s not an option with these three. Once their mind is set, there’s no alternative. I did the right thing for my friend, I know it with every beat of my heart, even if I’m unsure of what I’ve gotten myself into. I can only hope that Rhea will come to understand the same in time.
With a heavy sigh, I glance around the room once more, shuffling over to the sheets and creating a little cot for myself. I take my time, straightening them out as neatly as possible while my mind goes a mile a minute thinking of the men I know are near for the first time in what feels like forever.
My nose tingles, my emotions creeping up my spine, getting the better of me before I shake my head and tamp them back down. I’m not going to cry over them today, definitely not. Especially not under these circumstances.
I never expected a warm, welcoming embrace when our paths crossed again, but a freaking cell is ridiculous.
Kicking my sneakers off, I sit cross-legged on the sheets, brushing my long white hair back off my face and securing it in a hair tie at the base of my neck. Thank the gods I left it on my wrist earlier. A shiver runs through me, a chill in the air making my jaw tense as I glance down at myself.
I shake my jacket off, scrunching it up into a ball and wrapping it with one of the smaller sheets that was left in here. With a deep breath, I focus my attention on the material, casting my hand out in that direction as fire flickers from my fingertips.
The heat from the burning fabric quickly fills the room and I sigh, content with both the heat and my ability to use magic again after being limited at Saints Academy by the cuff on my wrist.
I had gone almost twenty-three years without my magic, and the moment I had it in my grasp, it was muted by Zellus, the Dean of the Academy, because I refused to fight alongside him. What a load of bullshit.
Looking down at my hands, I find myself absently rubbing at my wrist where the cuff had sat against my skin. I have to force myself to stop, clenching my fists together in frustration as I glance back at the flickering flames.
Instead, I let my mind wander back to the three assholes that seem quite happy to leave me here alone. When I was younger and saw them playing outside in the small suburban street we lived on, my stomach would swarm with butterflies, my cheeks heating while my smile stretched wide, and I found the feeling addictive.
I would be a liar if I said I didn’t get the same rush earlier when I saw them again, but the longer I sit here, tucked away in the dark like a naughty school child, the further the feelings attempt to retreat.
Raking my teeth over my bottom lip, I close my eyes, letting the heat drift over me as a memory flits through my mind. It feels like it’s been locked away forever, but the second I see my white and pink polka dot dress from when I was maybe eight years old, it all comes rushing back.
My feet are bare and my skin is slightly tanned from the hours spent in the sun. I toss a loose tendril of my bright white hair behind my ear, cringing at the shine of it. No one else around here has hair quite as bright as mine. My mom says that’s what makes it extra special, but I can’t help but feel like it makes me stick out for all the wrong reasons.
My dress is stained with mud and grass from rolling around in the garden earlier, practicing cartwheels, somersaults, and handstands until my attention was drawn to the large patch of daisies that sat at the edge of our garden, right by the walkway. Ever since then I've been making a daisy chain, excited to turn it into a crown and wear it.
My bubble of joy pops when the sound of angry screams sound from down the street. I don’t have to look up to know where it’s coming from, it’s always the same place, and it immediately makes my heart race faster in my chest. Across the road, four doors down, lives a boy who talks very little, but his eyes somehow say so much. The shouting from his parents only seems to get louder and angrier with every day that goes by, and I don’t think I’ll ever understand why.
I have never heard my mom speak like that, or anyone else on the street for that matter. Just those two. I’ve heard what people say about them, calling the man a drunk and the woman crazed with her magic, but none of it really makes any sense to me.
The sound of a door swinging open rings in my ears, the yelling getting louder until the door slams shut, dulling the high-pitched screams once again.
I try to fight it, but it’s impossible, the need to glance up to see if it’s him takes control, and I’m not disappointed when my eyes land on his fiery red hair. I gape at him, but he’s not looking in my direction. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his head hung low as he stomps down the street. I don’t miss the slight smattering of blood on his white t-shirt, or the way it’s crinkled at the neck. I don’t miss anything at all. I can tell his face is red and blotchy all the way from over here, and it makes me sad that I see him like this more and more lately.
“Malik!”
