Page 2

Miranda

T ime lost all meaning. The journey by helicopter transitioned to a large ground vehicle with a noisy diesel engine, then to some kind of airplane for the longest flight of my life, before I was stuffed into another ground vehicle for the last leg of the trek. Not once had the bag over my head been removed. I was both frustrated and grateful that the fabric was completely opaque but breathable. Never before had I wanted to both live and die with such equal fervor.

Being transferred to the Cursedblood Military Academy was only a temporary stop on the way to being sold like cattle to the highest bidder anywhere in the world and used for whatever the buyers wanted.

Being an Omega would usually make one a hot commodity. Rumors swirled heavily that Cursed Omegas were put into experimental facilities and forced into breeding programs to find the perfect combinations of curses. “Perfect” being another word for “most profitable.” Although the Cursed are feared, shunned, and disowned, everyone knows that certain abilities are deemed more valuable than others.

While these soldiers know that touching my skin is a death sentence, they don’t know the whole story. And that hidden knowledge would get me killed if discovered.

The world had been at war long before I was born.

Instincts and pheromones drive Alphas and Omegas. Betas are driven by logic and intellect.

They say that the Betas saved us all; that Alphas and Omegas had driven us to ruin, and Betas banded together, rose against the tyrant rulers, and took control for themselves to bring the world back from the brink.

They say that the curse that afflicts the five to ten percent of Alphas and Omegas is penance for what we’d put the world through a thousand years ago.

But I didn’t do anything. My father didn’t do anything. We don’t deserve this curse or to be hunted for having it.

“Close your eyes.” It’s the gruff leader of this unit who speaks, a Major, if I overheard correctly.

Helpless, I do as he says a moment before I feel the cloth lifted from my head.

“Your eyes will take a while to adjust.”

I open one eye a tiny sliver, and he’s right, because even in the dark vehicle, the street lights outside are blinding after being in the dark so long.

The Global Beta Enforcement might enjoy making a show of their Cursed captures, but one thing they never do is disclose where the academy or the prison is. So, while I have no idea where I am, I can feel the cold air outside through the car door. The temperature is like a siren’s song. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before.

Most of my life, I’d lived in inherently warm climates across the south of the United North America, and this...this all feels completely different.

It feels like coming home.

The thought is jarring, considering my captivity.

My eyes open the rest of the way, and I peer out the window into the night and find that it’s snowing. Each snowflake that falls from the sky does so with a joyous song and dance that soothes my soul and elicits a wonder within me that I’ve never known.

When my logical brain kicks back in, I realize something. Although time had been lost on me during the journey here, we had to not only travel north to where it was cold but also change time zones. It’s still nighttime many hours after it has any right to be.

“Where are we?”

I can’t stop the question tumbling from my lips on an airy whisper, my breath puffing against the window and forming a cloud of condensation in its wake.

The major is quiet beside me for a moment, as if mulling over what harm it could do to answer. “Iceland,” he finally responds. “Daylight lasts under five hours at this time of year.”

Early January in Iceland.

I don’t know why they don’t bother to tell anyone where the academy is located when it’s in such a remote location. It’s one of the only remaining neutral territories.

Cursedblood Academy has been around for centuries. Why the Beta Council decided to build it in a neutral location, I wouldn’t know.

“We’ll arrive shortly,” the major says. “We will escort you inside, where the headmaster of the facility will take over.”

I say nothing, watching as the street lights grow fewer and farther between until there are none left in the direction we’re headed, and I can barely see those left behind.

Just where exactly did they build this facility?

I don’t have to wonder for much longer because lights appear in the distance.

I don’t know what I was expecting; maybe something akin to a different prison, flat and uncharacteristic. Instead, I’m met by imposing walls surrounding what appears to be an enormous castle. As we get closer, I see everything is made of stone, from the perimeter wall to the building itself, with its pointed spires and stained glass windows illuminated from the inside, emitting a multicolored glow.

