Page 1 of Blood Legacy (Eternal Descent (MistHallow Academy) #1)

1

GAIDA

There’s an art to throwing a punch, especially in four-inch stilettos and a red designer dress that swirls when you turn, showing off more thigh than is respectable. It’s all about weight distribution and commitment. Dad’s lessons taught me well. Although I doubt, he meant for me to use it under these circumstances.

Chances are, when he finds out, he’ll disown me. But if it gets me what I want, then I don’t give a fuck.

And what I want is the very good-looking, too proper, extremely powerful and ancient Headmaster, Luke Blackthorn.

I flex my fingers into a fist as I saunter down the vaulted hallway of MistHallow Academy. The ancient stones echo with each confident click of my heels, the sound reverberating through the empty hallway like a death toll. I spot my target. Any target will do, but Erin is a vicious bully who needs a lesson in manners. Striding up to her, I grip her white blouse and draw my arm back before I launch my fist forward and smash her in the face before she can use her witch powers to stop me.

Vampire reflexes for the win.

She shrieks as her nose explodes, and I stand back with a smile, breathing heavily as a member of staff rushes towards us.

Mission accomplished.

“Gaida Aragon! Get yourself to Professor Blackthorn’s office immediately!” Professor Elton snaps at me, fixing Erin’s nose with a quick healing spell.

Exactly as planned.

I turn on my heel and stalk off in the direction of Blackthorn’s office, with winter’s chill seeping through the stone walls. I barely notice it. Born vampires run warmer than our turned counterparts. It’s another small privilege of my bloodline that sets me apart. Through the frosted arched windows, I catch glimpses of the snow-covered grounds, the forest beyond shrouded in mist. MistHallow Academy is hauntingly beautiful in winter, with the ancient magick that is built into the foundations of this place. You can feel it as you walk the halls, tapping into your innate abilities and making them stronger.

I toss my long black hair over my shoulder, feeling it cascade down my back like silk as I approach the entrance to Headmaster Luke Blackthorn’s office. Gargoyles flank the entrance, their stone eyes following my movements. They’re new. They weren’t there earlier.

I rap sharply on the wood, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet hallway.

“Enter,” Blackthorn’s voice is deep, commanding, and older than most civilisations.

It sends a shiver of arousal through me.

I push open the door, revealing the impressive office beyond. Walls lined with leather-bound books as ancient as the vampire mage sitting behind the desk and artefacts of power displayed in glass cases. A massive fireplace crackles with real flames, warming the room a bit too much for my liking.

Behind the massive mahogany desk is the only vampire who I know will live up to my expectations. The only vampire who isn’t afraid of my father. The only vampire who will satisfy this deep craving inside me that ruins every other male for me.

Luke Blackthorn.

Fifteen centuries old and looking barely thirty, with sharp features that could cut glass, short dark hair, and those bright blue eyes that have witnessed empires rise and fall. His crisp black suit is immaculate as always, not a wrinkle in sight. A subtle platinum ring on his right hand bears the Blackthorn family crest. It’s an ancient symbol of power among vampire mages, of which he is one of very few with any real power, and probably the only one with the power to raze cities. His power radiates from him like heat from a fire, making the air feel dense and charged.

My mouth goes slightly dry. No matter how many times I’ve orchestrated these meetings, the sight of him still has an effect on me that’s embarrassingly visceral.

Blackthorn’s gaze bores into mine, his expression unreadable. A silver fountain pen twirls between his strong fingers, capturing the firelight with each rotation. “Miss Aragon. What can I do for you?”

“Professor Elton sent me.”

“Why?” He frowns, giving me a fierce glare.

“I may have punched Erin in the face.”

He raises one perfect eyebrow, only marginally showing his surprise at my don’t-give-a-fuck attitude.

“This is becoming a serious problem with you, Miss Aragon. Should we add anger management to your classes?”

“She is a horrible cow,” I say, crossing my arms. “She deserved it for bullying Lauren in Advanced Blood Magick class.”

He gives me a level stare. The clock ticks loudly in the otherwise silent room.

“Sit, Miss Aragon,” he finally says, gesturing to the leather chair opposite his desk.

