Page 10 of Blood Legacy (Eternal Descent (MistHallow Academy) #1)

10

GAIDA

I sink to the cold laundry room floor, my legs suddenly unable to hold me up. That bastard. That absolute fucking bastard. I press my hands over my face, refusing to let the tears fall. I won’t cry over him. I won’t.

But the hollow ache in my chest is ripping through my last shreds of composure and I let out an ugly-sounding sob. I’ve never felt so humiliated, so utterly rejected. The way he looked at me like I was both everything he wanted and nothing he would allow himself to have has broken my spirit. I don’t want to give up on him, but I have nothing left to give. His words were final.

“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice echoing in the empty room.

The dryer beeps, startling me back to reality. My hands shake as I pull my clothes out, still slightly damp, but I can’t stay in here. Not a second longer after I nearly had him. Seconds. And then something snapped inside him, and he retreated. I hold the red dress against my chest, remembering how he looked at me in it just hours ago.

I shove it into my laundry basket with unnecessary force along with the damp sheets. “Damn you straight to hell.”

Yet even as I curse him, I can’t forget the way his eyes darkened when he had me against the wall, the feel of his hand in my hair, his fangs grazing my throat. He wanted me. I know he did. The evidence was undeniable.

Which makes his rejection all the more infuriating.

Pulling on a pair of damp leggings with a shudder, I then shove my feet back into my heels. I look a frightful mess, but for the first time, I don’t even care. Storming back to my bedroom, taking the path of least resistance, via the service corridors, I throw the basket onto my bed and then fling the sheets over the radiator, turning up the heat so they dry quickly. Grabbing a couple of hangers, I meticulously see to the dresses and place them in strategic positions, so they dry quickly as well with as few creases as possible. The rest of the stuff, I drape over furniture and then I slump to my bed, my face in my hands.

“Get up, Gaida. Get the fuck up,” I mutter. “This isn’t you. You don’t moon and cry over men. You are tougher than this. Harder. You are ice-cold.”

The ridiculously over the top pep talk actually gets me to my feet. So I keep going.

“You are a bitch. You are strong and a fighter. You don’t need a man, you never did, and you never will.”

Crossing over to my wardrobe I stare into it, knowing I need to hurry to get to Advanced Dark Magick class on time. Sifting through the dresses, I land on a demure black one that covers me from neck to ankles.

Suits my mood.

I strip off the tee and leggings and pull the dress on, smoothing it down so it skims my curves. I glance at myself in the mirror. I look like a morbid gothic princess in mourning.

But I suppose I am.

Luke has made his feelings clear, and I should respect that. But all he has done is made himself even more impossible to resist. He is tortured. Every second of every day. He relies on his control, so he doesn’t go on a murderous rampage, but I see it simmering under the surface.

Monster .

He called himself a monster.

I want to ease his pain. I want to be there for him. I want, no need , to be the woman who will be strong enough to take him to a place where he doesn’t have to fear anything. He doesn’t see it in me, but I know it’s there. All he sees when he looks at me is a child. Part of me understands it. He is fifteen hundred years old, for fuck’s sake. He has lived a dozen lifetimes, more, even, when I’ve barely started this one. I need to make him see that it doesn’t matter to me.

Me.

All I’m doing here is thinking about me. I scowl at my reflection and turn away. I need to start thinking about him and what he needs. If he needs me to stay away, then that is what I should do. Even if it hurts so much I can’t breathe.

I finish applying my makeup, lining my eyes in black and painting my lips a deep burgundy. If I’m going to look like I’m in mourning, I might as well commit to the aesthetic.

Grabbing my bag, I check the time. I’ve got fifteen minutes to get to class, which is cutting it close.

The sun is already down by the time I reach the lecture hall. It’s a weird time in the world. Not day yet not night.

Approaching the classroom, I take a deep breath and head inside. Everyone is already seated, so that makes twice today that I’ve shown up late. I clench my jaw and gaze at the Professor.

He raises an eyebrow. “Gaida. I heard you were joining us. Take a seat.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, ignoring the fact that he is my age, hot as fuck and also hooked up with a great girl. I also have to desperately ignore the fact that he is Luke’s nephew. Somehow. I’m hazy on the details. It’s less complicated than the fact Luke also has a granddaughter around here somewhere. One assumes he produced a child when he was still just a mage, and that child was immortal and gave him a granddaughter. Again, the details are not known. The pang of envy I feel over a woman I have never met and don’t know anything about except she fucked Luke and gave him a child is astounding in its intensity. I refocus and find Dante looking at me with a slow smile. He is surrounded by females of all species. I glare at him and stalk to the back of the class where there are a couple of empty desks. Sitting heavily, I cross my legs and pull out my notebook.

The grey-eyed sorcerer from the dining hall catches my eye and gives me a smouldering look that would normally make me preen like a peacock, but right now, I’m just not myself.

Dante gathers up his belongings and rises, crossing to the back of the class to sit at a desk next to me with that lazy smile that does things to me even when I’m grieving over Luke.