Guard towers flank the entrance gate, and conversations are had before we’re allowed to enter, then wrought iron creaks loudly as the gate splits and swings inward. The SUV is back on the move, taking us up a curved pathway to the front entrance of the building.

“Wait here,” the major tells me.

I do what he says, but crane my neck to look through his open door to get a better look of the building before he slams it shut behind him. It’s only a moment before my door is opened and the major’s rough hand grabs my upper arm, still bound and now completely numb, pulling me from the vehicle and dragging me beside him to the vast staircase that leads to the most beautiful set of ornate wooden doors I’ve ever seen.

I fight not to fall on my face as we climb the steps, my body stiff as pins and needles circulate beneath my skin.

When we reach the doors, I don’t have time to admire them up close because the major pushes them open with enough violence that I jump despite myself. But any fear I had is abated by the vision before me.

The entryway is grand and bright, a mix of carved wood and stone. Curved staircases on either side lead four floors upward, with banistered landings at each floor. There are enormous decorative rugs strategically placed about, glass cabinets filled with treasures along the walls, a grand fireplace in the back, and an even grander sparkling chandelier above our heads.

Several people wander around the interior, all with glowing collars around their necks, but only a few pay any attention to us. It’s as if they all have better things to do with their time than worry about the new arrival.

“Ah! Major Tomlin,” an accented voice calls from above us. My head snaps upward at the sound to find a man, an obvious Alpha by his energy, maybe a decade older than me, descending the stairs. His hair is medium brown, and as he approaches, I see that his eyes are a deep green that pops against his pale skin. He’s tall and slender and quite handsome. But the thing that stands out the most is the fact that he, too, is collared. “I wasn’t expecting you for another few hours,” the man tells the major. His accent is British, but not like the news broadcasters I’ve seen on TV.

“The weather was on our side,” is his chilled response. He pulls on my arm. “This is the newest recruit. Ensure everyone is aware that she’s tactile and uncontrolled.”

The man with the accent narrows his eyes at my bound form and tsks at the major. “Release her,” he demands. “Is she the only one?”

“Yes,” the major says before there’s a click and a loud scraping noise as the binds retract from my wrists. I involuntarily take a deep breath and shake out my limbs a bit to try and bring them back to life.

The Alpha with the accent smiles at me with a kindness that doesn’t feel fake. “I’m Andrew Laurant, the Headmaster here. I coordinate the Cursed recruits, sort of like a mediator between us and the Betas in charge.”

Us, as in Cursed.

“Laurant has proven useful to the Council and the Academy. You will listen to him and obey, as you would any Beta. Is that understood?” Major Tomlin’s tone is brash, and I give an affirmative nod in response. “Good,” he continues. Then, his posture changes as he steps away. “Well,” the major goes on with forced congeniality, “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Laurant’s head snaps back to the major. “You’re staying?”

That vacant smile remains on his face. “I wouldn’t miss this one’s assessment for anything.”

With that, the major strides past us and around the stairway, out of sight. A moment later, a door slams, and I’m alone with the headmaster in the entryway, not another soul in sight.

Laurant takes a moment to compose himself and clears his throat. “Allow me to give you a brief tour, hm? Then I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

He turns on his heel and heads toward the stairs, and I trail behind him. The wood is solid beneath my feet as we curve upward, climbing until we reach the third floor and stop on the landing.

The Headmaster turns back to me, his smile equal parts sad and understanding. “Miranda, is it?”

I swallow hard against the roughness in my throat. “Mira.” My reply is airy and scratchy.

“Mira,” he repeats. “It’s nice to meet you. I wish it were under different circumstances.” A small frown. “Let’s get you something to drink.”

He leads me along a corridor, the floor lined with an ornate runner of deep red, gold, and black. There are solid wooden doors along the walls, most of them closed, all of them with some kind of electronic lock above the handles. The few that stand ajar reveal beds and desks and even some people inside chatting.