I take my time, making a show of crossing my legs at the knees so the dress artfully falls away to reveal most of my thigh. A diamond anklet—a gift from my mother on my twenty-first birthday—catches the firelight.

To my disappointment, Blackthorn’s eyes remain fixed on my face with impressive control. Most men would have at least glanced down by now.

But then, Luke Blackthorn isn’t most men.

And that is why I want him.

“This is the third time this month you’ve been sent to my office, Miss Aragon.” His voice is like aged whiskey, smooth but with a burn that lingers. “One might think you’re doing it deliberately.”

I keep my expression neutral, though my heart races. He’s perceptive; I’ll give him that. “I’m simply standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves, Professor.”

“Noble.” The word drips with sarcasm as he leans forward slightly. “One would think you had an ulterior motive.”

A smirk threatens at the corner of my mouth.

“Your father contacted me yesterday,” he says, changing tactics so abruptly I almost flinch.

That wipes any trace of amusement from my face. “What did he want?”

“He expressed concern about your academic focus. Apparently, he’s not seeing the results he expected from his only daughter at MistHallow.”

I scoff, uncrossing my legs to plant my feet slightly wider before recrossing them the opposite way.

Not even a blink downwards. This vampire is infuriating.

“My father’s expectations are his problem, not mine.”

Blackthorn’s lips press into a thin line. “When one of the parents expresses concern to me directly, Miss Aragon, it becomes my problem as well.”

“And what did you tell him?” I lean forward, letting my dress dip slightly at the cleavage. I know exactly what I’m doing, even if Blackthorn’s steely composure doesn’t crack.

“I told him you are exceptionally gifted but lacking in discipline.” His voice remains steady, professional. “And that your recent behaviour suggests a disturbing pattern.”

“Disturbing?” I echo, letting a smile play across my lips. “That sounds rather dramatic, Professor.”

“Does it?” He sets down his pen with deliberate slowness. “Three fights in a month.”

“I don’t like bullies.”

There’s a subtle shift in the air, the first indication that his patience is wearing thin. The temperature in the room drops several degrees despite the crackling fire. “You are not above the rules of this institution, regardless of your bloodline.”

His power brushes against my skin like ice, making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. Most students would cower under this display. I find it exhilarating.

“My bloodline is precisely why I understand justice better than most,” I counter, holding his gaze. “My father may have contacted you because he’s worried about my grades, but we both know academic excellence isn’t what matters in our world.”

“And what does matter, Miss Aragon?” His question is soft, dangerous.

“Power. Connections. Knowing when to strike and when to show mercy.” I hold his gaze. “Lessons my father taught me well, though perhaps not in the way he intended.”

Something flickers in Blackthorn’s eyes. Interest, or wariness. It’s hard to tell with him.

“Your father is one of the oldest vampires in existence,” he says carefully. “The Aragon bloodline commands respect for good reason. But that legacy won’t protect you from the consequences of your actions here.”

“And what consequences might those be, Professor?” I tilt my head, letting my hair cascade over one shoulder.

“This isn’t a joking matter, Miss Aragon. Violence against fellow students cannot be tolerated, regardless of your heritage.”

“My heritage,” I repeat softly. “You mean being Aurelius Aragon’s daughter? The vampire princess who everyone’s too terrified to look at directly?”

“Your father’s reputation is not an excuse for poor behaviour.”

“It’s not an excuse. It’s context. Do you know what it’s like to walk these halls when everyone either fears you or wants to use you? The boys here won’t even talk to me without stammering. The girls either want to be my friend for status or hate me on principle.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in those blue eyes softens fractionally. For a moment, I glimpse the man beneath the Headmaster—someone who perhaps understands isolation better than most.

“That doesn’t explain why you chose to physically assault a student in the hallway.”

“Maybe I wanted a change of scenery.” I glance around his office meaningfully. “These private conversations with you are far more stimulating.”

His eyes narrow. “Miss Aragon?—”

“Gaida,” I correct, my voice dropping to a silky tone. “Most people call me Gaida.”

