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We reach the entrance to the tunnel, and he bumps his shoulder into mine as he stocks off with a muttered “bitch.”
I wait until he rounds the corner, and then a smile breaks free.
Fucking finally!
I take a step in the same direction, fully intending on curving the opposite way as he did, even if it’s the long way around to where Ben will be coming out of the locker room, but my feet lock in place.
A knot forms low in my stomach, and I wonder if the vodka isn’t sitting well with the nachos I had during the second intermission, but then my feet lock in place as if invisible chains have broken through the cement to hold them there. My head whips over my shoulder, eyes called to the same place they were a few moments ago. To the tunnel where four of Rathe U’s finest stood.
Only this time, there’s no one there…
Two
Knight
Creed passes me another cup of shitty stale beer, the irritation on his face mirroring my own. If we knew the Giftless would be going cheap tonight, we would have found ourselves someone to play with at the game and headed straight to party with our own kind from there.
It takes a fuck ton of liquor for us to get a buzz on, let alone faded, which is exactly what I’m trying to do after the week I’ve had. Shit…after the month I’ve had.
My brothers and I spent most of summer at our family’s estate up north before we had to report back for practice. Why we bother with pre-season preparations, I don’t know.
We’re superior to the Giftless in every way, but I guess that’s the whole point. We’re forced to live at this fucking school for four years, so of course they dumb down our sport for the useless sake of the humans surrounding us. We’re not allowed to use our gifts in any way.
Reason number one-fucking-hundred forcing the graduated gifted to attend Rathe U is bullshit.
No motherfucker should be allowed to tell us when we can and can’t use the abilities we were born with, yet here we are, playing by their rules just so we can have some sort of time on the ice while we’re stuck here.
Creed goes along with it, ever the fucking diplomat when others are looking, but Sinner feels the same way as me when it comes to rules and regulations—he fucking hates and ignores them.
Our youngest brother, Legend, feels the same , but he’ll bend when he feels it’s right.
Sin and me? Ask us when it’s “right” not to stand superior to everyone else, and we’ll tell you never. Not fucking ever.
To think differently is to spit on our kind and pretend you did so to polish it, when really, it’s about control. We’re not meant to be controlled. It’s unnatural.
Of course, not everyone agrees, but the fuck do I care?
Sin and I get up to what some would call shady shit, and they might not be wrong if they’re thinking with the humanity we all possess. So while we think they’re fucking fools, we’re not about to waste our time forcing them to see it. We leave that to our old man until the crown is passed down and we’re forced to worry about that shit. And by we, I mean Creed.
Anyway, we’ve been back at Rathe U for a little over six weeks now, and since the day we portaled back into Daragan, this poor excuse of a town, my nerves have been shot. Last year was no more than the bullshit I expected it to be, not to mention a total waste of our time, but there’s something about this semester that’s got me on edge, and I don’t fucking like it. It’s got nothing to do with the trials we’ll be forced to face soon; I know where I belong when it comes to Light and Dark magic.
Sin says we need to play a little harder, but we’ve tried that, and still I’m in a constant state of I wanna rip your fucking head off.
And if the pretty boy of Rathe U, Zeke Mortar, doesn’t stop looking my way, I’m going to tear his teeth from his skull, including the ones that haven’t shown themselves yet, and stab him in the eyes with them.
Gotta say, it’s a compelling way to force our coaches to stop pretending Zeke’s half as good as Legend and making them split time on the ice. That shit would never fly in Rathe, but with the human world comes human politics and a twisted type of daddy ball is the shit they’re playing here.
Or mommy ball, since the coaches do it all to please the headmaster of Rathe U.
Pathetic.
“Boy wants his pretty white hair turned to ash, don’t he?” My boy Silver walks up.