“This is the first floor of our living quarters,” the Headmaster explains, sweeping his arm about the hallway. “The fourth floor is also living quarters, and where the faculty resides, along with the youngest attendees who transition here from our sister campus.” He stops in front of a large archway carved into the layered stone wall and lined with a wood border. “This is the third-floor kitchen.”

I inch closer to peer inside to find a vast open-concept floor plan. The main part of the room is filled with tables and chairs, enough to seat at least one hundred people, I’m sure. To the far right is a counter that separates all the kitchen appliances from the main room, a door on the back wall.

It’s completely empty, making me wonder where everyone is.

“Over here,” Laurant says as he walks into the room, his shoes making dull thuds against the tiled floor, the first location I’ve seen without stone floors. He approaches the counter and pulls a card from his pocket, waving it in front of a device. A little beep echoes off the walls, and part of the countertop rises up as the cabinet below it swings inward.

I follow him to the counter but no further.

“Are you hungry?” he calls from inside an enormous refrigerator while grabbing a bottle of water and then placing it on the counter in front of me.

Am I hungry? After everything I’ve just endured?

The answer surprises me. “A little,” I whisper.

Those understanding green eyes meet my gaze. “How about a sandwich? I make a mighty fine grilled cheese.”

At his words, my eyes fill with tears, a few rogues slipping from them and dropping to my cheeks.

Grilled cheese was what my father would always make me when I was sad. It was my favorite.

The Headmaster looks alarmed at my reaction, but I utter a “Please,” and he stands up straight, gives me a single nod, and gets to work.

Grabbing the bottle he’d given me with gloved fingers, I twist the cap open and take a long drink. The liquid is cold in my mouth and down my throat, and this soothes me, not just due to my scratchy throat but it also lowers my body temperature.

“So, Mira,” Headmaster Laurant says as he rattles with a pan and some cooking utensils. “Will you tell me about yourself?”

The question catches me off guard. There’s only one thing he could be interested in knowing about.

“Um...as the major said, I’m tactile. Any living mammal I touch turns to ice. It just happens, like snap,” my middle finger and thumb slide together in a whoosh of fabric-on-fabric.

Headmaster Laurant stares at me, his brows drawn tightly. “That must be…” his voice trails, and his head tilts. “That’s your curse. I wanted to know about you . Mira.”

“Why?” The word comes out before I can stop it.

A small frown forms on his handsome face. “I’m going to be honest with you, Mira. Most of the Cursed who come here have aged out of our sister campus for young children. They’ve been in this environment for many years. They stay at this campus until around your age, and then they’re...gone.”

Sold, he means.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

He nods slowly. “I thought as much. I’m thirty-five. I’ve been in the system since I was nine.” The skin around his green eyes pinches, and his jaw sets. “I am Headmaster in name only. I’m really the academy’s counselor. I have no real authority. It’s a token title bestowed upon me because the faculty and Council didn’t want to lose someone with my abilities to another country or army.”

My confusion must show because he lets out a self-deprecating laugh before continuing. “Everyone knows it. A part of me appreciates the protection this position provides.” He busies himself with buttering slices of bread and manning the stove.

I clear my throat, unable to help myself. “What is your curse?”

He looks up at me now. “I’m an empath. I cannot read thoughts, but I can feel the emotions of those around me. It makes me a handy tool for those in charge.” He says the last bit with an edge.

Does that mean he tells the authorities about the Cursed who are disgruntled? Those who are angry? Because I am definitely one of them, despite my exhaustion and shock.

“Ah, here we are!” he exclaims, suddenly chipper while he plates the sandwich. “Squares or triangles?”

I blink at him. Is he serious? “Triangles.” My voice is wary.

He cuts the sandwich diagonally and hands me the plate. “Let’s sit.”

In a daze, I bring my plate and bottled water to the nearest table and place them on it before sitting in one of the four chairs. Headmaster Laurant sits across from me, his hands folded atop the table. “A tactile with your abilities will be forced to train for the front lines.” He says it matter-of-fact.