“I’m not most people.” He leans back in his chair, putting distance between us while still remaining seated. If he was truly unaware of my attraction to him before, he fucking well isn’t now.

For three months, I’ve been orchestrating these encounters. Calculated infractions designed to land me in this office, alone with him. Each time, I push a little further, testing his boundaries, looking for cracks in that perfect control. Tonight feels different. Tonight, there’s a charge in the air that wasn’t there before.

For a brief moment, I swear his perfect control slips, and something ancient and hungry flashes in those blue eyes. Then it’s gone, locked away behind centuries of discipline. But I saw it. I’m sure I saw it.

“Clearly.” I smile, letting my fangs show just slightly. A deliberate provocation. “That’s what makes these interactions so refreshing.”

He lets out a soft, annoyed hiss. “You, Miss Aragon, are grounded.”

I blink, letting that word wash over me. “Excuse me?”

“I dislike repeating myself.”

“Grounded?” I exclaim, rising in a swift motion to loom over his desk. “Grounded? What the fuck is this?”

“Language,” he snaps, his temper finally getting the better of him. He stands as well, dwarfing me with his height. Standing at five-five, I’m not exactly tiny, but he is over six feet and a whole load of yum. “You are grounded, Miss Aragon.” The triumph in his tone is hard to miss. He found my weakness. The fucking bastard. “You will have a curfew of 7 PM, where you will be in your room until half an hour before your first class the next day, where you will attend the dining hall for breakfast.”

“You can’t do that,” I growl.

“Oh, but I can,” he says. “You wanted my attention, Miss Aragon. You’ve got it. Dismissed.”

I refuse to move. “You’re making a mistake.”

“The only mistake being made here is your continued presence in my office after being dismissed.” His voice is steel, a sound that would make most students scurry away.

“You forget I attend night classes,” I smirk. “I’m a vampire, Professor. Remember?”

“As of tomorrow, you have been shifted onto day classes. The sunlight doesn’t affect you as it does turned vampires.”

“What?” I baulk. “All the vampire classes are at night!” Oh, the shame of it.

“Not all of them.” His victory is infuriating.

“I’m a pureblood,” I say, my voice dangerously low. “I belong in the night classes.”

“You’re a student at my academy,” Blackthorn counters, his voice equally soft but infinitely more threatening. “And you’ll attend whatever classes I put you in.”

We’re standing close now, the massive desk no longer feeling like much of a barrier. I can smell him. The ancient power, expensive cologne, and something feral that makes my fangs ache to fully extend and sink into his flesh. My body betrays me, responding to his proximity with a rush of heat that I know he can sense.

“Careful, Miss Aragon,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Your emotions are showing.”

I don’t back down. Instead, I lean closer, palms flat on his desk. “And what about yours, Professor? Are they as tightly controlled as you’d like everyone to believe?”

For a heartbeat, something flashes in his eyes. Danger, desire, frustration, or all three before his expression hardens again.

“Dis-missed.” He waves his hand, and the door behind me swings open with a gust of power that ruffles my hair. “You’ll report to Eldra tomorrow morning at seven sharp for your new schedule. As for tonight, you have exactly thirty minutes to return to your room before your curfew begins.”

I straighten slowly, smoothing my dress with deliberate movements. “This isn’t finished.”

“On the contrary, Miss Aragon. It is very much finished.” His eyes lock with mine, and for a moment, I feel the full weight of his fifteen centuries pressing down on me. “Unless you’d prefer, I call your father and discuss your fixation with my office?”

The threat lands exactly as intended. My father would be furious I’m pursuing an older vampire, and my Headmaster at that.

“That won’t be necessary,” I say coolly.

“Twenty-nine minutes, Miss Aragon.”

I turn on my heel, fury making my movements sharper than usual. The dress flares, probably showing him my scrap of red lace underwear, but it’s good. Show him what he’s missing. The door slams behind me with unnecessary force.

The gargoyles smirk as I pass them, their stone eyes following my retreat. I swear one of them chuckles.

“Fuck off,” I mutter, quickening my pace down the hallway.

This did not go how I’d planned.

But he is mistaken if he thinks I’m giving up. If anything, this display of power over me has simply made me want him more.