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She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”
“What the fuck is her problem with you,” Evie asks as she turns me to face the sparring ring.
I shrug. “No clue. It’s like I walked in and suddenly she had dagger eyes or something.”
“Well, jealous much?” Evie snickers. “Only jealous bitches act like a… well, jealous bitch.”
I grin and exhale a breath. And just as quickly, I remember the professor called me to the pit of Hell. Being the center of attention among a group of people who know you only got your powers because they were forced upon you, will land you in one of two groups: those who feel sorry for you and those who call you a poser.
Being in this hellhole is no different than being in a normal setting, whether it’s school or the workplace. Humanity can be worse than some of the monsters in this academy.
Feeling all eyes on me, waging whether I’ll win with bragging rights or lose even more poser points, I send up a silent prayer that whoever I’m teamed up against will not dismantle me.
And then the world might as well open now and swallow me whole when I hear the one name I never thought would be called out to practice offensive magic against my defensive spells.
“Shayde Drargokin. In the ring,” the professor declares.
I’m pretty sure my heart is about to leap out of my chest. Maybe I’ll vomit.
Hell, could be both.
The mammoth of a monster moves between the other students and makes his way toward me. The smirk he gave me earlier returns, but with the lift of his brow and a display of mischief, he laces it with hint of cocky intent.
“Are you serious?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “He will murder me!”
“That’s kind of the point,” comes a jab from Dafni.
I side-glance her and see she’s grinning ear to ear, but it’s not with encouragement.
What the fuck is her deal?
Seeking the attention of the professor, I dart across the floor toward him.
“I don’t understand this match up, sir,” I start and don’t like the angry glare he gives me in return. “I’m only a second year. He’s what, a third, fourth?”
“I’m a fourth year,” Shayde calls behind me.
“There’s your answer,” the professor answers. “Now, go back into the pit and defend yourself.”
The pit?
Might as well call it for what it is.
The feeling of defeat is already plaguing me. Slowly turning back toward my aggressor, I find him looking at his palms.
Does he have claws?
No.
Fangs?
Not that I saw earlier, anyway.
Shayde rolls his sleeves three-quarters up his forearms and the same sort of runes on his neck are displayed along his now exposed skin.
What is he playing at?
Is he figuring out what runes to use on me in our sparring battle?