I already knew this. My father had prepared me, had warned me, had ingrained in me the necessity to never get caught.

What a fucking failure I am.

His words don’t ebb my hunger, and I take my first bite of the sandwich, the scent of which had been invading my senses since he began cooking it for me. The flavor is delectable, and I let out a long sigh before scarfing the rest of the half in my fingers.

“Does it meet your approval?” He smiles at me in that disarming way of his that I’m already growing accustomed to.

Strange since I’ve never been around other people long enough to grow used to them, aside from my father. A part of me is frightened by this notion. Am I already defeated? Have I already given in to the fact that I’ll be spending years here before being shipped off to universe knows where and used as a pawn until the day I die?

“It’s good,” I say, my tone devoid of emotion.

I sip from my open water bottle, and he does the head-tilt thing again as he stares at me. A second later, my bottle jumps from my grasp and tumbles to the floor, water pouring all around me and on my lap.

“Oh!” he exclaims. “One moment.”

He disappears behind me, leaving me completely frazzled. That bottle...I didn’t drop it. I had a firm grasp on it, and it was pulled from my hand by some unseen force. I swear it.

“Here we are,” Laurant says lightly upon his return, dropping towels to the puddle on the ground and placing two more on my lap. He gets down on his knees beside me, one hand placed on my covered forearm. “I’m sure you’re very jittery,” he says.

“ We are always watched. Always listened to.”

That...that was his voice in my head!

My body goes stiff.

“You’ll get used to things around here in time,” he says aloud.

“ Don’t react. Just listen.”

“I...thank you,” I whisper, responding to the words he’s spoken aloud.

“Of course!” His tone is jovial.

“ Always keep your guard.”

“After you’ve finished eating, I’ll introduce you to your roommate. I believe you two will get on quite well.”

“ She is trustworthy.”

“That...sounds good,” I reply weakly.

“You’re going to settle in before you know it.”

“ You can always come to me if you need to talk.”

Laurant taps my forearm once before getting to his feet. “We’ll have weekly counseling sessions in my office until you’re accustomed to our way of life here. Once that happens, we can determine the frequency of your sessions going forward. Now, you finish eating. I’m going to deal with the dishes, and when you’re done, we’ll go to your dormitory.”

Conversation over, that was precisely what we did.

Laurant leads me down the hallway and down a bend to a wooden door like all the rest. The number carved into the heavy mahogany and painted gold was 332.

He lifts his fist and knocks three times rapidly, and a moment later, the door swings open, revealing a beautiful young woman. Her skin is almost as pale as mine, but a bit more rosy in the cheeks and neck despite the golden glow of the collar dangling from her neck. Her eyes are a deep chocolate brown, framed by dark lashes and dramatic smokey makeup, and her wavy hair falls well past her shoulders, the color of fresh blood blooming from an open wound.

She tilts her head, much like Laurant had numerous times when in thought. She looks at him, not me, and there is something in the air—a sizzle or crackle I can’t explain.

There is something between this Omega and the Alpha counselor.

Laurant clears his throat, and I catch him subduing a smile beside me. “Nyx, this is your new roommate, Mira.” He looks down at me, and the smile returns a bit, an attempt at comfort. “Mira, this is Nyx. She has been in the system for over a decade and knows all the ins and outs. I trust you two will get along swimmingly.”

“Hey,” she says, her voice a melodic alto. “Nice to meet you. Well...as nice as it can be.”

I nod at her in response.

“Nyx, I know tomorrow is your day off, but if you could show Mira around campus, that would be fabulous. She has her assessment in the morning and will begin training the next day. Mira, your schedule won’t be set up until after your assessment. I’ll be sure to bring it to you along with some supplies once everything is ready.” He nods in Nyx’s direction. “Nyx will be able to tell you what to expect.” His hand grips my clothed shoulder. “ Remember what I said,” he whispers in my mind.