“Are we quite done with musical chairs?” Professor Blackwell asks.

“Yep,” Dante says, never taking his eyes off me.

“How kind,” the professor drawls. “Gaida, seeing as you are coming late into the term, you will need to catch up. Today we are working on theory. Dante? Can you make sure Gaida follows along?”

Dante smirks. “She is quite good at following my lead.”

I roll my eyes at his obvious innuendo, but Professor Blackwell either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he turns back to the blackboard to write complex symbols.

“So,” Dante whispers, his breath tickling my ear. “Did you miss me?”

“It’s been less than two hours,” I mutter, keeping my eyes fixed on my notebook as I copy down the symbols. “And we’re supposed to be focusing on the lesson.”

“You look like you’re dressed for a funeral,” he observes, ignoring my attempt to redirect the conversation. “Who died?”

I shoot him a withering glare. “My patience.”

He grins, unfazed. “Seriously though, what happened? You were in a much better mood when I left you.”

The memory of Luke’s rejection washes over me again, and I have to fight to keep my face neutral. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.”

“Liar,” he whispers, but there’s no malice in it. His blue eyes study me with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable. “What did he do?”

I freeze, my pen hovering over the paper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Gaida.” His voice drops even lower. “I can smell him on you. Not just his arousal, but his rage.”

My head snaps up, eyes widening before I can control my reaction. “Keep your voice down,” I hiss.

“So I’m right.” Dante’s expression darkens as he leans closer. “What happened, Gaida?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” I snap, though the words lack conviction.

“It concerns me when you look like this.” His hand brushes mine under the desk, the touch surprisingly gentle. “When you smell like heartbreak and fury.”

I jerk my hand away. “I’m not some fragile little thing that needs your protection, Dante.”

“Did I say you were?” He continues taking notes as he speaks, maintaining the illusion that we’re discussing the lesson. “But whatever Blackthorn said to you, it’s bullshit.”

My throat tightens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” His voice drops to a whisper only vampire hearing could detect. “He came to see me before he found you. Told me to pursue you. Said we were a good match.”

The pen snaps in my hand, ink spilling across my notes. Several heads turn our way at the sound.

“Problem?” Professor Blackwell calls out.

“Just a faulty pen,” Dante replies smoothly, sliding his spare across to me. “I’ve got her covered.”

When the class’s attention returns to the front, I turn to Dante, my voice a deadly whisper. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.” His eyes never leave mine, even as his hand continues to take perfect notes. “He came to the library, furious, practically ripping my head off about earlier, then told me to pursue you. Said we were a good match.”

The hollow feeling in my chest expands. “He’s trying to pawn me off on you?”

I struggle to breathe, to process this new betrayal. It’s one thing for Luke to reject me, but to actively push me toward another man—toward Dante—is beyond cruel.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “Did he say why?”

“Something about it being in your best interests.” Dante’s voice takes on a bitter edge. “Apparently I’m the only one who can be there for you. Whatever the hell that means.”

My stomach twists. “And you agreed? Just like that?”

Dante’s laugh is soft but sharp. “I told him I was already pursuing you. The question was whether you’d have me.” His eyes darken. “But now I’m wondering if there is more to it.”

“Like what?”

“His sire…” Dante trails off. “He is protecting you.”

“What?”

“I could be wrong, but he thinks that Lucius might make a play for you by going to your father to arrange a union. Blackthorn thinks I can stop that by being a pureblood from a powerful family.” Realisation dawns on his face, almost smugly as he makes this connection that still leaves me in the dark.

“I dislike being treated like a fucking pawn,” I hiss. “I am not some thing that people can push around the board on their whims.”

“Well, we can both agree on that,” he says bitterly. “But we are who we are. Our families will never see us as anything except property.”

His words make me feel guilty. He is suffering as much as I have with my family. “I’m a terrible person,” I mutter. “No wonder he doesn’t want to be with me.”

“What?” Dante asks and then rears back as a blackboard duster whizzes over his head to slam into the wall behind him, millimetres from hitting him.

“Care to share what is so desperately interesting that you have both forgotten you are even in class?” Blackwell asks.

I clench my jaw, mortified at being called out. “Sorry, Professor,” I say, my voice carrying clearly across the now-silent classroom. “I was just asking for clarification on the Dravidian runes. Won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” Blackwell says, turning back to the board. “As I was saying, these particular symbols must be drawn in precise sequence to avoid catastrophic magickal backflow...”

“Nice save,” Dante murmurs, his eyes still fixed on his notes.

I don’t respond, focusing instead on copying the symbols meticulously. My mind is spinning with this new information. Luke pushed Dante toward me to protect me from his sire. Not because he doesn’t want me, but because he’s trying to shield me from something worse?

It doesn’t make the rejection hurt any less, but it adds a layer of complexity that makes me question everything. Again.

Trying not to fall apart, I take notes mechanically, but my mind is elsewhere, replaying every word, every look, every touch Luke and I have shared.

What is really going on here? Whatever it is, I need to find out before I lose my fucking mind.