“Oh, and Nyx? Would you please bring Mira to the infirmary first thing tomorrow for her suppressant evaluation before the assessment?”

The world around me turns dark, as if I’m in a tunnel that begins to spin all around me, dizzying and nauseating.

Suppressant evaluation?

“Well,” his hands clap quietly, “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Rest up, Mira. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

With that, he turns and leaves us, not looking back.

I stand in the hall, an awkward feeling overwhelming me. Never before have I been around so many people in general, not to mention Cursed. And people my age? Not since I was twelve. It’s been Dad and me for the last ten years, keeping to ourselves and not socializing with anyone for longer than necessary.

But I suppose that is the least of my problems.

“Hey.” Nyx’s voice is quiet and soothing. When I look at her, the expression that meets me is one of compassion and concern. “Come on inside. I’ll show you your bed and we can chat for a bit, if you’re not too tired.”

Grateful for her understanding, I nod again, enter the room, and Nyx closes the door behind me. The room is small, which I expected, and bare, which I also expected. There are two small beds against opposite walls with two small nightstands, each with a few drawers and a lamp atop them. One small desk and chair on the back wall separates the two beds. The floor is stone-like the walls, just like most of the castle-like structure, so the warmth is surprising. There’s an area rug that nearly fills the room, and it matches the ornate runners in the hall, dark with accents of gold, silver, and blue.

“That one’s yours,” she says with a gesture to the one bed that’s pristine. The other bed is wrinkled and disheveled. “They came by and changed the sheets before you arrived. One of the other faculty told me to expect you.”

My brow is tight as I sit gingerly on the edge of the bed and look around like I expect to find something of interest.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” she asks with a small smirk. “Or are you in shock?”

I look at her, and there’s no malicious intent on her face, despite the blunt words. I swallow hard and breathe, fighting to loosen my shoulders. “Shock, I think.” My words are a croak.

This is the most I’ve spoken aloud in years, always keeping quiet, off-radar, and out of sight. Hiding.

She nods slowly. “Where’d you come from?”

“United North America. They caught me in Sector Eighty-Nine F.”

She frowns. “Old Florida, huh? When was that?”

My head shakes slowly. “Yesterday, I think.”

Her chocolate eyes widen, almost comically. “Wait, wait, wait,” her hands fly up. “You’ve been out all this time? Your curse must not be too bad.”

I scoff before I can think better of it and frown at myself.

“You’ve been on the run?”

I nod in confirmation.

“How long?”

Remembering what Laurant had told me, both about taking care with what I say where and that Nyx could be trusted, I hold up two hands, all fingers spread.

Her surprise grows. “Wow,” she whispers. “That’s...wow…” She shakes her head like she’s ridding it of thoughts. “Well, things in this place aren’t too bad once you get used to it and learn how to navigate everything. They prepare us for life in the military, yet treat us pretty well. We never know where we’re going to wind up in the end, though. You just getting here probably means you’ll be here a while. I’ll show you the ropes.” Her expression turns thoughtful. “Tomorrow’s first major order of business will be your assessment. You’re going to go to Training Ground One and basically give a demonstration of your Curse for the GBE and faculty members so they know where to place you.”

A demonstration of my curse? What could they possibly make me do?

I must go ashen because Nyx hurries over to my side, worry surrounding her. “It’s going to be okay,” she tells me, her bare hand covering my gloved one. “It’s a quick show of your curse, and then you’re done.” She pats my hand before removing it. “Before they assess you, I’ll have to take you to the infirmary for your suppressant evaluation. It’s pretty standard, so you don’t need to worry.”

That darkness returns to the edges of my vision.

I have no idea what a suppressant evaluation entails.

What am I going to do?

There’s a faint scratching noise at my side before something taps my hand. I look down to find a paper there, writing upturned. I grasp it and raise it to my eyes.

I know what you are. I will help.

And then, she hands me a syringe.